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For  Reference 


Not  to  be  taken  from  this  room 


^238168 


Every  person  who  maliciously 
cuts,  defaces,  breaks  or  injures 
any  book,  map,  chart,  picture, 
engraving,  statue,  coin,  model, 
apparatus,  or  other  work  of  lit- 
erature, art,  mechanics  or  ob- 
ject of  curiosity,  deposited  in 
any  public  library,  gallery, 
museum  or  collection  is  guilty 
of  a  misdemeanor.  • 

Penal  Code  of  California, 
1915,  Section  623. 


/ 


PIX,  INC. 

ELIZABETH  JAIVE WAV— this   month's 
How  America  Lives  reporter:  Meet  a    War 
Widow—says,    "I    was    born    in    Brooklyn 
Heights  in  an  old  brownstone  house  on  Pine- 
apple Street.  According  to  my  mother,  the 
doctor  who  presided  over  my  entrance  into 
the  world  arrived  straight  from  the  theater 
in  opera  hat  and  cape.    He  was  six  feet  four 
inches  tall  and  bearded,  and  must  have  been 
a  most  impressive  figure.  Since  I  enjoy  social 
it  a  dand  gaiety,  I  like  to  believe  that  such 
and  pbols    were    present    at    my    birth.     My 
went  o  's    Vermont    farm,    plus    summers    in 
jameous  ue,     Connecticut    and    Massachusetts, 
ok.        ight  me  to  know  something  about  New 
gland,   so  I  wrote  a  book  about  a  New 
ME  d  igland    small    town.     Last    summer    we 
w'      Ight   a   house  in   Connecticut   and   now 
v'       ,t  I  am  living  up  there  I  am  engaged  on  a 
i- .  el  about  New  York.  The  rest  of  'we'  con- 
sists of  my  husband,  Eliot  Janeway,  and  two 
small  boys,  Mike  (41^)  and  Bill  (IJg).  They 
accept  mommy's  scribblings  with  fair  resig- 
nation, but  will  brook  no  argument  as  to 
whether  they  or  writing  comes  first.    Last 
year  my  husband  showed  Mike  my  picture 
on  the  jacket  of  my  book,  The  Walsh  Girls, 
and   told   him    it    was   Elizabeth   Janeway. 
'It  is  not,'  said  Mike.     'It's  my  mommy!'" 


CARL  ZUCKMAIEK  (Don't  Give  Your 
Animals  a  Name).  When  Hitler  came  into 
power,  one  of  his  first  acts  was  to  ban  Carl 
Zuckmayer's  highly  successful  play.  The 
Captain  of  Koepenick.  This  play,  produced 
in  1930,  was  written  as  a  warning  to  the 
German  people  against  the  rising  power  of 
the  "new  nationalism."  The  author  was 
German-born,  but  in  1926  he  and  his  wife 
settled  in  Austria  and  became  Austrian 
citizens.  As  soon  as  the  occupation  of  Aus- 
tria was  complete,  all  Zuckmayer's  books 
were  burned  in  public  in  front  of  the  old 
Salzburg  Cathedral,  and  he  himself  barely 
missed  internment  in  the  Dachau  concen- 
tration camp  by  a  narrow  escape  into 
Switzerland.  He  came  to  America  in  1939 
and  worked  for  a  while  in  a  Hollywood 
studio  — having  had  previous  experience 
script-writing  Blue  Angel  and  Rembrandt; 
lectured  at  the  Dramatic  Workshop  of  New 
York's  New  School  for  Social  Research;  pub- 
Jlished  an  autobiography,  Second  Wind,  and 
lis  now  living  in  Vermont  combining  writing 
Iwith  farming.  Raises  goats,  pigs  and  poul- 
ftry.     Specialty:    geese— 55   cents   a    pound. 


JAKUABY,  1943 


Vol.  LXIl,  No.  1 


NOVEL  COKIPLETE  I."V  THIS  ISSl  E 

you'll  marry  me  at  noon 


P-*GE 
yina  Deltnar       24 


FirTlOIV 


THE  PORTRAIT  .  . 
EDEN  ON  A  ROOF  TOP 

RETURN  

THE  LONG  WAY  .   . 


Horothy  Pruitt 

Olailys  Taber 

• Joan  Hildreth 

Margaret  M  t'\tn<tutli    int-L-^i^^ 

BOLINVAR   (Conclusion).                                                              M„r  \.. 
BREAKFAST  IN   BED     .                                                                                    ,,.,  ,      ""^'"« 
Mildred  Cram 

SPECIAL   FEATI  RES 

DON'T  GIVE  YOUR  AMMALS  A  NAME Carl  Zurk.uayer 

PIONEERS  AGAINST  POLIO 

THE  NEW  WOMAN  IN  THE  NEW  AMERICA      .'     ."     ."     .  Darathy  Thompson 

ROM.ANTIC  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA:    Buffalo  Hunter 

CHASTITY  AND  SYPHILIS  ,,  ^       , 

i*iona  Cardner  ■■ 

IF  YOU   ASK  ME    .      .     .  n  d 

t>teanor  Koo^ievelt 

HOW  AMERICA  LIVES:   MEET  A  WAR  WIDOW     .      .      .     Elizabeth  Jar^euay 
"THE  WAR  DEPARTMENT  REGRETS    ..."  . 

Lt.  Comdr.  Leslie  IS.  Hohman,  M.C.,  USI\Ii 
GENERAL  FEATURES 


17 
20 
31 
32 
34 
36 


4 
6 
6 

22 
23 
26 
97 


102 


FEMALE  FOIBLES   (The  Sub-Deb) Elizabeth   ff oodtvard 

OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 

FIFTi-  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL .     .     . 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 

LEARN  THE  TRUTH  — AVOID  "POLIO  PANIC"      Or.  Herman  I\.  Bundesen 

THIS  IS  A  GLOATER Munro  Leaf 

ASK  ANY  WOMAN Marcelene  Cox 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  To b^ 

FASHIONS  AND   BEAUTV 


8 

10 
15 
15 
68 
86 
90 
95 
114 


"^"'^ Wilhela  C.shman 

THE  PLUS  IN  YOUR  WARDROBE ffilhela  Cushman 

WHAT  DO  YOU  MAKE  OF  IT? Da»n  Cro,.ell 

WOMEN  NEED  REHABILITATION  TOO     ...     .     Louise  Paine  Benjamin 
SIMPLICITY  PREFERRED Ruth  Mary  Packard 

ARCHITECTURE  AND  INTERIOR  DECORATION 

A  MOTHER-AND-DAUGHTER  ROOM Henrietta  Murdoch    111 

KASYTOLIVEIN Richard  Pratt     116 


27 

28 

30 

105 

107 


FOOD   AND   HOMEMAKING 

WHEN  GOOD  FRIENDS  GET  TOGETHER Ann  Batchelder 

LINE  A  DAY Ann  Batchelder 

"where  the  HEART  IS" J„dy  Barry 

BUDGET  DISHES Louella  O.  Sho.ier 

%VINS  ORDERS   FROM  DEADOCARTERS 
POETRV 

SCULPTURE nrginia  Scott  Miner. 

LOVING  A  LITTLE  BOY Eleanor  A.  Chaffee 

MY  BRIDE  FOREVER Jesse  Smart 

WRONG  STEER W.  E.  Earl.stein 

P'J'^T     •     • Jehanne  de  Marc 

REUNION Bianca  Bradbury 

AMERICAN  CHILD:     3 Paul  Enr.lc 

NONE  BUT  THE  LONELY Alma  Robison  Higbee 

Cover  DoNifin  by  \%'illi<'la  CiiNiiuinn 


38 

40 

108 

118 

47 


15 
U\ 
52 

(.;:; 

71 

){■) 

102 


ctuul   per.sons. 


LADlIS'HOMKJOrRNALClh..  Iloin 
publKlird  on  !;,st  bri.iay  of  month  iirt-cr. 
Till-  ii.ina-s  of  all  charactira  in  all  .!<■ 
an-    ri.  liiious.    Any    ri-acintilance    u 

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U.  3.  and  Possessions,  Canada,  Newfoundland,  Lab- 
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ot  Honduras,  Salvador,  Spain  and  South  America 
except  the  Guianas,  2  yrs.,  $3;  3  yrs.,  $4;  4  yrs.,  $5. 
Other  CountrieB,  1  year,  $3. 

I  .   Money  Orilfr  or  by  Draft  on  a  bank  In 
IV, 1,1,.  in  U,  S.  l-"unda.  All  ijricre  subject 


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Hivance. 

iioNAL  Guaranty— We  agree,  upon  re- 
I  from  subscribers  to  the  Philadelphia 
land  the  full  amount  paid  for  any  copifs 
iihli'-alions  not"  previously  mailed. 

.(  111.    1  a.i;.    ■  H..nio  Journal  is  r.i'i,  h  ,.-,1 


,.    i      s     r.;.^,: 

-11  n  .1),   111     1  li 
,,1  ,SMl.:^  an.l  c 

11.1  In  I'or.'iKK  ' 

,  liuhl.  I'l-M  (li 

I'uhlishinK  Co 

ilain.    London, 


,lr    M 


ENTERED  AS  SECOND-CLASS  MATTER  MAY 
6,  19U,  AT  THE  POST  OFFICE  AT  PHILADEL- 
PHIA, PENNA.,  DNDER  ACT  OF  MARCH  3,  1879. 


:ken  pie 

ler  every  time! 

o,er       •       2  «sps.  salt 
cooked  peas 
.si  recipe) 

.over  with  hot  watpr; 
■hicken  in  baking  dish. 
rt  chicken  broth  ana 

.  more  gupssing!  With 
astry  Method  on  the 
lerpiecrust-lheeasy- 
<einhot  oven  (42o  i.) 
•vel.  Serves  6. 


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'  issue  with  which  it  is  to  take  effect. 
I  Idress  with  your  new,  enclosing  if  pos- 


sible your  a, 
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labi-l.     Duplicate  copies  cannot 
Office   will   not  forward  copies 
extra  pi>stage. 


iUNOAY  DiHNBR  ! 

;tible  dishes  — COOK  WITH  CRISCO! 
NAORE  for  all  your  cooking! 


-Iways  serve 
•"ine  ingredi- 
ike  shorten- 
r  by  Crisco! 

Crisco  than 
;.  It  has  a 
ighter  cakes 
■ning.  With 


Criseo's  sure-fire  Pastry  Method  you'll 
get  flaky,  tender  pie  crust  every  time!  And 
foods  fried  light  and  crisp  in  Crisco  are  di- 
gestible even  for  children! 

Yes,  Crisco  cooking  makes  good  eating. 
Sunday  dinner  or  pick-up  supper — you  can 
depend  on  pure,  all-vegetable  Crisco  to 
make  all  your  cooking  exciting — digestible! 

VsPigestible!" 

9  OUT  OF   10  DOCTORS 
TELL  YOU  SO! 


c/^^^^^EPU^ 

'  /»  tups  eoolted  .  ""P  ""'"t 

,  (^orn  and  I         '*""'«"'> 

^'■^^  dry  i„„^  ..  "''"•  "•<"'«-  Crisco 

and  milk   fF^^'f'rits  into  h^    . 

^  ^^^-  Serves  4-6.  '   ^easu 


lOL  ivashes 

Bleaching 

ds  LjFT  Out  Dirt ! 


See  how  even  the  biggest, 
id  clean  with  Oxydoi!  That's 
suds  are  so  lively,  so  active 
all  your  white  things,  except 
without  bleaching. 


il  war  materials,  so  soapwaste  is 
ydol  go  farther! 


cr  GIVE  ro 


!lCH/iaA 


A 


2) 


Liesi 


BY  CARL  Zl  CKMAYER 

IF  ANY  man  wants  to  farm  without  tears,  he  should'nt  give  names  to  1 
animals.  I  mean,  he  should'nt  name  them.  He  may  call  them  nan 
from  time  to  time,  for  this  will  releave  his  anger  without  hurting  th 
feelings.  But  to  name  a  thing  means  to  put  it  into  the  light  of  conscioi 
ness.  To  immortalize  it.  And  there  you  are  in  a  tough  spot  with  your  pi 
fessional  farming.  The  animals  you  have  named  are  no  good  for  sale  n 
for  the  kitchen;  they  are  becoming  dependants,  permanent  guests  of  t 
house,  members  of  the  family.  And  they  know  it.  They  know  you  are  ti 
up  with  them  for  ever.  They'll  make  you  pay — not  only  with  money  1 
their  delicate  support,  but  with  a  lot  of  care,  of  emotion,  even  with  tea 

When  I  planned  to  try  farming  several  years  ago  I  was  determined  to  i 
it  in  a  strictly  professional  way.  After  too  many  years  of  troubles,  chang( 
excitement,  we  thought  to  catch  up  with  a  sober  and  quiet  affair.  Not 
much  soul,  heart,  emotions  to  be  invested.  You  will  share  W'l^hoi 
smoothly  between  the  barn  and  the  writing  table.  Strictly  prj  ^jn; 
according  to  the  plan— blisters  on  your  hands  and  independanc^  v 

When  we  moved  in,,  one  of  the  villagers  asked,  "You  reall>'-  ^ 

can  live  here  through  the  winter?" 

"Why  not?"  I  asked.  "Other  people  have  done  it  before  and  i 
vived  it."  \      j 

"Well,  they  survived  it,"  he  nodded,  "but  they  were  native  Vel,    1 

ers.  And  even  for  a  native "  He  did'nt  finish,  but  shrugged  his  ijo\ 

ders  and  turned  his  head  away  like  from  the  side  of  an  inevitable  accidei 

Now  tliree  winters  are  lying  behind  us  (I  see  them  lying  like  chunks 
unmeltablc  ice>  and  we're  still  alive.  Above  all,  I  experienced  as  never  t 
fore  in  such  a  concentrated  way  what  a  man  can  do  singlehanded  and  wh 
he  definitely  can't.  For  instance,  during  a  40-to-50-below-zero  cold  spf 
you  can  keep  your  waterpipes,  your  livestock  and  your  family  from  free 
ing  (to  be  worried  about  in  the  order  named).  But  you  can't  write  a  bo 
or  a  play  at  the  same  time.  You  can  repair  a  crashing-down  barn  door 
the  middle  of  a  blizzard,  but  the  poem  inspired  by  this  uproar  of  the  e. 
ments  might  never  be  put  on  paper. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  professional  combination  in  the  world  whi 
are  definitely  impossible:  a  writing  farmer;  and  a  farming  writer.  Provid 
you  want  or  have  to  do  both  jobs  by  yourself  and  have  no  chance  to  keep 
hired  writer  to  do  your  chores  or  a  ghost  farmer  to  do  your  writings. 

\yE  couldn't  help,  of  course,  to  name  our  first  single  acquisition.  It  w 
Gussy,  that  crazy  duck.  We  were  not  through  then  with  the  job  of  repai 
ing,  fencing,  fixing  up  the  old  place.  It  was  not  later  than  suggaring  seaa 
and  we  did'nt  intend  to  have  any  animals  before  they  could  be  shelten 
and  the  last  snow  was  gone.  But  some  Sunday  wt^  paid  a  visit  to  a  neig 
hour  who  runs  a  nice  farm  and  is  lucky  enough  to  have  one  of  those  gho 
farmers  doing  the  jobs.  We  had  a  look  at  the  poultry  yard.  There,  on  i 
icy  manure  heap,  sparkling  in  the  early  spring  sun  hke  a  throne  of  crysts 
sat  Gussy.  (She  wasn't  Gussy  yet.  They  just  called  her  "the  crazy  duck.' 

Her  white  feathers  were  ruffled  in  self-defense,  but  not  without  a  vicioi 
touch  of  challenge  and  agressiveness  and  sprinkled  with  blood.  From  tin 
to  time  some  of  the  "normal"  poultry — roosters,  hens  or  other  ducks 
would  vigorously  jump  on  her  and  try  to  peck  her,  and  she  would  fig 
back,  hissing  like  a  snake,  battling  with  her  beak  and  her  wings,  even  pi 
suing  her  persecutors.  Then,  having  lost  more  feathers  and  more  blood  b 
none  of  her  honor  or  dignity,  she  would  return  to  the  place  of  her  ro> 
isolation. 

That's  the  way  she  was,  the  farmer  said,  since  she  was  outfeathen 
He  had  no  explanation  for  her  lack  of  popularity.  "They  just  don't  li 
her,"  he  said,  "and  she  does'nt  like  them., They  won't  let  her  feed  w 
them — she's  almost  starving.  Well,  some  day  they'll  kill  her.  She  mii 
do  better  somewhere  else.   It's  a  nice  duck,  after  all." 

It  didn't  take  much  time  or  persuasion — and  we  had  her  locked  in  a 
tie  basket  with  a  small  supply  of  grains.  Why  should  we  reject  a  giftP^ 

Gussy,  at  first,  gave  us  a  hard  time.  She  got  all  the  attention,  the  ca 
the  respect  for  her  privacy  she  ever  wanted,  but  she  still  was  a  probl 
child.  She  would'nt  eat  her  grains  at  the  regular  time,  but  overthrow  1 
water  pail  and  act  like  starving  or  dying  from  thirst  a  little  later.  When  ■ 
wife  tried  to  feed  her  with  white  bread  and  milk,  she  would  gratefully  t 
her  finger.  To  tell  all  the  stories  of  her  different  escapes,  how  many  tir 


HERMANN! 


^        TOM  oR 


•* 


,»>n  Austrian  playwright  and  novelist  leaves  Holly- 
^woodfor  Vermont  and  the  Battle  oj  the  Barnyard. 

11  in  the  mud  while  running  to  catch  her  or  to  drive  her  back,  would 
several  volumes  of  escape  litterature. 

What  makes  a  duck  to  be  crazy?  What  makes  a  man  to  be  nuts? 
t  caused  by  a  cerebral  deformation,  or  by  what  we  call  "psychologi- 
"  reasons?  In  Gussy's  case  it  might  be  a  matter  of  imagination.  No 
'sical  defect  to  be  observed — no  troubles  of  environment.  I  some- 
es  thought  She's  just  an  ordinary  trouble-maker — mean,  ugly,  pre- 
lerous — and  the  knife  was  sharpened  to  cut  her  throat.  But  she  al- 
(^s  saved  her  neck  by  this  fascinating  way  of  despising  everything 
I  everybody,  mainly  her  own  kind  and  race,  and  of  secluding  herself  %, 
n  the  world  of  duckhood. 

A  poultry  yard  grew  up  around  her,  populated  by  hens,  geese,  ducks. 
!  ever  stuck  to  the  same  attitude  of  challenge  and  isolation.  When 
came  in  the  mating  age  she  would'nt  reject  the  occasional  atten- 
is  of  a  drake,  but  right  after  consummation  she  would  turn  against 
1  and  pull  some  feathers  out  of  his  proudly  lifted  masculine  tail. 
:  went  on  to  escape — running  or  flying  away,  to  be  found  after  a 
lineous  search  at  some  spot  in  the  middle  of  a  swamp  or  a  wood- 
Dk. 

ME  day  she  disappeared  and  we  thought  it  was  for  good  this  time. 
:  when  a  month  or  so  had  passed,  there  suddenly  was  a  terrific 
awking,  hissing  and  chirking  under  the  rotten  floor  boards  of  the 
old  barn,  and  sneaking  out  between  the  stones  of  its  foundation 
le  Gussy — dirty,  starved,  agressive — leading  a  bunch  of  eleven 
Ay.  hatched  yellow  ducklings. 

VIotherhood  didn't  change  her  craziness.  She  behaved  shy  and 
1,  avoided  the  common  feeding  places  and  tried  to  bring  up  her 
;d  to  the  same  asocial  and  misgiving  way  of  self-seclusion.  But 
n  they  grew  a  little  older  and  took  to  the  habits  of  "normal" 
klings,  she  bit  them  away  from  her,  retired  brusquely  from  family 
and  looked  for  a  lonely  manure  heap  on  which  to  defy  God  and  the 
Id. 

'  Normal "  is  a  tricky  term  to  be  used  for  any  kind  of  living  creature, 
nybody  says  that  animals  are  generally  "normal" — more  normal 
n  men — I'd  think  he  rather  does'nt  know  much  about  animals.  Nor 
ut  men.  You  have  to  watch  your  animals,  and  to  find  out  about 
r  personal  dispositions.  This  will  take  much  time  and  it  might  not  be 
:tly  commercial,  but  it  gives  you  some  stories  to  tell  and  to  remem- 
! 

E)ne  couldn't  say  that  Hermann  is  crazy,  but  as  a  gander  he  cer- 
ly  is  a  failure,  in  spite  of  his  very  normal  strength  and  nastiness. 
s  named  Hermann  because  of  his  eyes  which  are  of  a  bright,  heav- 

blue,  as  clear  as  false.   Like  those  of  the  old  German  leader,  Ar- 

as — the  one  who  instigated  his  blond-plaited  wife,  Thusnelda,  to 
le  love  to  the  Roman  fieldmarshal's  aide-de-camps  and  to  lure  him 
light  through  a  little  side  door  in  the  cage  of  the  wild  bear,  while  he 
aght  to  enter  her  bedroom.  She's  said  to  have  got  a  kick  out  of 
ching  his  disappointment  when  he  was  embraced  by  the  bear  in- 
,d  of  by  herself. 

These  are  the  sort  of  implications  called  by  the  sight  of  Hermann's 

3y  eyes  or  by  the  bites  of  his  sharp-edged  beak.   But  the  trouble 

Hermann  is  that  he  doesn't  care  a  bit  for  Thusnelda,  the  fat, 

te  goose  supposed  to  be  his  legitimate  wife,  nor  for  any  other  geese, 

only  for  ducks.    This  of  course  leads  to  nothing — biologically 
cen.  But  he  seems  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  admiration  that 
e  of  the  lady  ducks  are  paying  to  his  imposing  size  and  to  his  tyran- 
possessiveness. 
3ut  even  Hermann,  who  is  quite  useless,  escaped  the  long  knife  and 

acquitted  from  an  imminent  death  sentence.  When  Thusnelda  had 
phed  her  first  bunch  of  goslings — an  achievement  that  could  not  be 
lited  to  his  co-operation — we  kept  the  goslings  strictly  separated  in 
re-fenced  yard  in  order  to  save  them  from  the  approach  of  the  gan- 
who  have  the  bad  reputation  to  be  jealous  and  naughty  fathers, 
aiig  and  sometimes  killing  their  own  flesh  and  blood, 
■"or  a  few  days  I  watched  Hermann  leaving  his  platonic  harem  (or 
)f  yes-ducks) ,  circling  restlessly  around  that    (Continued  on  Page  84) 


'if. 


■O* 


\ 


ANTEDILUVIAN 
DRAGON 


^  ADOLF    ^-^ 


^   MU550/O 


1   r  pOEBgELS. 


:^^ 


OLD-FASHIONED  CHICKEN  ME 

.  ,u      hi.Wen       •       iVl  qts.  water  ^  "P 

One  4-5  lb.  chicken  ^^^^^j  pg^ 

""s.:rc-v(-. • • 

part  milk.  Stir  in  peas.  guessing!  With 

Top  with  rmro  P«^'^?',. '^l^Tt/y   Method  on  the 

cIZ  and  the  ,--  -re-J  TenK^  ""^'"^K^ 
Crisco  labe  you  U  ge      ak5^  .^  h„t  oven  C42o  t.) 

Jfaf  ;^n' AK-^-ents  Level.  Serves  6.         


K 


>m 


^opf  It's  Sunday  Dinner  f 

For  exciting,  digestible  dishes  — COOK  WITH  CRISCO! 
It  does  MORE  for  all  your  cooking! 


Ever  wonder  how  some  folks  always  serve 
grand  meals — shortages  or  no?  Fine  ingredi- 
ents have  a  lot  to  do  with  it.  Take  shorten- 
ings. You'll  find  good  cooks  swear  by  Crisco! 

It's  true!  More  women  choose  Crisco  than 
any  other  vegetable  shortening.  It  has  a 
cooking  secret  that  gives  you  lighter  cakes 
than  the  most  expensive  shortening.  With 


Crisco's  sure-fire  Pastry  Method  you'll 
get  flaky,  tender  pie  crust  every  lime!  And 
foods  fried  light  and  crisp  in  Crisco  are  di- 
gestible even  for  children! 

Yes,  Crisco  cooking  makes  good  eating. 
Sunday  dinner  or  pick-up  supper — you  can 
depend  on  pure,  all-vegetable  Crisco  to 
make  all  your  cooking  exciting — digestible! 


c^'^S^^Zi^ 


II 


NEW  CRISCO  COOK  BOOK 

Send  lOf^  in  coin  and  a  Crisco 
label  (any  size)  to  Crisco, 
Dept.  HJ,  Box  837,  Cincin- 
nati 1,  Ohio,  for  the  64-page 
"Recipes  for  Good  Eating." 
Offer  good  in  United  States, 
including  Hawaii. 


CHOCOLATE  CREAM  LAYER  CAKE 
Crisco  gives  yoo  lighter  cakes. 

,.     „     .     1  cop  sugar    •     Vi  »sp.  salt 
y,  cop  Cnsco  1  «"P       « 

1  tsp.  vanilla         ^  ^sa 
2  cops  sifted  cake  floor 
27,  tsps.  baking  powder 

„,.     cnlt     vanilla   and 
Combine   Crisco,   sugar    f't.  ^ 
et;gs.  (Crisco  has  develop  than  the 

secret.  It  gives  you  I'S/^J^F  ,,  Beat  thor- 
most  expensive  shotemng^^^.^^^^ 

oughly.  Add  «f  ^/^^^^^Vtwo  8-inch  "Cns- 
n^^ely  with  "^''h- ^^^^s  in  moderate  oven 
l3??F!)r5-3Smtn.S.SpUtUyers;spread 

rijMSOFT"  CHOCOIATE  rROST.NO:  Mix  « 
.•STAY-SOFT    ^    ,  cornstarch,   i-3        ' 

cup  cocoa.  3  \°^''rrtdl'2cupsmdk.  Co"« 
sugar, '.  tsp.  salt.  Artai^  Remove  and  add 
until  thick,  «<'"'f  o    en.  K^.^^^_   ^^^^  ^l 

1  tsp.  butter   and  1  tsp. 

Measurements  Level. 


I.;t»^r  V 


It'sOigestible! 

9  OUT  OF   10  DOCTORS 
TELL  YOU  SO! 


even  forchi/dreni 

2  «sps    »>„i.-  '  '*P-  soft    •     I/.  . 

"'""J-ng  powder.,, ^/•,;;''-Peppe, 

'  /»  '"PS  cooked  s..  '"P  ""'k 

f'-^r  upset  rfi"  °"  ^'"h  Sides    m      '"^"^'d 


January,  1945 


hmm  IpiiiNJ  Piiliii 

CORP.  ROBERT  SMITH  is  a  flying  photographer  with  an  Air 
Corps  weather  squadron  in  tlie  Southwest  Pacific.  In  Africa,  last 
year.  Corporal  Smith  won  a  Purple  Heart,  and  lay  in  an  Algiers  hos- 
pital, remembering  another  hospital  he  had  known  fifteen  years  be- 
fore. Struck  by  poliomyelitis  at  the  age  of  five,  he  was  paralyzed  in 
both  legs  and  crippled  for  almost  ten  years.  Robert  is  one  of  20(X) 
polio  victims  who  have  been  helped  in  the  long  road  up  to  health  and 
normal  living  by  the  Emergency  Aid  of  Pennsylvania. 

When  the  epidemic  of  1916  swept  the  country,  Philadelphia  was 
left  with  1016  cases,  most  of  them  children  under  two.  The  Emergency 
Aid,  itself  a  two-year-old  infant  formed  to  give  relief  to  war  sufferers, 
was  asked  by  the  Director  of  Health  to  be  the  official  agency  for  after- 
care—in this  disease  all-important,  since  no  prevention  is  yet  known. 

The  Infantile  Paralysis  Committee  is  still  doing  its  unique  job:  it 
has  complete  records  of  all  cases  in  1916  and  since;  it  has  maintained 
personal  contact  with  each  child  and  seen  to  it  that  each  received  the 
limit  of  medical  aid;  and  its  Bureau  of  Placement  and  Training  has 
put  many  on  the  road  to  skills,  scholarships  and  jobs. 

All  polio  cases  are  reported  to  the  Board  of  Health  as  soon  as  recog- 
nized, and  sent  to  the  Philadelphia  Hospital  for  Contagious  Diseases. 
The  hospital  reports  all  cases  to  the  Emergency  Aid,  whose  staff 
members  visit  distraught  families,  and  assure  them  of  financial 
assistance  if  it  is  needed.  After  the  quarantine  period,  patients  are 
sent  home  or  to  other  hospitals  for  further  treatment.  Those  who  are 
sent  home  and  cannot  afford  private  care  are  assigned  to  clinics  near 
their  homes  for  periodic  checkups  and  treatment.  The  committee's 
motor-corps  members  take  children  to  the  clinics  if  families  are  unable 
to  do  so,  or  visit  the  family  to  find  out  why  Johnny  missed  his  last  ap- 
pointment. Each  case  worker,  with  help  from  the  Advisory  Commit- 
tee of  Orthopaedic  Surgeons,  advises  families  about  operations  and 
hospitalization.  When  braces,  crutches  and  corrective  shoes  are  be- 
yond the  family's  means,  the  committee  supplies  them.  (Since  the 
National  Foundation  was  started  in  1938,  it  has  paid  these  bills.) 

Mary  Ann  Jones,  the  first  1916  case,  is  one  of  the  severely  handi- 
capped who  have  been  able  to  support  themselves  through  the  com- 
mittee's sewing  class.  This  was  started  by  Mrs.  E.  Lois  Bateman,  en- 
ergetic, white-haired  director  of  the  committee's  work,  who  deter- 
mined that  her  girls  would  not  waste  their  days  making  useless 
mediocrities  to  be  bought  as  charity.  She  scouted  for  the  best  teach- 
ers available  and  found  two  who  have  taught  the  girls  to  do  fine 
drawn  linenwork  and  perfectionist  handwork  on  silk  lingerie.  The  18 
members  of  the  present  class— there  have  been  38  in  all— have  more 
orders  from  their  Saratoga  and  Florida  clientele  than  they  can  fill. 

Laura  Brown,  another  1916  case,  was  the  first  girl  to  go  to  France 
on  an  exchange  scholarship  from  Temple  University.  Paralyzed  in 
one  leg,  she  went  through  seven  operations. 

Since  the  1916  epidemic,  there  has  been  no  outbreak  to  equal  it, 
but  in  1932  there  were  720  cases,  and  in  1944,  250.  Meanwhile,  the 
committee  is  proud  of  its  college  and  business-school  graduates,  of 
two  boys  teaching  aeronautic  groundwork,  of  others  overseas. 

With  no  ounce  of  polio  prevention  yet  in  sight,  other  cities  would  do 
well  to  adopt  Philadelphia's  pound  of  cure. 


m  m  WOMl  II  THE 


IT  IS  hard  to  realize  the  epoch  in  which  one 
lives,  particular!}'  if  it  is  an  epoch  of  great 
and  decisive  clianges.  For  change  does  not 
suddenly  show  itself  in  our  everyday  life — 
particularly  in  the  everyday  life  of  women.  The 
fact  that  in  this  war  America  has  emerged  as 
the  premier  world  power  does  not  affect  the 
cooking  of  breakfast,  the  dressing  of  the  chil- 
dren, the  getting  them  oflF  to  school,  and  all 
the  other  routines  of  the  domestic  lives  which 
are  our  normal  sphere. 

But  in  the  long  run  it  will  affect  all  our  fami- 
lies. For  we  liave  not  only  become,  in  these 
few  bitter  years  of  war,  the  recognized  indus- 
trial leader  of  the  world,  but  we  have  become 
the  leading  naval  power  on  the  seven  .seas. 

This  fact,  new  to  us,  is  not  new  in  world  his- 
tory. Since  ships  have  sailed  and  men  have 
fought  with  ships — and  that  is  for  as  long  as  we 
have  human  history — .some  nation  has  occupied 
the  position  into  which  we  now  have  step])ed. 

And  always,  whenever  a  nation  has  assumed 
such  a  position,  all  its  habits  of  life  have  been 
influenced.  Britain,  for  instance,  became  a  na- 
tion of  tea  drinkers  becau.se  of  its  Oriental  pos- 
sessions. There  was  a  time  when  the  English 
were  not  a  nation  of  world  travelers.  At  that 
time  all  the  world  traveling  was  done  by  Span- 
iards and  Portuguese,  because  Spain  and  Portu- 
gal ruled  the  waves.  It  was  British  supremacy 
on  the  .seven  seas  that  made  the  British  the 
greatest  traders  and  travelers  on  earth. 

You  may  remember  the  four  senators  who 
made  a  world  trip  some  months  ago,  and  came 
back  highly  irritated  to  find  Englishmen  all 
over  the  world,  holding  iin])ortant  positions 
from  the  Congo  to  Iran.  It  seemed  to  the  sen- 
ators as  though  there  were  .some  plot  to  keep 
Americans  out.  But  the  British  had  been  there 
all  the  time — and  for  long  before  the  .senators 
thought  of  making  a  world  lour  because  there 
was  a  world  war. 

DUT  our  children,  and  even  more  our  grand- 
children and  great-grandchildren,  will  travel — 
and  I  hope  without  wars  to  compel  it.  At  the 
end  of  this  war  America  will  not  only  have  the 
greatest  navy — an  unetiualed  nav,\ — but  .she 
will  have  the  greatest  merchant  marine.  These 
ships  will  not  only  bring  goods  to  America  and 
from  America,  but  will  carry  them  between 
other  countries.  And  the  most  modern  form  of 
communication,  in  the  only  other  world-wide 
element  besides  the  seas — the  air — has  shown 
its  first  great  possibilities  in  America. 

Now  all  this  means  that  America  is  a  world 
power  and  will  develop  a  world  outlook.  Until 
this  epoch  it  has  been  the  greatest  provincial 
civilization  and  state  on  earth.  It  is  so  no 
longer.  We  have  become  a  world  power,  not  be- 
cause a  battle  was  won  between  isolationists 
and  internationalists,  but  because,  when  we 
were  forced  to  mobilize  our  full  power,  we,  and 
the  whole  world,  discovered  what  America  is. 
There  will  be  lots  of  nostalgia  for  the  old  Amer- 
ica, just  as,  to  this  day,  there  is  still  a  lurking 
nostalgia  for  "little  England."  For  power 
brings  increased  and  often  irksome  responsi- 
bilities and  problems — just  as  becoming  adult 
brings  responsibilities  and  problems. 

But  what  does  this  great  change  mean  for 
us,  as  American  women  ? 

For  one  thing,  it  means  reconsidering  the 
education  of  our  children.    I  predict  that  our 


education  will  grow  much  tougher — more  ex- 
act and  exacting.  Our  educational  system — 
and  its  products — will  go  into  competition  wit! 
other  nations.  Our  boys  and  girls  will  resent 
cutting  a  bad  figure  anj'where  in  the  world. 
We  shall  become  more  decorous,  because  how- 
ever we  behave  among  ourselves,  we  shall 
want  to  appear  well  among  outsiders. 

And  in  education,  horizons  will  be  widened. 
For  the  past  hundred  years  millions  of  Amer- 
icans who  came  to  this  country  with  foreign 
languages  speedily  and  systematically  forgot 
them  in  the  effort  to  become  Americans  of 
American  speech.  But  their  descendants  will 
relearn  the  languages  of  their  ancestors,  and 
others  besides.  In  fifty  years  we  shall  expect 
every  high-school  graduate  to  be  able  to  speak 
fluently  one  or  two  languages  besides  his  own. 

Geography  will  not  be  a  study  taught  in  a 
few  grades,  but  will  be  a  science.  The  time  has 
passed  when  West  Point  could  neglect  geog- 
raphy; and  not  only  geography  but  related 
studies — anthropology  and  cultural  history,  for 
instance — will  occupy  a  prominent  place  in 
everj'  .school  and  college  curriculum. 

The  movies  will  change,  and  will  become  re- 
lated to  education  instead  of  being  pure  enter- 
tainment. That  has  started  even  during  this 
war.  Radio  programs  will  improve.  And  home 
libraries  will  come  in  again. 

All  this  will  also  mean  that  the  conversation 
in  the  home  will  become  broader  and  more 
adult.  Johnny  will  be  thinking  of  highway 
building  in  Latin  America,  and  learning  Span- 
ish in  connection  with  engineering.  Mary  will 
be  thinking  of  hospitals  in  China,  and  taking 
language-school  lessons  in  Chinese,  during  her 
nurse's  training. 

But  all  this  will  not  mean  that  America  will 
become  less  dear.  On  the  contrary — it  will  be- 
come even  more  vividly  in  every  person's  mind 
"home."  People  will  move  farther  from  home, 
and  come  back  more  often  to  the  very  place 
where  they  were  born.  For  the  place  where 
they  were  born  will  be  the  most-loved  image  in 
their  minds,  in  years  spent  far  from  home. 

It  will  be  the  aim  of  every  American  to  have  a 
home  for  his  family — not  a  series  of  shifting 
apartments — in  order  to  keep  a  secure  center 
for  a  family  temporarily  spread  far  apart. 

How  will  American  women  take  it?  They 
will  take  it  the  way  they  have  taken  every  de- 
velopment and  change  in  our  national  life. 

In  travels  in  many  countries,  I  have  often 
observed  how  Woman — the  Mother — is  repre- 
sented in  public  moituments.  She  is  always 
memorialized  as  sitting  down,  with  a  child  em- 
braced in  her  arms.  But  in  the  public  parks, 
from  Ohio  to  California,  there  is  a  typical 
American  monument  to  American  woman- 
hood. In  this  typical  monument,  the  woman  is 
not  sitting,  nor  even  standing,  but  stridiiif;. 
Her  brow  is  lifted  to  the  sun,  and  her  skirts  are 
swept  back  from  her  legs  by  her  stride.  Her 
children  cling  to  those  skirts — and  they  are 
walking  too.  She  is  going  with  them,  into 
newly  discovered  and  opened  lands.  She  is  the 
Pioneer  Woman. 

And  in  the  New  America,  young  women  will 
go  into  the  world  with  young  men;  and  marry, 
and  come  home;  and  keep  a  center,  and  send 
their  children  out  again. 

And  in  spite  of  all  the  nostalgia — we'll  like  it. 


^        BUY   MOIIK   WAII    IIOIVDS      ^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


X  (?.W^  LOOK  toubb:!!^ 


PtRncijou 


•  Here's  pineapple  as  the  Islanders  know  it:  peak 
flavor  ripeness  .  .  .  real  fresh  fruit  tang!  The  two 
elusive  quahties  in  pineapple,  always  so  difficult  to 
capture  in  a  can! 

Next  time  you  turn  out  Libby's  golden  slices  or 
pour  a  glassful  of  Libby's  sunny  juice,  notice  the 
fresh  fruit  fragrance.  Then  taste  .  .  .  critically. 


^'WASTE"  PAPiR  IS  WAR  PAPER,  SAVE  IT! 


Never  any  too-sweet  sweetness  with  Libby's!  In- 
stead, the  full,  natural  goodness  that  comes  only 
fi-om  fruit  picked  at  the  very  peak  of  ripeness. 

Have  some  of  this  glorious  fruit  soon  ...  a  spe- 
cial treat  these  days.    In  buying,  see  the  name, 
Libby's",  to  make  sure  of  peak  flavor  ripeness  in 
both  pineapple  sHces  and  refreshing  juice.  In  fact, 


when  buying  any  canned  fruit  it's  always  smart 

to  look  to  Libby's— for /?er/ech'on.' 

LIBBY,  MfNEILL   &   LIBBY,   C/i/cogo  9,  Illinois 

^N^^*/;/^ Listen  to  "MY  TRUE  STORY"  .  .  .  thrilling  real-life 
^^»l^^  '''^°""°^'  Every  morning,  Monday  through  Friday, 
:l^l^a\^'°=°°  ^^^'  9^0°  CWT.  11:30  MWT,  10:30  PWT. 
A  /i^^\NB'ye  Network  stations. 


PINEAPPLE 
PINEAPPLE    JUICE 


yjl*^? 


THE  SUB-DEB  ...  BY  ELIZABETH  WOODWARI 


Take  a  girl  out  a  couple  or  six  times,  and  she  sews 
her  name  on  you  like  the  tab  in  the  back  of  her  rain- 
coat. Spend  some  consecutive  time  with  her,  call 
her  a  bit  on  the  phone,  give  her  the  old  concentration 
at  the  dances,  and  she  thinks  she  has  you  on  a  leash. 

From  then  on  she  snaps  commands  and  you're 
supposed  to  pop  tricks.  She  thinks  she  can  account 
for  your  moods  and  whims.  She  goes  maternal  when 
you  sprain  an  ankle,  and  overflows  with  good  works 
and  waiting  on.  She  deals  out  advice.  She  checks 
your  innings  and  outings.  She's  all  over  you  like  a 
damp  fog.  A  guy  can  take  this  if  he's  nicked  with 
love.  If  not,  it's  a  tough  spot.  'Cause  she's  put  her 
hex  sign  on  you.  And  man,  you're  in  her  hands! 


Just  sistle  through  your  teeth  at  yonder  stream- 
lined blonde  and  watch  your  girl  seethe.  You  can 
practically  iiear  her  machinery  taking  mental  meas- 
urements. And  comparing  them  with  her  own,  of 
course.  She  tries  on  the  blonde's  dress  and  perches 
the  blonde's  hat  on  her  own  brown  curls.  She  prances 
a  few  steps  in  imitation  of  the  blonde's  swagger.  And 
because  she's  basically  modest,  she  comes  off  hurt. 

You  make  a  crack  about  women,  and  her  eyes 
dampen.  You  pronounce  about  peoijle  and  she  squares 
off  to  defend  herself.  You  talk  big  about  big  things, 
and  she  pulls  it  in  little  to  her  own  angle.    She 


hopes  hard  that  you'll  like  her.  So  she  treats  you 
to  a  personal-appearance  tour  of  her  ideas  and 
feelings.  Any  clue  to  you  sets  off  personal  compari- 
sons. Which  is  a  nasty  mire  to  get  stuck  in. 

PREFERABLY  PERMANENT- 

A  guy  now  and  then  changes  his  mind.  Not  that 
he's  more  fickle  than  females.  It's  just  that  Dora 
looks  interesting  after  a  diet  of  Dinah,  and  why  not 
go  skate  on  another  pond  for  a  change?  Dinah 
shouldn't  mind.   But  does  she? 

You  skip  a  Saturday  night  and  you  get  a  call  on 
Sunday.,  "Where  were  you  last  night?"  If  you  stall, 
she'll  buzz  your  ear  till  she  finds  you  out.  So  you 
may  as  well  mention  Dora.  Then  hold  the  phone  far 
away!  "Don't  you  like  me  any  more?"  What  a 
question !  Sure  you  do.  And  you  like  Dora  too.  But 
that's  not  Dinah's  equation.  With  her  you're  per- 
manent. Blinders  and  ear  muffs  are  the  costume 
she's  chosen  for  you.  And  any  wandering  from  her 
straight-and-narrow  calls  forth  the  bloodhounds. 

There's  no  pussyfooting  with  a  girl  who  thinks 
you're  hers  forever.  You  either  are  or  you  aren't. 
Play  cagey  and  she'll  track  you  down  with  re- 
proaches, words  and  looks.  A  meat  cleaver's  pretty 
rough,  but  the  only  weapon  if  you'd  change  the 
status  quo.  After  all,  there's  nothing  very  static 
about  a  guy's  first  six  or  eight  loves.  He's  got  to  find 
out — and  he  never  will  in  a  predicament  permanent. 

PERVERSE 

You  rig  up  a  big  bowling  bout.  You  fix  it  for  a 
couple  of  other  guys  to  drag  their  women.  You  have 
yours  all  set.  You  think.  When  the  time  comes,  she's 
all  rigged  up  in  high  heels  and  a  dizzy  hat,  and  she's 
changed  her  mind.  No  mild  athletics  for  her  this 
night.  She's  in  the  mood  for  glamour.  You  put  up 
an  argument.  The  others  expect  you  to  show.  You 


talk,  she  bites  her  heels  into  the  rug.  What  can  you 
do  with  a  woman  who's  determined  to  do  different? 
Who  gets  stuffy  if  she  doesn't  get  her  own  way? 
Who's  impossible  to  convince?  Why  do  parents  keep 
feeding  brats  like  that? 

POSITIVELY  PERPLEXING 

She  shifts  seats  three  times  in  the  bus  till  she's 
finally  settled.  She  drags  you  to  inspect  the  stills 
at  five  movies  before  making  up  her  mind  which 
show  she  wants  to  see  from  the  inside.  She  spills 
that  secret  you  told  her  in  a  moment  of  weakness, 
and  embarrasses  you  no  end  in  front  of  some  guys. 
She  teases  you  into  inviting  her  home  for  dinner  with 
your  family,  and  once  there  delights  in  poking  fun 
at  you.  Which  lets  you  in  for  later  ribbing  and  puts 
you  on  the  spot  with  two  questions:  "What  do  you 
ever  see  in  her?"  And  "How  did  they  like  me?" 
Neither  of  which  a  guy  can  answer^true. 

Such  a  woman  is  a  puzzle.  It  takes  a  master  mind 
to  untangle  her  pattern.  Shfe's  nice,  then  she  knifes 
you.  She  leads  you  on,  then  she  screes  out  of  reach. 

All  women  have  foibles.  But  some  women  have 
them  all.  If  the  ones  on  your  list  persist  in 
being  persimmons,  you'd  better  go  fishing,  my  lad ! 


KEEP  ON  BEING  A  DUNDERCLUMP! 

Be  ehy  and  awkwurd,  be  fluttery-handed  and  fuzzy- 
tongued,  and  you'll  cut  quickly  any  chances  of  dating 
any  boy.  You'll  have  a  short  and  snappy  social 
existence — and  then  limbo.  It's  better  to  be  bright 
about  boys.  And  you  can  be,  with  the  Sub-Deb 
liDoklets  under  your  belt.  Just  write  a  post  card  to 
ilie  Keference  Library,  Ladies'  Home  JouH^AL, 
rliiladelphia  5,  I'ennsylvonia,  and  ask  for  the  eom- 
i.l.te  free  list  of  Sub-Ueb   booklets.      It's    No.  1695. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Colds?  Sore  Throat? 


Let  LISTERINE  ANTISEPTIC 

get  after  the  germs 
that  go  with  them! 


The  delightful  Listerine  Antiseptic  gargle  taken  early  and 
often  may  spare  you  a  nasty  siege  of  trouble.  Here  is  why: 

Listerine  Antiseptic  reaches  way  back  on  throat  surfaces 
to  kill  millions  of  germs  called  the  "secondary  invaders," 
some  of  which  are  shown  to  the  right.  These  are  the  very 
types  of  germs  that  so  many  specialists  say  are  to  blame 
for  the  troublesome  aspects  of  a  cold. 

Listerme  Antiseptic's  quick,  germ-killing  action  helps  to 
guard  against  a  "mass  invasion"  of  such  germs  into  the 
tissues  where  they  may  set  up  or  aggravate  the  infection 
you  recognize  as  a  cold. 

In  other  words,  Listerine  Antiseptic  attacks  hosts  of 
these  germs  on  mouth  and  throat  surfaces  before  they 
attack  you. 

Fewer  Colds,  Tests  Showed 

Such  germicidal  action  perhaps  explains  Listerine  Anti- 
septic's remarkable  record  against  colds  in  tests  made  over 
a  period  of  12  years.  Note  these  impressive  results: 

That  regular  twice-a-day  Listerine  Antiseptic  users  had 
fewer  colds  and  fewer  sore  throats  than  non-users,  and 
that  when  colds  did  develop,  they  were  usually  less  severe 
and  shorter-lived  than  those  of  non-users. 

Isn't  that  something  to  remember  when  you  feel  a  cold 
coming  on?  Lambert  Pharmacal  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


Note  how  Listerine  Antiseptic 
gargle  reduced  germs 


BACILLUS  INFLUENZAE 
.\  "Secondary  Invader" 


BEFORE  ^ 

Above  is  illustrated  the  height 

^f  rinee  in  germ  reductions 
IShanlthroatsurace 

noted  in  test  cases  before  ana 

aftergarglingUstenneAnti 


AFTER 


.eductions  Of  surface  bac^eri^ 
.•nntrine  up  to  yo./  /o        . 


septic.  Actua 


I  tests  showed 


ranging  up  --  j^j^^^^ne 
r""  nric'argle,andupto 
iTonVi-r 'after  the 
Srine  Antiseptic  gargle. 


10 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


From  17  million  -to  26  million     then  to 
■33  million-  now  up  to  over  9i  million 
packages  use*.!  yearly  in  homes  like  yours! 
Such  growing,  overwhelming  preference 
tor  "Vicks"  tells  you  far  more  than  mere 
words  ever  coukl. 

It  tells  you  exactly  what  happens  when 
colds  are  in  the  air. 

Folks  try  "Vicks"  modern  home-reme- 


dies .  Results  delight  them.  And  they  pass  the 
good  word  along. ' 'Try  Vicks— works  fine !  " 
That's  what  increasing  millions  of  peo- 
ple say,  including  young  mothers.  And  they 
should  keep  on  saying  it  through  the  years 
because  Vicks  scientists  and  medical  men 
will  never  relax  their  efforts  to  find  im- 
proved and  better  ways  of  dealing  with  the 
always  serious  problem  of  colds. 


lerTHEeXPERIENCEOFMIlUONSBBYOVROatDE 


Helps  Prevent  many  colds  from 
developing  if  used  in  time. 
Just  put  a  few  drops  up  each 
nostril  at  tfie  first  sniffle  or 
sneeze  or  warning  sign  of  a 
cold.  A  specialized  medica- 
tion to  be  used  as  directed 
in  folder.      VICKS  VA-TRO-NOL 


Relieves  Miseries  of  devel- 
oped colds.  Rubbed  on  tfie 
throat,  chest  and  back, 
VapoRub's  famous  double 
action  starts  at  once  to  bring 
relief  The  best-known  home 
remedy  for  relieving  miser- 
ies of  colds.  VICKS  VAPORUB 


Eases  Coughs,  Husklness   due 

to  colds.  Results  are  so  very 
good  because  this  cough  drop 
is  medicated  with  throat 
soothing  ingredients  of  Vicks 
VapoRub  plus  other  cough- 
casing  medications. 
VICKS  Medicated  COUGH  DROPS 


Q 


Makes  Cold-Stuffed  Nose  Feel 
Clearer  in  seconds.  A  few 
whiffs  of  this  handy  Inhaler 
which  is  packed  with  really 
effeaive  medication  bring 
greater  breathing  comfort 
quickly.  Handy.  Use  as  often 
as  needed.     VICKS  INHALER 


MOWO¥ER\ir/MiUiOii  ViCKS  PACKAGES  USBO  YEARiy 


Our  Readers  Write  Us 


n^Ul  G.  I.  Joe  be  Cfaanfied? 

Dear  Editor :  It  seems  that  some  of  you 
home  folks  are  fearful  of  the  changes  being 
made  in  the  Joes  who  are  fighting  this  war. 
We  even  read  about  it  in  our  letters  from 
home.  And  that  is  bad. 

The  supposition  is  that  we  will  come 
home  complete  strangers.  That  we'll  have 
to  wear  a  red  carnation  so  you'll  know  us. 
We  don't  like  this.  We  resent  it  chiefly  be- 
cause we  know  it  isn't  true.  Some  changes 
there  will  undoubtedly  be,  but  pretty  gen- 
erally we'll  come  back  much  the  same  as 
we  went  away.  Most  of  the  change  that 
takes  place  will  be  in  knowledge  and  gen- 
eral growing  up — don't  forget  that  a  lot  of 
us  are  still  mighty  young. 

Most  likely  there  are  a  great  many 
falsely  hopeful  wives  who  are  due  for  an 
awful  letdown.  They  think  because  Joe 
has  been  Army-trained  in  neatness  he's 
going  to  hang  up  his  coat  the  minute  he 
gets  in  the  house  (all  hangers  facing  to- 
ward the  back,  you  lug!);  that  he's  going 
to  keep  his  dresser  drawers  in  the  same 
apple-pie  order  that  he  kept  his  foot 
locker;  leave  no  rings  in  the  bathtub  and 
prove  a  very  real  help  in  the  kitchen — after 
all.  he  did  KP.  didn't  he?  The  poor 
dears  1  I'll  lay  them  ten  to  one  that  Joe 
will  be  not  one  whit  better  housebroken 
than  he  was  before.  He  may,  indeed,  be 
oven  worse,  just  to  prove  he's  shuffled  off 
the  hated  discipline. 

One  of  the  most  ridiculous  charges  laid 
against  us  is  that  we  have  grown  so  accus- 
tomed to  the  companionship  of  men  that 
we  will  either  no  longer  desire  that  of 
w-omen  or  else  will  be  completely  unfitted 
for  it.  Yes.  that  has  been  said  in  print! 
Here  at  this  post  we  read  such  an  article 
and  the  howls  of  protest  that  went  up 
were  distinctly  nonprintable.  The  writer 
(a  woman,  by  the  way)  went  on  to  state 
that  Joe  Husband  would  be  .so  filled  with 
the  love  of  adventure  and  the  robust  chit- 
chat of  his  fellows  that  he'd  no  longer  be 
content  to  toast  his  shins  by  the  family 
fireside,  talking  of  inconsequential  things 
with  the  Little  Woman.  This  is  unadulter- 
atc<l  bilge  and  nonsense.  Five  minutes  of 
listening  to  the  conversations  around  any 
Army  camp — or  even  in  foxholes  during 
lulls  between  shell  bursts — should  quell  all 
such  silly  fears. 

And  right  now  I  want  to  burst  another 
bul)lik-  of  fear  that  has  grown  up  in  the 
minds  of  a  lot  of  gals  back  home:  the  fear 
that  your  own  particular  Joe  will  have 
changed  toward  you.  It  is  extremely  un- 
likely. I  believe  that  few  men  who  left 
wives  or  sweethearts  back  home  whom 
they  loved  have  changed  toward  them  in 
any  way — even  momentarily  or  tempo- 
rarily. Which  means,  in  plain  English, 
that  promiscuous  running  around  with  the 
few  wild  or  willing  women  who  cross  our 
paths  is  at  an  absolute  minimum.  I  speak, 
of  course,  only  for  those  men  who  had  real 
attachments  before  they  left  home.  I 
know  I  will  be  questioned  on  that  state- 
ment, but  I've  been  overseas  for  almost 
two  years  now,  I've  been  a  lot  of  places 
and  I've  met  a  lot  of  Joes,  and  it's  my 
honest  belief  that  most  of  them  are  being 
true  to  the  One  and  Only.  Give  us  a  break. 
Put  aside  your  fears  and,  above  all,  quit 
writing  us  these  disturbing  things! 

CPL.   PETER  ALLEN. 

Old  Enough  to  Know 

Sausalito,  California. 
■  Dear  Editors:  It  might  interest  you  to 
know  that  my  mother — Mrs.  G.  W. 
Perc> — will  be  ninety  years  old  next 
March.  She  has  decided  that  she  does 
not  wish  her  other  magazines — but  would 
like  to  keep  on  with  the  L.  H.  J. !  As  she 
has  taken  the  others  for  many  years  and 
read  them  with  keen  enjoyment,  this 
should  prove  something  or  other. 

ISABELLE  WEST. 

>  Because  the  Journal  is  the  nation's 
most  popular  magazine  among  teen-age 
girls,  we  especially  like  to  number  Mrs. 
Percy  among  our  readers.    ED. 

The  More  the  Merrier 

Notre  Dame,  Indiana. 
Dear  Editors :  Your  interest  in  the  prob- 
lems of  raising  a  large  family  prompts  me 


to  send  you  this  picture  of  the  M.  ft. 
Lietsch  family,  of  West  Burlington,  Iowa. 
Mr.  Lietsch  is  of  German  extraction, 
and  Mrs.  Lietsch  of  Irish  extraction.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Lietsch  has  been 
sick  for  several  years  and  has  only  moder- 
ate means,  the  family  has  managed  very 
well  through  the  skillful  buying  of  Mrs. 
Lietsch  and  the  co-operation  of  all.  When 
I  visited  them  not  long  ago,  the  older  girls 
were  earning  a  little  money.  Those  in  be- 
tween not  only  looked  after  the  younger 
members  of  the  family  but  were  also  act- 
ing as  part-time  mothers  for  some  of  the 
neighborhood  children.  To  keep  his  ex- 
panding family  under  the  roof  of  his  mod- 
est home,  Mr.  Lietsch  has  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  predominance  of  girls  to  turn 
the  top  floor  into  a  typical  boarding-school 
dormitory.  And  they  have  all  the  fun  of 
boarding-school  life,  too,  with  the  oldest 
girl  in  charge.  In  fact,  it  is  a  real  punish- 
ment for  ^ny  of  them  to  be  assigned  to  a 
private  room. 


The  Lietsch  family — Front  row,  left 
to  right:  I\'ancy  Carolyn,  Mary  Ellen, 
Therese  Francine,  Judith  Cecile, 
Milhiirn  Edward,  Jr.,  Suzanne  Jean, 
Michaela  Joan,  Rita  Clara.  Bark 
row,  left  to  right:  Gloria  Ann  (now 
Sister  Mary  Lucia),  Patricia  Jane, 
Mrs.  Lietsch,  holding  Mary  Lucia, 
Mr.  Lietsch,  Rosemary  Lillian,  Cel- 
ine Maureen,  Sanchia  Diane. 

Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  such 
articles  as  that  dealing  with  the  Max  Con- 
rad family.  We  had  nine  in  our  family 
group,  including  two  pairs  of  twins  (all 
twins  living,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
sixty-year  mark  and  over,  myself  being 
one).  It  was  the  very  size  of  our  family 
which  kept  my  mother  young  until  her 
middle  eighties  and  gave  me  the  incentive 
to  fill  in  my  leisure  time  between  teaching 
and  editing  with  writing  stories,  and  so 
on,  for  children.  Sincerely, 

T.  A.  L. 

London  Looks  Shabby 

The  Duke's  Cottage, 
Rudgwick.  England. 

My  dears :  I  had  two  days  in  London  for 
the  first  time  in  six  weeks,  and  found  the 
capital  shabbier  and  more  battered  than 
ever.  There  are  awfully  few  American  boys 
around,  but  some  very  saucy  numbers  in 
the  way  of  American  Red  Cross  girls. 

Rumors  of  slightly  increased  rations  are 
occasionally  dangled  before  us.  and  then 
someone  else  says  not  a  bit  of  it !  The 
generation  of  chilSren  now  growing  up 
who  have  never  seen  a  banana  look  like 
continuing  in  their  ignorance. 

A  strange  new  hairdressing  has  burst  on 
London.  Ladies  approach  who  seem  to 
have  a  pillow  on  top  of  their  head,  but 
when  you  look  again,  it  is  their  hair.  The 
milliners  are  now  thinking  up  some  pretty 
weird  little  hats  to  perch  on  top  of  the 
edifice.  What  dull  lives  men  have,  faithful 
to  the  old  Homburg,  though  I  have  never 
forgotten  how  Bruce  arranged  the  crown 
of  his.  My  love  to  you  both, 

DOROTHY  BLACK. 

My  dear  Bruce  and  Beatrice:  Now,  all 
about  our  village  at  this  time  of  year,  go 
good  ladies,  usually  with  wheelbarrows, 
collecting  Jumble.  I  don't  know  if  you 
have  this  honest  institution  over  your 
side,  but  Jumble  is  something  you  chuck 
out,  and  I  buy,  and  so  on,  ad  ir:finituiii. 
But  tragic  is  the  lot  of  these  good  ladies 
today.  Their  wheelbarrow  is  empty.  A 
(Continued  on  Page  13) 


LADIES'  nOME  JOURNAL 


11 


)^GL  U0(a\^  Hov^  C^A»i,'^^e. 


/t^  Silt  hW  u^ift,  t/u  ttfiut^  <:ftA?.. 


TRUSHAY 


The  ^,^">ij- 


"Bc|orclian(I" 
Lotion 


X       PRODUCT   OF 
BRrSTOL-MYERS 


12 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


BACK  HOME  FOR  KEEPS 


Stop  the  clocks,  blow  the  whistles,  catch-your-throat,  hold-your- 
heart — it's  true,  dear  God,  it's  true,  he's  home  for  keeps.  All  your 
dreams  spring  alive,  all  your  hopes  wake  anew,  all  the  life  for  two 
you've  ached  for  will  be  yours  to  have  and  to  hold. 

Now  you  can  plan — take  a  holiday  from  heartache.  There'll  be 
crisp  curtains  to  hang  in  the  windows,  a  deep  chair  for  him,  a  low 
chair  for  you.  There'll  be  fine  linen  to  lay  on  your  table,  the  fra- 
grance of  flowers,  the  friendly  gleam  of  sparkling  silverware.  Today 
war  postpones  your  finding  your  favorite  Community* — patterns 
brides  have  ever  loved,  traditional  craftsmanship  they've  honored. 
But  when  he's  home  for  keeps  we'll  have  it  for  you.  And,  trust 
tomorrow,  the  day  will  come! 


sitvERP*-'^^^ 


^TRADEMARK 


SPEED     THE      DAY! 


COPYRIGHT   1044.  ONEIDA.    UTD, 


BUY     WAR     BONDS! 


Zf  c^  C^o-ff^^'n^^^^u^ .  . .  ^  c<yt/i£ct 


rK.zi\lfyoud  like  a  full  color  reproduction  of  this  painting,  with- 
out advertising,   ivrite  COMMUNITY,    Dept.  G-5,  Oneida,  N.  Y. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


(Continued  from  Page  10) 
small  paper  carrier  would  do.    For  wher- 
ever they  go  they  are  met  with  the  indig- 
nant "Jumble!    I  am  wearing  all  mine!" 

I  would  like  very  much  to  see,  in  some 
museum  after  this  war,  a  small  case  con- 
taining the  underwear  of  the  quite  well- 
to-do.  There  are  some  really  monumental 
examples  of  patching  and  darning.  I  was 
at  work  on  some  of  mine  the  other  day, 
trying  to  remember  what  the  original  fab- 
ric looked  like,  for  there  is  little  of  it  left, 
and  someone  said,  "I  wonder  if  the 
Queen's  look  like  that  too."  My  dear, 
what  with  tops  cut  off  nightdresses  to 
turn  them  into  slips,  and  then  bits  cut  off 
that  the  following  year  to  turn  them  into 
something  smaller,  you'd  be  surprised. 
Small  wonder  the  good  ladies  moan  for 
Jumble,  all  in  vain. 

Lucy  Liphook,  the  cow,  is  still  doing  her 
stuff  quite  well,  but  she  has  a  most  unfor- 
tunate taste  for  night  life.  My  heart  sinks 
when  the  telephone  rings,  as  it  quite  often 
does,  and  a  voice  says,  "Are  you  the  owner 
of  a  dun  cow  wearing  a  leather  halter?" 
Every  time  I  see  Mr.  Wingate,  who  looks 
after  her,  he  assures  nie  she  is  settling 
down  nicely.  So  what  she'd  be  like  if  she 
was  unsettled,  I  simply  can't  imagine. 
But  now  I  know  the  origin  of  that  rhyme, 
"The  cow  jumped  over  the  moon."  Till 
I  owned  one,  I  always  looked  on  them  as 
pretty  static. 

Later.  We  have  news  at  last  of  John 
Winstanley,  badly  wounded,  carried  six 
days  in  a  litter  back  to  a  jungle  hospital 
somewhere  in  Burma,  with  scrub  typhus, 
which  I  imagine  is  something  the  same  as 
trench  fever,  only  a  tropical  edition,  and 
so  rather  worse.  When  I  remember  the 
discomfort  of  the  monsoon,  even  in  one's 
own  house,  with  electricity,  ice,  servants 
and  every  possible  alleviation  of  the  stuffy 
heat,  the  thought  of  fighting  in  the  jungle 
under  war  conditions  makes  me  a  little 
sicker  because  of  all  I  know.  It  used  to  be 
impossible  to  keep  bedclothes  dry  inside 
the  house.  So  they  were  left  all  day  hang- 
ing over  bamboo  hoppers  that  had  char- 
coal burning  in.side,  and  only  made  up  a 
few  minutes  before  their  inhabitant  was 
due  inside  them.  If  you  know  anyone  in 
this  unspeakable  seat  of  hostilities,  write 
to  them  twice  as  often  as  you  do  to  the 
ones  in  England  and  in  France ! 

Best  love  to  you  all, 

DOROTHY. 

The  Letter  He  Left  Behind 

Lt.  Com.  A.  R.  Bosworth,  USNR,  whose 
story,  The  Girl  They  Left  Behind,  ap- 
peared in  the  June,  1944,  Journ.\l, 
wrote  the  following  reply  to  a  Journ.\l 
editor  whose  letter  followed  him  around 
the  Pacific  for  seven  months. 

United  States  Pacific  Fleet 
and  Pacific  Ocean  Areas, 
Headquarters  of  the 
Commander  in  Chief. 
Dear  Editor :  I  think  you  might  want  to 
keep  this  envelope  as  a  cachet  collector's 
item.     It    reached    me    only    today.     Of 
course,  meanwhile,  I've  been  all  over  the 
South  Pacific,  but  I  flew,  and  have  had 
good  luck  with  most  of  my  mail — better 
than  could  be  expected  on  shipboard. 

I  was  ordered  to  Admiral  Halsey's  staff, 
and  flew  to  Noumea.  A  little  later  I  was 
in  the  Solomons.  The  tear  sheets  of  my 


Cachet  collector's  dream. 

LHJ  yarn  ^and  the  cocksure  boast  I  made 
about  being  headed  seaward)  caught  up 
with  me  in  a  tent  on  Guadalcanal.  Sea- 
going? 

I  estimate  that  I  have  flown  at  least  a 
hundred  thousand  miles — well,  nearly 
that  much  ! — over  water,  and  someday  I'll 
tell  you  about  the  stormy  night,  two  and 


a  half  hours  out  from  one  of  these  tiny 
atolls,  when  two  of  the  four  engines  quit — 
and  we  had  to  turn  back.  I  did  get  up  to 
Bougainville  while  fighting  was  still  go- 
'"g  °"-  ALLAN. 

It  V%'afi  Indecent! 

Hartford,  Connecticut. 
Dear  Editors:  As  a  reader  of  your  mag- 
azine since  those  crinoline  days  reviewed 
by  Betty  Hoffman,  I  feel  impelled  to 
make  my  first  criticism.  Your  article  by 
Marynia  Farnham,  etc.,  goes  bej'ond  the 
bounds  of  decency.  I  am  no  prude  and  real- 
ize that  my  grandchildren  see  and  hear 
plenty  in  this  movie-going  age,  but  rather 
than  allow  my  two  grandchildren,  twenty 
and  eighteen  (girls),  to  readtheplain  speak- 
ing on  sex  matters  by  these  people,  I  tore 
the  book  asunder.  The  majority  of  young 
people  find  out  about  sex,  but  not  in  pub- 
lic print.  The  curiosity  of  youth  being  pro- 
verbial, you  have  started  something  in 
allowing  such  a  thought-provoking  article 
to  appear  in  your  7vell  trusted  family  mag- 
azine. Sincerely, 

SARAH  L.  WAY. 

No,  It  XVasnH 

New  York  City. 
Dear  Sir:  The  article.  Men  Have  Lost 
Their  Women,  is  the  most  intelligent  and 
enlightening  discussion  I  have  ever  seen 
on  this  all-important  subject.  May  I  con- 
gratulate both  you  and  the  authors  for 
this  stimulant  to  better  thinking. 
Most  sincerely, 

JANET  BAIRD. 

Yes,  it  Was 

Toronto,  Canada. 

Dear  Sir:  For  years,  up  until  ten  years 
ago,  I  had  pleasure  taking  the  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  so  a  year  or  so  ago,  with 
an  eighteen-year-old  girl  just  out  of  the 
convent,  I  renewed  my  subscription  for 
three  years,  but  with  the  first  issue  it  did 
not  seem  to  be  the  same  magazine.  Parts 
of  it  had  grown  "modern,"  sexy  and  sug- 
gestive— why? 

Why  let  Ferdinand  Lundberg  and  Dr. 
Marynia  F.  Farnham  in  with  their  hor- 
rible contribution  to  entertainment  or 
education?  Yours  very  truly, 

MRS.  M.  K.  P. 

But  Not  for  Her 

Medina,  Texas. 
Dear  Editors:  The  psychological  essay 
called  Men  Have  Lost  Their  Women  is  a 
really  penetrating  analysis  of  a  moral  and 
emotional  problem  many  of  us  growing  up 
in  the  early  thirties  have  gropingly  tried 
to  understand.  If  this  were  really  under- 
stood by  all  the  wives  with  husbands  over- 
seas, it  would  have  far-reaching  effects  on 
their  emotional  conduct,  and  directly  af- 
fect their  husbands'  morale  on  the  fighting 
front — a  morale  which,  according  to  all 
reports,  has  been  devastated  by  unfaith- 
fulness and  callousness  of  many  wives.  As 
a  young  wife  with  husband  overseas,  I 
fully  appreciate  the  difficulty  of  the  sit- 
uation— but  how  important  it  is  for  all 
wives  to  understand  that  their  moral  con- 
duct is  not  limited  by  economic  restric- 
tion or  social  inhibition,  but  by  the  deep 
emotional  quality  of  their  own  natures! 
NATALIE  D  ASP  IT. 

However,  She  Doesn't  Agree 

Ballard  Vale,  Massachusetts. 

Dear  Editors :  The  authors  of  Men  Have 
Lost  Their  Women  fascinate  me  by  their 
use  of  alleged  facts.  Women  have  wanted 
a  man's  education,  not  because  men  had 
it,  but  because  it  was  the  best  education 
available.  I  believe  it  is  the  kind  of  psy- 
chological training  forced  on  women 
that  makes  them  less  honest,  less  produc- 
tive and  less  loving  than  men.  The  train- 
ing of  children  is  a  very  important  work — 
and  I  believe  that  it  is  something  that  the 
modern,  intelligent,  outgoing  woman  is 
much  better  equipped  to  do  than  the  lit- 
tle woman  who.se  father,  brother  or  hus- 
band has  kept  her  blindfolded. 

I  seriously  believe  that  a  much  more 
satisfactory  relationship  between  husband 
and  wife  is  po.ssible  now  than  ever  before, 
that  women  in  America  are  happier  than 
they  have  ever  been,  and  that  they  are 
only  beginning  to  realize  their  possibilities. 
I  can't  see  that  the  article  has  contributed 
a  single  helpful  thought. 

JANE   PERRY. 


There's  more  than  one  way  to  bring  sunshine  into  a 
January  day.  A  house  that's  cheery  helps  a  lot.  So  — 


If  you've  southern  exposure 
in  your  dining  or  living  room 
— store  away  window  curtains 
and  replace  them  with  a  shelf 
or  two  and  all  your  favorite 
plants.  Sun  and  green  things 
growing  will  do  worlds  to  send 
your  morale  skyward. 


And  where's  that  upholstered 
chair  that's  been  looking  win  ter- 
weary?There's  no  rule  says  you 
must  have  it  all  one  color!  Why 
not  bright  gingham,  plaid  and 
plain  like  this';'  It'll  give  a  lift 
to  family  spirits — quick ! 


And  even  prouder  —  when 
it  holds  a  Whitman's  Sampler. 
For  these  deliciously  tempting 
chocolates  are  favorites  with 
everyone.  An  aflernoon'ssewing 
— or  an  evening's  oard-[)laying 
or  conversation,  becomes  just 
that  much  more  fiui  when 
there's  an  opened  Sampler  a  I 
hand.  The  luscious  creams,  the 
crisp  nuts  and  butter-smoolli 
caramels  so  ri<'hly  <lippcd  in 
Whitman's  famous  chocolate 
are  completely  irresistil)le — as 
all  your  friends  will   tell  you. 


If  you  can't  alwuyB  pet  your  favorite 
Saiii|>ler.  ii'h  hcraiiRe  iiiillioiiHof  pouiiiIm 
of  \Vliiliiiair«  (^hoeolatee  arc  Ruing  In 
all  our  fighling  fronts. 


No,  you  can't  plant  your  garden  yet — but  you  can 
dream.  And  you  can  also  use  the  bright  vegetable 
and  flower  pictures  from  your  favorite  seed  catalogue 
to  turn  your  old  coffee  table  into  sonu'tbing  right 
fancy.  Cut  colored  cardboar<l  to  fit  your  lable  top — 
nioiuil  the  prints  neally^lop  «ilh  a  sheet  of  glass 
— and  you  have  a  gay  new  table  to  do  you  proud. 


CHOCOLATES 


Uwitf .  1944.  Stephen  K.  WhltOMD  *  Hua.  loc  ,  mils 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  194( 


GRAND  FOR  LUNCH!  Because  it's  a  splen- 
did energy  food,  Swift's  Premium 
Bacon  helps  make  lunches  substan- 
tial. And  just  the  fragrance  and  the 
sight  of  it  make  appetites  glow. 
Your  family  will  enjoy  this  nutri- 
tious luncheon  dish,  suggested  by 
Martha  Logan,  Swift's  chief  Home 
Economist:  For  each  serving,  cover 
2  slices  of  brown  bread  with  hot 
baked  beans;  top  with  circles  of 
onion  and  two  or  more  slices  of 
Swift's  Premium  Bacon.  Serve 
with  cabbage  and  carrot  salad. 


SAVE  THE  DRIPPINGS!  You  know  how 
badly  fats  are  needed  for  the  war 
effort  so  of  cpurse  you  wouldn't 
throw  any  away.  But  drippings 
from  delicious  Swift's  Premium 
Bacon  have  many  fine  food  uses 
—  you  want  to  get  all  the  good 
from  them  before  turning  Ihem  in. 
So  strain  them  through  cheese 
cloth  or  a  fine-me.shed  sieve;  store 
in  the  refrigerator;   and  then  .  .  . 


USE  THEM  ALL  THESE  WAYS!  Martha  Lo- 
gan likes  to  use  Swift's  Premium 
Bacon  drippings  as  seasoning  for 
vegetables;  as  shortening  for  bis- 
cuits, muffins,  waffles;  as  seasoning 
in  bread  dressing,  macaroni  and 
rice  dishes;  and  for  pan-frying. 

After  you've  got  all  the-  flavor 
and  food  value  from  the  drippings 
be  sure  to  take  what's  left  to  your 
meat  dealer. 


ri^e 


* 


fAMOT^r!^' 


too! 


de  P* 


5^itV- 


pre^ft* 


oi** 


v/os 


xo\ 


than 


Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS 


twice  <»* 


Fifty  Years  Ago 
in  the  Journal 


IN  JANUARY,  1895,  Paris  de- 
creed skirts  eight  yards  wide,  Adolf 
Berle  was  born,  and  the  Japanese 
won  free  entry  into  California,  wliich 
soon  expected  to  be  overrun.  In 
England,  Lord  Randolph  Churchill 
died.     His   marriage   to   Jennie   Je- 


rome,  daughter  of  a  New  York 
broker,  launched  a  long  series  of 
marriages  between  Americans  and 
titled  Europeans,  and  gave  to  the 
world  Winston  Churchill. 

"Since  so  many  young  tvonten 
have  blossomed  out  as  clerks,  ste- 
nographersand  typewriters,"  com- 
plains a  masculine  reader  in  the 
January,  1893,  JOUKISAL,  "will  you 
tell  me  what  is  to  become  of  the 
young  man?'''  Answers  Editor  Bok: 
"If  a  young  man's  ivork  can  be 
improved  upon  by  a  girl,  whose 
fault  is  it?'' 

"Mrs.  H.  E.  M.:  It  is  an  exploded 
theory  that  the  matron  of  35  should 
wear  only  staid  and  sober  colors." 

"Nell:  Why  not  give  your  guest  a 
clean  napkin  at  each  meal?  If, 
however,  you  feel  that  you  cannot 
do  this,  give  her  a  fresh,  pretty 
piece  of  ribbon  to  use  in  place  of 
the  napkin  ring  which  you  think 
she  should  have  brought." 

Advises  a  Doctor  Marcy:  "An  excel- 
lent gargle  for  sore  throat  can  be  made 
by  mixing  a  teaspoonful  of  salt  in  a 
half  cup  of  vinegar  and  adding  a  lib- 
eral sprinkling  of  black  pepper." 

"Ivah :  If  a  man  persists  in  paying 
you  distasteful  compliments,  sim- 
ply tell  him  that  unless  he  stops 
you  will  have  to  limit  your  ac- 
quaintance with  him  to  a  bowing 
one,  and  cease  all  conversation." 

In  a  piece  called  Heigh  ho!  For  a 
Husband!  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison 
writes,  "It  is  commonly  said  that 
English  girls  talk  hunt,  kennel  and 
smokeroom  to  make  themselves 
more  attractive  to  men.  And  now 
American  girls  are  wanting  to  have 
latchkeys,  to  go  out  alone  in  the 
evening,  and  to  see  plays  of  their 
choice." 

"Bell:  I  do  not  think  a  'nice  girl' 
would  correspond  with  a  great 
number  of  men." 


"Marthena:  A  dinner 
table  capable  of  ac- 
commodating 
twenty-four  people 
should  be  about  eight- 
een feet  long." 

"Cornelia:  When  the 
young  gentleman  call- 
ing on  you  bids  you. 
good  night,  it  is  in  bad 
taste  to  go  beyond  the 
parlor  door  tvith  him." 


*iOSSlV  AHOI  T  l*EOI>Mi: 
vol  K.XOIV.  FIIITOIt<>< 
YOl     LIKI-:   .\.M»  1%IIAT 

«;oi-:.s  o>-  ly  Miw  viiUK 


NOTHING  in  the  way  ol  public 
celebration  equals  New  Year's 
Eve  in  New  York  <:ily,  and  we  can  tell 
you  from  Poliw  f'ommiiimimner 
Valvniiin'  himself  that  he  always 
feels  a  whole  lot  better  when  it's  over, 
though  nothing  terrible  ever  seems 
to  happen.  Out  of  habit,  a  million 
people  or  more  pack  themselves  into 
the  Times  Square  section,  where  the 
jam  and  surge  this  year  are  expected 
to  be  greater  than  ever  before.  Be- 
cause this  year  we  can  celebrate  vic- 
tories all  over  the  worhl,  the  din 
is  expected  to  outdistance  anything  to 
date,  even  though  the  price  of  prewar 
ten-cent  h<»rns  will  he  tripled.  Night- 
club reservations  Mill  hit  an  all-time 
high  of  S.'JO,  and  the  Fire  Department 
figures  on  about  lift)   false  alarms. 

When  Marin«  f'apt.  M^ouise  Stew- 
art (formerly  on  the  Journal  staff) 
found  herself  in  Hollywood  as  technical 
adviser  on  a  Marine  movie  recently,  she 
had  this  picture  taken  in  an  Ann 
Sheridan   gown.    Just   to   sec   how 

BERT  SIX 


Marine  captain. 

she'd  look,  after  two  years  of  wearing 
forest  green.  Louise  discovered  that 
a  great  many  Hollywood  beauties  not 
only  wear  false  hair  switches,  false 
teeth,  eyelashes  and  bosoms,  but  in  the 
case  of  pencil-slim  Hedy  I^amarr, 
false  hips.    Built  right  into  the  gown. 


Ho-hum!  And  so  to — work. 

l^^ilhela  Cunhnutn  has  been  telling 
us  about  a  girl  who  works  for  a  pajama 
designer  downtown — the  job,  a  sleep- 
tester.  SecmsthiaEfarriet  Bergman 

wearsapairof  newly  designed  pajamas 
to  bed  every  night,  and  gives  her  re- 
port in  the  morning.  Even  has  a  cot  in 
the  ofTice,  where  she  can  give  a  quick 
tryout  when  they're  in  a  hurry. 


MAX  PETER  HAAS 


The  "sound  of  revelry  by  night"  hits  an  all-time  high  in  deci- 
bels as  Gotliamerry makers  salute  the  advent  of  a  netvyeir. 


"  What's  new?"  we  asked  Aliee  MtUnn. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "a  darning  device  for 
a  sewing  machine;  an  anchored  baby 
walker;  roller  skates  with  bumpers;  a 
necklace  mirror  for  emergency  make-up; 
a  percolating  meat  baster ;  an  electrical 
scissors  and  electrical  mousetrap ;  a  flea- 
preventing  dog  collar ;  a  thimble  for  ham- 
mering, and  a  marker  to  make  an  artificial 
stocking  seam  down  the  back  of  your 
leg."  .  .  .  Anything  there  you  can 
use? 

About  this  lime  you'll  be  seeing  the 
life  at  I'htfpln  in  I'echnicolor — called 
A  Song  to  Remember,  with  a  young 
and  handsome  new  star,  l^ornell 
Wilde,  playing  the  composer,  most 
of  the  time  at  the  piano.  Anyhow, 
after  Mtieliard  Pratt  had  seen  a  pre- 
view of  the  picture  hack  in  Septem- 
ber, he  wondered  how  anybody  not  a 
pianist — and  he  knew  Wilde  wasn't — 
could  possibly  finger  the  music  so  per- 
fectly (the  actual  piano  sound  being 
made  out  of  sight  by  June  Mturbi, 
whic^h  the  film  doesn't  say).  So  when 
Mr.  P.  met  the  actor  next  day  at 
lunch,  he  asketl  him.  Well,  Mr.  W. 
had  just  sat  <lown  an<l  practiced  four 
hundred  hours — not  to  make  music, 
just  to  make  his  han<Is  <lo  just  the 
right  thing  .^t  the  right  lime.  One 
thing,  he  sai<l,  was  that  when  he'd 
finishctl  all  this  finger  rehearsing,  he 
found  he'd  really  Icarnctl  to  play  the 
piano — but  only  Chopin. 

When  ,Judy  narry  came  back  to  the 
homemaking  department  the  other  day, 
pale  and  on  the  point  of  collapse,  it 
turned  out  she'd  been  on  a  bomber 
night  flight  and  through  a  terrific  air 
combat,  but  right  next  door,  at  the 
Museum  of  Science  and  Industry.  The 
night  flight  wasn't  so  bad,  she  said. 
You're  back  of  the  bomber  controls,  in 
a  big  darkened  room,  while  a  starry  sky 
moves  past  above  you,  and  a  vast  in- 
strument board  flashing  all  kinds  of 
mysterious  signals,  motors  roaring — 
everything.  In  the  air  battle  you're  in 
the  cockpit  of  a  fighting  plane,  facing  a 
great  movie  screen  of  sky,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  an  enemy  fighter  comes  hurtling 


15 


at  you,  with  all  guns  going.  You  twist 
and  turn  like  an  insane  swallow,  until 
you  finally  see  the  other  guy  go  down 
dragging  a  plume  of  smoke.  "But  after 
it's  all  over,"  as  Miss  B.  said,  "your 
knees  don't  work."  So  she  sat  down  for 


'"It's  so  simple,"  says  Seaman  Szal. 

a    while    with  Seaman  First  f'f<i«« 

Joe  Szal,  who'd  been  on  a  Martin 
bomber  through  the  Italian  campaign, 
and  who  calmed  her  down  by  explain- 
ing how  instrument  panels  work.  "Not 
that  I  had  the  least  idea  what  he  was 
saying,"  sighed  Miss  B.,  beginning  to 
recover. 

Now  that  winter  draws  in,  we  recoin- 
mcn<l  for  the  long  cold  nights:  1.  ex- 
cilcinent — in  an  unusually  good  spy 
!slory  of  the  steaming  Hra^.iliaii  jun- 
gle, Assi<;nivii:nt  without  (;h)ky, 
!>>  ^iareoH  Splnelli:  2,  humor — in 
Anvihimc;  (:\N  IIAI'I-KIN.  \>y  t^eorge 
and  Helen  I'apashrily,  the  od<i  (ex- 
periences in  America  of  a  wide-eyed, 
good-natured,  light  hearted  Geor- 
;;i:iii  (Russian);  3,  serious  reading — a 
sal  isfaclory  gel  I  iiig-l>cliiii«l-l  lie- 
s<cne.  in  TlIK  SKCKKf  IlISTOUY  OF 
rilK  WAK,  by  Warerly  Mtttot.  Sam- 
uel Shellabarger'a  CapiaIN  FKOM 
(^ASTILK,  romance  of  Mexico  and 
Spain,  has  its  postponed  publication 
this  month;  and  t/ohn  Stelnbe«'k^a 
Cannery  Row  offers  a  rather  strong 
<Iose  of  his  own  TOKTILLA  FLAT  type 
of  extravaganza. 


I 


f  beauty 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


is  jour  trouble 


'*^>. 


/ 


I've  got  the  answer 


•  •  • 


just 


do  this 


M  Listen  to  dn  expert  .  .  .  my  doctor!    He 

I   advises  pure,  mild  Ivory  Soap  (it  contains 

no  coloring,  medication  or  strong  perfume 

that  might  irritate  the  tenderest  skin).  More 

doctors   advise  Ivory  than  all  other  brands 

put  together! 

2  Remember  that  and  see  how  much  this 
simple  beauty  routine  can  do  for  you.  Stop 
careless  skin   care  —  cleanse  thoroughly, 
trust  to  Ivory's  mildness. 

3  Then  see  hov^  soon  your  complexion  gets 
that  Ivory  Look — becomes  clearer,  finer- 
textured,  more  glowing.  No  facial  soap  on 
earth  can  do  more  for  your  complexion!  Change 
to  Ivory  care  today  .  .  . 


and  get  tiiat  Ivo^^  Look 


More  doctors 
advise  Ivory  . 

-t^uim,  oil  ot^  U<wrJLb  tout  tb^«t^ 


99"/<oo%  pure 


MAKE  IT  tASI--gSE  It  UPl  Soap  is  a  necessity.  Soap  U 


made  »f  vital  war  materials.  Don'twaste  Ivory. 


. "  y-Sa^g^^T>i,?835iSii>;fe.i>^. 


"^^<Ume:'^4^Ud.  '^t^t^Uieed.  "^"d^iSfiM^  ''^«^V 


BY  UOIIOTHY  1>IIUITT 


ELLEN  opened  the  door  and  saw  him  standing 
there  in  the  April-afternoon  light,  a  paintbox 
in  one  hand,  a  crushed  felt  hat  and  some- 
thing like  a  folded-up  stick  in  the  other. 
His  feet  shifted  slightly.    "Good  afternoon, 
ma'am,"  he  said.  And  just  from  the  way  he  said 
it  she  knew  he  had  something  to  sell. 

As  a  rule,  words  did  not  come  easily  to  Ellen 
Martin,  refusing  to  buy  a  pencil  or  pins  or  laces 
from  a  cripple;  or  refusing  any  peddler,  for  that 
matter,  who  took  the  trouble  to  come  this  far 
from  the  beaten  path,  the  last  ranch  next  to  the 
foothills.  But  lately  Ellen  had  felt  a  trifle  tired 
and  flat  because  of  all  the  hard  spring  work  to 
do — a  kind  of  uselessness  in  everything— and 
so  she  stiffened  up  inside  and  prepared  to 
say  no.  The  young  man  cleared  his  throat  and 


his  voice  took  on  a  quality  of  determined  pride 
as  he  said: 

"I  am  an  artist.  I  should  like  to  do  your  por- 
trait." 

Ellen's  brown  eyes  swept  him.  That  was  rather 

unusual.     Still,    "No— really— I "     Then, 

drawing  a  deep  breath,  she  said  desperately,  as 
final.  "No.  I  couldn't.  Not  todav.  I'm  sorry." 
She  started  to  close  the  door. 

"I'd  like  you  to  understand,"  he  continued, 
his  voice  now  holding  a  slight  whine,  yet  some- 
thing, too,  of  pride.  "I  try  to  do  really  good 
pictures;  that  is— well.  I  don't  expect  to  have  to 
solicit  work  like  this  always.  Someday  people  will 
be  begging  me  to  paint  their  portraits." 

It  wasn't  just  the  words,  but  what  he  managed 
to  breathe  into  them  that  kept  her  hand  from 


W 


^.,*!.rs>.2^ 


17 


JU^IIl.HHL.IMB^PBiPWllM^UIfB,'**]^^ 


HE  HAD  IVALKED  IN  OUT  OF  THE  SUNLIGHT— A  STRANGEB,  THERE  FOB  AX 
HOUR,  AND  THEN  GONE.  BUT  IN  THE  COLOBED  SCBOLL  HE  LEFT  BEHIND 
HIM  WAS    THE    SPABK    OF    A    NEW    CHALLENGE,    AND    THE     SEED    OF    A    NEW   HOPE. 


closing  the  door;  the  way  he  had  finished  that  last 
sentence.  Ellen's  eyes  lifted,  for  the  young  man  was 
much  taller  than  herself,  and  took  him  in  a  little  more. 

Despite  his  niceness  of  manner  and  the  pride 
showing,  there  was  something  hangdog  about  him. 
Even  in  the  articles  of  clothing  he  wore:  the  soft 
looped  tie,  soft  blue  shirt,  soft  gray  suit — fabrics  all 
with  no  spring  in  them,  nothing  strictly  masculine. 
In  the  face,  too,  it  showed,  especially  in  the  chin  that 
dropped  weakly  away  from  his  mouth— no  will  in 
it— and  the  skin,  almost  pasty  pale.  Yet  something 
about  him  held  her;  it  was  the  voice,  she  guessed,  and 
then  the  eyes:  they  pleaded,  like  a  hungry  dog  look- 
ing for  a  bone. 

Ellen  hoped  her  eyes  were  not  giving  away  what 
she  thought,  and  her  heart  softened  a  little.  Noting 
her  indecision,  he  put  greater  drive  into  his  voice 
and  went  on  bravely: 

"I  work  in  pastels.  I  find  that  women  like  them 
best.  It  takes  about  an  hour,  and  my  price  is  only 
three  and  a  half." 

The  mention  of  money  brought  Ellen  to  life,  and 
she  attempted  a  light  laugh.  "Well!  That's  quite  a 
bit  to  a  housewife." 

Yet  her  real  woman's  mind  was  calculating  rap- 
idly. Perhaps  he  wasn't  just  another  peddler,  and  an 
hour  would  give  plenty  of  time  to  be  finished  before 
Jimmy  came  home  from  school,  and  Henry — some- 
how she  just  couldn't  imagine  having  either  her  hus- 
band or  son  come  in  and  find  her  sitting  for  a  por- 
trait; it  would  be  better  to  bring  it  out  afterward  and 
surprise  them— her  eyes  turned  to  see  just  where 
Henry  was.  Beyond  the  old-model  couix-  that  the 
stranger  had  parked  in  front,  she  looked  out  across 
the  pear  orchard  where  Henry  was  spraying  the 
trees;  he  was  on  one  of  the  far  rows,  the  fruit  spray 
sending  up  a  fine  golden-green  mist  against  the  sun. 

After  all,  Ellen  reasoned  with  herself,  it  wasn't 
every  day  in  the  week  that  someone  came  up  to  your 
door  and  asked  to  do  your  portrait.  Suddenly, 
though,  her  hand  fiew  to  her  face  as  a  wave  of  color 
swept  into  her  cheeks.  She  thought  of  herself  as  the 
plain  ranchwoman  she  was,  nearing  thirty,  with  out- 
door skin  and  no  make-up  and  dressed  in  ranch 
plainness  in  a  cotton  dress. 

"Oh,  but  my  face  wouldn't  be  any  good  to  work 
on." 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  said  sternly.  "You've 
quite  an  interestii^  face."   His  eyes  studied  her. 

That  decided  it.  After  he  had  put  it  that  way,  she 
felt  an  actual  obligation  to  sit  for  him,  and  somewhat 
breathlessly  showed  him  in. 

Inside  the  living  room,  he  appeared  immediately 
at  his  ease,  and  began  looking  about,  studying  the 
angles  of  light  drifting  in  from  the  four  big  windows. 

"A  pleasant  room,"  he  remarked. 

tiLLEN  caught  her  breath  a  little.  Why,  he  had  been 
the  very  first  one  to  notice  it  at  once.  Even  Henry 
hadn't,  that  day  she  had  worked  up  to  the  very  last 
minute  to  get  it  finished  before  he  came  in  from  the 
field,  and  she  had  had  to  call  his  attention  to  it. 

"Do  you  really  like  it?"  she  said  eagerly.  "You 
see,  I've  kind  of  worked  at  it.  I  made  the  yellow  slip 
covers  myself,  for  the  davenport  and  chair.  It's  just 
an  old  mulberry  mohair  set  underneath,"  she  con- 
fided with  a  soft  laugh.  "For  the  curtains  I  chose 
plain  white  starched  ones  because  they  let  in  more 
light  and  show  off  the  woods  and  fields." 

For  an  instant  he  gave  full  attention  to  the  bil- 
lowy curtains  gathered  back  in  light  airy  ruffles  to 
let  in  the  fields  beyond.  "Yes,  that's  good,"  he  said 
briefly,  then  turned  to  his  work  materials. 

Ellen  hurried  on.  "Most  people  blot  out  the  out- 
doors with  too  heavy  curtains,  don't  you  think?  But 
I — I  like  the  outdoors,  and  like  letting  it  inside  the 
house.  Heavy  curtains  always  seem  to" — she 
hesitated,  as  if  about  to  experiment  aloud  for  the 
first  time  with  a  dramatic  phrase — "to — to  kind  of 


strangle."  She  brought  her  hand  up  lightly  to  her 
throat. 

He  glanced  at  her  as  if  somewhat  startled,  mois- 
tened his  pale  lips  uncertainly,  finally  gave  a  short 
nod.  Ellen  released  her  hand  that  had  waited  at  her 
throat  for  his  reply. 

"Now ! "  he  said,  the  force  of  his  voice  closing  the 
discussion.  He  became  brisk  and  authoritative.  "I 
want  you  to  sit  in  this  chair  at  about  "—his  eyes  half 
closed,  measuring — "at  about  this  distance."  He 
lifted  the  big  chair  and  placed  it  for  her,  easy  enough. 

It  was  all  mysterious  and  professional,  Ellen 
thought.  What  she  knew  about  painting,  she  ex- 
pected, you  could  put  in  a  needle's  eye. 

He  unfolded  the  long  stick  that  turned  out  to  be 
an  easel,  and  now  opened  and  sorted  out  pastel 
crayons,  spread  out  a  big  sheet  of  light  rough  gray 
paper  and  tacked  it  down  flat  across  the  easel  board. 
Then  he  turned  to  study  her.  It  was  as  if  he  were 
looking  far  in,  into  her  bone  structure. 

Ellen  smiled  obediently  up  at  him,  feeling  some- 
what helpless  and  innocent,  placing  herself  in  his 
hands,  and  the  thought  struck  her  that  women  liked 
being  led  around  and  directed  gently  like  that  by 
men.  She  was  all  bubbly  inside;  she  felt  that  in  spite 
of  everything  she  was  going  to  giggle.  Sitting  down 
a  trifle  stiffly,  she  crossed  and  uncrossed  her  feet,  and 
began  to  wonder  what  to  do  with  her  garden  hands. 
Finally  she  decided  to  place  them  together  in  her  lap; 
but  when  she  did,  the  veins  ran  down  prominently 
under  the  skin,  and  so  she  drew  them  up  quickly  to 
her  shoulders,  where  they  drained  away  smooth 
again,  and,  with  fingers  plucking  nervously  at  the 
cloth  in  her  dress,  she  waited,  watching  him. 

He  stood  at  his  easel,  eyes  half  closed,  crayon 
|X)ised.  ready.  "Look  directly  at  me,"  he  com- 
manded gently. 

Her  eyes  lifted,  brilliant,  eager;  she  felt  like  ice 
melting  in  the  sun. 

He  nodded.  "That's  good." 

In  general  sweeping  lines,  he  began  to  block  out 
across  the  paper,  and  as  Ellen  felt  her  likeness  going 
onto  it  and  his  gray  eyes  turning  and  turning  upon 
her  in  a  rhythm,  her  blood  whipped  through  her  into 
new  parts.  She  sat  tensely,  almost  not  breathing. 

Here  I  am  indoors,  she  thought  in  guilty  luxury, 
OH  an  afternoon  like  this,  when  I  ought  to  he  out  stretch- 
inn  ></'  lliof^c  h^nn  strings!  By  the  faintest  shifting 
toward  the  window,  her  eyes  took  in  the  essence  of 
the  new  spring  touching  everywhere:  the  freshly 
turned  dark  furrows;  the  soft  April  haze  on  the  foot- 
hills bordering  the  ranch;  and  the  weeds  already  un- 
believably green  and  high  in  that  unused  patch  of 
earth  adjoining  the  yard,  which  constantly  chal- 
lenged being  turned  to  flowers  or  lawn  or  something 
useful. 

"It's  all  right  to  talk,"  he  said  in  a  preoccupied 
tone,  working  swiftly,  "or  to  move  your  eyes  about. 
Just  be  comfortable." 

She  tried  to  relax.  What  shall  I  talk  about?  she 
wondered;  she  thought  of  confessing  how  nearly  she 
had  come  to  closing  that  door,  but  then  thought 
better  of  it. 

"Where  are  you  from?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  from  all  over  the  country,"  he  answered  ab- 
sently. "  My  home's  in  Buffalo.  But  lately  I've  been 
living  in  Los  Angeles." 

"You  mean  you  drive  everywhere  all  alone?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  He  moistened  his  lips  after  that, 
and  swallowed,  and  his  face  seemed  to  reach  limply 
for  her  pity.  It  looked  soft  and  bland  and  pliable, 
as  if  you  could  take  it  up  in  your  hands  and  remake 
it.  "But  then,"  he  added,  "in  a  way  I  like  doing  it. 
You  see,  I  want  to  get  to  know  people.  You  have  to 
really  know  people  before  you  can  truly  paint." 

Ellen  thought  that  sounded  sincere  and  ambitious. 
"Oh,  yes,"  she  agreed  soberly,  her  thoughts  un- 
loosening. "It's  like  that  with  almost  everything,  I 
suppose,  except  maybe  ranching.    In  the  country, 

18 


knowing  people  or  improving  yourself  doesn't  make 
the  radishes  any  bigger  or  the  sweet  corn  come  up 
any  higher.  You  just  drop  seeds  into  the  earth  and 
wait." 

He  nodded  blankly,  but  his  eyes  droppjed  from 
her,  as  if  her  words  and  their  intensity  made  him 
uncomfortable. 

A  silence  fell  afterward.  She  couldn't  tell  him 
about  the  other,  though,  about  when  night  closed  on 
the  foothills  and  the  melancholy  sound  of  the  frogs 
began,  and  you  had  time  to  think  a  little.  It  wasn't 
so  bad  through  the  day,  with  the  sun  on  you,  and 
you  kept  busy;  but  with  the  night  and  darkness  you 
realized  that  life  was  being  used  up  to  such  little 
purpose.  She  felt  just  as  sorry  about  it  for  Henry, 
too;  he  couldn't  be  blamed  for  how  little  was  happen- 
ing except  hard  work— it  was  just  that  she  felt  the 
days  going,  going,  going  for  both  of  them,  and  pretty 
soon  they  would  all  be  used  up,  and  she  wanted  to 
get  a  little  more  out  of  things.  That  conviction  had 
been  cramped  up  in  her  so  tightly  of  late  that  it  had 
made  her  uncontrollably  short  with  Henry,  and  his 
eyes  would  rest  hurt  and  wonderingly  after  her  sharp 
words.  And  she  couldn't  explain  to  him  that  she  just 
felt  caught,  and  couldn't  see  out  any  more. 

Ihat's  why  she  must  make  the  most  of  any  acci- 
dental joy,  such  as  this  portrait.  It  was  better  than  a 
sweet  rain  on  your  face  when  you  were  hot  and  dusty 
in  the  garden,  or  when  you  lay  down  at  night,  tired 
enough  to  die,  and  felt  suddenly  the  pine  air  and 
moonlight  through  the  window.  An  original  portrait ! 
Now  whoever  would  have  believed  she  would  own 
an  original  piece  of  art?  It  began  to  take  on  greater 
and  greater  importance.  It  might  even  be  good — 
that  is,  really  good.  He  might  even  be  some  undis- 
covered genius !   Why,  yes 

Her  heart  began  to  throb  wildly.  She  wondered 
what  she  could  do  to  help  toward  an  inspiration,  and 
tried  to  think  about  things  that  counted,  big  impor- 
tant things  that  would  project  and  help  for  char- 
acter. 

He  can  paint  me  any  old  way,  she  thought  fiercely — 
homely,  ugly  if  he  wants  to!  Only  that  it  be  good,  with 
character. 

He  turned  back  to  her  after  being  absorbed  in  de- 
tail at  the  easel  and  noticed  at  once  this  change,  this 
determined,  overly  radiant  look.  His  drawing  hand 
hesitated.  A  confused  frown  appeared  between  his 
eyes,  and  he  laid  down  the  crayon. 

"Mind  if  I  smoke  a  cigarette?"  he  said. 

Ellen  felt  suddenly  deflated,  like  a  balloon. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  one,  too,"  he  offered. 

"No— oh,  no,  thank  you,"  and  she  smiled  a  little 
to  herself  as  she  recalled  her  one  attempt  to  smoke, 
the  day  that  the  neighbor  women  had  tried  to  start 
up  a  bridge  club,  but  then  it  had  fizzled  out  because 
the  ranches  were  too  far  apart  and  it  took  too  much 
time  from  their  work. 

He  flashed  a  fancy  little  lighter  before  his  face  and 
looked  up  through  a  cloud  of  smoke.  His  hand, 
holding  the  cigarette,  looked  to  have  no  bones,  but 
drooped  as  loose  and  collapsible  as  a  morning-glory. 

Ellen  felt  an  intimacy  that  the  smoke  knit  around 
them,  and  she  was  hungry  for  talk;  she  wondered 
what  he  was  really  like,  about  women,  and  things. 
Her  eyes  turned  dreamlike  out  the  window,  rested, 
and  came  back  to  him,  burning,  as  if  bringing  the 
wind  and  sun  right  in  with  them. 

"I  wonder  if  you  can  understand,"  she  began, 
"what  it  means  to  have  someone  drop  in  casually — 
away  out  here,  where  nothing  ever  happens." 

His  eyes  spread  wide  a  little,  as  if  taken  ofif  guard, 
but  he  rallied  promptly.  "Why,  yes,  I  think  so.  I 
imagine  it's  something  like  finding  one  face  among  a 
thousand  that  you  really  like  to  do."  He  waited  for 
the  words  to  please  her. 

Ellen's  blood  leaped  to  her  face.  "Oh!"  It  was 
like  having,  all  of  a  (Continued  on  Page  92) 


ILLUSTBATED    BT    PBUETT    i:  A  K  Tl 


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Take  it  any  way  yuu 
like,"  Pete  said. 
"You're  mine,  baby." 


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THERE  was  one  thing  he  didn't  have  to  worry  about,  Pete  Adams 
always  said,  and  that  was  the  girl  he  left  behind  him.  A  woman's 
place,  he  said,  is  in  the  home — some  other  man's  home.  Mothers, 
of  course,  were  different.  But  when  he  talked  about  women,  he 
meant  girls.  Girls  like  Maida  Dakin,  who  took  his  brother's  heart, 
convertible,  wings  and  tennis  racket,  and  then  married  a  4-F  as  soon  as 
Bill  was  reported  missing  in  action. 

Pete  definitely  wasn't  having  any.  He  didn't  want  to  get  hurt.  It 
was  bad  enough  just  being  plain  homesick,  without  eating  your  heart 
out  for  love  besides.  So  when  he  and  Buzz  Martin  double-dated,  Pete 
never  got  involved.  Buzz  was  always  involved,  and  someday,  when  all 
the  girls  he'd  made  those  vague  happy  promises  to  got  together.  Buzz 
was  going  to  have  trouble. 

"But  the  war's  not  over,"  he  said  comfortably.  "I'll  worry  about 
that  when  the  time  comes.  Me  and  the  armistice  together."  He  grinned. 
"I  sure  thought  you'd  fall  for  Leila  Haddon." 

"I  don't  like  fire-wagon  hair,"  Pete  said. 

"Well,  there  was  Gracie  Williams." 

"I  don't  like  homebodies  either." 

"Stella  Briggs  was  wild  about  you." 

"She  knows  too  much.  She  reads  good  books." 

"Then  how's  for  Alice?" 

"You  can  have  her,"  said  Pete  generously.  "She  can't  read  at  all." 

"Hey,  listen,  guy,"  said  Bill,  "what  do  you  want?  A  woman  is  only 
a  human  being.  You  can't  have  everything  in  one  package." 

"  What  I  want,"  said  Pete,  "is  a  really  good  pot  of  home-baked  beans 
and  a  blueberry  pie,  hot  from  the  oven,  and  a  quart  of  decent  black 
coffee  strong  enough  to  ride  a  bicycle."  He  sighed.  "And  a  radio  by 
my  ear  while  I  stretch  out  and  smoke  and  play  with  my  dog." 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  a  dog." 

"You  asked  me  what  I  wanted." 

"Some  dream,"  said  Buzz. 

It  was  hot  and  they  had  been  moving  around  the  country  since  they 
could  remember,  and  the  taste  of  war  was  thick  in  their  mouths.  They 
were  twenty  and  felt  forty.  And  now,  of  all  things,  they  were  doing 
guard  duty  on  top  of  a  big  building  in  Brooklyn,  New  York.  It  was  the 
highest  building  for  observation,  and  it  was  an  important  war  industry 
and  it  overlooked  the  East  River,  the  Brooklyn  naval  base,  Manhattan 
and  parts  of  Jersey  besides.  It  overlooked  a  world  of  things,  and  not 
one  worth  looking  at,  Pete  thought.  First  he  was  on  under  the  broiling 
summer  sky  with  the  sun  like  a  slow-motion  incendiary  bomb  over  him. 
Buzz  was  at  the  opposite  corner  of  the  building;  they  walked  back  and 
forth  along  the  precarious  coping,  then  sat  and  trained  their  powerful 
glasses  on  the  scene  below.  Then  they  walked  some  more. 
N,_  At  first  it  was  just  boring,  and  then  it  got  on  his  nerves. 
It  was  too  high.  "I'd  have  gone  in  the  Air  Force,"  he 
said,  "if  I  wanted  to  spend  my  time  in  the  sky." 
Buzz  said,  "Well,  we  can  sit  down  part  of  the  time." 


"^. 


\\ 


20 


i 


"This  is  a  lousy  way  to  win  a  war."  ^ 

"You  might  save  Brooklyn  from  being  bombed." 

"Yeah,  but  is  it  worth  it?" 

"There  goes  the  fire  company."  Buzz  trained  his  glasses.  "Hey,  you 
can  see  the  fire  too.  We  got  practic'ly  box  seats  for  all  of  Brooklyn." 

"  G'way,  boy  scout."  Pete  swung  his  glasses  up,  his  dark  eyes  somber. 
"If  we  had  some  wickets,  we  could  play  croquet  up  here." 

"There's  an  awful  lot  of  roof  about  a  big  town  like  this,"  said  Buzz. 

Pete  sat  leaning  against  a  sizzling  corner  of  the  low  wall,  long  legs 
folded  under  him,  hands  between  his  knees.  He  began  to  think  about 
home.  It  was  a  sickness  in  him,  thinking  about  it.  The  advantages  of 
travel  never  appealed  to  him;  he  didn't  want  to  be  broadened.  He 
wanted  to  get  the  war  over  and  go  home. 

There  was,  he  felt,  a  different  quality  about  his  own  home  place. 
Nothing  like  it;  he'd  never  find  it  if  he  got  to  Persia  or  Piccadilly  or 
Florence  or  Saipan.  For  instance,  take  the  way  the  big  trees  arched 
over  Main  Street,  green  and  dreamy  in  the  summer  air.  And  Mac's 
drugstore,  cool  and  shadowy  and  smelling  of  Mac's  own  cough  sirup 
and  of  chocolate  sodas.  And  the  bank,  with  its  marble  front,  not  a  better 
bank  in  the  state.  When  you  walked  in  the  two  cashiers  grinned  behind 
the  bars  and  said,  "Hi-yah,  Pete,"  and  Mr.  Himber,  the  president, 
looked  up  from  his  desk  in  the  front  pen  and  said,  "Hello,  Peter,  how's 
your  mother?" 

They  had  the  best  high  school  in  the  world,  he  supposed.  Won  more 
championships,  at  least  when  he  was  there.  And  the  whole  town  came 
out  to  the  games  too.  Spirit. 

Mom  said  she'd  rather  shop  in  Smollet's  than  in  Marshall  Field's. 
She  said  she  could  lay  her  hands  right  on  whatever  she  wanted,  and  not 
be  confused  by  a  lot  of  stuff  she  didn't  want.  She  said  Ida  Monroe  could 
go  to  the  city  and  do  the  first  picking  and  save  her  all  that  effort.  You 
were  lucky  if  you  could  shop  in  Smollet's.  Ida  was  a  smart  buyer  and 
she  knew  all  the  figures  of  all  the  folks  in  town.  "I  just  had  you  in  mind 
when  I  saw  this,"  she  would  say. 

The  Adams  house  was  just  about  what  a  house  ought  to  be.  Set  back 
far  enough  in  the  lawn,  and  the  porch  smothered  in  red  climbing  roses. 
Inside  not  too  fancy  for  comfort,  just  about  .right.  Mom  generally 
busy  in  the  kitchen.  Apple  pie.  Roast  pork  with  stuffing.  Brown 
sugar  on  pink  ham  glazing. 

After  the  war,  after  the  war — if  there  were  any 
after — he  wanted  to  buy  out  old  Mr.  Ferris'  ice-cream 
plant.  Take  mom's  recipe  for  ice  cream,  and  go  places 
with  it.    He  had  ideas  about  the  packaging  and  de- 
livery and  reorganizing  the  factory  end. 

He  got  up  and  walked  his  distance  along  the  roof 
edge.  The  river  glittered  in  the  sun  and  the  hot  streets  of 
the  city  were  crowded.  They  were  turning  the  hydrants  on 
and  little  grubby  kids  were  hopping  up  and  down  in  the 
spraying  water.  The  pushcart  (Coniinned  on  Page  80) 

21 


BY  GUDIS  TABER 


''Yours?  Why,  I  don't 
even  knovr  you,"  she 
said  very  doubtfully. 


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ILLUSTRATED      BY      MICHAEL 


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23 


In 


ARE     WONDER     CURES     FOR     SYPHILIS     MAKING     OUR     CHILDREN     MORE     PROMISCUOUS? 


BY    MONA     GARDNER 


THE  control,  and  eventual  abolishment,  .of  syphilis 
and  gonorrhea  by  public  education  and  improved 
methods  of  care  has  been  the  dream  of  public-health 
officers  for  years.  Up  until  now  we,  as  a  nation,  have 
put  hope  in  sex  education  and  in  medical  cures.  Let  us 
examine  the  discernible  results. 

Syphilis  is  not  on  the  wane.  It  is  the  major  national 
health  problem.  One  in  forty-two  persons  in  the  United 
States  has  syphilis  now,  and  war  is  running  the  figure  ap- 
pallingly higher.  The  disease  is  never  thought  of  as  epi- 
demic in  this  country,  yet  annually  there  are  one  and  a 
half  times  as  many  new  cases  of  it  as  of  tuberculosis,  and 
twenty-eight  times  as  many  as  of  typhoid  fever.  Such  prev- 
alence costs  American  taxpayers  more  than  $82,000,000 
each  year  in  hospitalization  and  treatment;  last  year 
syphilitic  blindness  alone  cost  $10,000,000  to  treat — 
treat,  not  cure! 

Painted  by  an  unknown  artist  •  IBth  century 

The  pioneer  American  West  has  long  had  great  ro- 
mantic interest  for  Americans  and  Europeans  alike, 
md  has  been  celebrated  in  painting,  radio,  song 
nd — above  all — the  movies.  George  Catlin  began  to 
paint  the  American  Indians  in  1832,  and  from 
'hen  on  their  colorful  tribal  life  attracted  numerous 
irtists.  The  buffalo  hunt  was  often  painted  by  these 
jrtists.  The  painter  of  the  picture  illustrated  here  is 
mknown,  though  an  engraving  of  the  same  compo- 
ition  is  to  be  found  in  the  Library  of  Congress.  The 
ncture  is  notable  for  the  stylized  drawing  of  the  horse 
md  the  naive  vigor  in  the  handling  of  the  buffalo. 

Reprinted  by  courtesy  of  owners,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Buell  Hammett,  Santa  Barbara.  Cal. 


What,  actually  and  actively,  are  we  going  to  do  about 
our  supercharged  sex  emotions  which,  in  the  last  half 
decade  of  harassing  fear  and  multiple  chaos,  have  built 
up  a  steam  roller  of  delinquency  and  venereal  disease? 
In  the  peace  to  come,  which  life  alternative  shall  we  as  in.' 
dividuals  or  as  families  choose?  Shall  we  absolve  ourselves 
with  the  promised  one-day  venereal  cures  and  continue 
at  our  present  rapid  pace  toward  a  promiscuous  way  of 
life?  Or  shall  we  call  a  definite  halt  and  re-enshrine  chas- 
tity and  continence? 

These  two  behavior  alternatives  were  basic  topics  at 
the  Health  and  Human  Relations  Conference  held  for  five 
weeks  this  past  summer  at  the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 
Doctors,  social  workers,  public-health  officials  and  teach- 
ers from  all  sections  of  the  country  gathered  to  discuss  a 
workable  blueprint  for  our  emotional  futures  in  terms  of 
physical,  mental  and  spiritual  health. 

For  many  at  the  conference.  Dr.  John  H.  Stokes — one 
of  the  country's  foremost  syphilologists,  and  director  of 
the  Institute  for  Syphilis  Control — inked  in  that  blue- 
print when  he  said  in  an  opening  address: 

"A  powerful  group  of  circumstances  and  influences  are 
at  work  today,  pushing  the  human  problem  of  sex  to  a 
critical  peak.  To  combat  these  forces  and  to  evolve  a 
feasible  formula  for  intelligent  sex  life,  our  most  effective 
course  is  to  revive  first  principles — that  is,  a  positive 
moral  force,  sound  character  and  an  ideal  of  destiny. 
Continence  itself  will  do  more  to  wipe  out  syphilis  than 
all  the  one-day  medical  cures  we  can  invent." 

In  direct  agreement  with  this  theory,  public-health 
officials  generally  are  convinced  that  in  the  vast  majority 
of  cases  venereal  disease  results  from  promiscuity,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  and  that,  therefore,  a  program  for 
the  eradication  of  venereal  disease,  to  be  lastingly  effec- 
tive, must  officially  include  the  control  of  promiscuity,  i 
thus  co-operating  with  the  family,  the  church,  the  school 
and  welfare  agencies  in  their  insistence  on  clean  living  as  / 
the  most  certain  preventive  of  venereal  disease. 

Public  education  on  a  massive  scale  is  saturating  mil- 
lions with  the  knowledge  of  venereal  diseases.  High-school 


lectures,  college  courses,  newspaper  and  magazine  arti- 
clej,  streetcar  posters,  doctors,  nurses,  clinics  are  all 
hammering  at  basic  precautions  of  how  to  avoid  and  how 
to  meet  the  situation  if  it  is  not  avoided.  The  report  from 
one  large  Eastern  city  can  be  taken  as  an  index  for  other 
communities  across  the  country.  Over  a  period  of  fifteen 
years  of  sex  education,  it  was  found,  the  number  of  pa- 
tients reporting  to  a  clinic  for  treatment  within  fifteen 
days  after  infection  rose  11  per  cent.  Yet  in  that  same 
length  of  time,  incidence  of  the  reported  disease  among 
the  civil  population  rose  some  120  per  cent.  Also,  a  recent 
survey  shows,  about  60  per  cent  of  the  persons  who  ac- 
quire venereal  disease  go  to  a  druggist  for  self-medication, 
instead  of  to  a  competent  doctor  or  to  a  reliable  clinic  for 
treatment. 

Cheap,  quick,  painless  cures  for  the  dread  diseases  have 
been  our  other  hope.  Much  has  been  accomplished  in  this 
field,  and  more  is  happening  every  day.  Several  arsenical 
and  bismuth  treatments  have  been  worked  out.  Thqse  are 
the  five-day  intravenous  drip,  the  ten-day  multiple  in- 
jection technique,  and  a  slower  ten-to-twelve-week  injec- ' 
tion  treatment,  all  of  which  cure  syphilitic  patients  in 
85  per  cent  of  the  cases.  The  principal  risk  has  been  the 
toxic  effect  of  this  chemical  upon  the  patients.  However, 
experiments  are  producing  certain  detoxifying  agents  to 
accompany  this  treatment  and  remove  some  of  its  risk. 

Newer  still,  with  about  the  same  record  of  cures,  is  the 
simultaneous  use  of  fever  cabinets  plus  small  injections  of 
arsenic  and  bismuth  in  a  speedy  eight-hour  treatment. 
Its  risk,  so  far,  has  been  the  as-yet-unpredictable  after- 
effect of  a  day-long  106-degree  temperature  on  the  human 
body.  Since  this  treatment  has  been  used  less  than  two 
years,  it  is  still  too  soon  for  tabulated  results  to  show 
what  the  condition  of  tissues  and  organs  will  be  five  or 
ten  years  after  being  subjected  to  such  burning  heat. 

The  miracle  drug  penicillin  holds  out  considerably  more 
hope.  It  has  been  used  experimentally  on  more  than  1000 
syphilitics  in  the  past  year.  On  the  basis  of  these  cases 
the  United  States  Public  Health  Service  says,  "Peni- 
cillin has  a  profound  (Continued  on  Page  78) 


P'^T/1/  ^  ■ 


,  .-    .,-*v 


THE  doctor  said  that  she  was  unconscious. 
She  wasn't  sure  that  he  was  right.  If  he 
meant  that  she  lay  hke  one  already  dead, 
unable  to  move  her  limbs  or  voice  her 
thoughts,  then  incontestably  he  was  right.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  meant  that  no  awareness 
of  people  or  surroundings  could  penetrate  to 
her  brain,  then  he  was  very  wrong.  Which  did 
he  mean  ?  1 1  was  a  delicate  problem  with  which 
to  play  as  Scott  lay  in  a  world  of  gray  mist 
and  choking  fog.  It  was  her  own  room.  She 
knew  it  was.  She  could  have  given  no  reason 
for  this  positive  knowledge;  it  was  instinctive. 


It  came  to  her  suddenly  that  the  doctor  was 
wrong.  She  was  not  unconscious.  By  that  word 
he  meant  that  she  was  completely  adrift  from 
the  meaning  of  sound,  beyond  the  comprehen- 
sion of  his  remarks.  He  must  consider  her  so 
or  he  would  not  have  said,  "It  looks  bad, 
though  of  course  we  can't  be  sure."  Doctors 
tried  to  protect  their  patients  from  becoming 
alarmed.  Even  when  their  patients  were  people 
like  herself,  people  who  never  became  alarmed. 

She  wanted  to  open  her  eyes  wide  so  that 
he  could  see  she  was  not  unconscious.    Her 


eyes  would  not  open  wide.  It  was  impossible 
to  let  him  know  that  she  could  hear  and  under- 
stand. Why  did  she  want  him  to  know?  Was 
it  that  she  wanted  him  to  stop  saying  things 
that  might  alarm  her?  Was  she  suddenly 
afraid? 

Scott  could  hear  Mrs.  Dodge  weeping  and 
asking  the  doctor  questions  which  he  was  not 
yet  ready  to  answer. 

"I  told  her  and  I  told  her  to  stay  off  that 
horse,"  Mrs.  Dodge  wept.  "I  told  her  and  I 
told  her,  but  you  could  never  tell  her  anything 
she'd  listen  to!" 

Scott  wanted  to  smile.  It  was  an  old  story. 
What  did  it  matter  that  she  hadn't  listened? 
She'd  lived  her  life  and  it  had  been  swell — 
well,  pretty  swell.  Who  wanted  to  live  to  be 
an  old  woman  anyway? 

Through  the  mist  a  face  appeared.  It  was 
Cherry.  Someone  had  sent  for  the  girls. 
Cherry's  bright  gray  eyes  glittered  with  tears. 

Mrs.  Dodge  said,  "  Don't  cry,  honey.  Please 
don't  cry." 

Now  Linda  walked  through  the  mist.  She 
held  herself  very  straight  and  her  face  was 
chalk-white,  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  cry. 
She  asked,  "How  is  mother?" 

A  strange  voice  said,  "Your  mother  has 
been  badly  hurt."  There  was  a  rustling  sound, 
stiff  yet  guarded,  and  Scott  knew  Linda  had 
spoken  to  a  nurse. 

Ursula  spoke  to  no  one  when  she  came.  She 
stood  at  tiie  foot  of  the  bed  and  sobbed 
brokenly.  Scott  wished  someone  would  tell 
Ursula  to  go  away.  But  no  one  did;  instead, 
the  other  two  girls  came  and  joined  her.  The 
three  of  them  stood  there,  looking  at  the  in- 
jured woman,  the  woman  they  called  their 
mother.  Scott  looked  back  at  them  through 
the  mist,  through  the  fog.  Cherry  wept  beauti- 
fully, sincerely.  Linda  stood  as  one  who  in- 
spects a  painting  in  an  art  gallery,  but  her 
eyes  gave  away  the  thing  that  she  was  feeling. 
Ursula  sobbed  and  bit  at  her  knuckles.  After  a 
time  she  would  faint,  Scott  thought,  and  be 
carried  away. 

Cherry,  Linda  and  Ursula.  The  gray  mists 
swirled  about  and  settled  themselves  more 
deeply  between  Scott  and  the  girls.  She  could 
not  see  her  girls  any  more.  Perhaps  she'd 
never  see  them  again.  A  pain  so  sharp  and 
dreadful  came  with  this  thought  that  she  was 
certain  she  had  screamed.  But  no  one  hurried 
to  her  side,  so  perhaps,  after  all,  she  had 
imagined  the  scream. 

OHE  remembered  pain.  She  had  known  it  be- 
fore. Long  ago.  And  now  she  remembered  the 
floating  mists  and  knew  why  the  crouching 
figure  of  Death  was  not  unfamiliar  to  her. 

She  thought  about  the  hospital  and  the 
agony  that  had  come  with  the  realization  that 
there  was  no  Conlon  and  no  baby  and  nothing 
ahead  of  her  but  desolation.  That  was  all  very 
long  ago,  and  why  remember  in  one's  last 
moments  the  hell  one  knew  on  earth?  There 
was  heaven  too.  There  had  been  the  girls, 

and— and  there  had  been No,  no,  don't 

think  of  his  name.  But  his  name  came  in  a 
long,  wailing  sound  to  her  mind:  Bleeker. 

There  were  so  many  things  that  hurt. 
Please,  God,  let  me  go  dreaming  of  happy  days. 
Now  I  lay  me  down  to  die.  She'd  see  Conlon 
when  she  was  dead.  She'd  say,  "I'm  very 
sorry,  Conlon."  He'd  be  surprised  to  find  her 


so  meek.  Maybe  he  wouldn't  believe  she  was 
Scott,  the  girl  he  had  married,  the  girl  who 
had  been  responsible  for  his  death.  Or  did  he 
know  that?  Maybe  she  was  the  only  one  who 
knew  that  Conlon  would  have  lived  longer  but 
for  her. 

She  wouldn't  think  about  Conlon  any  more. 
And  she  wouldn't  think  about — no,  she 
wouldn't  think  that  name  again.  She  wouldn't. 
But  she  couldn't  hold  it  out  of  her  mind.  It 
came  again  in  a  long-drawn-out  cry:  Bleeker. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  her  death  must  be 
expected  momentarily.  They  were  bending 
over  again — the  nurse,  the  doctor  and  the 
girls.  Well,  let  it  come,  if  it  must.  Death 
would  find  her  busy.  She  would  not  lie  there, 
waiting  in  terror,  with  her  mind  on  the  un- 
known future.  No,  Death  must  come  and  say 
to  her,  "  It's  time  to  go,  Scott."  And  she  must 
say,  "Really?  I  had  no  idea  you  were  here." 
And  she  would  stroll  out  with  him  in  a  soiled 
riding  habit,  disdaining  to  honor  him  by 
changing  her  clothes. 

Scott's  father  had  been  the  son  of  Camilla 
Ransford.  If  he  had  not  borne  the  name 
Garrett  the  town  would  have  certainly  for- 
gotten who  had  sired  him.  He  lived  and  died 
Camilla  Ransford's  son.  There  were  Ransford 
Avenue,  the  Ransford  Opera  House  and  the 
Emily  Ransford  Memorial  Church,  and  these 
things  were  so  much  more  in  evidence  than  a 
neat  little  stone  which  said  simply  "Ezra 
Garrett"  that  people  only  remembered  the 
Ransford  side  of  the  family. 

The  Ransfords  had  undoubtedly  been  im- 
pressive personalities,  but  the  financial  wiz- 
ardry of  the  clan  had  begun  to  decline  some 
time  before  Scott  was  born.  She  made  her 
first  appearance  in  a  huge  and  hideously  ugly 
house  that  had  been  built  by  a  lavish-handed 
Ransford.  Scott's  father  had  been  born  in 
that  house,  and  so  had  Camilla,  his  mother. 
The  house  had  so  sentimental  a  value  to  the 
young  man  who  was  Camilla's  son  that  the 
bank  permitted  Scott  to  be  born  in  it.  The 
year  was  1903. 

"We  understand  the  situation.  Of  course. 
Ninety  days  all  right?  Think  nothing  of  it, 
Mr.  Garrett.  Glad  to  oblige.  I  knew  your 
mother  well.   Fine  lady." 

Of  course  the  family  didn't  move  when  the 
ninety  days  had  rolled  by.  Something  always 
came  up  to  save  the  house  from  falling  into 
alien  hands.  This  time  it  was  an  unexpected 
loan  from  someone  Scott's  father  had  never 
tried  before. 

Later,  when  she  was  old  enough  to  think 
about  such  things,  Scott  wondered  why  he 
hadn't  let  the  house  go.  He  could  have  lived 
comfortably  and  without  worry  if  he  had  per- 
mitted the  old  house  to  slip  from  his  grasp. 
But  she  couldn't  ask  him,  for  he  had  gone  to 
lie  beside  Ezra  Garrett,  his  father.  And  now  it 
was  Scott's  turn  to  hang  on  to  the  old  house 
and  to  grow  sulky  wheij  anyone  suggested  that 
she'd  be  better  off  witnout  it. 

She  was  sixteen  when  she  received  her  first 
sensible  answers  to  the  things  that  puzzled 
her.  As  a  small  child  she  had  never  troubled 
Mrs.  Dodge  with  embarrassing  questions 
about  the  birds  and  the  bees.  Her  queries  had 
always  been  harder  to  answer.  She  had 
wanted  more  horses,  more  frequent  parties 
and  new  white  (Continued  on  Page  59) 


THE    JOURIVAL'S    C  O  M  P  L  E  T  E  -  I  N-OIV  E-l  S  S  U  E    NOVEL      ^       BY    VINA     DELMAR 


ILLUSTRATED       BY       NORMAN       ROCKWELL 


24 


■■■■, 


\  \ 


£i-k 


f 


5P 


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26 


January,  1945 


Don't  you  think  tliat  German  prisoners  of 
war  in  this  country  shoiiUl  be  taught  some- 
thing about  the  American  way  of  life  and  dem- 
ocratic ideals? 

Under  the  Geneva  Convention  it  is  impossible  to 
teach  prisoners  anything  which  they  do  not  wish  to 
learn.  They  have  to  request  their  reading  matter,  and 
whatever  teaching  they  receive  must  be  accepted 
willingly  and  not  forced  upon  them.  Our  boys  who  are 
prisoners  do  not  have  to  accept  Nazi  teaching  and  the 
Germans  do  not  have  to  accept  democratic  teaching; 
but  if  they  wish,  it  is  available.  Many  universities  are 
co-operating  in  giving  German  prisoners  whatever 
they  are  willing  to  accept  in  the  way  of  education. 

'Of  what  does  Fala's  balanced  diet  consist? 

One  regular  meal  every  evening  of  mixed  meat, 
vegetables  and  dog  food,  a  small  dog  biscuit  which  the 
President  gives  him  every  morning,  and  occasional 
titbits  begged  from  whoever  cannot  resist  a  little  dog's 
pleadings! 


Is  il  proper  to  stand  up  when  the  national 
anthem  is  pUtyetl  in  a  picture  show?  If  hut  do 
you  tlo? 

1  usually  stand  up  unless  there  is  a  continuing 
repetition  of  just  one  or  two  bars.  If  the  national 
anthem  is  just  played  once,  I  think  wherever  you  are 
you  sh()uld  stand  up. 


What  tlo  you  ihiiili  the  l>est  altitude  a 
bride  sJutuld  ussiinu'  toward  an  interfering 
niolher-in  -law? 

That*!**  very  difTicult  question.  If  it  is  possible 
to  bring  about  a  kindly  and  co-operative  feeling  be- 
tween a  man's  mother  and  his  wife,  it  certainly  should 
be  done,  because  it  makes  a  great  difference  in  the  life 
of  the  family.  I  do  not,  however,  think  that  a  bride 
should  subordinate  her  relationship  with  her  husband 
and  children  to  placate  her  mother-in-law.  Each  of  us 
has  to  live  our  own  life,  and  when  you  start  a  home  of 
your  own,  that  must  become  the  most  important  thing 
in  the  world  to  you.  Nevertheless,  I  think  if  it  is  pos- 
sible for  a  young  bride  to  be  perfectly  honest  with  her 
mother-in-law,  telling  her  how  she  feels  and  trying  to 
show  her  that  there  might  be  built  between  them  a  real 
friendship  and  deep  affection,  it  might  help.  If  on  each 
side  they  did  not  harbor  grievances  but  spoke  truth- 
fully their  opinions  to  each  other  and  tried  to  make 
adjustments  which  made  life  easier  between  them, 
then  the  relationship  might  grow  into  one  of  trust  and 
alTection. 


By  Eleanor  Roosevelt 


girls  should  learn  to  itrink  moderately? 


that 


No.  I  never  said  they  should  learn  to  drink  mod- 
erately. I  said  it  was  better  to  learn  at  home  what  one 
could  safely  drink  than  to  be  surprised  on  some  party 
into  doing  something  one  would  later  regret  and  be 
ashamed  of.  This  constitutes,  of  course,  a  supposition 
that  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  they  may  drink,  but  it 
is  not  advice  that  anyone  should  do  any  drinking. 


Are  you  ever  going  to  continue  your  auto- 
biography which  ended  with  your  husband's 
election  in  19.32? 

My  autobiography  ended  with  Governor  Smith's 
first  campaign  for  nomination  for  the  presidency,  in 
1924.  I  fully  intend  to  go  on  with  my  autobiography 
when  I  can  find  the  time,  but  I  would  not  want  to 
have  it  published  for  some  years  to  come. 

I/" 

^^  As  the  tvorld's  most  famous  hostess,  what 
ipialilies  in  a  guest  €lo  you  consider  least  en- 
jityable? 

Selfishness! 

^^Sociologists  estimate  that  ,18  per  cent  of 
uar  marriages  tvill  end  in  tlii'orce.  In  your 
(tpiniott,  is  a  wife's  infidelity  sufficient  cause 
for  divorce? 

No  woman's  opinion  is  worth  anything  on  this 
subject,  as  it  is  a  man's  decision.  I  have  known  very 
few  men  who  did  not  consider  that  a  wife's  infidelity 
meant  that  she  no  longer  cared  for  him,  and  certainly 
if  two  people  no  longer  love  each  other  that  is  suffi- 
cient cause  for  divorce. 

1^ What  about  the  war  widows  who  can't 
work  because  they  have  small  children  and  no 
family  to  fall  back  on?  Don't  we  owe  them  as 
much  as  we  otve  returning  servicemen? 

War  widows  are  looked  after  under  our  insurance 
plans,  and  there  has  always  been  in  this  country  a 
deep  sense  of  obligation  to  both  the  widows  and  the 
children  of  veterans.  I  hope  there  will  be  as  much  con- 
cern about  this  in  this  war  as  there  has  been  in  the  past. 


In  your  opinion,  how  can  a  woman  exert 
the  most  intelligent  influence  in  politics: 
through  her  husband,  as  you  have  done;  or  by 
running  for  office  on  her  own?  Would  you  have 
run  for  office  if  your  husband  had  not  needed 
your  help  in  the  way  you  have  given  it? 

It  seems  to  me  entirely  a  personal  decision. 
Many  women  would  find  it  almost  impossible  to  run 
for  office,  and  in  that  case  they  can  best  exercise  their 
influence  either  through  their  personal  contacts  or  in 
any  other  way  that  they  can  express  themselves.  If, 
however,  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  run  for  office  and 
fill  whatever  other  obligations  she  has,  I  think  that  is 
a  part  of  her  obligation  as  a  citizen,  just  as  it  is  with 
men.  I  would  probably  never  have  run  for  office  be- 
cause I  would  not  have  felt  that  I  had  the  proper 
qualifications. 


^^I  love  and  admire  my  wife,  but  there  is  one 
subject  on  which  it-e  can  never  agree.  She 
thinks  I  should  help  with  the  dishes.  Do  you 
think  this  is  a  husband's  work? 

I  think  anything  connected  with  the  home  is  as 
much  the  husband's  work  as  the  wife's.  This  silly  idea 
that  there  is  a  division  in  housework  seems  to  me 
foolish,  when  very  often  the  wife  earns  money  outside 
the  home  as  well  as  the  husband.  Certainly  if  there 
are  children,  the  wife  has  two  jobs — the  one  of  being 
a  mother  and  the  other  of  being  a  wife.  The  kind  of 
man  who  thinks  that  helping  with  the  dishes  is  beneath 
him  will  also  think  that  helping  with  the  baby  is  be- 
neath him,  and  then  he  certainly  is  not  going  to  be  a 
very  successful  father. 


WDoy 


)o  you  believe  in  giving  young  couples  an 
allowance  so  that  they  don't  have  to  wait  too 
long  to  be  married? 

I  certainly  do  if  it  can  be  done  without  hardship 
for  the  parents.  Society  is  so  constituted  that  the 
earning  capacity  begins  very  often  at  a  late  period, 
particAilarly  where  a  certain  amount  of  specialized 
education  is  necessary.  To  expect  young  people  to  re- 
frain from  marriage  on  that  account  often  leads  to 
great  difficulties  and  some  bitterness  toward  the 
family.  Naturally,  where  the  family  is  not  in  a  posi- 
tion to  do  this,  there  is  no  such  feeling,  because  young 
people  know  that  there  is  need  at  home  and  no  spare 
money  to  give  them.  Very  often,  in  that  case,  the 
young  man  will  go  to  work  earlier  than  he  would  if  he 
it  opportunities. 


had  dif^pi^t 
Ir    Refuge 


fugee  children  who  have  returned  to 
England  from  the  Lnited  States  are  three 
years  behind  in  some  school  subjects,  such  as 
math  and  French.  Do  you  think  that  ive  per- 
haps "baby"  our  children  too  long,  in  not 
making  full  use  of  their  capabilities? 

No,  I  think  our  education  is  simply  planned  in 
different  ways.  We  lay  more  stress  on  certain  subjects 
and  less  on  others,  and  perhaps  we  think  that  educa- 
tion includes  some  activities  which  are  not  strictly 
academic  and  therefore  have  a  smaller  place  in  educa- 
tion abroad.  On  the  whole,  the  finished  products  seem 
to  me  quite  satisfactory. 


^wlt  set 


It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  very  fine  line 
between  what  is  called  tactfulness  and  what  is 
out-and-out  deceit.  How  do  you  distinguish 
between  them? 

I  suppose  what  you  mean  is  that  if  one  refrains 
from  saying  things  sometimes  it  is  almost  tantamount 
to  allowing  people  to  form  an  erroneous  impression.  I 
think  there  are  times  when  it  is  necessary  to  state  one's 
opinions  and  then  tact  has  to  be  laid  aside,  but  there 
are  many  occasions  when  it  does  no  harm  to  be  silent, 
and  perhaps  avoid  a  disagreeable  situation.  If  di- 
rectly asked  a  question  I  would  think  it  was  deceit 
not  to  tell  the  truth. 

^' 

^l'  /s   it   true   that  a   high-school  senior  of 

eighteen   will  not   be  allowed   to  finish   high 

school  before  he  is  drafted? 

f 
According  to  an  amendment  to  the  Selective 
Service  Act,  any  person  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of 
age  who,  while  pursuing  a  course  of  instruction  at  a  high 
school  or  similar  institution  of  learning,  is  ordered  to 
report  for  induction  under  this  act  during  the  last  half 
of  one  of  his  academic  years,  such  school  or  institu- 
tion shall  upon  his  request  have  his  induction  under 
this  act  postponed  until  the  end  of  such  academic  year 
without  regard  to  the  date  on  which  such  academic 
year  ends  unless  he  ceases  to  pursue  such  course  of  in- 
struction. The  induction  of  any  such  person  shall  not 
be  postponed  under  this  subsection  beyond  a  date 
which  would  constitute  the  end  of  his  academic  year  if 
he  continues  to  pursue  such  a  course  of  instruction. 

Letters  should  be  addressed  lo  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  c/o  the 
Ladiks'  Home  Journal.  No  letters  for  this  page  sent  to  the 
White  House  will  be  answered.  It  should  be  understood  that 
Mrs.  Roosevelt's  ansicers  refleet  only  her  own  opinions,  and 
are  not  necessarily  the  opinions  either  of  the  Administration 
or  of  the  Editors  of  the  Journal. 


'^iirban  with  a  high  tapering  crown  of  absinthe- 
olored    velvet    with    ttvo    quills,    by    Paulette. 


BY  IVILHELA  rUSHMAN 

Fasbioa  Editor  of  the  Journal 

Free  Paris  creates  again.  The  Journal  brings  you  a 
page  of  midwinter  fashions,  designed  and  worn  in 
Paris  today:  hats  with  height  and  soaring  imagination; 
a  spirited  silhouette  .emphasizing  shoulders,  small  waist- 
lines, full  skirts;  accented  by  capelets,  full  sleeves,  belts 
and  sashes,  peplums,  aprons,  hipline  drapery.  Paris  coutu- 
rieres  are  welcomed  back  to  the  world  of  design  by  artists 
everywhere  who  speak  and  think  an  international  language. 


leVs  black  woolen  dress  with  plastron  andpep- 
■■  oj purple  crepe,  embroidered  with  paillettes. 


Lelong's  sequin-trimmed  black  crepe  dress 
trates  new  line  with  draped  hips,  back  fu 


(ixil  uilli  draped  tiipilf  I  h\    M<ul  ( ^iirin-ntifi.  em- 
phasizes  wide  rountled  shoulders,  soj'l  fullness. 


Legroux^s  taupe  felt  cloche  with  high  gathereil 
crown,  with  a  band  and  bow  of  green  velours. 


^^  mm 

11 

■ 

1 

1 

■1 

WKT.    mi 

I\ew-length  dance  skirl,  black  salin-stripe<l  taf- 
feta, full -sleeved  chijfon  blouse  by  Marcel  Rochas. 

uin's  tailored  wool  dress  with  a  slimmer  line, 
vet   trimming,  pockets  giving  a  jacket  effect. 


%,.  .^       ^ 


Piguel^s  black  wo€>l dress  with  apron  skirt,  velve 
trimming  and  belt.    Paulette's  mushroom 


teen 
hat. 


.Siisy'.s-  hat  known  as  "Success'";  high  draped  crown 
rust-colored  fell    with    pheasant  feathers. 


^      ^^  J 

f 

*   «►  4 

\ 

^   0 

J 

^-^— -"fei 

/ 

© 

HOLLYWOOD 

J                      ^ inr  M  •'*•'''■ 

ft 

^ 

mm^) 

fi 

Dinner  fco/ero,  Jotted  satin,  HOLL  YWOOD  PA  TTER 
2527,  wear  with  dinner  skirt.    Glove  pattern   193 


J,.*.?-^^^, 


V 


^ 


t 


r^^ 


#lkj^ 


,       ,Hm..<"-  '>'"""'.,,, black  sl^i'^*-^^ 


?;,TTKKN 


/?f//,'e  //«'  collar  of  your  suit  jachet  with  tvhite 
cyeh'l,  slightly  gathered;  use  also  at  wrists. 


Wrapped  bolero  with  flowing  scarf  ends,  to  make 
of  crepe  or  satin  front  ]\o.  2155,  for  a  long  dress. 


,  iv::^ 


Bright  change  for  your  black  suit:   shocking-pi 
striped  faille  scarf,  dickey,  cuffs.  To  make.  No.  21, 


Decorate  a  simple  sleeveless  blouse  with  a  three- 
inch  band  of  ribbon  and  wear  a  jeweled  ornament. 


/ 


THE  PLUS  i  YOUR  WIRDROBE 

BY   ^'ILHELA   CLSHMAN 

Fashion  Editor  of  the  Journal 

THE  plus,  the  personal,  the  super  in  your  wardrobe  is  achieved  this  year  by  SPECIAL 
ADDITIONS  which  you  can  make  yourself.  A  blouse,  a  cape,  a  stole,  new  necklines, 
a  band  of  color  flung  over  one  shoulder,  a  pleated  peplum — these  are  the  things  that 
tell  a  fresh  fashion  story  and  give  you  new  pleasure  in  your  clothes.  Midwinter  becomes  a 
bright  new  season  when  you  apply  these  changes  to  the  favorite  suit,  skirt,  jumper  or  din- 
ner dress  that  you  have  worn  so  many  times.  Each  of  these  SPECIAL  ADDITIONS  can 
be  interpreted  in  various  colors  or  fabrics.  The  making  doesn't  involve  a  lot  of  money  or 
special  talent — but  take  a  little  extra  care  and  time  and  make  them  really  beautiful.  Not 
one  is  a  gadget;  every  one  is  a  fashion,  lovely  to  look  at,  rewarding  to  wear. 

HOLLYWOOD  PATTERNS  must  be  ordered  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  from  Hollywood  Pattern  Service,  Putnam 
Avenue,  Greenwich,  Conn.,  or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario,  Canada.  Pattern  No.  1523, 25c;  1527,  25c;  1528, 25c. 

28 


Order  JOURNAL  ^ 
Over  Pattern  No.  21 
cents;  and  slove  pat 
1941, 1937,  5  cents  eaci 
Journal  Reference  Li 
Philadelphia  5,  Pel 
vania,  by  number. 


*i¥c  ^ci^  ^^UcC  cv^CK  4c  U^  mc.  "^  cucU  Acc 

tf9U  t^  UMtf  cUcMUf^^."    /4kcC  a<X  it  iA  t<X  6c. 


Stf  ^(KM,  'Tl^ddnet^ 


TODAY  is  my  wedding  day.  I  am  sitting  upstairs  in 
my  own  room,  all  ready  now  except  for  my  veil 
and  flowers.  Everyone  else  in  the  house  is  confused, 
excited  or  nervous,  even  though  it  will  be  a  small 
wedding  with  only  our  families  there.  My  father  is 
downstairs  pretending  that  he  is  quite  used  to  weddings. 
He  has  had  my  mother  retie  his  tie  four  times.  I  have 
locked  my  door,  because  now  that  my  mother  has  no 
more  to  do,  she  would  like  to  come  in  here  and  try 
to  keep  back  her  tears,  and  that  would  only  upset  us 
both.  My  closest  friend,  who  is  my  bridesmaid,  is  in  the 
guest  room  across  the  hall,  and  I  can  hear  her  moving 
about. 

But  I  am  sitting  here  and  I  know,  I  actually  know, 
how  deeply  happy  I  am. 

There  are  not  many  moments  when  you  can  stop 
and  say,  "Now,  in  this  minute,  I  am  happy,"  because 
happiness  is  mostly  a  remembered  emotion.  This  feeling 
has  come  to  me  only  two  or  three  times  in  my  life,  and 
now  it  is  here  again. 

Some  people  have  doubts  about  this  marriage  of  mine. 
They  think  Jerome  and  I  have  taken  on  more  than  we 
can  handle.  They  have  told  me  it's  all  very  fine  and 
romantic  for  now,  but  that  when  the  novelty  wears  off 
I  will  be  left  with  just  a  sense  of  obligation.  They  think 
I  have  not  considered  it  enough.  And  I  couldn't  pos- 
sibly begin  to  tell  them  how  it  really  is.  They  don't 
know  how  it  was  with  Jerry  and  me  before  he  went 
away. 

They  don't  know  about  the  time  we  were  driving 
through  the  countryside  and  came  upon  a  field  of  daisies. 
We  stopped  the  car  and  got  out  and  walked  hand  in 
hand  through  them  and  Jerry  looked  at  me  and  said, 
"From  now  on  you'll  always  be  Daisy.  It's  a  silly  name, 
darling,  and  your  own  is  much  prettier,  but  from  now 
on  you're  my  Daisy."  I  looked  up  at  him  then,  and  in 
the  instant  I  knew  that  no  matter  what,  he  was  all  I 
would  ever  want  in  this  world. 

Ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl  and  had  braved  the 
terrifying  heights  of  the  fig  tree  in  our  back  yard  and 
had  endured  the  agony  of  digging  for  fishing  worms 
just  to  be  with  Jerry,  I  had  waited  through  the  days 
for  this  one  day  to  come. 

Since  we've  been  grown  up  Jerry  has  always  been 
proud  of  the  way  I  looked.  His  favorite  colors  are  yel- 
low and  green,  and  spi|Some  of  my  dresses  are  yellow, 
and  some  are  green,  %h^' some  of  them  are  both.  He 
likes  me  without  a  hat,  so  I  have  only  one,  which  I 
save  for  wearing  to  church  on  Sunday,  and  for  dignified 
teas  which  I  sometimes  have  to  go  to  with  mother. 


When  he  enlisted  in  the  Navy  we  were  engaged,  but 
we  decided  'h^t  to  be  married  then  because  Jerry  had  to 
go  off  immediately  to  a  stiff  indoctrination  course.  He 
had  leave  just  one  week  end  during  those  months,  so  I 
went  up  to  Ithaca,  where  he  was  in  training,  and  we 
pretended  it  was  just  like  college  house  parties  all  over 
again.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  skiing  with  a  group  of 
other  officers  and  their  wives  and  girls,  and  there  was 
a  dance  at  the  hotel  in  the  evening. 

It  was  a  lovely  week  end  and  the  war  wasn't  with  us 
at  all. 

On  Sunday  morning  Jerry  and  I  got  up  early  and 
went  out  skiing  alone  before  it  was  time  for  my  train. 
We  stood  on  top  of  a  hill  breathing  hard  from  the  climb, 
and  Jerry  pushed  his  sun  goggles  back  onto  his  forehead. 
He  stood  squinting  at  the  bright,  bright  snow,  and  then 
he  turned  to  me  and  caught  my  hand. 

"It's  like  the  time  with  the  daisies,  isn't  it?"  he 
asked.  And  I  knew  they  were  the  times  we  would  both 
look  back  to,  when  we  were  apart. 

After  Ithaca,  he  was  sent  to  an  amphibious  training 
base  for  three  months,  but  it  wasn't  really  bad,  because 
he  telephoned  me  every  Sunday  morning,  and  our  let- 
ters took  only  two  days  to  get  back  and  forth.  After 
that  he  came  home  for  four  days.  We  knew  he  was 
leaving  then,  and  for  most  of  those  four  days  we  just 
sat  quietly  and  held  hands.  I  remember  thinking  at 
the  time  that  there  were  so  many  things  I  must  want  to 
say  to  him,  and  to  hear  him  say  to  me,  but  I  didn't 
know  what  any  of  them  were.  I  could  only  hold  on  to 
his  hand. 

He  wanted  to  stay  at  home  as  long  as  possible,  so, 
instead  of  taking  the  midnight  sleeper,  he.  took  the 
express  that  went  through  our  town  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

We  stayed  up  all  night,  and  I  went  over  to  his 
house  with  him  and  talked  to  his  mother  and  father 
while  he  packed.  Then  we  walked  through  the  dark 
streets  to  the  station  together  and  I  thought  hard 
about  daisies  and  snow  in  the  sunlight.  I  had  on  a  yel- 
low dress  with  a  yellow  bow  in  my  hair,  and  just  before 
he  got  on  the  train  he  said,  "I'm  taking  you  with  me, 
just  the  way  you  are  now."  And  after  that  we  didn't 
say  anything  at  all,  but  held  each  other  close  until  he 
broke  away  and  ran  down  the  platform  to  the  right  car. 

I  got  letters  from  North  Africa  for  quite  a  while,  very 
gay  and  silly  letters,  and  some  useless  exotic  presents  he 
must  have  spent  all  his  pay  on.  Then  none  of  us  heard 

ILLUSTRATEU   BY   PERRY   PETERSON 

31 


for  a  long  time,  and  the  invasion  of  Sicily  began,  and 
it  was  bad  for  all  of  us  who  loved  him,  because  we  knew 
the  amphibious  forces  would  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
assault. 

But  after  a  time  we  heard.  He  was  back  in  North 
Africa,  and  he  had  been  in  the  hospital  for  a  while,  but 
everything  was  fine  now  and  he  was  coming  home  on 
leave  at  almost  any  minute. 

He  got  back  last  week  and  it  wasn't  at  all  like  when 
he  went  away.  This  time  everyone  who  knew  him  and 
some  who  didn't  came  down  to  the  station  to  meet  him. 
Jerry  is  a  hero  to  our  town  and  so  he  had  to  be  shared 
for  a  while.  Even  at  the  station,  when  he  tried  to  put 
his  arms  around  me,  everyone  crowded  around  and  car- 
ried him  away  from  me.  It  wasn't  until  we  sat  in  his 
living  room  that  I  could  look  at  him  and  touch  his  hand. 
His  mother  wept  softly  because  of  his  return,  and  his 
father  paced  around  the  room  picking  up  things  and 
putting  them  down. 

I  could  really  look  at  him  then  and  cry  inside  myself, 
He  hasn't  changed.  Thank  God.  he  hasn't  chani;ed  at  all. 
I  never  knew  until  that  moment  how  mucii  I'd  been 
afraid  he  might.  Not  afraid  that  he  would  stop  loving 
me,  but  that  things  would  happen  to  him  to  make  him 
unfamiliar  and  that  we  might  have  to  start  loving  each 
other  all  over  again,  from  the  beginning.  But  here  it 
was,  all  of  it,  the  sunlight  and  the  snow,  just  where  it 
had  been  left  off  so  many  months  ago. 

Jerry  put  his  hand  up  and  stroked  my  hair.  "Daisy," 
he  said,  "we  have  to  have  a  talk  first  thing." 

"We do,"  I  told  him.  "There  are  plans  and  plans  to 
make.  But  you're  supposed  to  relax  and  only  worry 
about  the  ring,  while  I'll  have  a  million  and  one  things 
on  my  mind." 

Jerry's  mouth  set  in  the  firm  lines  that  everyone  else's 
mouth  set  into  during  the  next  few  days.  But  the  fact 
remains  that  now,  a  week  later,  I  am  here  in  my  room 
in  my  wedding  gown  and  it's  time  for  the  girls  to  come 
in  and  help  me  put  my  veil  on  right. 

Pretty  soon  my  lather  will  come  up  here  to  take  rne 
downstairs,  looking  almost  as  young,  and  certainly  as 
handsome,  as  the  day  he  took  me  to  be  christened. 
Mother  will  have  dried  her  tears  and  begun  to  behave 
with  dignity  and  beauty,  and  I  will  be  very  proud  of  her. 

But  I  will  be  proudest  of  Jerry.  He  will  stand  there 
in  front  of  the  fireplace  and  turn  to  where  my  father 
and  I  are  coming  to  meet  him.  But  he  won't  see  my 
lovely  dress,  or  my  veil,  or  the  white  and  yellow  flowers 
which  I  will  be  holding  in  my  hands.  He  will  never,  all 
his  life,  see  my  face  again,  or  the  faces  of  our  children. 


33 


ERE  was  a  little  square  of  green  lawn 
I  the  back  yard,  but  it  was  far  away, 
ooking  down  from  the  third-floor  back 
arch,  the  lawn  seemed  no  bigger  than  a 
rug.  Ann  had  to  stand  with  her  feet  on 
ver  railing  and  her  hands  on  the  upper 
;  of  the  porch  banister;  then  she  could 
ull  herself  up  far  enough  so  that  she 
look  over  and  down.  The  back  porches 
airs  of  the  flat  building  made  a  com- 
!d  design  of  banisters,  steps  and  risers 
tilings. 

stairs  all  went  down  in  the  center  so 
tie  small  square  porches  were  free.  It 
bout  thirty  inches  from  the  banister 
the  west  side  of  Ann's  back  porch  to 
st  side  of  Gustave's  back  porch.  This 
le  space  of  the  walk  that  ran  between 
o  buildings  all  the  way  from  the  street 
ilk  to  the  back  yard,  and  was  open  all  the 
p  to  the  sky. 

in  her  mother  lifted  Ann  over  from 
Tch  to  the  other,  for  just  an  instant  it 
i  that  the  very  bottomless  pit  was 
h  her  dangling  feet.  But  Ann  was  not 
Her  mother's  hands  were  strong  and 
nd  never  released  her  until  she  was 
!)ver  the  other  banister  and  her  feet 
n  the  other  porch  floor, 
tave's  porch  was  exactly  like  Ann's, 
lilding  was  exactly  like  hers.  There 
ix  of  them  in  the  block,  six  identical 
hioned  flat  buildings,  with  six  flats  in 
)uilding.  Each  had  a  front  central 
:e  and  stairs,  with  doors  on  either 
each  landing.  Then  the  narrow  area- 
tween  one  building  and  the  next.  If 
d  not  live  there  you  might  wonder 
eople  could  know  which  place  was 
wn. 

there  were  ways  of  knowing.  In 
fet,  for  instance,  there  was  a  dentist 
first  floor,  with  a  large  tooth  hanging 
his  window.  In  Gustave's  flat  there 
)arber  on  the  first  floor. 

these  flats  had  been  quite  grand, 

leir  carved  stone  balusters  and  shal- 

ps,  with  speaking  tubes  and  thick  red 

rpets!    They  were  still  sound  and 

ut  now  the  street  below  clanged  with 

cars.  Great  horse-drawn  drays  filled 

bled  pavements  from  curb  to  curb, 

til  late  at  night  the  noise  and  the 

lid  not  abate.    The  street  was  too 

Dwn  to  bring  high  rents  any  longer. 

times  Ann  went  down  on  the  street 

r  father  or  her  mother.    She  was 

fraid,  for  they  held  her  hand  firmly 

father  was  tall  and  strong,  and  her 

too,  was  broad-shouldered  and  deep- 

and  afraid  of  nothing.  Ann  liked  to 

in  the  busy  streets  with  them.   But 

never  went  anywhere  outside  of  the 


as  five  years  old.  He  was  as  old  as 
ut  he  could  not  remember  when 
been  on  the  street.  Ann  told  him 
—leaving  out  no  harrowing  detail 
trucks  and  horses  and  red  fire  en- 
th  four  white  horses  to  draw  them  at 
ing  run  through  the  traffic. 

5ved   Gustave.    He  was   the  only 
had  to  play  with,  day  after  day. 
smaller  than  herself.   He  was  thin 

and  had  big  brown  eyes,  whereas 
s  sturdy  and  round  and  firm  and 
Her  eyes  were  dark  and  her  dark 
air  was  banged  across  her  forehead 
straight  around  below  her  ears,  thick 
ing  but  without  a  sign  of  a  curl, 
father  had  spoken  contemptuously 
Gustave  when  he  had  been  lifted 
rail  to  eat  supper  with  Ann  and  she 

d  him  to  recite  for  her  parents. 

had  recited  a  great  long  piece  of 

ithout  a  mistake,  and  Ann's  father 
n  his  mustache, 
brain  than  brawn,"  he  had  said 

|y- 

nn  loved  to  hear  Gustave  recite, 
ght  he  was  very  precious.  And  to 
he  loved  her  would  hardly  be  ade- 
"e  worshiped  her.  He  wakened  in 
ng  to  wait  for  her  appearance,  his 
tered  at  the  dining-room  window 


nearest  her  porch.  He  had  never  had  a 
child  to  play  with  until  Ann  came.  Mostly 
theji  played  on  the  porches,  but  sometimes 
they  went  into  Gustave's  flat  to  eat  warm 
bread  just  from  the  oven,  with  honey  spread 
on  it. 

Gustave's  flat  was  very  different  from 
Ann's  home,  although  the  rooms  were  just 
the  same,  even  to  the  wallpaper.  The  kitchen 
and  dining  room  were  across  the  back  of  the 
flat,  as  at  home,  and  then  a  long  hall  led 
forward  with  the  bathroom  and  small  bed- 
room on  one  side  and  the  two  big  bedrooms 
on  the  other  side,  then  the  entrance  from 
the  hall  and  then  the  parlor  overlooking  the 
street.  But  at  Gustave's  the  dining  room 
was  a  workroom.  There  the  two  women,  the 
young  one  and  the  old  one,  sewed  together 
all  day.  Gustave's  mother  ran  the  sewing 
machine  and  the  old  woman  cut  and  basted 
and  bit  the  thread  off  with  her  strong  yellow 
teeth.  They  talked  and  talked  above  the 
whir  of  the  machine  and  they  were  happy 
when  they  were  alone.  They  sang  songs  and 
taught  songs  and  poems  out  of  a  reader  to 


dark  with  bright  black  eyes  and  bright- 
colored  suspenders  over  his  stifT  white  shirts. 
Ann  did  not  know  what  relationship  he  bore 
to  Gustave,  but  she  thought  he  was  not 
Gustave's  father.  Gustave  was  not  afraid 
of  the  man,  but  the  women  were.  Once  Ann 
saw  him  hit  the  young  woman.  He  came  in 
and  flung  down  a  skirt  of  shimmering  change- 
able taffeta,  and  without  a  word  of  warning 
he  struck  her — a  glancing  blow,  so  quickly 
hit  and  done  you  were  scarcely  sure  that  he 
had  hit  her.  Ann  thought  he  was  mean,  but 
since  Gustave  was  not  afraid  of  him,  she  was 
not  afraid  of  him  either. 

For  days  on  end  she  did  not  see  him  at  all. 
Often  the  man  put  a  coin  in  Gustave's  hand. 
He  looked  at  him  with  his  long  dark  eyes 
and  laughed  a  little.  He  laughed  at  Ann, 
too,  but  she  did  not  pay  any  attention  to 
him. 

She  and  Gustave  played  through  the  long 
summer  days.  They  played  house,  with 
dolls  and  her  tea  set.  They  played  cowboys 
and  Indians.  They  played  cops  and  robbers. 
They  just  played  "pl-like"  said  Ann,  all  in 


Tl 

^ 


^yAe  m'ysat  moA  a  maaotmi  mina,  uH:e  a 
a^eam,  0'}<-  me  aar^K  oa^iae  a  Ita/dea  'fwom. 


Gustave.  They  gave  Ann  small  bright  scraps 
of  silk  or  wool  for  doll  rags,  and  sometimes 
they  asked  her  questions. 

"Your  father  works  for  the  printing  plant, 
yes?"  They  always  put  yeses  at  the  end  of 
their  sentences. 

Ann  knew  they  were  "foreigners,"  but  it 
meant  nothing  to  her.  She  liked  their  soft 
voices,  their  bright  speech.  Once  she  and 
Gustave  had  peeked  into  the  parlor,  which 
was  fixed  up  to  fit  suits  and  dresses.  It  had 
a  large  mirror  fastened  to  the  wall  and  a 
stool  where  ladies  could  stand  to  have  their 
hems  pinned  up.  It  had  big  green  chairs 
and  a  huge  wardrobe,  a  table  with  thick 
books  of  fashion  pictures.  The  man  who 
lived  at  Gustave's  had  a  shop  outside  in  the 
city  somewhere.  He  was  away  a  great  deal, 
but  sometimes  he  was  there  to  fit  garments. 
If  anything  was  wrong  with  the  fitting  he 
was  always  angry. 

When  the  man  was  home  everything  was 
different.  If  he  came  in  unexpectedly,  Ann 
was  taken  at  once  and  lifted  back  over  the 
railing.  The  man  was  younger  than  her 
father,  and  he  was  very  tall  and  thin  and 


one  syllable.  "Play  like!"  Ann  had  played 
with  her  cousins.  She  knew  many  games 
and  she  was  good  at  make-believe.  Gustave 
did  whatever  she  told  him  to  do. 

On  Ann's  porch  there  was  a  gate  to  keep 
her  olT  the  stairs.  But  she  had  been  down 
the  stairs  often  with  her  mother  or  father, 
and  on  several  occasions  alone.  She  knew 
her  way. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  there  was  a 
square  of  cement  and  then  a  few  steps  that 
went  down  to  the  basement.  The  base- 
ment door  was  kept  locked.  In  it,  each 
tenant  had  his  own  locked  and  bolted  store- 
room and  coal  bin,  and  there  was  a  laundry 
each  lady  might  use  on  her  own  day.  The 
man  who  took  care  of  all  the  flats  kept  the 
basement  and  walks  clean  and  sprinkled  the 
small  lawns.  The  fenced-in  back  yards  car- 
ried clotheslines  so  that  sometimes  the  lawn 
was  obscured  by  flapping  washings.  Some- 
times when  Ann's  mother  washed  she  left 
Ann  with  Gustave  all  morning.  Sometimes 
she  took  Ann  to  the  basement  and  let  her 
play  on  the  steps  and  on  the  grass  within 
sound  of  her  voice. 


Along  the  back  of  the  yard  was  a  high 
solid  wooden  fence,  and  in  the  middle  of  this 
was  a  double  gate  which  would  swing  so 
that  a  van  could  be  backed  into  the  yard  to 
unload  furniture  or  coal.  Mostly  this  gate 
was  kept  closed  and  held  closed  with  a  bar. 
Ann  was  strictly  forbidden  to  go  into  the 
alley  behind.  But  from  her  back  porch  and 
from  Gustave's  they  could  see  the  teams  and 
carts  that  went  back  and  forth  in  the  alley. 
They  could  see  other  yards;  could  see  even 
to  the  cross  street  on  the  east  where  the  big 
drays  passed  all  day.  It  was  a  vivid  and 
colorful  show— and  safely  removed.  They 
counted  white  horses  and  wished  on  them. 
They  went  on  journeys  in  fine  hacks,  from 
their  small  safe  porches. 

On  those  days  when  Ann  went  with  her 
mother  to  visit  her  grandmother  or  one  of 
her  aunts,  and  to  play  with  her  young 
cousins,  Gustave  moped  through  a  long  and 
lonely  day.  For  him  the  sun  came  back 
when  Ann  came. 

They  were  almost  always  parted  on  Sun- 
days. Sunday  was  a  day  for  family.  Some- 
times there  were  music  and  laughter  and 
company  next  door,  and  sometimes  there 
was  long  and  bitter  quarreling.  Once  the 
old  lady  came  and  called  shrilly  for  Ann's 
mother  to  come  and  get  Gustave,  and  she 
put  him  over  the  railing  and  he  stayed  with 
them  until  long  after  dark.  It  was  hard  to 
hear  what  went  on  next  door,  from  within 
the  flat.  But  if  you  were  on  the  porch,  you 
could  hear  distinctly.  The  day  after  that 
Sunday  the  young  woman  was  not  in  sight 
for  several  days,  and  then  she  wore  a  band- 
age on  her  face. 

"He'll  kill  her  someday,"  said  Ann's 
father  darkly.  "He's  working  himself  up  to 
it.  He  can't  forget  the  lad's  not  his.  I  don't 
thir.k  I'd  let  Ann  play  there." 

"They're  mostly  out-of-doors.  She  has  no 
other  child.  She  must  have  a  child  to  play 
with,"  said  Ann's  mother. 

Ann  sensed  that  they  might  keep  her 
away  from  Gustave,  so,  with  a  child's  cun- 
ning, she  did  not  tell  them  what  Gustave 
told  her  about  that  Sunday.  It  was  only  a 
shadowy  thing  like  a  dream,  or  something 
they  might  make  up  to  scare  themselves, 
anyhow. 

So  the  morning  came.  The  Monday  morn- 
ing when  Ann's  mother  lingered  in  the 
kitchen,  waiting  for  some  sign  of  life  next 
door  so  that  she  could  put  Ann  over  the 
railing  and  go  down  to  the  laundry  in  the 
basement.  She  had  a  key  to  the  basement, 
as  each  tenant  had.  The  people  who  lived 
immediately  below  were  gone  all  day,  and 
the  dentist  and  his  wife  lived  mostly  in  the 
front  of  their  flat,  where  the  dentist's  office 
was,  so  that  the  back  stairs  and  porches 
were  deserted.  Ann  had  made  one  trip  to 
the  basement  with  her  father  when  he  car- 
ried the  big  basket  of  laundry  down  before 
he  went  to  work.  She  had  made  another 
trip  with  her  mother  when  they  carried 
down  the  basket  of  clothespins — Ann's 
burden — and  the  pan  of  hot  starch,  which 
her  mother  carried. 

At  last  Ann,  on  the  back  porch,  saw  Gus- 
tave at  the  window.  He  looked  very  strange 
and  just  stood  there  in  the  window  and 
stared  at  her. 

"Gustave  is  up,  mother — lift  me  over," 
she  called. 

Her  mother  came  at  once  and  glanced  at 
the  strange  pale  face  of  the  small  boy  looking 
out  at  them  so  eerily.  She  was  in  a  hurry 
and  she  only  said,  "My!  He  looks  frail! 
They  shouldn't  keep  him  cooped  up  like 
that!"  She  lifted  Ann  over  the  railings  and 
put  her  down  inside  the  other  porch. 

Ann  looked  down  as  her  mother  lifted  her 
over  and  saw,  far  below,  the  narrow  walk 
between  the  houses,  with  the  cement  pave- 
ment which  extended  all  the  way  between 
the  buildings.  But  once  on  the  porch,  she 
went  to  the  window  and  called,  "Come  out, 
Gustave.   Come  out  and  play." 

He  only  stood  and  looked  at  her.  He 
looked  so  strange  and  stricken  that  Ann  felt 
a  little  chill.  He  seemed  to  see  her,  but  he 
(Continued  on  Page  88) 


^ 


BY  THE  time  we  vaulted  the  fence  Middy 
had  vanished  on  the  other  side  of  the 
pasture,  but  we  kept  on  toward  the  spot 
where  we  had  last  seen  him.  We  could  dis- 
tinguish faint  sounds  muffled  by  the  fog. 
At  first  we  seemed  to  catch  a  gurgling  un- 
dertone, like  no  sound  known  to  human 
ears,  but  this  ceased  before  we  were  even  sure  that 
we  heard.  Then  we  picked  up  a  dim  hodgepodge 
of  noises,  among  which  we  could  make  out  the 
low,  short  snorting  of  a  horse,  a  trampling  of 
hoofs  and  the  murmur  of  an  inarticulate  voice. 

"That's  Middy,"  Hugo  said.  "Whatever  is 
happening,  it's  down  by  the  creek." 

We  ran  that  way.  I  recalled  Hugo's  warning 
about  quicksands  along  this  creek  bank.  I  was 
afraid  the  sound  we  had  heard  had  been  the  bub- 
bling of  quicksands  in  a  state  of  disturbance. 
What  was  going  on  under  cover  of  the  fog? 

We  saw  Middy,  half  outlined  in  the  swirling 
fog.  He  was  standing  firmly  on  a  trustworthy 
bank.  We  saw  that  he  had  a  human  compan- 
ion— wonder  of  wonders,  a  lady.  She  was  holding 
fast  to  Middy,  half  talking  to  him,  half  sobbing. 
Her  soaking  dress  draggled  about  her;  her  hair 
hung  upon  her  shoulders. 

Hugo  gave  a  sharp  cry.  "Nellie ! "  They  went 
into  each  other's  arms  as  if  a  tidal  wave  had  swept 
them  together. 

The  little  horse  backed  off  and  waited.  We  were 
standing  on  the  brink  of  a  wide  pool  of  throbbing 
sand.  It  was  a  treacherous  margin  of  the  marsh 
sprawling  up  and  down  the  creek,  merging  decep- 
tively into  solid  land.  I  tossed  a  stone  into  the 
sand.  It  sank.  A  bubble  slowly  swelled  and  burst 
where  it  plopped. 

Nellie  was  recovering  her  composure.  "Where 
is  the  white  horse?  "  she  asked,  looking  around  for 
him.  "Oh,  there  you  are!  Come  here,  you  dar- 
ling. He  saved  my  life.  He  heard  me  when  I  first 
screamed."  She  was  distributing  kisses  about 
equally  between  Hugo  and  Middy  while  she 
spoke. 

Gradually  she  stopped  shivering  with  the  shock 
of  her  experience,  and  explained  how  it  had  come 
about.  She  had  attempted  to  go  home  from  the 
Bedloe  house  by  a  path  which  had  been  in  former 
days  a  short  cut.  During  the  past  spring  a  fence 
had  been  reset,  altering  one  of  the  landmarks  by 
which  she  used  to  guide  her  course.  In  the  twi- 
light she  had  not  noticed  the  closeness  of  the  sand 
bed.  She  stepped  into  it.  Her  cry  had  but  one 
hearer — Middy. 

"He  knew  what  was  happening  as  well  as  I 
did,"  she  said.  "He  was  careful  not  to  fall  in  him- 
self. He  tested  the  ground  with  his  feet,  and 
stretched  out  his  long  neck  and  got  hold  of  me 
with  his  teeth.  I  caught  his  mane  and  forelock 
with  my  hands,  and  he  pulled  me  out." 

The  only  unhappy  consequence  was  the  impos- 
sibility of  doing  anything  to  reward  the  hero. 
Middy  settled  the  matter  for  the  time  being  by 
taking  himself  off  in  the  direction  of  the  stable 
and  his  belated  oats  and  corn. 

lou  should  not  have  been  walking  home 
alone,"  Hugo  said  indignantly.  "What's  John 
Bedloe  thinking  of  to  allow  you  to  start  by  your- 
self at  this  hour?" 

"You  won't  have  it  when  you're  my  husband, 
will  you,  sir?"  Nellie  derided  him  politely. 

Hugo  laughed.  "Let's  not  quarrel  about  that 
now.  I'll  get  you  married  to  me  before  I  venture 
to  assert  husbandly  authority." 

For  the  moment  they  dropped  the  lost  years 
as  if  they  had  never  been. 

I  said,  "You  go  on  home  with  Nellie,  and  I  will 
return  to  the  house  and  have  dinner  with  Mr. 
Brann." 

They  rejected  this  program  immediately. 
"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Madame  Farleigh 
will  have  reached  home  by  the  time  we  arrive. 
We'll  have  it  out  with  her  now,  and  we'll  all  take 
part." 

There  being  no  more  to  be  said,  we  crossed  the 
creek  and  made  our  way  to  the  grounds  of  the 
Farleigh  house.  The  lighted  windows  beckoned  us 

Copyright,  1937,  by  the  Derrydale  Press,  Inc. 
Copyright,  1944,  by  Marguerite  F,  Bayliss. 

ILLUSTRATED     BT     AL     PARKEB 


brightly  along  the  final  steps  of  our  journey.  We 
entered  the  house.  The  servants  told  us  that 
Madame  Farleigh  was  upstairs  refreshing  herself 
after  her  long  drive. 

Nellie  left  us,  the  servant  showed  us  into  a 
drawing  room  and  we  sat  there  until  we  heard 
the  tread  of  a  lady  entering.  We  arose.  I  needed 
no  introduction  to  know  that  this  was  Madame 
Farleigh — the  Madame  Farleigh,  as  I  had  once 
called  her.  She  was  slender  and  graceful.  Her 
hair  was  indeed  "a  little  snowdrift,"  but  it  seemed 
like  hair  that  had  always  been  snowy  by  nature 
rather  than  from  years.  For  the  rest,  the  hand- 
some dark  eyes  were  keen,  the  artfully  ruby  lips 
were  strong  and  yet  able  to  smile.  Her  dress  was 
not  simple.  Its  ultrafeminine  sumptuousness  did, 
as  the  doctor  had  said,  recall  the  departed  glories 
of  Marie  Antoinette.  Then  and  there,  I  fell  some- 
what in  love  with  Madame  Farleigh. 

IJY  THE  time  my  impressions  crystallized  Hugo 
had  presented  me  and  I  was  bowing.  Madame 
Farleigh  bestowed  on  me  one  searching  glance  of 
appraisal,  smiled  and  addressed  Hugo. 

"What  is  this  mad  story  Nellie  tells  me?  Hugo 
Bolinvar,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  this  in  the 
beginning?  Haven't  I  always  been  your  friend? 
Haven't  I  always  known  that  your  father  was  a 
rogue?  Didn't  I  know  Emilie?  Don't  I  know 
you?  Why,  you  and  Emilie  are  as  like  as  peas  in  a 
pod.  I  suppose  it  was  the  shock  Alexander  gave 
you  that  caused  you  to  act  as  you  did.  You  as- 
sumed Nellie's  mother  could  not  be  trusted  any 
more  than  your  father.  But  I  can't  understand 
why  Nellie  feared  to  trust  me.  She  should  have 
known  her  happiness  meant  more  to  me  than 
anything  else  on  earth." 

So  the  final  step  was  taken,  and  Madame  Far- 
leigh's  sole  complaint  was  of  the  too-long  reti- 
cence of  her  children. 

"But  I  could  not  tell  you,"  Hugo  said.  "I 
wanted  an  ally  for  the  prevention  of  a  marriage 
which  I  believed  Nellie  would  not  give  up  will- 
ingly, not  an  ally  to  help  me  persuade  her  into  the 
marriage." 

Madame  Farleigh  looked  hard  at  him.  "Hugo! 
Hugo !  Sublime  folly,  and  gallant  wrongness ! " 

"And  you  do  not  oppose  our  re-engagement?" 
Hugo  asked.  "I  take  Nellie  with  your  blessing?" 

"Haven't  you  always  had  my  blessing?" 

Hugo  kissed  her  hand  and  so  did  I. 

"And  now,"  she  resumed,  "Nellie  is  waiting  for 
us  in  the  dining  room.  She  told  me  a  second  melo- 
dramatic story,  right  on  top  of  the  one  we  have 
been  dissecting.  She  tells  me  that  the  mud  which 
soiled  her  skirt  is  from  a  quicksand,  out  of  which 
she  was  dragged  by  a  horse  of  yours.  Since  he  is 
your  horse,  Hugo,  I  suppose  nothing  can  be  done 
for  him?  He  ought  to  be  rewarded  somehow." 

"He  has  been  rewarded,"  Hugo  said.  "Nellie 
kissed  him.  As  for  ourselves,  we  are  not  fit  to  ap- 
pear in  your  dining  room.  We  have  been  hunting 
all  day  in  these  clothes,  and  to  finish  them  we  were 
in  mud  coming  here." 

"  It  is  an  hour  and  forty  minutes  past  dinner- 
time now,"  Madame  Farleigh  declared.  "You 
may  remove  some  of  the  mud,  but  you  will  have 
to  dine  as  you  are." 

We  dined  en  famille.  When  we  reached  the 
coffee,  we  dismissed  the  servants  and  turned  to 
Nellie  for  the  story  of  her  French  argosy. 

She  looked  across  the  table  to  me.  "The  wit- 
ness for  whom  we  searched  in  France — whom  I 
found,  and  you  did  not  find— is  Madame  Ar- 
neaux,  of  Nice,  formerly  of  Paris.  Madame  Ar- 
neaux  and  Emilie  were  schoolmates  and  very 
close  friends.  It  was  in  Nice,  at  the  Arneaux 
house,  that  they  met  for  the  first  and  last  time  as 
wedded  women.  Mr.  Bolinvar  and  his  wife  dined 
with  Emilie's  old  friend  and  passed  a  long  evening 
there.  Emilie  told  her  friend  about  her  infant 
son,  then  in  Paris  in  care  of  a  trusted  servant. 

"I  traced  the  servant.  She  was  an  English 
nanny,  since  departed  this  life.  The  baby  was 
named  Bois  Hugo.  Madame  Arneaux  knows 
nothing  of  the  fate  of  the  motherless  baby  in 
Paris,  except  that  its  father  came  and  got  it." 
She  arose.  "Now,  before  we  continue,  I  will  show 
you  something.    Stay  where  you  are,  please." 

35 


She  walked  to  a  portiered  window  embrasure 
which,  we  now  noticed  for  the  first  time,  had 
been  set  like  a  miniature  stage.  She  folded  the 
curtains  away  carefully  from  a  canvas  posed  on 
a  chair  so  that  light  from  the  chandelier  above 
fell  softly  upon  it.  We  gazed  at  it,  fascinated.  It 
seemed  to  be  a  picture  of  Hugo,  made  when  he 
was  some  sixteerror  eighteen  years  of  age.  The  odd 
thing  about  it  was  that  it  was  done  in  the  power- 
ful colors  which  Hugo,  and  Hugo  alone,  used  so 
effectively.  Hugo  stood  up.  He  looked  at  the 
picture  with  concentrated  intentness. 

"Well,  Hugo!"  Madame  Farleigh  exclaimed. 
"I  didn't  know  you  had  painted  your  own  pic- 
ture." 

"I  didn't  paint  that  picture,  Madame  Far- 
leigh," Hugo  said.  "It  is  not  mine.  That  is  a 
woman's  face." 

Nellie  smiled.  She  unfolded  the  curtains  far- 
ther. The  hair  appeared,  the  costume.  It  was  a 
woman's  face. 

Madame  Farleigh  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Emilie ! " 
she  cried. 

Nellie  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  her  stage- 
managing.  She  said,  "This  is  a  portrait  of  Emilie 
de  Goncourt  Bolinvar,  painted  by  her  brother, 
Paul  Victor  de  Goncourt.  Emilie  had  two 
brothers,  Paul  Victor  and  Jules.  Jules  died  in 
prison  during  the  revolution,  from  heart  failure. 
There  is  a  tendency  to  weakness  of  the  heart  in 
the  De  Goncourt  family.  In  her  school  days 
Emilie  herself  had  a  delicacy  of  the  heart,  but 
she  outgrew  it.  Several  of  the  De  Goncourts  were 
artists.  A  preference  for  the  use  of  audacious  color 
is  a  common  characteristic  of  those  artists. 
Emilie  had  the  same  tastes.  She  habitually  wore 
strong  colors  such  as  most  women  could  not  wear, 
and  wore  them  superbly." 

"That  is  true,"  Madame  Farleigh  verified. 

How  the  girl  had  built  up  her  argument,  how 
complete  it  was.  I  said  to  Hugo,  "Now  are  you 
convinced?" 

Yes.  Breeders  of  horses  are  practical  experts 
in  heredity.  No  one  of  them  could  hesitate  to  ac- 
cept this  as  proof  of  pedigree.  I  am  of  the  De 
Goncourt  blood." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  picture?"  Madame 
Farleigh  wanted  to  know. 

"I  went  hunting  for  relics  of  the  De  Goncourt 
family.  By  1800  the  wars  and  wholesale  devasta- 
tion in  France  had  exterminated  the  De  Gon- 
courts, and  their  palace  had  been  looted.  Little 
by  little,  I  assembled  a  collection  of  its  former 
contents.  I  rented  an  apartment  in  Paris  in  which 
to  store  the  things.  Fortunately,  you  never  in- 
quired what  I  was  doing  with  the  funds  you  so 
generously  forwarded." 

Madame  Farleigh  gazed  meditatively  at  me. 
"Will  you  tell  me  what  you  are  thinking,  young 
Devereux?  What  ideas  do  you  have  respecting 
Hugo's  status  as  a  lawful  son  if,  as  I  for  one  never 
did  doubt,  he  is  Emilie's  son?" 

"You  are  wondering  about  the  sequence  of 
these  events?  I'm  sad  to  say  that  my  guess  would 
be  that  as  Emilie's  son  his  status  is  even  more 
how-come-you-so  than  it  would  have  been  as 
Rosanne's  son.  Uncle  Alexander  must  have  taken 
bigamy  in  his  stride.  We  have  learned  that  Ro- 
sanne  lived  four  months  after  he  left  her.  During 
that  time,  his  marriage  to  Emilie  must  have  been 
completed.  Hugo  is  most  likely  what  the  old 
Plantagenet  kings  call  a  legitimated  son.  Alex- 
ander would  have  had  to  repeat  a  wedding  cere- 
mony with  Emilie  after  Rosanne's  death  to  make 
Emilie  a  bona-fide  wife.  But  his  son  by  Emilie, 
born  while  she  believed  herself  lawfully  wedded, 
would  be  automatically  legitimated." 

"  I  am  wondering,"  Nellie  said,  "about  the  mo- 
tive which  induced  him  to  betray  Emilie,  if  the 
baby  was  really  Emilie's." 

"The  most  probable  hypothesis,"  Hugo  an- 
swered, "is  that  Emilie  found  out  about  Rosanne. 
Suppose  she  learned  that  she  had  never  been 
legally  married  to  Alexander.  If  Flood  had  some 
reason  of  his  own,  he  may  have  informed  her,  or 
caused  her  to  be  informed.  Or  she  may  have 
learned  in  some  other  way.  If  we  assume  that  she 
did  make  such  a  (Continued  on  Page  42) 


^xiriririrxirx^'^^^^ 


BOTH  radios  were  going — the  one  in  the  kitch 
and  the  one  in  the  sitting  room.  Alec  Templet 
was  playing  one  of  his  improvisations:  Claire 
Lune  .  .  .  Limehouse  Blues  .  * .  .  Pis 
Packin'  Mama  .  .  .  None  But  the  Lonely  Hea 
I  could  hear  mother  laughing.  And  Sally  slid  alo 
the  piano  bench,  getting  ready  to  do  a  musical  m 
ture  of  her  own.  She  loves  to  imitate  celebriti 
She  does  a  simply  marvelous  Bob  Hope.  You  ou§ 
to  hear  her !  One  wisecrack  after  another. 

Right  in  the  middle  of  the  applause,  the  telepho 
rang. 

"Phone!"  Sarah  yelled.  "I'll  answer!" 

But  I  got  there  first.  The  phone  is  in  the  hall, 
the  foot  of  the  stairs.  I  ran  all  the  way  from  the  p; 
try  and  grabbed  off  the  receiver. 

"Hello? "  My  Katharme  Hepburn  voice.  Terril 
effective,  when  you  want  to  hold  people  off. 

"Fifty-five  cents,  please,"  the  operator  said,  " 
three  minutes." 

"All  right." 

I  heard  the  coins  begin  to  drop,  and  the  gong  r 
istering  the  hits.  Bong — bong — bong ! 

"Who  is  it?"  Sarah  said,  at  my  elbow. 

My  heart   was  simply  pounding.    "I   think 
Buzz."  I  said. 

■  ■  Buzz  ? ' '  Mother  came  running  out  of  the  kitch 
her  face  as  white  as  a  dish  towel.  "Who  said  Buzz 


•  •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••■A 


37 


"I  did,"  I  said.  "  Wait  a  minute.    .    .    .   Hello?" 

"Hello,  yourself." 

It  was  Buzz,  all  right.  I'd  know  his  voice  if  he 
whispered!  And,  just  for  a  minute,  I  felt  the  way 
ou  do  in  an  express  elevator,  or  on  one  of  those 
:enic  railways.  Somewhere  between  a  dead  faint 
nd  a  wild  whoop. 

"Turn  off  the  radio!   It's  Buzz!" 

Alec  Templeton  stopped  and  everyone  came  Tun- 
ing. 

"Where  are  you.  Buzz?" 

"  I'm  not  in  Australia ! " 

"Are  you  in  America?" 
t  "I'll  be  home  in  about  two  hours."  His  voice  sort 
if  squeaked  and  broke.  "I'm  calling  from  a  service 
|:ation.  Never  mind  where,  sis.  Just  tell  mother " 

Mother  was  right  there.  She  snatched  the  receiver 
kay  from  me  and  listened  to  what  Buzz  was  saying 
ir  a  minute.  Honestly,  in  all  my  life  I've  never  seen 
jich  an  expression!  You  see.  Buzz  is  her  youngest 
)n,  and  he'd  been  away— on  a  destroyer — for  almost 
iree  years.  "My  darling,"  she  said.  "Hurry."  And 
le  hung  up.  Sort  of  fumbling  for  the  hook,  the  way 
3U  do  when  your  hand  shakes. 

Sarah  and  Sally  both  yelled  at  once,  "Mother! 

asit  really  Buzz?  Where /she?  What  happened?" 

Mother  closed  her  eyes.    She  looked  as  if  she'd 

en  an  angel  and  had  been  blinded  by  a  white  radi- 


ance. Then  she  told  us  that  Buzz  was  hitchhiking— 
from  San  Pedro  or  San  Diego  or  San  Francisco;  he 
wouldn't  say.  It  wasn't  a  furlough.  Only  liberty. 
And  he'd  be  able  to  stay  no  more  than  a  couple  of 
hours.  But  he  was  well.  And  he  was  coming  home ! 

"And  I  need  a  shampoo!"  Sarah  wailed. 

Mother  sat  down  suddenly.  But  only  for  a  min- 
ute. "He'll  want  supper."  She  ran  to  the  sitting- 
room  door  and  looked  in  with  her  inclusive,  house- 
keeping expression.  "Flowers,"  she  decided.  "And  a 
fire  going."  And  then,  to  me:  "Susan,  see  what 
there  is  in  the  garden.  Pick  everything  above 
ground." 

Sally  dashed  out  to  the  garage  for  wood  and 
kindling.  Mother  and  Sarah  moved  in  on  the  icebox. 
And  I  went  through  the  front  door  with  a  flashlight 
and  a  pair  of  shears. 

The  two  dogs  were  just  coming  in  from  their  eve- 
ning patrol.  Skip  and  Bum.  Skip  is  a  big,  hefty 
springer,  a  fighter  and  a  good  egg.  Bum  is  a  scared 
little  cocker.  They  jumped  all  over  me.  They  caught 
the  terrific  excitement,  I  guess. 

Since  the  war,  we  haven't  had  any  gardeners.  We 
take  care  of  our  big  old  house  and  three  acres  of  land 
ourselves.  Mother  has  a  Victory  Garden  where  the 
cutting  flowers  used  to  be.  But  the  perennials  keep 
on  doing  their  stuff.  I  found  some  glads  and  a  few 
dahlias  and  some  roses.  (Continued  on  Page  53) 


"^Talk!"'''  said  Buzz.  He  wanted  news — so 
we  told  him  about  the  apricot  tree,  and 
the  dogs,  and  how  the  goldfish  blew  up! 


1 1 


"^  ^ 


i4w''^*N»- 


'INTER  nights  are  cold.  But  New 
Year  cheer  is  warm  within,  and  there 
never  was  and  never  will  be  a  better 
time  for  a  party  than  the  day  we  start 
on  another  cycle — on  New  Year's 
Day.  Then  we  welcome  the  new  friends  along 
with  the  old,  and  there's  a  certain  glow  about  the 
house  which  doesn't  all  emanate  from  the  birch 
logs  in  the  fireplace.   It  comes  from  the  heart. 

And  that  reminds  me.  I  do  hope  that  all  of 
you  who  have  a  fireplace,  even  a  coal  grate,  rally 
round  and  watch  the  flames  grow  higher  and 
brighter;  and  when  the  logs  finally  give  up  to 
embers,  you  pop  corn  and  wait  for  the  little  peo- 
ple who  live  in  the  dying  fire  to  be  about  their 
business.  And  I  assure  you  that  you  will  see 
them — if  your  eyes  are  right  and  there's  faith  in 
you.  And  if  you  keep  very  still,  for  they  love  si- 
lence and  folks  who  are  still  and  who  aren't  above 
holding  hands! 

V^^ell,  thfi  aona  huH  runa-  No  New  Year's 
party  would  or  could  be  complete  or  right  at  all 
without  a  punch  bowl.  Having  the  bowl,  you 
must  have  something  in  it.  No  doubt  you  all  have 
your  own  ideas  and  your  own  old  treasured  re- 
ceipts for  punch.  There  are  more  of  such  than  of 
all  the  punch  cups  manufactured  since  Eve  made 
that  apple  punch,  and  that's  a  good  many. 

But  here's  a  cranberry  job  that  may  take  your 
fancy.  I  hope  it  will.  Somehow  cranberries  seem 


so  nice  and  appropriate  in  winter.  I  guess  it's  be- 
cause they're  red,  and  red  takes  the  mind  off  the 
cold.  Just  like  a  red  dress.  It  may  be  as  thin  and 
sleazy  as  a  Japanese  fan,  but  if  it  is  red  it  feels 
warm  and  looks  warm.  So  what  more  do  you 
want?  Same  way  with  cranberries,  I  mean,  be- 
sides their  tasting  good  and  being  versatile  and 
all  that. 

U4»T  <<I>14'KD  ('lt.%,'\KI<:itltY   l*r.^4'll 

Cook  8  cups  of  cranberries  in  8  cups  of  water 
until  all  the  skins  pop  open.  Strain  through  a 
cheesecloth.  Do  not  stir  or  press.  You  want  to 
keep  it  as  clear  as  those  ruby  glasses  that  be- 
longed to  old  Aunt  Sapphira.  To  the  juice  add  1  \4 
cups  of  sugar,  2  or  3  sticks  of  cinnamon  and  15  to 
20  cloves.  Cook  for  five  minutes.  Add  1  lemon, 
sliced,  and  4  cups  of  freshly  brewed  tea.  Pour 
into  the  bowl.  (Punch  bowl,  of  course.)  Sprinkle 
with  nutmeg.   Serve  hot. 

lAtttv  but  oh.  my:  I  refer  to  the  sweetbread- 
and-mushroom  croquettes  you  see  hiding  away; 
and  don't  say  a  word,  but  I  believe  some  parsley 
got  tangled  up  with  them.  Well,  never  mind.  It's 
always  around.  Seems  as  if  you  can't  cook  up  a 
thing,  from  oatmeal  to  angel  cake,  but  soon's 
your  back  is  turned  up  pops  that  green  and  impu- 
dent weed.  Have  to  use  it.  too,  for  it's  a  thing  in 
life  you  can't  escape  any  more  than  dust  on  the 
piano.  These  things  (Continued  on  Page  57) 


BY  kU   BiliniELDER 


39 


X«i, 


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}  ^ 


1  Happy  New  Year.  From  your  old,  tried  and 
true  friend,  Annie.  And  as  many  of  them  as  you 
can  take.  Take  a  lot. 

2  Let's  go  in  for  an  omelet  surprise,  just  for  fun. 
Make  a  plain  omelet.  P'old  into  it  apricot  or 
plum  jam.  Sprinkle  with  powdered  sugar.  Run 
under  the  broiler  to  glaze.  Garnish  with  peaches 
poached  in  vanilla  sirup. 

•i  Select  some  fine  large  oysters.  Drain  until 
dry.  Dip  in  batter  flavored  with  prepared  mus- 
tard and  fry  in  deep  fat.  Serve  on  skewers,  al- 
ternately with  crisp  bacon. 

4  Cook  one  half  cup  of  rice  in  chicken  broth  to 
cover.  Toss  as  it  cooks  until  the  broth  is  absorbed. 
Bind  with  two  tablespoons  of  cream  and  two  egg 
yolks.  Cool.  Make  into  balls,  enclosing  in  each 
a  piece  of  soft  cheese.  Roll  in  egg  and  crumbs 
and  fry  in  deep  fat.  Serve  with  tart  jelly. 

5  Now  a  cabbage  is  only  a  cabbage  to  some,  but 
it's  something  else  when  it  is  stuffed  with  sausage 
meat,  ham  or  spiced  corned  beef,  a  little  cooked 

'  Td    rice,  and  baked. 

O  Mushrooms  make  a  dish  —chicken,  creamed 
things,  whatever.  They  make  chi-chi.  And  a 
touch  of  nutmeg  and  white  pepper  brings  back 
that  out-in-the-woods  flavor.    Why?    Don't  ask. 

T  Then  there  are  large  mushrooms,  the  caps 
well  oiled  and  stuffed  with  sausage,  grilled  and 
sprinkled  with  fried  parsley.  Yes,  parsley. 

H  Maybe  you  think  you  don't  like  eggplant. 
But  stuff  it  with  chopped,  drained  tomatoes  and 
bread  crumbs  seasoned  and  tossed  in  butter  or 
margarine.  Add  a  crushed  clove  of  garlic  and 
bake  the  thing.  Comes  out  looking  like  a  Gibson 
girl's  Easter  hat,  tastes  a  lot  better.  (I  never  ate 
a  hat,  but  have  bet  I  would  several  times.) 

.9  From  an  old  cookbook:  "Sit  down  all  you  can. 
Sit  down  to  rock  the  cradle.  Sit  down  to  peel  po- 
tatoes and  to  iron  your  husband's  shirts.  Sit 
down  to  lay  the  fire."  Lady,  I've  got  the  idea. 

10  This  would  be  a  dessert,  but  definitely! 
Scoop  out  a  large  spoonful  of  vanilla  ice  cream. 
Beneath  it  conceal  a  whole  canned  apricot.  Pour 
the  sirup  over,  cover  with  crushed  macaroons  and 
serve  in  your  best  sherbet  glasses. 

11  Guess  I  haven't  done  right  by  Brussels 
sprouts.  Not  my  favorite  green  growth.  But— 
cook  till  tender,  drain.  Dress  with  sweet  butter, 
salt,  pepper  and  mace.  Very  good — for  sprouts. 


12  Did  I  mention  oyster  omelet  one  time?  If 
so,  perhaps  you  forgot.  Cook  lightly  a  dozen 
small  oysters  in  their  liquor.  Season.  Fold  in  a 
plain  omelet.  Serve  with  a  green  salad. 

Ill  A  chafing-dish  delicacy  is  a  dish  of  scrambled 
eggs  and  minced  mushrooms  on  toast.  Season 
very  highly,  and  a  little  hot  cream  added  last 
does  more  than  you'd  think. 

II  When  you  make  a  peach  tapioca  cream, 
don't  forget  that  touch  of  almond  extract.  Peach 
pit  has  it,  peach  needs  it. 

ir»  Now  don't  let  them  eat  the  platter,  I  warn 
you.  But  cut  rounds  of  bread,  saute,  spread  with 
rarebit  mixture  and  chutney.  On  top  arrange 
grilled  sardines.   Serve  hot.    Have  it  all  hot. 

IK  Season  cream  cheese  with  horse-radish  and 
spread  on  rounds  of  fried  bread.  Put  flaked  mari- 
nated salmon  in  the  center.  Real  nice  as  an  appe- 
tizer, and  so  on. 

17  May  I  say  one  word  about  something? 
When  I  say  "buttered"  I  mean  "margarined"  if 
margarine  is  what  you  mean.  And  when  I  say 
"oil,"  I  don't  mean  motor  oil,  I  mean  salad  oil. 

lit  Asparagus  doesn't  grow  in  the  winter  where 
I  live.  But  canned  or  frozen  does.  Heat  the  tips 
in  butter— or  you  know  what— dress  with  riced 
hard-cooked  egg  yolks  and  serve  on  toast.  Fine 
with  cheese  dishes. 

1S>  Lucky  enough  to  get  a  steak?  Broil  it. 
Serve  it  surrounded  with  little  tomatoes  stuffed 
with  creamed  corn  and  baked.  Also  with  cauli- 
flower flowerets  dipped  in  batter  and  fried. 

20  Success  story:  Popover  mixture  does  a  lot 
better  for  you  if,  after  its  everlasting  beating,  you 
put  it  through  a  fine  sieve.    Know  this  already? 


21  Have  you  heard  of  "Manhattan  clam  chow- 
der"? A  glorified  tomato  soup  with  a  clam  after- 
thought. Stick  to  New  England — salt  pork, 
onions,  potatoes,  milk,  cream  and  clams.  Clams 
so  you  can  see  them  and  taste  them. 

22  Snow  blows,  but  eat  a  cobbler  just  the  same. 
Line  a  casserole  with  rich  biscuit  dough.  Fill 
with  frozen  raspberries  or  boysenberries — remem- 

Cover  with  crust  and 
F.  Serve  with  cream. 


J 


ber  me?    (Ignoramus.) 
bake  in  an  oven  at  375" 


IIV  A  nSTERCIAN  GARDEN 

IVovt'  from  his  labor  li^  rosts 

llndor  his  ehostnut  trep. 
Above  are  Iho  garrulous  nosts. 

The  chorus  of  the  ehiekadee. 

Silence  is  all  his  part. 

It  was  his  ivay  of  life. 
li%'hat  did  he  hide  in  his  heart? 

Where  dwelt  his  dreamed-of  wife? 


23  Winter  squash  is  one  of  my  old  loves.  Used 
to  use  the  hatchet  on  it  in  the  cold  gray  dawn. 
Steam  it.  Beat  the  pulp  with  butter,  cream,  sea- 
sonings (including  a  little  thyme) ,  adding  a  couple 
of  egg  yolks,  beaten  well. 

24  Beat  all  together,  then  add  the  egg  whites  ■•  ^  -* 
whipped  stiff.    Put  in  a  casserole  with  partly  -^^^ 
cooked,  halved  pork  sausages  in  layers,  and  bake     *  ^ 
to  a  soufifle  effect.  You'll  get  it  and  like  it. 

*2!i  Sprinkle  waffle  batter  with  grated  coconut 
just  before  you  put  down  the  lid.  Try  it. 

20  Depl.  of  Utter  Despair,  File  No.  13:  "Open 
the  oysters  and  drain.  Wash  them  under  running 
water   for   twenty   minutes.     Dry   in   towels."  ^ 
Well,  it's  awful,  but  it  has  happened !  o    ' 

2T  Sunday-night-supper  dishes  sort  of  tax  our  * 
minds.    Make  some  fine,  rich  creamed  salmon.  .  ^ 
Serve  it  on  toast  with  poached  eggs.  And  this  is  *"  o 
no  breakfast  dish.   It's  a  supper  repast. 

o 

211  News  item :  Terrapin  stew  (if  terrapin  is  your    "" 
dish),  all  in  tins  ready  to  make  you  famous.  And 
chicken  a  la  jardiniere  should  be  served  red  hot 
in  croustades.  Very  French.  Very  nice. 

29  Deep-dish  apple  pie  is  as  New  England  as 
Daniel  Webster.  Pile  a  magnificent  meringue  on 
top,  brown  in  the  oven  and  forget  the  cream. 

30  Why   not   cover   a   thick   slice   of  lightly 
broiled  ham  with  a  cheese  sauce?  Seasoned  with 
paprika,  mustard  and  a  dash  of  c^enne.  Then 
bake  until  the  ham  is  tender,  the  sauce  browned,  "=* 
and  serve  it  with  a  potato  souffle  and  glazed  pine-     c 
apple.  Why  not,  indeed ! 

.31  "Yes,  you  shall  buy  me  a  book  for  my  birth- 
day. We  will  read  it  together  in  the  twilight,  and 
when  the  gathering  dusk  doth  blur  the  page,  we     q 
will  sit  with  hearts  too  full  for  speech  and  think  it  ^ 
over."  Dorothy  Wordsworth  might  have  written 
this  about  Boston  Adventure,  by  Jean  Stafford,      C3  i 
had  she  the  chance.   I  had  it.   And  am  grateful. 


40 


CI 


f  «>.    4 


^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


^l 


•     • 


GOOD  MAKINGS 


// 


Everything  that  goes  into  this  soup  is  so  extra 
fine,  the  soup  itself  is  sure  to  be!  The  mushrooms, 
for  instance  are  so  delicate  and  light,  yet  at  the 
same  time  plump  and  firm.  They're  rushed  from 
the  hothouse  to  Campbell's  kitchens  while  they 
still  have  all  their  elusive  flavor  and  tenderness. 

And  the  fresh  sweet  cream  —  how  thick  and 
rich  it  is,  and  how  generously  it's  poured  in  !  The 


OF  A  WONDERFUL  SOUP 

mushrooms  and  cream  are  blended  with  prac- 
ticed skill  —  and  the  seasoning  is  added  by  a 
hand  that  knows  exactly  how.  When  you  taste 
it,  you  too  will  say, "What  a  wonderful  soup!" 

Campbell's  Cream  of  Mushroom  Soup  gives 
a  festive  touch  to  any  meal.  Although  it's  fine 
for  company  dinners,  it's  too  good  to  keep  just 
for  that.  Let  your  famih   enjoy  it  real  soon. 


CREAM  OF  MUSHROOM  SOUP 


E 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


42 


No  curative  power 

is  claimed  for 

PHILIP  MORRIS-fcuf 


OUNCE  OF 
PREVENTION 

is  worth  a 
pound  of  cure 


PHfUPMOKBIS 

are  scientifically  proved  far  less  irri 
fating  to  the  nose  and  throat 


.<^ 


When  smokers  changed  to 
Philip  Morris,  substantially 
every  case  of  irritation  of  the 
nose  or  throat— due  to  smoking 
—either  cleared  up  completely,  ^  ..« 
or  definitely  improved!  . 

-  from  the  findings  of  a  group  'tAog  tuv.sA 

of  distinguished  doctors.      "«'"»»«.  r <o'j^  ^^  ' 


BOLINVAR 

(Continued  from  Page  35) 


discovery  and  that  Alexander  faced  expo- 
sure—duels with  the  outraged  De  Goncourts, 
and  perhaps  imprisonment— can  we  doubt 
that  he  would  resort  promptly  to  measures 
for  his  protection?" 

"That  makes  your  previous  conclusion 
all  the  more  likely,"  said  Madame  Farleigh. 
"It  is  almost  certain,  then,  that  Alexander 
was  legally  married  to  Rosanne." 

It  was  approaching  midnight,  so  we  dis- 
persed. 

"The  wedding  is  to  take  place  on  New 
Year's  Day,"  Nellie  announced.  "We  con- 
sidered the  day  after  tomorrow,  Christmas 
Day.  But  we  decided,  instead,  to  be  en- 
gaged for  the  holidays  and  have  a  grand 
revel  with  the  wedding  for  its  climax." 

Madame  Farleigh  kissed  them  both,  and 
I  kissed  the  bride-to-be.  Then  Hugo  and  I 
drove  home. 

The  next  day  was  the  twenty-fourth  of 
December.  It  was  cold  and  glum,  with 
cutting  wind,  half-frozen  ground  and  fitful 
storming.  At  noon  we  defied  the  weather, 
sent  for  horses  and  rode  to  the  doctor's,  to 
catch  him  at  his  midday  meal  and  tell  him 
the  news. 

It  took  him  forty  minutes  to  congratulate 
Hugo,  partly  because  he  digressed  so  fre- 
quently. "Jehoshaphat!"  he  exulted.  "Lord 
John's  old  house  ought  to  dance  on  its  foun- 
dations! Do  you  realize  that  it  has  been  a 
bachelor's  hall  since  Emilie  went  through  its 
wide  front  door  fur  the  last  time  on  the  start 
of  her  journey  to  France?" 
"The    mistress 


circuit  I  could  make  on  a  good  hunter  in  one 
afternoon,  calling  on  my  friendfe  in  the 
county.  I  have  told  everybody  what  hap- 
pened here.  The  skeleton  is  out  of  his  closet- 
annihilated— extinct." 

"What  on  earth " 

"The  more  I  thought  this  over,  the  more 
I  resolved  not  to  preserve  Alexander  Bolin- 
var's  reputation  at  the  cost  of  Devereux 
Bolinvar's.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  every 
person  in  Loudoun  County  whose  opinion 
is  worth  having  should  know  what  you  have 
done,  what  use  you  have  made  of  singular 
chances  to  be  greatly  a  great  gentleman,  or 
greatly  a  gentlemanly  rogue.  Everyone 
knows  the  truth  about  all  the  Bolinvars 
tonight." 

I  STARED  at  him.  "What  do  you  expect  to 
result  from  this  escapade?" 

"Wherever  I  called,  I  left  an  invitation  to 
meet  us  here  at  nine  tomorrow  for  a  hunt 
breakfast— I  think  the  weather  will  give  us 
hunting  by  morning.  So  far,  I  have  not  lost 
a  friend  who  learned  the  truth." 

"And  you  say  that  Nellie  made  no  ob- 
jection?" . 

"On  the  contrary,  she  offered  to  go  with 

me."  , 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best  so,"  I  assented.  Now 
there  need  be  no  undercover  gossip  about 
the  broken  betrothal  and  its  renewal."  I 
Hugo  lit  the  candelabra  so  that  he  could 
see  to  dress.  He  mentioned  the  preparations 
for  the  Christmas  hunt  in  the  morning.  "It 
is  clearing,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  fair  and  cold 
by  midnight.  I  have 


v^^  Did  Tim  know  about 
|r  Andre?  ...  or  was  it 
only  Judith  who  sensed  the 
truth  when  she  said,"Marny, 
Andre  has  kissed  you!" 

Don't    niisB   Mignon    G.  Eberhart's 

THE  WHITE  DRESS 

Beginning  in   the  Fei>ruary  Journal. 


his  house  is  getting 
is  worth  waiting  a 
long  while  for,"  I 
said. 

"I  can  see  that 
this  is  the  end  of 
my  job  patchin' 
your  heart,  Hugo," 
the  doctor  boomed. 
"After  Nellie  takes 
it  off  my  hands, 
there'll  be  nothing 
wrong  with  it.  Well, 
she's  welcome  to  the 
job,  God  bless  her!" 

We  left  when  the  doctor  set  forth  on  his 
afternoon  round.  He  was  to  fetch  up  at  our 
house  for  dinner  and  a  mellow  Christmas 
Eve  Nellie  and  her  mother  were  entertain- 
ing at  dinner,  but  they  were  to  drive  over 
afterward  for  an  intimate  evening  party. 
Hugo  barely  spoke  as  we  rode  home;  he  was 
absorbed  in  thought.  At  the  house  he  sat  on 
his  horse,  the  icy  rain  pelting  him,  and 
looked  at  me  long  and  earnestly. 
"What's  the  matter?"  I  inquired 

"I  AM  going  to  the  Farleighs',"  he  said, 
"and  perhaps  on  to  some  of  the  other  neigh- 
bors You  make  yo'self  comfo'table,  asSukey 
says."   He  wheeled  the  horse  and  cantered 

i  went  into  the  house  and  made  myself 
"comfo'table"  so  successfully  that  it  was 
growing  dark  when  I  awakened  from  a  pleas- 
ant nap.  While  I  was  dressing  for  the  Christ- 
mas Eve  gathering,  I  peered  through  the 
window.  The  weather  was  changing  and 
it  looked  to  my  weather-wise  eye  like  a  clear- 
ing night  before  us.  In  the  hall  I  met  Hugo, 
just  coming  home.  He  was  wet  and  muddy 
and  splashed  with  foam;  he  had  been  riding 

furiously.  .  ..v 

"  For  heaven's  sake ! "  I  commented.  Y  ou 
selected  a  choice  day  for  galloping  up  one 
Virginia  road  and  down  another.  I  judge 
by  your  looks  that's  how  you've  been 
amusing  yourself." 

He  caught  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me  into 
his  bedroom.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  And  I'm 
in  a  hurry.  I  am  half  expecting  some  of  the 
neighbors  to  put  in  an  appearance." 

"Go  ahead,"  I  said.  "What  have  you 
been  up  to?  Have  you  seen  Nellie?" 

"Yes  I  was  with  her  half  an  hour.  I  told 
her  what  I  was  going  to  do.  She  thought  it 
was  all  right.  Dev,  I  have  made  the  biggest 


had  the  smith  see  to 
the  shoes  on  Rupert 
and  Tirade  and 
King  Agrippa.  You 
will  have  Rupert 
and  I  the  mare,  but 
I  want  Agrippa 
ready,  too,  in  case 
we  should  need 
him." 

Downstairs     a 
muffled  bang  came 
up  to  us.  The  door 
had  been  opened  to 
admit    someone. 
There  were  steps  upon  the  staircase.  Solo- 
mon was  on  his  way  to  us.  ^^ 
"The  arrival  of  the  neighbors  has  begun, 
I  remarked. 

"Sounds  so."  Hugo  was  hastening  hii 
dressing  as  he  spoke.  "I  am  ready.  Come 
on  down  with  me." 

It  was  not  Solomon  at  the  door,  it  was  i 
youthful    footman.    "A   gen'leman   to   sa 
Marse  Hugo,  sah,"  he  said. 
"Who?"  Hugo  asked. 
"Ah  doan  know,  sah.    Solomon,  he  du] 
sen'  me  fo'  to  tell  yo',  sah." 

"You  certainly  haven't  told  me  much, 
Hugo  said.  "Come  on,  Dev,  let's  see  wha 
we  draw." 

We  descended  together.  Solomon  ha 
made  the  house  brilliant  with  light.  Fire 
burned  gaily  ou  every  hearth.  Even  th 
bachelor's  hall  looked  like  Christmas  Ev( 
The  butler  was  not  in  sight,  and  we  entere 
the  drawing  room. 

A  big  man,  still  wearing  a  magnificer 
greatcoat  with  three  deep  canary-lined  cape 
and  carrying  his  topper,  was  pacing  resi 
lessly  to  and  fro. 

"Basil!"  Hugo  exclaimed.  The  man  w 
had  drawn  was  the  Duke  of  Hovon.  Pleasui 
flashed  up  in  Hugo's  face,  supplanting  astoi 
ishment.  He  shook  hands  with  the  nob! 
man  and  embraced  him.  "Where  did  yc 
come  from?  "  he  demanded.  "To  say  you  a 
welcome  is  an  injustice  to  my  delight." 

"  I  came  from  England— what  do  you  su, 
pose?"  He  noticed  me,  standing  near  tl 
door,  and  bowed. 

Hugo  beckoned  to  me.  "You  two  ha 
already  met,"  said  Hugo.  "I  hope  that  y( 
will  become  as  good  friends  with  each  oth 
as  I  am  with  each  of  you." 

"!'  faith,  I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  s 
Hugo,"  said  the  duke.  "The  fear  that  y( 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


43 


0,01/11'  '■    .. 


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and  the  Jersey  Bolinvar  were  anything  but 
good  friends  is  what  brings  me  here." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  me.  Neverthe- 
less, he  gave  me  a  penetrating  look.  I  took 
his  hand,  quick  to  meet  him  halfway. 

"How  came  you  to  be  looking  for  my 
cousin  here?"  Hugo  asked.  "I  don't  wholly 
understand  you." 

"I  don't  wonder.  I  don't  understand 
either.  Why  on  earth  didn't  you  write  to  me? 
You  set  out  for  home  with  a  heart  that  was 
spavined  behind  and  sprung  in  front— hob- 
bling, no  more— and  left  three  special  prac- 
titioners having  a  guessing  match  as  to  how 

long  it  would  go  at  all,  and "  He  broke 

off  abruptly  and  glanced  sharply  at  me 
again.  , 

"Your  caution  is  unnecessary,"  I  assured 
him.  "The  cat  is  out  of  the  bag.  We'll 
entertain  you  this  evening  with  the  tale  of 
his  exit." 

"Oh ! "  He  looked  quickly  at  Hugo,  to  be 
sure  that  he  was  not  making  a  mistake  in 
interpreting  my  words. 

"I  did  write  to  you,"  Hugo  said.  "I  have 
written  twice  since  Dev  has  been  here.  The 
first  letter  evidently  did  not  reach  you.  The 
second  would,  I  suppose,  be  due  to  arrive  in 
England  while  you  were  on  shipboard  com- 
ing here." 

"Anyway,  I  haven't  heard  from  you  since 
June.  You  remember  I  told  you,  Hugo,  that 
if  six  months  passed  without  a  letter  from 
you,  I'd  come  to  find  you.  It  was  only  five 
months  when  I  sailed.  But  I  was  hurried 
by  a  meeting  in  London  with  a  lady  whose 
innocent  conversation  alarmed  me  for  your 
safety."  He  turned  to  me.  "Your  wife,  sir. 
Gad,  what  a  glorious  woman  your  wife  is!  I 
met  her  at  a  dinner  party.  When  I  learned 
from  her  that  you  had  gone  to  Virginia,  os- 
tensibly for  hunting  but  in  fact  in  connection 
with  some  mysterious  family  affairs,  I  took 
fright.  I  canceled  my  engagements  and  ran 
for  a  ship  that  was  sailing  the  next  day. 
Your  wife's  half-and-half  information  set  me 
to  walking  the  fioor  with  flighty  theories.  I 
knew  Hugo's  health  wouldn't  go  through 
much  of  a  tournament.  Since,  happily,  I'm 
wrong  all  round,  let's  pass  Merry  Christmas 
being  merry  together." 

At  this  point  we  both  noticed  Hugo.  He 
was  deathly  white.  I  sprang  toward  him. 
Hovon  stepped  forward  too. 

"Hugo,  hold  hard!  Egad,  I  didn't  mean 
to  start  your  heart  to  jibbing!"  he  cried. 

Hovon  was  with  him.  I  ran  across  to  the 
dining  room  for  water  and  wine.  The  after- 
noon had  been  a  severe  strain  for  Hugo. 
Miles  of  mad  riding  and  a  series  of  wearing 
scenes  with  one  acquaintance  after  another 
had  left  him  exhausted.  When  Hovon 
dropped  down  on  us,  it  was  the  climax  of 
an  overfull  day. 

When  I  returned,  Hugo  was  better  than  I 
expected.  The  whiteness  was  retreating.  He 
took  a  drink,  thanked  me,  and  said,  "  I  didn't 
actually  go  off — and  I  feel  quite  well.  Sorry 
to  disturb  you." 

I  inspected  him  thoughtfully.  "Anybody 
who  can  stay  to  the  finish  of  today's  point- 
to-point  and  not  go  off  afterward  has  a  heart 
that  doesn't  hobble  too  badly.  I  believe  you 
are  gaining,  Hugo." 

Time  showed  that  I  used  the  wrong  tense. 
The  gain  had  been  wrought  by  slow  degrees 
in  that  long  autumnal  harvest  season,  when 
courage  and  honor  reaped  what  they  had 
sown,  when  we  rode  side  by  side,  and  the 
Bolinvar  evil  dispensation  faded,  and  the 
love  and  the  hand  of  Nellie  Farleigh  came 
back  to  their  appointed  place.  This  momen- 
tary faintness  was  all  that  remained  of  the 
seizures  that  had  threatened  his  life.  It  was 
not  formidable,  and  it  was  the  last. 

Solomon  came  in  to  announce  the  Bedloes. 
They  knew  the  duke  from  his  previous  Vir- 
ginia visit. 

After  the  greetings,  Mrs.  Bedloe  said, 
"John  and  I  couldn't  agree,  for  a  while,  what 
was  best  to  be  done.  It  seemed  as  though 
something  must  be  the  matter  with  Hugo. 
But  John  stuck  to  it  that  he  acted  like  him- 
self except  for  the  crazy  things  he  said.  Any- 
how, we  wanted  to  know  whether  he  got 
home  safely." 

(Continued  on  Page  45) 


Laugh  at  a  cold-and  PNEUMONIA 

may  laugh  at  you! 


LOTS  OF  people  think  "it's  just  a  little 
^  cold."  But  that  little  cold  can  use 
up  a  lot  of  your  body's  resistance 
against  disease. 


People  who  are  already  weakened  by 
colds  make  easier  targets  for  such  seri- 
ous diseases  as  pneumonia,  influenza, 
sinusitis,  ear  infections,  tonsillitis,  or 
bronchitis. 

If  you  take  the  simple  precautions 
below,  chances  are  good  that  you  won't 
be  one  of  the  thousands  of  victims  of 
pneumonia  this  winter  — or  one  of  the 
countless  victims  of  other  frequent  com- 
plications of  respiratory  infections. 


/•  When  a  cold  strikes ...  go  to  bed  if 

possible.  At  least  stay  indoors  and  rest 
all  you  can.  It  may  help  to  take  a  hot 
bath,  or  soak  your  feet  in  hot  water,  and 
drink  a  hot  lemonade  before  retiring. 
Be  sure  to  avoid  chilling. 


^»  You  must  go  to  work?  Remember 
that  you  may  inflict  your  cold  on  others. 
If  you  really  must,  then  wear  warm, 
protective  clothing.  Avoid  drafts  ai<d 
sudden  chilling.  Keep  your  sneezes  an4 
coughs  covered  up. 


J»  Drink  large  quantities  of  milk,  fruit 
juice,  and  plain  water.  Take  a  laxative 
if  needed. 


T«Treat  that  sore  throat  to  a  gargle.  For 
a  homemade  gargle,  add  a  teaspoonful 
of  salt  or  bicarbonate  of  soda  to  a  glass 
of  warm  water. 


IF  YOUR  COLD  seems  more  severe 
than  usual,  or  if  it  starts  with  ach- 
ing, chilliness,  and  fever,  call  the  doc- 
tor without  delay.  Pneumonia  may  be 
indicated. 

Most  forms  of  pneumonia  and  cer- 
tain other  respiratory  infections  are 
often  successfully  treated  with  sulfa 
drugs— particularly  if  diagnosed  early. 
Remember,  sulfa  drugs  should  be  taken 
only  when  prescribed  by  a  doctor. 

But,  an  ounce  of  prevention  is  still 
worth  a  pound  of  cure.  Do  your  best  to 
avoid  colds.  Watching  your  diet  will 
help.  Get  plenty  of  vitamins,  fruits,  and 
leafy  vegetables.  Eat  better  breakfasts. 
Don't  skimp  on  your  sleep.  Dress 
warmly  and  avoid  chilling.  Get  regular 
exercise— some  of  it  outdoors.  And  keep 
away  from  snifflers. 

Metropolitan  will  gladly  send  you  its 
free  booklet  "Respiratory  Diseases." 


COPYRIGHT   I  945— M  tTROPOUITAN  LIKE  INSURANCE  CO. 

Metropolitan  Life 
insurance  Company 

(A   MUTUAL  COMPANY) 

Frederick  H.  Ecker,  i'^ 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD  '1'' 

heroy  A.  Lincoln,  ask 

PRESIDENT  1^ 

1  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  10.  N.  Y. 


Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 
1  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  a  copy  of  your  book- 
let, 15 J,  entitled,  "Respiratory  Dis- 
eases." 


Narne_ 
Street_ 
City 


_State_ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


if^-i 


-~  — :^'- 


/:  iS 


tf/Af  5V4K  MP/ 


^ 


There  he  sits  in  the  loveliest  suds  in  all  the  world!  That's  because 
Swan  is  pure  as  fine  castiles,  and  the  doctor  says  it's  perfect  for 
baby.  His  Mommie  knows  it  will  help  keep  his  rosy  skin  soft 
and  smooth.  But  Baby  just  loves  it  'cause  it  floats  and  floats! 


He  thinks  pretty  ladies  arc  the  only  kind  there 
are.  That's  because  his  Mommie  is  so  very 
pretty,  and  Swans  herself  to  keep  liiat  way. 
S\\an'8  |)iin',  creamy  latlicr  is  a  joy— and 
she  kno\ss  it  will  pamper  her  complexion! 


wNc|f^»r\    f'.^j 


£:* 


He  doesn't  know  what  a  crosspatch  is 
His  Monuiiic  sings  at  the  dishpan 
while  Swan's  mild,  quick,  billowing 
suds  make  short  work  of  the  dislies, 
treat  her  pretty  hands  gently ! 


He  has  a  perfectly  elcfrant  wardrobe,  because  bis  Mommie 
knows  how  to  make  delicate  fabrics  last  and  last.  She  dunks 
his  duds  and  her  dainty  undies  in  pure  and  gentle  Swan. 
Matter  of  fact,  she's  so  smart  she  uses  Swan  for  just 
about  everything  in  the  house!  Get  your  supply  of  pure, 
mild  Swan  today  for  Baby!  Dishes!  Duds!  Bath! 


'^^V^J^^  5a4e5  '^  OH^l 


l/nc/e  Sam  Says  DON'T  WASTE  SO  At 

—  if'i  made  from   vital  war  materials 


George  Burns  &  Gracie  Aller 
CBS,  Tuesday  nights 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


45 


(Continued  from  Page  43) 
"Now  that  I'm  here,"  Bedloe  said,  "and 
you  both  insist  that  Hugo's  fairy  story  is 
true,  I'm  going  to  say  that  I  don't  know 
which  of  you  I'm  prouder  of.  And  it's  my 
behef  that  every  Bohnvar — except  the  misfit 
one  that  slipped  in  somehow — would  say  the 
same.  If  you  and  Hugo'll  shake  hands  with 
me,  so's  I'm  sure  we  understand  each  other, 
we'll  head  for  home.  We  left  thirty  young 
folks  to  keep  house,  and  heaven  knows 
what'll  happen  before  we  can  get  back." 
They  departed  in  a  flurry  of  jesting. 

While  Hovon  was  making  his  preparations 
for  dinner,  Doctor  Colfax  came  to  stay  and 
dine.  Three  of  the  neighbors  called  in  the 
next  fifteen  minutes,  and  before  we  reached 
the  table  two  others  came  in,  all  with  the 
same  errand — to  hurrah  for  me  to  my  face 
and  to  impress  his  popularity  upon  Hugo. 
Hovon  was  an  astounded  and  amused  spec- 
tator. He  celebrated  the  betrothal  news  with 
'he  fervor  that  only  a  hardened  bachelor  of 
rollicking  inclinations  could  achieve. 

Sunrise— Christmas  morning.  I  woke, 
lighthearted,  to  a  sparkling  world.  The  air 
was  still.  The  earth  was  frozen  just  enough  to 
travel  on  with  ease.  Ah,  yes,  we  were  giving 
a  hunt  breakfast  this  morning,  and  Madame 
Farleigh  was  to  announce  her  daughter's 
wedding  in  a  week  to  Bois  Hugo  Bolinvar. 
This  was  the  morning  of  the  Christmas 
hunt. 

I  dressed  with  care.  I  wanted  to  start,  at 
least,  right  to  the  last  button,  for  Jersey's 
fame  in  foreign  parts.  If  I  came  home  in 
muddy  rags,  no  matter.  I  found  the  Virginia 
Bolinvar  turned  out  on  the  same  theory. 
Hovon  was  with  him.  They  were  both  in 
scarlet,  Hovon  with  canary  collar. 

A  third  man  was  present — Colonel  Morgan. 
He  put  one  arm  around  me  and  the  other 
arm  around  Hugo.  "Let  an  old  schoolfellow 
of  both  your  fathers  give  you  his  blessing 
and  his  congratulations  on  this  Christmas 
Day,"  he  said.  "For  yourselves,  I  don't 
know  which  of  you  is  more  dear  to  me." 

Before  nine  o'clock  the  hall  and  the  din- 
ing room  of  the  big  house  were  thronged, 
and  the  grounds  were  filled  with  coaches, 
gigs  and  saddled  horses.  The  driveways  rang 
with  hoofbeats,  the  rooms  rang  with  laugh- 
ter. Glasses  clinked.  Toasts  and  greetings 
flowed  on  every  side.  All  the  people  Hugo 
had  interviewed  yesterday  were  present, 
with  all  the  mutual  friends  they  had  been 
able  to  annex  in  the  interval.  Madame  Far- 
leigh and  Nellie  were  dressed  for  riding. 
They  and  the  Bedloe  party  were  going  to 
honor  us  with  their  presence  in  the  field. 
Morgan  was  telling  us  about  the  mare  he  was 
riding  today.  She  was  a  new  hunter,  lately 
brought  up  from  Tennessee.  Her  name  was 
Copper  Queen. 

Colfax  and  Bedloe,  carrying  their  goblets, 
were  edging  their  way  through  the  merry- 
makers to  a  window  which  overlooked  the 
park.  Something  outside  had  attracted  their 
notice. 

"Hey,  boys,"  the  doctor  hailed,  "that's 
my  Jed  comin',  ridin'  as  if  he  thinks  he's  a 
Bplinvar  himself.  We'd  better  head  fur  out- 
doors and  meet  him." 

We  followed  the  doctor  outside.  The 
youthful  Negro  was  tearing  toward  the 
house. 

"Hi,    Jed!     Here    I    am!"    the    doctor 

shouted.  The  boy  rushed  to  the  front  steps. 

I  " Somebody  dyin'?"  Colfax  inquired.  "Betsy 

and  the  chaise  are  round  by  the  stable.  Run 

fetch  'em." 

"  Marse  doctah !  Hit  ain't  folks  dyin',  hit's 
Prince,  an'  he's  dun  daid  a'ready!  De  Deb- 
bel  Fox  jest  kilt  him,  an'  Sukey,  she  tole  me 
to  run  fo'  yo'." 

While  the  boy  was  still  pouring  out  his 
message,  Hugo  was  in  action.  He  darted 
into  the  hall,  where  Mr.  Brann  was  stand- 
ing, and  said  to  that  surprised  gentleman, 
"We  are  going  after  the  Colfax  Fox.  You 
are  appointed  deputy  host  until  we  return." 
He  stopped  one  instant  beside  Nellie.  "You 
heard  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Brann — expect  us 
back  when  you  see  us.  Good-by."  He  re- 
joined me.  "  Round  up  the  fox  hunters,  Dev. 
Collect  those  who  really  amount  to  some- 


thing to  ride,  and  tell  them  what's  up.  I'll 
have  the  hounds  and  horses  here  by  the  time 
you've  done  it." 

I  found  Hovon  and  Morgan  and  a  couple 
of  other  veterans.  Bedloe  came  with  two  or 
three.  We  gathered  at  the  front  steps,  in  the 
frosty  radiance  of  the  morning.  It  was  ten 
o'clock.  Bedloe  mounted  the  horse  he  had 
ridden  from  his  house.  Morgan  got  his  mare, 
the  yellow  roan  from  Tennessee. 

A  rushing  cavalcade  was  on  the  driveway, 
coming  from  the  stables.  Hugo  and  Adonis, 
four  huntsmen  with  some  led  horses  and  a 
pack  of  hounds  were  galloping  up.  Hugo 
rode  Tirade  and  led  Agrippa.  Adonis  rode  a 
bay  that  was  a  favorite  with  him  and  led 
Rupert.  We  sprang  on  and  sent  the  horses 
into  the  gallop  again  from  the  half  halt. 

Hovon  slapped  Agrippa's  crest.  "Good 
horse,"  he  said  enthusiastically.  "Do  you 
remember  me,  sir?  "  Agrippa  did.  He  cocked 
his  ears  in  answer  to  the  hand  and  the  voice 
even  while  he  was  striking  his  stride. 

Out  on  the  highway,  we  made  the  most  of 
"hunting  pace."  We  went  to  the  doctor's 
house  in  a  thunder  of  hoofs,  the  hounds  at 
speed  to  keep  with  us. 


c 


'M^j 


'cummre 

By  Virginia  Scott  Miner 

'No  marble.'*  Not  one  piece  of 

bronze.' 
No  anything  in  all  these  years.' 
You  have  betrayed  your  talent!" — so 

he  wrote. 

At  times  she  wondered.   Here  at 

home 
Were  some  few  things  she'd  done. 
This  fountain  group,  perhaps,  one 

day — 
But  talent  was  the  very  term. 
The  syllables  exact,  mot  juste. 

Outside,  snow-suited,  one  at  play; 
A  second  gone  to  school;  and  here — 
Two  months  from  birth — the  littlest. 

She  glanced  upon  the  letter  in  her 

lap, 
She  looked  outdoors  at  rounded 

cheeks. 
At  sturdy  breadth  and  prideful 

length. 
Then  murmured  laughing,  "What  a 

word! 
Why,  I  have  genius,  sir ! " 


Sukey  met  us,  agitated  and  calling  upon 
us  and  high  heaven  with  flattering  impar- 
tiality. The  mangled  carcass  of  the  shepherd 
dog  was  mute  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her 
story. 

"Ah  was  right  hyar  in  de  kitchen  do',  jest 
comin'  out  to  gib  de  peelin's  to  de  pig,  an'  de 
Lawd  dun  show  me  de  Ole  Evil  One,  shaped 
jest  like  a  big,  big  fox,  an'  po'  Prince  runnin' 
to  git  home  afore  him.  But  hit  wa'n't  no 
use,  he  got  kotched,  an'  Ah  shut  de  do'  an' 
hollered." 

"Did  you  see  where  it  went  after  it  killed 
the  dog? "  we  asked. 

"No,  sah.  Ah  didn't  feel  no  call  to  look, 
sah.  Ah  jest  hopin'  dat  hit  didn't  kotch  sight 
ob  me  an'  bust  right  in  de  kitchen  windah." 

Casting  for  a  trail,  we  started  from  the 
body  of  Prince.  Sukey  had  a  hit-and-miss 
idea  of  the  direction  from  which  Prince  had 
come  in  his  flight  for  refuge,  and  along  that 
line  we  sent  the  hounds. 

Three  of  the  Trojans  were  here:  Trailmas- 
ter.  Tireless  and  Truthful.  An  even  dozen 
of  the  black  hounds  were  filing  past  me: 
Lead  and  Laura,  and  their  sons  Faust  and 
Fatal,  and  Ranger  IV  and  Basso  and  Stickler 
and  Old  Fire  and  Water.  One  more  hound 
went  with  them,  little  pedigreeless  Joseph 


in  his  coat  of  many  colors.  Trailmaster 
knew  the  scent;  his  hair  bristled  when  he 
found  it.  Lead  poked  through  the  frozen 
grass,  snufhng  vigorously,  his  long  ears 
flopping  forward  in  massy  folds.  He  glanced 
at  Hugo  to  be  positive  that  he  was  acting 
under  orders,  then  he  sent  his  divine  roar  re- 
sounding across  the  Virginia  hunting  fields. 
The  others  followed  him.  The  solo  swelled 
into  a  chorus.  The  black  hounds  were  on  the 
line. 

From  the  minute  we  struck  this  trail  we 
were  resolved  not  to  leave  it  or  to  be  shaken 
from  it  until  we  came  to  the  end  of  it  and 
closed  with  the  maker  of  it — somewhere — 
sometime. 

During  the  next  half  hour,  in  disorderly 
snatches  of  conversation,  we  gave  Hovon  an 
account  of  the  Colfax  Fox. 

He,  totally  unbelieving,  shouted  with 
laughter.  "If  you'd  told  me  this  last  night, 
after  all  those  wassails,  I'd  understand,"  he 
jeered.  We  expected  badinage  from  Hovon, 
and  we  patiently  made  the  best  of  it  for 
miles  while  we  got  it. 

All  the  while,  our  course  was  north  of  east. 
Counting  the  huntsmen,  there  were  twelve 
riders  at  the  start,  all  picked  horsemen. 
From  the  beginning  Hugo  and  I  nursed  our 
horses,  riding  them  with  all  the  skill  we  had, 
saving  them,  conserving  their  nerve  force. 
We  plodded  north  by  northeast.  At  times 
the  hounds  were  very  slow,  although  the 
scent  seemed  strong.  Once  they  did  a  good 
deal  of  tacking,  apparently  dissatisfied  with 
the  turnings  of  the  trail.  We  were  close  to 
them  and  we  rode  up  to  encourage  them; 
but  they  were  satisfied  before  we  reached 
them,  and  went  on.  Hugo  and  I  recalled  the 
trails  laid  over  trails  the  night  we  had  run 
the  Colfax  Fox  in  November.  We  wondered 
whether  this  time  the  hounds  had  correctly 
unraveled  a  similar  booby  trap.  They  gave 
tongue  confidently.  The  course  looked  right. 

The  fact  that  they  were  running  it  steadily 
after  miles  proved  that  they  had  found  the 
true  line  at  the  check.  The  sun  climbed  the 
sky.  Noon  came  and  went.  We  rode  through 
a  terrain  strange  to  me  and  no  longer  fa- 
miliar in  every  yard  to  the  Virginians.  We 
were  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  home 
hunts.  A  river  glistened  across  our  course. 
We  had  reached  the  Potomac. 

The  hounds  were  swimming,  streaming  be- 
fore us.  While  we  watched  from  the  shore, 
Lead  and  a  few  others  clambered  up  the 
farther  bank  and  began  to  cast  for  trail.  We 
waited,  absorbed  in  their  quest.  Lead's  in- 
comparable voice  recrossed  the  river  to  us — 
he  had  it.  The  hounds  went  on. 

"At  my  time  of  life,  I  can  treat  my  bones 
better  than  by  immersing  them  in  that  De- 
cember river,"  Bedloe  announced.  "Good 
luck  to  you,  and  good-by!" 

Both  of  the  sportsmen  who  had  joined  our 
regular  party  returned  with  Bedloe  and  one 
of  our  huntsmen,  whose  horse  was  tiring, 
went  home  with  them.  In  the  river  another 
huntsman  had  trouble  with  his  hunter  and 
had  to  turn  back.  The  two  remaining  hunts- 
men, Adonis  and  the  gentlemen  of  the 
hunt — Morgan,  Hovon,  Hugo  and  I — rode 
out  of  the  Potomac  into  Maryland. 

The  Colfax  Fox  must  have  been  not  far 
ahead  of  us.  He  had  laid  a  shifty  trail  in  our 
own  hunting  country,  calculated  to  lose  us — 
and  he  had  not  lost  us.  He  had  resorted  to  a 
wide  river,  believing  that  his  enemies  the 
hounds  could  not,  or  would  not,  follow  him. 
When  we  were  landing,  he  must  have  been 
where  he  could  hear  the  swelling  baying  of 
the  black  hounds,  telling  him  that  they  were 
coming  on. 

Within  a  mile  from  the  river,  the  style  of 
the  hunt  changed.  The  pace  increased  and 
increased.  The  Colfax  Fox  was  trying  to 
outfoot  the  hounds,  to  leave  them  by  his 
speed.  It  suited  the  hounds.  They  had  speed 
themselves.  They  drove  on,  and  drove  on. 

Hovon  stopped  chaffing  us.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  that  whatever  our  quarry 
was,  it  was  something  out  of  the  ordinary. 
He  was  riding  King  Agrippa  carefully  to  con- 
serve his  power— the  Duke  of  Hovon  meant 
to  go  where  the  Bolinvars  went.  And  the 
Bolinvars  meant  to  follow  as  far  as  hounds 
could  lead  them. 


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46 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


San  Francisco... 
the  day  your  ship  came  in 


We  shopped  in  Chinatown.  Such  goigi'ous  ciiiliroidcrios!  "Not  half  so  r.vciVing 
(US  i/our  hands,"  you  said.  (And  iiic  with  a  war  job  that  takes  the  natural 
softiMicrs  from  my  skinl  But  — tliuii  — I  use  Jergcm  Lotion.) 


*%^ 


We  fea'd  on  "Top  of  the  Mark".  "Your  hand^  are  so  sweet,"  you  said.  Cirls 

who  ii\c   |cr''cns'  1  ,(i|inii  An  li:i\  r  ■  wcci   t(i  Imich  liand'; ! 


Excitinfj  Hollywood  Stars  use  ness   vith  2   ingredients  in  Jergens 

Jergens  Lotion,  7  to  1  Lotion,  so  "special"  that  many  doctors 

Help  protect  hands   against  rough-  use  them.   Lovely  to   use!    Easy! 

nesssosurely  with  Jergens.  Encourage  No  annoying  stickiness!  Just  be  sure 

even  neglected  hands  to  soft  smooth-  and  use  Jergens  Lotion. 


For  the  softest,  adorable  Hands,  USE 

JERGENS  LOTION 


But  both  of  the  underhuntsmen  quit. 
Later,  the  good  bay  Adonis  rode  struck  the 
top  bar  of  a  rail  fence  and  hurt  his  knee. 
Adonis  pulled  up  and  got  off.  Hugo  rode 
over  to  him.  They  spoke  together  a  moment, 
and  Adonis  regretfully  handed  Hugo  his  big 
circular  horn.  We  left  him  standing  beside 
the  injured  horse.  Morgan  and  Hovon  and 
Hugo  and  I  went  on. 

The  pace  eased  again.  We  were  glad  of  it, 
for  the  sake  of  the  horses — we  had  no  idea 
how  far  they  might  have  to  go.  The  shadows 
tilted  from  the  westward,  and  the  sun  low- 
ered. We  were  riding  away  from  the  sunset 
into  the  northeast  by  east.  Christmas  Day 
was  waning.  From  one  hilltop,  higher  than 
most  of  its  fellows,  we  could  look  across 
many  miles  of  the  rolling  landscape.  On  our 
right  we  saw  the  smoke  and  the  spires  of  a 
city  in  the  distance. 

Morgan's  mare  was  near  the  end.  She 
stumbled  when  she  changed  gaits.  After  we 
had  passed  out  of  sight  of  the  far-off  city, 
she  stopped.  She  was  done.  Morgan  dis- 
mounted. We  all  halted  and  joined  him.  The 
hounds  were  out  of  sight,  ahead.  Their  blend- 
ing voices  came  back  to  us  in  a  chant  worthy 
of  any  monastery's  choir.  They  were  driv- 
ing on. 

We  inspected  the  horses  and  took  stock  of 
the  situation.  Hovon  had  nothing  to  say. 
He  loosened  Agrippa's  girth,  and  while  we 
held  council  he  was  walking  the  big  bay 
gently  in  circles.  He  was  thinking  that 
Agrippa,  with  his  own  two  hundred  up,  had 
the  heavy  end  of  the  run.  What  he  was 
thinking  about  the  Colfax  Fox  he  kept  to 
himself. 

Copper  Queen  looked  ready  to  drop  in  her 
tracks.  Hugo  made  a  comprehensive  gesture 
toward  the  five  counties  she  had  hunted  in, 
and  the  gesture  was  a  salute  to  Copper 
Queen. 

"The  next  thing  is  to  get  home  with  her. 
You'd  better  find  a  tavern  and  lay  over  until 
tomorrow.    Have  you  any  money?" 

Wc  supplied  the  colonel,  and  he  dolefully 
bade  us  farewell.  The  duke,  Hugo  and  I  re- 
mounted and  sought  the  hounds. 

They  had  gone  on  out  of  hearing,  and 
twilight  was  upon  us.  Hugo  and  I  rode  side 
by  side  and  continued  our  confab.  The  horses 
had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  the  morning 
feeding.  There  was  a  first-class  chance  of 
being  out  until  far  into  the  night.  We  con- 
sidered the  advisability  of  halting  at  the 
first  decent  inn  we  could  locate,  baiting  the 
horses  and  having  a  quick  meal. 

"We've  lost  the  hounds  anyhow,"  Hugo 
said  philosophically.  "We  can  get  back  with 
them  as  easily  in  forty  minutes  as  in  twenty. 
We  might  as  well  stop." 

So  WE  pulled  into  the  tavern  yard  at  a 
hamlet  near  our  course  and  turned  the 
horses  over  to  the  stablemen  with  promises 
of  liberal  reward  for  the  best  possible  feeding 
and  grooming  in  a  short  time.  In  the  tavern 
we  ate  a  meal  to  make  an  epicure  shudder. 
We  filled  our  flasks  with  whisky  and  our 
saddle  wallets  with  sandwiches.  For  each  of 
the  horses  we  bought  six  quarts  of  oats 
packed  in  small  sacks  which  could  be  at- 
tached to  the  saddles.  The  weight  was  in- 
significant, and  we  thought  we  might  want 
to  feed  the  hunters  again  before  we  had 
access  to  another  tavern. 

While  the  oat  bags  were  being  fastened 
on,  Hugo  said  to  the  man,  "Less  than  ten 
miles  back,  from  a  hilltop,  we  saw  a  large 
town  in  the  southeast.  Can  you  tell  us  what 
it  was?" 

The  stableman  pondered  our  position  and 
the  direction.  "That'd  be  Baltimore." 

The  brief  rest,  the  grain  and  the  rubbing 
brought  the  horses  out  in  fine  fettle.  They 
looked  ready  for  anything  as  we  mounted. 
The  early-rising  moon  was  flooding  the  dusk 
with  eerie  lights.  The  night  would  be  ideal; 
it  was  a  coon-hunting  night,  windless,  cold 
and  golden. 

We  soon  met  a  farmer  jogging  along  the 
road  in  a  rumbling  wagon.  We  stopped  him 
and  asked  if  he  could  give  us  tidings  of  our 
hounds. 

"Was  they  youm?"  he  queried,  with  in- 
terest. "  I  seen  them,  a  while  ago,  runnin' 
that  way."  He  pointed  to  the  northeast. 


January,  1945 

We  thanked  him  and  pressed  to  the  north- 
east. We  made  good  time  at  a  steady  pace. 
But  in  an  hour  we  had  heard  no  back- 
floating  notes  from  the  music  we  knew  the 
black  hounds  were  pouring  around  their 
passage  if  all  was  well.  Another  hal(,hour, 
and  still  the  night  was  silent,  giving  back 
only  the  ringing  hoofs  of  the  horses.  We 
were  growing  anxious.  As  Hugo  had  re- 
marked, great  Lead  could  cast  his  bel  canto 
halfway  across  a  shire.  Where  was  he? 

We  found  out.  We  rode  so  abruptly  out 
of  a  thicket-fringed  pasture  to  the  shore  of  a 
broad  and  shining  water  that  the  horses 
shied  at  sight  of  it,  almost  marching  head- 
long into  it  before  we  saw  it.  We  stopped. 

It  was  a  large  river,  darkling  in  the  shad- 
ows, blazing  in  the  moonbeams.  We  sat  on 
the  horses  and  listened.  Only  the  rippling 
of  the  water,  the  murmuring  of  the  night 
wind.  Had  the  hunt  come  this  way?  Had 
the  Colfax  Fox  crossed  this  shining  flood? 
Had  our  hounds  crossed  too? 

After  a  short  pause  Hugo  raised  the  horn 
and  blew  a  signal  on  it,  following  it  imme- 
diately with  a  call,  "Lead!   Lead!   Lead!" 

Far  down  the  river  a  glorious  hound  voice 
replied.  Lead  had  heard  the  horn  and  recog- 
nized it  and  answered  it.  We  turned  down- 
stream and  rode  as  rapidly  as  we  could  to- 
ward the  point  which  we  judged  to  be  about 
opposite  the  place  from  which  Lead  had 
spoken  to  us.  We  were  close  to  the  place 
when  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  cry  of  dis- 
covery on  the  other  shore.  Immediately  the 
rest  of  the  hounds  joined  in.  They  were  run- 
ning due  north,  a  variation  in  the  course 
which  we  were  quick  to  note. 

We  had  no  idea  whether  a  bridge  spanned 
this  river  within  fifty  miles.  Nor  had  we  any 
ideas  about  its  identity.  "By  the  looks  of  it, 
it  might  be  the  Mississippi,"  Hugo  remarked. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  the  Susquehanna. 
We  had  encountered  it  at  an  exceptionally 
wide  section. 

The  horses  were  used  to  swimming,  with 
or  without  riders.  The  night  was  cold,  but 
not  cruelly  cold,  and  since  we  were  con- 
stantly in  motion,  the  sousing  would  not 
hurt  us.  So  we  swam  the  Susquehanna. 

While  we  were  in  the  river  and  when  we 
first  emerged,  we  could  hear  the  baying 
hounds,  going  north.  Presently  the  music 
stopped,  a  few  minutes  of  silence,  then  a 
tentative  cry,  then  the  baying  in  full  volume 
again,  once  more  bearing  into  the  northeast. 

Putting  together  the  details  of  the  past 
two  hours,  we  could  reconstruct  the  develop- 
ments of  the  hunt  almost  as  accurately  as  if 
we  had  witnessed  them.  A  bold  beast  and  a 
worried  one,  the  Colfax  Fox  had  resorted  to 
the  wide  waters  a  second  time.  He  had  en- 
tered the  river  and  descended  with  the  cur- 
rent for  a  mile  or  more  before  he  came 
ashore,  leaving  the  two  ends  of  his  trail 
separated  by  a  stretch  of  river  that  ought  to 
stop  hounds  then  and  there.  But  he  did  not 
know  the  ways  of  Lead  and  Laura  and  Old 
Fire  and  Water,  the  fleet  and  the  stanch. 

Having  satisfied  themselves  that  he  had 
really  gone  over,  they  went  over  too.  Not 
finding  his  trail  where  they  landed,  they  had 
fallen  into  the  silence  which  had  fretted  us. 
They  hunted  for  the  line,  up  the  river  prob- 
ably as  well  as  ddwn.  As  they  were  hounds 
who  had  little  to  say  except  when  they  had 
something  to  say,  we  were  not  guided  by 
their  voices  while  this  quest  was  in  progress. 

Evidently  the  Colfax  Fox  had  in  mind  a 
particular  route.  He  ran  north  upon  his  exit 
from  the  water  until  he  was  abreast  this 
position,  when  he  turned  at  an  angle  and 
resumed  his  northeasterly  line.  The  hounds 
had  overrun  his  line  when  he  turned,  caught 
themselves,  interrupted  their  music,  circled, 
picked  him  up  on  the  northeasterly  line,  and 
were  driving  on. 

We  were  headed  into  the  northeast.  Be- 
fore us,  the  black  hounds  were  on  their  way 
to  Kingdom  Come,  singing  the  song  of  the 
trail.  The  horses  pricked  their  ears  and  of 
their  own  volition  regulated  their  speed  to 
keep  within  earshot  of  the  hounds,  faster  or 
slower  as  the  hounds  set  the  pace. 

Between  the  setting  of  the  moon  and  the 
rising  of  the  sun,  we  rode  in  a  half-light, 
tinted  by  the  receding  moonlight  and  the 


LADIES'  HOME  JOLK.NAL 


47 


WISS! 


Want  the  answers 
to  hundreds  of  war- 
time hoiisekeepint; 
prohlemsy  Order  the  VkARTiME 
HoMEMAKiNG  Manual  from  the  Ref- 
erence Library,  Ladies'  Home  Jour- 
nal, Philadelphia  5,  Pennsylvania, 
No.  2007,  25  cents. 


Dearly  foreglow  of  the  dawn.  It  was  beau- 
;iful,  but  it  was  also  a  vexatious  dimness 
;hat  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  see  what  we 
vera  doing.  So  we  chose  thi^time  to  halt,  to 
■est  and  feed  the  horses,  and  to  eat  our  sand- 
wiches. We  thought  that  in  this  region  of 
substantial  farms  and  villages  we  should  get 
lews  of  the  hounds  at  a  barn  or  a  crossroads 
;avern  if  they  went  beyond  our  hearing  while 
ve  stopped. 

We  were  careful  of  the  horses.  They 
leeded  now  and  then  a  pause,  a  meal  and  a 
Irink,  as  we  did  ourselves.  We  loafed  near 
;hem,  drinking  water  and  whisky  and  eating 
;he  bread  and  beef  we  had  brought  from  the 
Vlaryland  tavern.  We  felt  sure  that  we  must 
3e  in  the  state  of  Pennsylvania.  We  decided 
;o  ask  the  first  people  we  saw  to  tell  us 
vhere  we  were.  We  had  had  little  chance  to 
earn,  for  the  Colfax  Fox  was  of  course  lay- 
ng  a  trail  that  avoided  inhabited  places.  Af- 
;er  a  while,  when  the  cry  of  the  hounds  began 
;o  grow  faint,  the  horses  fidgeted  and  we 
;ook  the  hint  and  saddled  them  and  rode  on. 
We  passed  out  of  the  populated  agricul- 
;ural  region.  In  midforenoon  we  were  having 
1  hunt  like  a  hunt  in  the  Black  Forest.  Heavy 
;imberlands  were  on  all  sides.  When  we  got 
)ut  of  the  timber,  it  was  to  face  another  river. 
[t  was  by  no  means  as  large  as  the  first  one, 
ind  although  its  current  was  rapid  in  places, 
t  was  not  very  deep.  We  had  reason  to  be 
;hankful  for  these  favors  of  fortune,  for  the 
Danks  of  this  river 
Droved  to  be  the 
scene  of  a  booby 
;rap  as  neat  as  any 
;ver  laid  for  hounds 
;o  unwind. 

The  hounds  had 
:rossed  when  we  ar- 
rived. We  saw  them 
Dn  the  other  bank 
diligently  snufSng 
for  the  spot  where 
the  Colfax  Fox  had 
left  the  water.  Since 
they  were  getting 
along  nicely  by 
themselves,  we  let 
the  horses  stand, 
resting,  while  we 
watched  the  hounds 
and  awaited  their 
'eport .  They 
5Couted  up  the  river 
antil  they  were  out 
Df  view,  then  they 
:ame  back  and 
lunted  down  the 
■iver  a  long  way. 
rhen  they  began  a 
system  of  wide  cast- 
ng  inland  from  the 
oank,  but  in  vain. 

Although  they  did  not  need  us,  we  decided 
o  go  to  their  assistance.  We  pulled  up  our 
irths  and  forded  the  river.  We  unsaddled 
he  horses  and  turned  them  loose  to  browse 
)n  the  frozen  grass  and  have  a  roll  if  they 
vanted  it  while  we  explored  the  edge  of  the 
vater  for  footprints  or 'other  telltale  signs 
hat  might  show  where  the  fox  had  come  out. 
Ve  searched  the  riverbank  thoroughly,  and 
he  'hounds  stuck  to  it  patiently  with  their 
;ood  noses,  but  we  found  no  footprint  and 
hey  found  no  scent. 

"Let's  cross  the  river  again,"  I  proposed, 
j'and  try  on  the  original  bank.  If  he  applied 
lis  bright  ideas  between  this  bank  and  the 
nd  of  the  trail  on  that  bank,  the  evidence 
lust  be  either  where  the  trail  stops  or  in  the 
rater  itselL" 

Ne  did  not  know  what  we  were  going  to 
o  on  the  first  bank  of  the  river,  but  there 
eing  nothing  whatever  to  be  done  where  we 
?ere,  we  called  the  horses  and  assembled  the 
ounds.  The  whole  party  reforded  to  the 
rst  shore. 

"We  might  as  well  do  this  systematically," 
lid  Hugo.  "Let  us  split  the  pack.  I'll  take 
ne  section  and  go  up  the  bank  for  a  mile, 
ou  and  Hovon  take  the  other  part  of  the 
ack  and  follow  the  river  down  for  a  mile. 
fhtn  we  think  we  have  gone  that  distance, 
e  will  return  to  within  a  quarter  mile  of 
le.trail  we  have,  turn  parallel  to  it  and  to 


RUBBER   IS  PRECIOUS 

Keep    boots    and     galoshes    on    a    shelf — out 

from  under  boxes  and   suitcases.    Stuff  with 

paper    and  box  for  storage.    Keep  in  a  cool 

dry  place. 


each  other,  one  pack  on  each  side  of  it.  He 
certainly  did  not  turn  around  in  the  river, 
come  out  on  the  trail  where  he  went  in,  and 
run  on  his  back  trail.  If  he  had  tried  that, 
we  should  have  met  him.  If  he  came  out  at 
a  new  point  on  this  bank,  we  will  catch  it 
when  we  go  up  and  down  the  bank.  If  he 
ran  a  little  way  on  his  back  trail  and  jumped 
it,  we  will  pick  up  his  line  when  we  cast  back 
parallel  to  the  trail." 

It  was  a  good  program  and  we  acted  upon 
it.  Hovon  and  I  were  turning,  after  a  fruit- 
less mile,  to  get  back  toward  Hugo  when  we 
heard — blessed  sound! — Lead's  grand  clar- 
ion. He  had  it.  And  then  the  horn  calling, 
"Gone  away!" 

We  galloped  across  at  an  angle,  guided  by 
the  baying.  We  joined  Hugo  and  threw  in  our 
pack  with  his,  and  the  reunited  pack  went 
crying  on  the  trail  again.  And  we  were  going 
back  to  Virginia. 

Hugo  gave  us  a  hasty  account  of  the  trail 
finding. 

"I  have  not  figured  out  exactly  the  moves 
the  fox  made,"  he  said.  "Offhand,  it  looks 
rather  as  though  he  had  the  gift  of  making 
himself  double  when  he  wished.  The  hounds 
struck  a  second  trail,  like  the  first  one  going 
into  the  river,  a  half  mile  upstream." 

I  studied  this  as  we  rode.  Presently,  I 
said,  "How  is  this  for  what  he  did?  When 
he  reached  the  river,  he  swam  or  trotted  up- 
stream in  the  water 
until  he  reached  a 
point  he  considered 
a  safe  distance  from 
his  original  line. 
Then  he  came  out 
of  the  river  on  the 
same  bank  he  had 
left.  The  trail  you 
found  is  his  place  of 
exit.  If  his  trick  had 
worked,  all  he  had 
to  do  was  to  return 
to  Colfax's  back 
fields,  leaving  the 
hounds  to  hunt  for 
his  trail  on  the  north 
bank  of  this  river, 
where  they  would 
naturally  suppose  it 
to  be.  The  one  he  is 
laying  now  would 
soon  be  too  cold  to 
folio  w — i  f  the 
hounds  found  it." 

"That  sounds 
right,  Dev,"  Hugo 
agreed. 

"I  have  great  re- 
spect   for   a   brute 
that  can  devise  such 
a  scheme,"  Hovon 
remarked.  "The  Colfax  Fox  must  be  an  in- 
tellectual animal." 

"  If  he  is  a  wolf,  he  is,"  I  replied.  "A  fox  is 
shrewd,  but  let  me  tell  you,  Basil,  one  of 
the  big  wolves  is  shrewder." 

We  and  the  hounds  had  gone  some  five  or 
six  miles  toward  Virginia  when  all  at  once 
the  course  changed.  The  hounds  began  to 
bear  to  the  left,  swinging  in  a  semicircle. 
For  minutes  together  they  continued  this 
sweeping  curve. 

We  were  going  almost  due  east,  and  going 
fast.  The  hounds  sang  enthusiastically  as 
they  drove  on.  It  was  not  long  before  we 
re-entered  country  we  recognized  as  that 
through  which  we  had  passed  when  ap- 
proaching the  river,  and  presently  we  rode 
down  its  bank  for  the  second  time,  virtually 
to  the  same  spot  where  we  had  first  forded. 
We  checked,  jumped  off  and  stood  beside 
the  horses  silently  speculating  what  the 
Colfax  Fox  had  done  to  us  this  time.  The 
hounds  did  not  hesitate,  but  plunged  into 
the  river  and  swam  over.  Upon  landing,  the 
hounds  found  a  trail  where  positively  no 
trail  had  been  on  the  previous  occasion. 
Their  matched  chimes  rang  back  to  us. 
They  vanished,  driving  on. 

We  forded  the  river  for  the  third  time  and 
settled  down  in  the  wake  of  the  hound  cry. 
As  we  rode,  we  grappled  with  the  tactics. 
We  concluded  that  this  was  what  had  hap- 
pened: 


i^ 


Softer,  Smoollier  Skin 

with  just  One  Cake  of  Camay! 


Mrs.  Charles  W.  Diehl,  Jr.,  Minneapolis 

Lovely. .  .gossamer  wedding  veil  fr.iming  her  Camay  com- 
plexion! "You'll  find  exciting  new  beauty  for  your  skin, 
too,"  she  confides,    "with  your  very  first  cake  of  Camay." 

Tests  by  doctors  prove  — Mild  Camay  cleanses  without  irritation 

Romantic  new  softness,  fresher  beauty,  for  your  skin  —  with  just  one 

cake  of  Camay!  Simply  give  up  careless  methods  and  go  on  the  Camay 
Mild-Soap  Diet.  Doctors  tested  this  mild  care  on  over  100  complexions 
—  on  skin  like  yours.  And  with  the  very  first  cake  of  Camay,  most  complexions 
simply  bloomed  —  fresher  and  clearer  and  lovelier!  "Camay  is  really 
mild,"  confirmed  the  doctors,  "il  cleansed  without  irritation." 

Go  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet 

Take  only  one  minute  —  night  and  morning.  Cream  Camay's  mild  lather 

over  your  face  —  nose  and  chin.  Rinse  warm.  Give  oily  skin  a  C-O-L-D 
splash.  Start  tonight  and  watch  your  skin  take  on  glorious 
new  freshness,  softer  charm  —  with  just  otie  cake  of  Camay! 


Cherish  Camay  — use  the  last  sliver! 
Precious  war  materials  go  into  soap. 


48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


OWES   ITS   ENTICING   FLAVOR 
TO   BRER   RABBIT 
GREEN  LABEL  MOLASSES 

Everyone  wlio  tries  tliis  sensa- 
tional new  dessert  ravesabont  it! 
For  just  tlie  right  flavor,  use  I5rer 
Ral)l)it  New  Orleans  Molasses- 
rich  with  the  luscious  goodness 
of  Louisiana  sugar  cane. 

New  Orleans  Molasier  Crispet 

I  '>  cup  Rrcr  R.ihhit 

New  Orleans  Molasses* 
],{  cup  sujiar 
J^  (laspoon  salt 
],2  tablcs|)ooii  butter  or 

margarine 
6  cups  cornflakes 

Boil  molasses,  sunar  anil  salt  to 
2'iO°  I'",  or  until  mixture  forms  a  firm 
ball  in  cold  water.  Add  butler;  pour 
over  coinHakes.  Toss  linbtly  wiili 
fork.  Arrange  ill  buttered  rinn  mould; 
do  not  ptirk  jirmly.  Cool.  Unniould  on 
serving  disli.  Fill  center  with  vanilla 
ice  cream,  over  which  pour  Molassis 
Fruit  Sauce,  made  by  mixing  2  table- 
spoons Hrer  Rabbit  Cold  Label  Mo- 
lasses and  J.4  cup  orange  juice  with  1 
cup  currant  jelly.  6  to  8  servings. 

*For  a  rich  molasse.s  flavor,  use 
Green  Label  Brer  Rabbit.  It's  a 
full  flavuretl,  dark  nudasses  rec- 
oniniended  for  cookintr. 


*F()r  a  milder 
flavor,  use  Gold 
Label  Brer  Rab- 
bit— tiie  highest 
quality,  fancy, 
light  molasses — 
sweet  and  mild. 


Brer  Rabbit 


NEW 
ORLEANS 


Molasses 


Free! 


Penick  &  Ford,   Ltd.,  Inc. 
New  Orleans,  La.,  Dept.  Jl-5 


Please  send  my  free  copy  of  "Brer 
Rabbit's  Modern  Recipes  for  Modern 
Living,"  telling  all  about  New  Orleans 
molasses  for  cookinjj  and  table  use.  Also 
pamphlet,  ''Something  Every  Mother  Should 
Know,"  on  iron  needs. 


Name 


I  Print  Niiiiii'  mid  Addii 


AJdress^ 


The  Colfax  Fox,  confident  that  he  had 
shaken  off  the  hounds  and  tiring,  perhaps, 
had  been  making  his  way  south  at  his  leisure 
toward  his  Virginian  haunts  when  he  was 
startled  to  discover  the  hounds  coming  on  his 
trail.  So  he  had  resumed  his  abandoned 
route  of  flight.  To  this  end,  he  circled  in  a 
large  loop  back  onto  his  first  trail,  joining  it 
near  the  river,  where  he  crossed,  heading 
again  on  his  northeast  course. 

"Wolf  or  fox,"  Hovon  said,  "with  a  lead 
not  more  than  we  think  he  had  when  he 
came  from  the  water  on  this  bank,  he  needs 
his  time.  I  don't  know  as  much  about  wolves 
as  you  two  do,  but  I  should  think  that  these 
hounds  will  run  three  miles  while  a  wolf  runs 
two." 

"Just  about,"  Hugo  told  him. 

"He'll  concoct  something  to  delay  them  a 
few  minutes  here  and  there,"  I  said,  "so  he 
can  gain  on  them  again." 

But  the  faithful  ground  trailers  were 
having  a  good  time  in  their  own  way.  The 
music  of  their  attuned  voices  poured  forth 
steadily.  The  country  in  which  we  followed 
them  was  uninhabited.  It  was  a  hunt  in  the 
Black  Forest  sort  of  country  again.  We  saw 
numerous  clearings  and  slashes.  But  we  met 
no  person  and  we  passed  no  lived-in  house. 

The  afternoon  was  fading  into  its  last 
hours.  If  we  wanted  to  find  a  place  where 
\'i  (•  could  bait  the  horses  and  get  even  a  make- 
shift meal  for  ourselves,  we  had  to  be  about 
it  -another  night  was  on  its  way.  Lest  we 
lose  the  hounds,  we  decided  that  Hovon  and 
I  should  cling  to  their  northeasterly  route 
while  Hugo  made  a  detour  in  search  of  a 
settlement.  He  was  to  signal  us  with  the 
horn  when  he  was  ready  to  rejoin  us  with 
news  of  any  discovery  he  had  made. 

Wo  plodded  on  for  nearly  an  hour  before 
we  heard  the  horn.  It  was  ahead  of  us.  We 
hailed  him  and  heard  his  answer— not  the 
ordinary  horn  music  of  the  chase.  He  was 
playing  Old  Virginny  Never  Tire.  He  kept 
on  playing  until  we  came  to  him. 

"There  is  no  one  in  this  whole  region,"  he 
announced.  "You  are  the  first  human  beings 
I  have  seen  since  I  left  you.  But  I  had  Tirade 
wait  while  I  climbed  a  small  peak,  from 
which  I  looked  over  the  land  ahead.  The 

country  seems  fairly  open  and "   With 

laughter  in  his  eyes  he  raised  the  horn  and 
changed  his  tune  to  "There's  one  more  river 
to  cross." 

It  was  sunset  when  we  reached  that  river. 
The  country  was,  however,  even  more  open 
than  it  had  appeared  to  our  scout.  The 
traveling  was  poky,  but  not  bad.  Neither 
was  the  river  bad.  It  was  smaller  than  the 
one  we  had  almost  made  a  habit  of  fording 
earlier  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  it  flowed 
south  we  presumed  it  was  a  tributary  of  that 
river. 

This  time,  profiting  by  sad  experience,  the 
hounds  had  stopped  to  explore  the  near  bank 
before  crossing,  a  sensible  precaution.  We 
counted  them.  Not  one  hound  was  missing. 
They  forded  the  river,  satisfied  that  the  Col- 
fax Fox  had  forded  it  before  them.  They 
found  his  line. 

We  followed  them.  The  district  on  this 
side  of  the  river  was  inhabited,  as  we  saw 
soon  after  we  mounted.  We  passed  furnaces 
where  local  mineral  deposits  were  mined.  We 
also  passed  boarded-up  lumbering  shanties. 
These  buildings  presently  were  replaced  by 
arable  land  and  farms,  but  on  most  of  them 
houses  and  barns  were  built  of  crude  logs, 
and  were  poverty-stricken  in  aspect. 

"Not  a  very  prosperous  community 
through  here,"  Hovon  commented. 

"Nevertheless,  we  would  be  wise  to  halt," 
Hugo  counseled.  "We  ought  to  provide  for 
the  horses,  and  it  will  soon  be  dark." 

Realizing  the  good  sense  in  this  advice, 
we  turned  in  at  the  least  objectionable  farm 
in  sight.  After  an  undue  amount  of  dickering, 
we  obtained  hay  and  grain  for  the  hunters 
and  engaged  a  couple  of  boys  to  rub  down 
Agrippa  and  Rupert.  Tirade  was  decidedly 
more  fastidious,  and  would  not  have  the 
boys  near  her.  Hugo  attended  to  her  him- 
self and  I  helped  him  while  Basil  wrangled 
with  the  woman  in  the  house  about  prepar- 
ing some  supper  for  us.  Perceiving  that  her 
dialect  was  too  much  for  him,  and  his  accent 


too  much  for  her,  Hugo  and  I  added  our 
efforts  to  his.  Among  us,  we  persuaded  her 
to  boil  some  milk  and  give  it  to  us  hot,  and 
to  furnish  a  meal  of  corn  bread  and  bacon. 
We  were  rather  more  than  an  hour  there,  for 
we  felt  obliged  to  let  the  horses  eat  some  hay 
in  peace. 

We  finally  got  back  to  the  sweet  cleanness 
of  the  woods  and  the  creek  bottoms. 

The  horses  stepped  along  willingly.  The 
quietude  of  the  lonely  land  was  majestic 
under  the  rising  moon.  Far,  far  borne  upon 
it,  we  heard  the  cadence  of  our  deep-mouthed 
hounds.  Their  baying  led  us  on  across  the 
intervening  miles.  They  were  more  dogged 
than  swift  tonight.  Whether  the  scent  was 
less  good,  whether  the  fox  had  succeeded  in 
throwing  enough  obstacles  in  their  way  to 
retard  their  progress,  or  whether  they  had 
merely  settled  down  to  an  unhurried  driving 
of  him  until  they  drove  him  to  doom,  we 
could  not  know.  But  gradually  we  drew 
nearer  to  them,  and  we  did  not  press  the 
horses. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  chorus  of  the  black 
hounds  was  so  much  closer  that  we  could 
distinguish  the  individual  voices.  There  was 


^y(yuma  a  ^Me  ^Oh 


7 


By  EI<>anor  A.  Chaffee 


Loving  a  little  boy  is  a  quicksilver 
thing. 
He  will  escape  the  circling  of  an 
arm, 
Resent  the  smoothing  of  his  hair's 
dark  wing, 
Scorn  a  suggestion  he  might  come 
to  harm. 
But  there  is  a  time  of  day,  or 
perhaps  of  night. 
When,  weary  of  play,  reluctant  yet 
to  go 
Stairward,  the  lanterns  in  his  eyes 
less  bright. 
He  may  pause  with  a  nonchalant 
step  and  slow 
Beside  his  mother's  chair,  or  rest 
awhile 
Against  her  knee,  without  the  airs 
he  wore. 
But  baby-soft  and  with  the  secret 
smile 
Of  one  who  deals  with  fairies  and 
their  lore. 
This  is  the  moment,  burning  like  an 

ember 
That  she  will  never  forget,  or  he 
remember. 


Laura.  There  was  Lead.  There  were  the 
royal  young  voices  of  Faust  and  Fatal  and 
Ranger  IV.  There  was  Old  Fire  and  Water, 
with  his  heavy  bass.  Every  hound  voice  we 
knew,  every  voice  spoke  to  us. 

Toward  midnight,  a  panther  screamed 
wildly  in  answer  to  the  baying  of  the  hounds. 
But  they  altered  not  a  note  for  his  noise,  and 
we  did  not  heed  him.  We  were  not  hunting 
panthers. 

After  this,  the  country  became  more 
rugged  and  more  difhcult.  We  were  in 
wooded  country  that  added  the  darkness  of 
forest  to  the  darkness  of  the  failing  moon- 
light. We  were  forced  to  lead  the  horses,  for 
we  could  see  only  a  few  yards  around  us.  We 
were  tripped  by  roots  and  we  stumbled  over 
rocks.  At  intervals,  Hugo  communicated 
with  the  hounds  by  horn.  All  our  animals  were 
trained  to  the  horn  and  understood  it  well. 
From  time  to  time,  Hugo  sent  a  few  bars 
of  the  old  English  calls,  assuring  the  hounds 
that  where  they  went  we  followed. 

"I'm  certain,"  Hovon  remarked,  "that 
my  British  mind  never  properly  grasped  the 
dimensions  of  North  America.  How  spacious 
it  is!  Are  we  still  in  Pennsylvania?" 


We  could  not  tell  him.  We  had  no  idea 
where  we  were. 

For  about  one  hour,  I  think  I  was  never 
abroad  in  a  darker  night.  It  was  all  but 
pitch-black.  In  the  midst  of  this  ^tygian 
adventure,  we  fell  in  with  and  nearly  fell 
into  an  exceptionally  impenetrable  belt,  or 
band,  of  something  close  to  the  horses'  feet 
and  also  out  in  front  of  our  faces.  Naturally, 
we  stopped.  We  heard  the  lapping  of  water. 

"My  word,  it's  another  river!"  Hugo's 
voice  came  gently  from  the  dark. 

In  such  a  predawn  winter  hour,  the  cere- 
mony of  entering  a  strange  river  the  size  of 
which  we  could  not  discern  ought  to  have 
been  accompanied  by  a  few  reflections  on 
whether  we  did  or  did  not  expect  to  get  out 
alive.  But  we  were  too  preoccupied  with  the 
future  of  the  Colfax  Fox  to  worry  about  our 
own.  The  fox  had  crossed.  The  hounds  had 
crossed.  We  intended  to  cross. 

Ihe  cold  was  the  worst  of  it.  I  shall  main- 
tain to  my  dying  day  that  no  worse  circum- 
stances for  going  in  swimming  can  be  imag- 
ined. The  flow  of  the  current  and  the  cry  of 
the  hounds  gave  us  our  bearings.  We  got 
ashore  after  a  fairly  brisk  engagement  with 
a  network  of  bushes  on  the  bank. 

It  was  not  cold  enough  to  freeze  our 
clothes,  but  it  was  cold  enough  to  freeze  us, 
our  very  blood  in  our  veins,  unless  we  did 
something  about  it.  We  started  on  at  a 
sharp  trot,  leading  the  horses.  It  was  a  pretty 
good-sized  river,  at  that.  We  left  it  to  roll 
along  in  the  darkness  while  we  got  ourselves 
and  the  horses  thawed  with  active  exercise, 
and  partly  dried.  But  it  was  not  de-luxe 
fox  hunting.   It  was  not. 

At  any  rate,  the  going  was  fine.  The  coun- 
try was  open  and  outspreading.  We  fancied 
that,  could  we  but  see  it,  a  grassland  gallop- 
ing country  equal  to  our  Virginia  hunting 
fields  surrounded  us. 

A  break  in  the  night  dark  foretold  the 
approach  of  morning — the  second  morning 
since  we  had  left  Virginia.  A  fresh  breeze  was 
sweeping  the  clouds  away  and  dawn  was  not 
far  off. 

"Unless  I  am  mistaken,"  Hugo  said, 
studying  the  sky,  "there  has  been  a  change 
in  the  course  since  midnight.  The  last  time 
I  saw  the  stars,  we  were  still  heading  into  the 
northeast.  If  that  is  a  morning  streak  on  the 
eastern  horizon,  we  must  be  going  straight 
into  the  east  now." 

Basil  and  I  looked  also.  Directly  in  front 
of  us,  a  moving  spear  of  silver  in  the  clouds 
announced  a  sunrise  there,  by  and  by.  If 
we  were  not  to  be  balked  after  following  our 
hounds  so  far,  we  had  need  of  daylight.  For 
suddenly  the  going  became  very  difficult, 
and,  a  few  minutes  afterward,  impossible. 
For  the  first  time  since  we  had  struck  the 
trail  of  the  Colfax  Fox  we  encountered  geo- 
graphical conditions  which  brought  us  to  a 
total  standstill.  We  had  got  into  a  place  that 
made  the  rugged  wilds  of  Pennsylvania  seem 
like  a  happy  hunting  ground. 

A  little  way  ahead,  the  hound  cry  was 
reverberating  in  a  medley  of  glens  that  re- 
plied to  the  baying  with  ten  echoes  to  the 
note.  There  were  thousands  of  trees,  if  not 
millions.  There  were  thickets  like  the  thick- 
ets in  Central  American  jungles.  Not  only 
could  the  horses  not  penetrate  them,  it  was 
miraculous  that  the  hounds  had.  There  were 
rocks  of  all  sizes.  Between  and  on  all  sides  of 
the  rocks  was  such  a  labyrinth  of  holes  as 
Theseus  never  saw.  We  halted.  For  a  short 
time  we  were  motionless,  not  daring  to  start 
the  horses  in  any  direction. 

Rupert  felt  his  way  inch  by  inch  along  a 
rock  ledge  that  towered  over  his  head  and 
mine;  my  stirrup  clanked  as  it  grazed  the 
granite.  I  did  not  interfere  with  him.  I  was 
obsessed  by  an  impulse  to  put  my  hand  to 
my  head,  to  push  my  thoughts  back  to  sanity. 
But  the  idea  was  real  and  it  stayed.  I  knew 
where  we  were.  No  night  was  so  dark  that 
I  did  not  know  when  I  stood  upon  the  sides 
of  Sor'land. 

I  extended  my  hand,  groped  for  the  rock, 
ran  my  fingers  along  it.  I  smiled.  I  knew 
that  rock  too. 

"Hugo!  Basil!  Turn  your  horses  care- 
fully and  follow  me." 

(Continued  on  Page  50) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Help  Fi^ht  Infantile  Paralysis,  January  14-31 


•=  <itar  Pork  Sausage 
^n^^  Sw°et  Potatoes 

A     rook    4    medium-sized 
To   serve   4,   «=«f    j^^    ,,aier  untd 

s.eet  P^'^'Y^^  !  Vat   n  halves.  Cook 
tender.  Peel  and  cut '^^^,^. 

2tbsps.Cloverboom^^^_^^^^^p^^j 

brown  su{;ar,  ^  "    {"  ,  i^t.  Cook  sweet 
2  tbsps.  water  unul  tine  ^.^ 

V^^^^^'^VirrPorkSausage  in  cold 
Armour  s  Star  i  ^^^^  ^^^^^  cook 

frying  V^^.fll  14  minutes,  tummg 
slowly  for  12  ^l^^  ,^^  off  fat  as 

once  or  twice,  and  p  &  ^j^;,  eran- 

it  accumulates   Serve  ^._^^  ^^^^ 

berry  orange  sai^    -^  ^^.j^.^^      em- 

cook  this  relish- 


Armour's  Star  on  this 

pure  pork  sausage  promises 

real,  old-fashioned  flavor ! 


Remember  the  taste  of  flavory,  savory  fresh  pork 
sausage  made  right  on  the  farm  where  you 
ate  it? 

This  is  the  taste  you  get  in  Armour's  Star  pure 
Pork  Sausage.  It's  made  fresh  daily  and  rushed  to 
your  market  from  the  Armour  Sausage  Kitchen 
nearest  to  you. 

And  this  sausage  is  made  of  choice  cuts  of  pork. 


carefully  selected  for  flavor  and  tenderness — then 
blended  with  the  best  imported  spices.  No  won- 
der Armour's  Star  Pork  Sausage  is  such  a  flavor 
favorite ! 

So  buy  the  best— buy  Armour's  Star  Pork 
Sausage.  Be  sure  to  save  the  recipes  given  here  for 
two  especially  good,  new  meals.  You'll  want  to 
use  them  over  and  over ! 


Armour  8  Star  Pork  Sausage 
and  Apple  Patties 

1  lb.  Armour's  Star  Cello  Roll 
rork  Sausage 
1  cup  dry  bread  crumbs 
X2  cup  chopped  celery 
-^  cup  chopped  apples 
^  tbsps.  brown  sugar 

3  apples  cut  in  half  crosswise 
o  tbsps.  brown  sugar 

Combine   Armour's   Star   Pork    S=.. 
sage   c        b3       ,  j^     JWk   S 

"to  pa  'r-fe  -gf  and  i^m 
in  half    P^!'  ,     ^PP'*"^  and  slice 

with    L  "PP"''"  '"  taking  dish 

bake  SO     P     ^'•o^^n  sugar.  Cover  and 
oake  30  minutes  m  350°  F.  oven   Re 

r^an"e  o""  T^  ""^  "PP'^  halv;sf  a"! 


v.^. 


/  Pound  Cello  Roll 


©■ARMOUR  AND   COMPANY 

Listen  lo  Hedda  Hopper's  Hollywood,  every  Monday 
Night  over  CBS.  See  local  Papers  for  Time 

ARMOUR 

and  Company 


•  •••••••• 

•  • 

•  Social  Aspects  of        * 

•  Business  * 

•  • 

•  •••••••• 


It  is  misleading  to  envisage  a  great  enter- 
prise as  a  private  institution. 

A  corporation,  owned  bv  tens  of  thousands 
of  slorkholders,  is  private  only  in  a  very 
special  and  technical  legal  sense. 


i 


I  ii 


Take  Armour  and  Company,  for  example; 
during  the  fiscal  year  1943,  it  redis- 
tributed more  than  twelve  times  as  much  of 
its  total  receipts  from  its  cuslomers,  to  gov- 
ernment in  taxes,  and  to  labor  in  wages  and 
salaries,  as  it  accumulated  in  net  earnings 
for  its  stockholders. 

Far  from  representing  a  special  interest, 
business  constitutes  the  services  of  supply 
of  the  American  people  in  «ar  and  in  pearr. 

Business  is  the  mechanism  through  which 
breadwinners  earn  their  living  by  making 
and  exchanging  goods. 

Prosperity,  resulting  from  a  balanced 
economy,  yields  a  high  level  of  employment 
and  a  plateau  of  material  wellbeing  for  35 
million  American  families. 

Business  provides,  in  time  of  peace,  the 
material  foundations  for  fullilling  the  human 
hope  for  rising  living  standards. 

Gracious  living  persists  the  year  round. 
Armour  and  Company  has  seen  to  that 
through  applying  refrigeration  in  the  han- 
dling and  transportation  of  fresh  meats. 
This  method  changed  the  eating  habits  of 
the  whole  nation  by  supplcmenling  the 
ordinary  summer  diet  of  cured  meats  with 
fresh  meats. 


For  exceedingly  small  rewards  (in  19'i.i. 
Ic  on  each  <lollar  of  sales  or  1  0  of  a  cent  per 
pound  of  pro<lucl)  Armour  serves  not  only 
one  seventh  of  the  nation's  consumers  with  a 
<le|>endable  supply  of  quality  products  made 
available  in  the  principal  rclail  markets  at 
decreasing  ••ost,  but  it  also  pr«)\  ides  a  wav  of 
life  for  many  families  on  the  farms  and  in 
the  cities.  Armour  constitutes  a  daily  cash 
market  on  wlii<-h  the  nalion's  livestock  prt)- 
duccrscan  sell  a  substantial  part  of  the  meat 
animals  they  produce.  Armour  also  makes 
available  jobs,  at  going  rales  of  {)ay  as 
steady  as  can  be  found  in  any  fundamental 
industry,  for  many  thousands  of  men  and 
women. 

And  in  atldition  to  performing  this  im- 
portant task,  the  modern  corporation  take 
on  additional  functions. 

For  example,  it  acts  as  tax  collector  for 
government      national,  state  and  local. 

By  way  of  illustration.  Armour  and  Com- 
pany in  IQIS  received  from  its  customers  in 
the  selling  prices  of  its  products  the  sum  of 
$.{:5,252,020which  the  company  redistributed 
in  taxes  to  help  defray  the  cost  of  the  war 
and  the  regular  running  expenses  of  gov- 
ernment. 


President,  Armour  and  Company 

Sevi-nlh  of  a  Sfries  of  statements  on  the  American  system 
of  fref  enterprise  which  makes  possible  stich  institutiom 
for  service  as  Armour  and  Company. 


50 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Why    Xea    I  ycaves 
are  tops  on  my  reading  list 


MISS    LIL    AND    MISS    TIL    PLOT    A    BRIGHT    FUTURE 


1 .  I  was  on  my  way  home,  carry- 
ing the  precious  new  sheets  and  pillow 
cases  I'd  just  bought,  when  I  bumped 


into  Miss  Lil  and  Miss  Til  in  front  of 
their  house.  I  was  sort  of  tired,  so  I 
was  delighted  when  they  asked  me  in. 


2i'  "TWo  new  sheets  and  pillowcases',' 
I  said,  as  I  put  my  bundle  down  ten- 
derly. "Brand-new,  and  spanking  white. 
I  know  I'll  have  to  keep  bluing  'em  to 
make  that  fresh  white  look  stay  with 
'em  — but  just  the  thought  of  an  extra 
bluing  job  wears  me  out." 


3.  Those  two  old  smarties  acted  as 
if  they  hadn't  heard  me,  till  we'd  fin- 
ished our  tea.  Then  Miss  Til  took  my 
cup  and  peered  into  it.  "It  says  here," 
she  said,  "there's  something  with  the  ini- 
tials L.F.  that  means  you  don't  have  to 
bother  with  a  separate  bluing  job." 


La  France 


4.  She  looked  up  and  twinkled  at 
me.  "It's  La  France,  duckie,"  she  said. 
"It  blues  right  in  the  suds  — and  out 
comes  your  wash,  gleaming  white." 

It  works  almost  like  magic!  I  dis- 
solve La  France  bluing  flakes  in  my 
ordinary  suds— and  I  have  snowy  white 
washes  in  jig  time,  with  no  bluing 
streaks  or  spots  to  spoil  them.  (No 
extra  bluing  jobs,  either!)  Why  don't 
you  get  lucky,  too-with  La  France! 


For  whiter,  brighter  washes 
—blues  right  in  the  suds 


TUNE  IN:  New,  comedy-mystery  thriller 
—"Two  On  a  Clue,"  every  day,  Monday 
through  Friday,  C.B.S. 


(Continued  from  Page  48) 

I  backed  Rupert  cautiously  away  from 
the  pitfalls  while  I  was  speaking.  For  some 
ten  minutes  it  was  rather  less  than  easy  to 
act  upon  my  instructions — to  follow  a  con- 
ductor they  could  not  see  over  a  terrain  they 
could  not  make  out.  But  we  kept  together 
somehow  and  I  led  them  slowly  forward. 
Then  it  grew  lighter  all  at  once.  The  very 
heavy,  low-scudding  clouds  made  it  seem 
more  nightlike  than  it  really  was.  They  be- 
gan to  break  up,  and  as  they  did  so  the  gray- 
ness  of  dawn  appeared.  Soon  there  was 
light  enough  for  the  others  to  see  what  must 
have  looked  to  their  unaccustomed  eyes  like 
an  ultimate  frontier  of  untamed  nature.  It 
showed  me  what  I  expected  to  see — an  ob- 
scure, crooked  path  disappearing  into  a  con- 
fusion of  bushes.  But  I  knew  that  it  did  not 
end  among  the  bushes.  It  went  on,  up,  up, 
up — it  pierced  the  wilderness  of  Sor'land 
to  its  heart  on  the  inhospitable  plateau. 

Hovon  ejaculated,  "You  came  straight 
to  this — er,  road.  How'd  you  do  it?" 

"Knew  it  was  here." 

"The  deuce  you  did!"  said  Hugo. 

I  jumped  off  to  lead  Rupert.  Seeing  that 
we  were  going  into  a  place  that  was  no  place 
to  ride  horses,  Hugo  and  Hovon,  too,  dis- 
mounted. 

"The  hunters  could  carry  us  up,"  I  said, 
"but  we  are  apt  to  need  their  speed  on  the 
tableland.  The  hounds  will  go  up  faster  than 
we  do  and  will  gain  on  us.  We  had  better 
save  the  horses."  As  we  breasted  the  break- 
neck ascent,  I  explained,  "The  river  in  the 
dark  was  the  Delaware.  The  fine  country 
which  we  compared  with  the  Virginia  hunt- 
ing country  is  very  similar  to  it;  it  is  High 
Hunterdon.  It  is  bounded  on  one  side  by 
this  wilderness.  It  is  my  favorite  hunting 
ground,  the  Mountain,  Sorrel  Land." 

"It  is  a  godsend  that  you  know  it,"  Hugo 
said,  "for  without  a  guide  we  should  never 
be  with  the  hounds  at  the  kill." 

"I  have  a  theory  about  the  Colfax  Fox," 
I  added.  "Do  you  want  it?" 

They  did. 


"Hugo  will  recall  a  conversation  in  which 
I  alluded  to  a  story  current  in  West  Jersey 
about  a  race  of  fox-colored  wolves,  bigger 
and  more  savage  than  any  other  wolves,  that 
were  native  to  this  wilderness  years  ago. 
They  were  supposed  to  be  all  gone.  But  I 
believe  that  there  remains  one  Mcmntain- 
bom  survivor  of  that  ancient  breed,  not  seen 
here  because  he  had  strayed  far  from  his 
birthplace.  I  think  that  when  he  found  these 
hounds  upon  his  trail,  he  turned  homeward. 
And  I  believe  that  our  hounds  and  the  beast 
we  have  called  the  Colfax  Fox  are  close  to 
the  trail's  end,  yonder  on  the  lonesome  up- 
land where  the  fox  was  bred  and  has  returned 
to  die." 

So  did  the  hounds  believe  it.  Their  cry 
arose  from  the  dark-gray,  desolate  Mountain 
to  the  somber,  riven  sky.  Old  Sor'land  re- 
sounded with  the  triumph  song. 

To  meet  the  hounds,  we  were  going  at  an 
angle  to  the  advance  of  the  hunt,  thrusting 
diagonally  up,  and  up,  and  up  the  flanks  of 
Sor'land.  Toward  the  tableland  where  the 
Colfax  Fox  was  spending  the  last  of  his 
speed,  the  last  of  his  strength,  to  reach  the 
rocky  fastness  which  had  sheltered  him  as  a 
cub.  I  was  all  but  Mountain  born  myself 
I  turned  to  our  account  hundreds  of  trips 
over  this  terrain. 

We  gained  the  top  and  mounted  our 
horses.  We  rode  in  a  strange  and  alien  world. 
The  solitude  of  the  earth  in  its  earliest  days 
still  kept  the  strongholds  of  the  Sor'land. 
The  sounds  that  broke  the  stillness  then 
broke  the  stillness  now.  Not  far  ahead  of 
us,  the  hounds  were  closing. 

"We'll  have  to  ask  the  horses  to  raise  a 
gallop!"  Hugo  exclaimed.  "Or  we  won't  be 
in  at  the  finish!" 

"  By  Peter  and  Paul,  I  believe  the  horses 
will  raise  it,"  said  Hovon.  "What  horses!" 

They  did  raise  it.  They  responded  keenly 
when  we  asked  for  hunting  pace.  But  hunt- 
ing pace  was  not  enough.  We  had  to  call  on 
them  for  the  full  gallop.  The  duel  to  King- 
dom Come  between  the  houndsand  the  Colfax 
Fox  was  taking  place,  and  we  meant  to  see 


WHY  CAN'T  YOU 

WRITE? 


It's  much  simpler  than  you  think! 

So  in;iny  people  with  the  "serm"  of  writing  in 
tliem  simply  can't  get  started.  They  suffer  from 
inertia.  Or  they  set  up  imaginary  barriers  to  taking 
tlu'  first  step. 

Many  are  convinced  the  field  is  confined  to  per- 
sons gifted  with  a  genius  for  writing. 

Kew  realize  that  the  great  bulk  of  commercial 
writing  is  done  by  so-called  "unknowns."  Not  only 
do  these  thousands  of  men  and  women  produce  most 
of  the  fiction  published,  but  countless  articles  on 
homemaking,  business,  fashions,  decorating,  local,  club 
and  clmrch  activities,  etc.,  as  well. 

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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


51 


it.  A  strident,  savage  snarling  tore  the  day- 
break bleakness,  mingling  with  great  Lead's 
heaven-filling  cry,  "Here  he  is!  Here  he  is! 
We  have  him!" 

Rupert  was  running  like  a  stag.  Over  on 
my  left,  King  Agrippa  came  as  if  those 
leagues  on  leagues  of  trail  were  a  warming- 
up  canter.  On  my  right  was  Tirade.  She 
raced  Uke  a  wild  thing  straight  for  the  battle. 

Amid  the  black  hounds  and  the  raging 
Trojans  a  huge,  gaunt  beast  was  fighting. 
No  wolf  of  a  modern  breed  rivaled  it  in  size. 
And  it  was  strangely  foxlike  in  build,  as  well 
as  in  color.  It  was  the  yellowy  red  of  the  fox, 
shaded  and  marked  like  the  fox  coat,  with 
the  sorrel  of  the  Mountain  bred  into  its  hair. 
One  good  look  we  had  at  its  fearful  visage  as 
it  looked  in  life,  with  its 

blazing    red-and-yellow       

eyes.  No  wonder  the  doc- 
tor's watchdog  had  scut- 
tled from  its  menace!  No 
wonder  it  had  brazenly 
taken  a  baby  from  its 
mother!  Wonder,  rather, 
that  it  had  not  taken  the 
woman  too. 

We  sprang    from   the 
horses.    Not    that    the 

hounds  needed  our  en-       

couragement.  They  knew 
why  they  had  made  four  states  their  hunt- 
ing field;  why  they  had  swum  the  wide 
rivers;  why  they  had  hunted  him,  by  day 
and  by  night,  unrestingly,  across  unreckoned 
miles.  The  hounds  needed  no  urging. 

Hugo  had  dropped  Tirade's  rein.  The 
other  horses  stood,  trembling  and  tossing 
their  heads,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  fray, 
but  not  Tirade.  Tirade  went  to  the  war. 
The  hounds  accepted  her  as  an  ally.  They 
opened  their  ranks  for  her. 

How  many  have  seen  a  mare  or  a  stallion 
go  into  battle?  How  few  realize  that  such  a 
horse,  in  full  action,  and  especially  if  steel- 
shod  as  Tirade  was,  is  one  of  the  most  dan- 
gerous of  fighting  animals.  She  seized  the 
red  wolf.  She  shook  it.   She  gave  her  head 


TO  SLEEP  SOUIVDLY 

^  Courage  for  the  great  sor- 
^  rows  of  life  and  patience 
for  the  small  ones,  and  when 
you  have  laboriously  accom- 
plished your  daily  task,  go  to 
sleep  in  peace.  God  is  awake. 
—VICTOR  HUGO: 
Quoted  In  Digest  and  Review. 


and  her  long  muscular  neck  a  twisting  flap— 
and  hurled  the  wolf  some  ten  feet  into  the 
air,  straight  up.  The  form  of  the  wolf 
sprawled  darkly  against  the  darkly  turbid 
sky,  then  it  fell.  The  mare  lashed  out  with 
her  front  feet.  She  hit  the  descending  car- 
cass with  the  lightning's  stroke,  and  the 
lightning's  sureness.  But  we  thought  she 
gave  the  wolf  its  deathblow  when  she  threw 
it  upward — it  was  then  she  snapped  its  neck. 
The  mare  and  the  hounds  clustered  around 
it.  The  Colfax  Fox  lay  dead  upon  the  moor 
in  Sor'land.  One  of  the  Mountain's  own  was 
back  home. 

Maggie's  baby  was  avenged.  The  ghosts 

of  the  two  hounds  that  lay  in  a  grave  in 

a  hollow  in  Loudoun  were  at  rest.    And 

the  doctor's  collie  rested 

too. 

A  melancholy  little  wind 
went  wandering  across  the 
heath.  It  was  a  requiem. 
However  fierce  it  is,  how- 
ever all  that  know  it 
breathe  freer  as  they  watch 
its  fall.  Nature  never  loses 
one  of  her  types  unheeded, 
nor  leaves  it  to  lie  un- 
moumed.  Listen  and  you 

will  always  hear  the  little 

keening  wind — the  wind 
that  blew  over  Sor'land,  through  gray  sky, 
dun  heath  and  dull-black  forest,  the  Colfax 
Fox's  coronach. 

We  called  the  roll  of  the  pack.  They  passed 
before  me,  answering  Hugo's  voice — every 
one.  Trailmaster,  Truthful,  Tireless — the 
three  Trojans  were  here.  The  black  hounds 
passed  by — Lead  and  Laura,  and  Fatal, 
and  Faust,  and  Ranger  IV,  and  Basso,  and 
Clinker,  and  Stickler,  and  Shadow,  and 
Speedwell,  and  Windhound,  and  Old  Fire 
and  Water.  And  one  more  hound  went  with 
them,  now  as  then — little  pedigreeless 
Joseph,  in  his  coat  of  many  colors. 

"Where  are  we,  Dev?"  Hugo  asked  me 
then. 


no  liquids  •no  suds* 

Its  easy  to  keep  any  rug  or  carpet  clean 
and  bright,  including  light  colors  and 
twists.  Continue  usual  care.  Onte  or 
twice  a  month  sprinkle  on  Powder-ene. 
Brush  it  in.  After  an  hour  or  longer, 
vacuum  it  off.  Use  this  method  on  en- 
tire rug,  or  areas  near  doors  without 
leaving  rings.  Keep  them  clean  with 
Powder-efte.  VON  SCHRADER  MANU- 
FACTURING Co.,  Racine,  Wisconsin. 


kATENTS  2,34<,2««  «ND  2,344,J<7 


Of  course 


I'm  embarrassed 


I  don't  like  to  talk  about  worms.  Boss. 
But  I  thought  you  ought  to  know.  Worms 
are  bad— ihey  sap  a  dog's  strength,  leave 
him  too  weak  to  fight  serious  illness. 

Clean  out  those  thieves,  Boss,  with  Ser- 
geant's SURE  SHOT  Capsules  (Puppy 
Capsules  for  young  dogs) .  They're  easy  to 
take,  and  how  they  work!  In  no  time  at 
all,  I'll  be  my  old  self  again. 

After  worming,  I'll  need  Sergeant's  Vita- 
min Capsules  (Vitapets)  to  help  me  get 
back  in  shape. 

Get  both  at  drug  or  pet  store  and  keep 
them  on  hand.  Get  Sergeant's  Dog  Book, 
too— free  at  stores   or  with  this  coupon. 


DOG 
MEDICINES 


Dept.   9-A,    Richmond   20,   Virginia.     Send  the 
FREE  40-page   Illustrated   Dog   Booii  to: 


'Z,  Name_ 


I  SetqeatvVs 

^        Hant      Q.A      Rinhmnnd    2(1.    V 

I 

Ir' 


thanks,  Boss, yoo««  i^^ 


Address 

City  State 


W^^^  to  starch 
-  and  how  to  do  it 


Anyone  who  knows  her  way  around 
the  laundry  knows  that  starching  is 
what  makes  cottons  and  linens  look 


1.  Starch  almost  all  cottons  and  linens— 
except  things  that  should  be  soft,  like  baby 
clothes,  undies,  etc.  When  you  starch— add 
SATINA  to  your  starch.  It  makes  ireming 
easier!  Gives  your  things  a  glossy,  even 
more  dirt-resistant  finish,  eliminates  stick- 
ing and  pulling  as  you  iron. 


3.  When  to  use  thick,  medium,  or  thin 
starch.  Thick  starch— only  for  fabrics  like 
chintz.  Medium  starch  — iot  shirts,  sheer 
curtains,  nurses'  uniforms,  slip  covers, 
draperies.  Thin  starch— iot  blouses  (cotton 
or  linen),  house  dresses,  aprons,  children's 
clothes,  collar  and  cuff  sets. 


5.  Wring  garments  well,  after  you've 
given  them  a  thorough  bath  in  the  Satina- 
starch  mixture.  Now  your  clothes  are 
ready  to  dry.  Iron  while  slightly  damp. 
Notice  how  this  modern  trick  in  starch- 
ing makes  your  iron  glide  over  every 
piece  without  sticking.  That's  because 
there's  Satina  in  your  starch. 


tetfina 


Tune  in:  New,  comedy-mystery  thriller— 
"Two  On  a  Clue,"  every  day,  Monday 
through  Friday,  CBS. 


spic  and  span— stay  clean  longer. 

Here  are  some  extra  little  tricks 
for  successful  starching. 


2.  Make  basic  starch  according  to  direc- 
tions on  package,  and  dissolve  one  seaion 
of  Satina  to  each  quart.  (There  are  four 
sections  to  each  cake  of  Satina.)  Use  mix- 
ture as  is,  for  thick  starch;  add  one  to  two 
parts  lukewarm  water  for  medium;  three 
to  four  parts  water  for  thin  starch. 


4.  Use  starch  hot— the  hotter  the  better— 
because  hot  starch  penetrates  fabrics  more 
thoroughly  than  cool.  Starch  clothes  need- 
ing thick  mixture  first;  then  dilute  thick 
mixture  to  get  medium;  then  again  for 
thin.  Dip  and  squeeze  garments  in  Satina- 
starch  mixture  several  times. 


6.  Satina  makes  irons  glide  over  any 
starched  surface.  It  smoo-ooths  your 
whole  ironing  job . . .  helps  prevent  snags, 
pulls,  and  tears.  Use  Satina  in  your  starch 
to  save  clothes,  to  save  yourself!  Get 
Satina  the  very  next  time  you  buy  laun- 
dry supplies.  A  whole  month's .  supply 
costs  only  a  few  cents! 


Tlo  AlLek!  .  .§0  cuucJt!  .  .lUitl^  SATINA  i/n  uoivu  Ata/ielv! 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Star  Performer ! 

CUTS  GREASE... REMOVES  DIRT 
SAFELY 


Tests  Prove 


OLD  DUTCH  CLEANSER 
CLEANS  97M0REWASHDDWLS 

per  can  than  any  other  leading  cleanser 


Cleans  fast— yet  contains  no  scratchy  grit! 


"^^es  Dirf 


Junior's  smart — he  knows  if  he  misses  he  can 
count  on  the  star  performance  of  Old  Dutch  for 
a  quick  clean-up!  Today's  Old  Dutch  by  actual 
test,  outperformed  all  the  cleansers  in  the  U.  S. 
and  Canada  which  account  for  over  90%  of  the 
cleanser  sold! 

*When  tests  were  made  on  washbowls  under 
actual  living  conditions,  Old  Dutch  cleaned  97 
more  washbowls  per  can  than  any  other  cleanser 
tested!  Cleaned  quickly — easily — without 
scratching — because  Old  Dutch  cuts  grease  with 
a  fast  grease  dissolver  and  removes  dirt  with 
famous  Seismotite. 
For  aZZ  your  cleaning, 
switch  to  the  star  per- 
former —  Old  Dutch 
Cleanser — today ! 


//  op  • 

/      ^ 

^(/L'U'  ^r^u 

BY  JESSE 

STUART 

My  wife  must  have  clean  mountain 

She  must  be  solid  as  the  mountain 

blood  in  her. 

cliflF 

She  must  have  lungs  and  legs  to 

And  pretty  as  sweet  Williams  first 

climb  the  hill. 

in  bloom. 

Her  eyes  must  be  as  blue  as  April 

And  in  her  soul  there  must  be  fight 

water 

enough 

In  sunlight  in  a  flashing  mountain 

To  fight  with  me  from  springtime 

rill. 

to  the  tomb. 

My  wife  must  have  a  brain  to  know 

I've  known  some  women  in  my 

the  trees; 

wild-youth  spring 

To  know  the  changing  seasons  of 

I  could  not  take  to  be  my  bride 

the  year. 

forever; 

My  wife  must  see  some  things  the 

They  loved  not  life,  not  work,  not 

poet  sees 

anything — 

And  love  spring's  ways  enough  to 

If  nothing  but  two  worlds  of  flesh 

shed  a  tear. 

we'd  sever. 

From  Album  of  Destiny,  recently  published  by  E.  P. 
Dutlon  &  Co.   Copyright,  1944,  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co. 


yc.  p.  CO.  J940 


GET  THE   CLEANSER  USED  BY  MORE  WOMEN  THAN  ANY  OTHER 


I  looked  sharply  at  our  whereabouts.  "  Be- 
low us,  in  that  direction"— I  pointed — "is 
my  home,  the  manor  of  Lowmont." 

"Good  heavens,  Dev!"  said  the  duke 
softly. 

"Do  you  know  how  far  it  is  from  Vir- 
ginia?" Hugo  inquired.  "All  things  consid- 
ered, we  have  probably  traveled  more  than 
two  hundred  miles.  How  long  have  we  been 
out?" 

The  sky  was  beginning  to  show  the  flam- 
ing dyes  of'  sunrise.  Fire-colored  fissures 
streamed  through  the  breaking  cloud  banks. 
In  ten  minutes  more  the  rising  sun  would  fill 
the  eastward  firmaments  with  flamboyant 
beauty.  It  was  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  December. 

"Ten  o'clock  on  Christmas  Day."  I 
checked  the  hours.  "We  have  been  out  ap- 
proximately forty-five  hours." 

"The  next  thing  is,  how  to  get  back?  I 
have  to  be  there  for  a  wedding  on  January 
first." 

"  It  can  be  done,"  I  assured  him.  "  We  can 
go  to  my  house,  get  hot  baths  and  food,  and 
sleep  for  twenty-four  hours.  Then  we  can 
drive  to  Philadelphia  and  catch  a  packet 
which  will  put  us  in  Washington  on  the 
thirtieth  of  December.  We  can  go  out  by 
coach,  with  relays  of  fours,  and  be  there 
New  Year's  Eve.  We  can  load  the  hounds  in 
one  of  the  covered  Conestoga  wagons  I  use 
for  going  to  races.  A  boy  can  ride  in  the  tail 
of  the  wagon,  leading  Tirade.  Another  of 
my  boys  can  take  Rupert  and  Agrippa  be- 
hind the  wagon,  riding  them  alternately. 
The  hunters  and  the  hounds  can  rest  a  week 
or  ten  days  before  they  make  the  journey 
south." 

While  Hugo  was  listening  to  me,  he  was 
quietly  stepping  aside  for  a  few  yards  to 
recover  Tirade,  who  was  calming  down  and 
beginning  to  look  like  a  tame  animal  again. 

Your  plan  is  excellent,  Dev,"  Hugo  said, 
"but  I  want  to  make  a  few  revisions.  For 
weeks  I  have  intended  to  give  you  Rupert 
for  a  Christmas  present.  Pray  consider  to- 
day the  twenty-fifth  of  December  and 
Rupert  tied  to  a  yule  tree  with  your  name 
on  his  headstall." 

So  when  dark-bay  Rupert  went  down  to 
Lowmont,  he  was  going  home.  Hugo  gave 
me  no  chance  to  speak. 

He  turned  to  Hovon  quickly.  "Basil,  I 
once  refused  to  sell  Agrippa  to  you,  but  he 
is  your  horse  at  last.  Any  fellow  who  can 
make  a  big  blood  'un  do  what  this  horse  has 
done,  and  bring  him  in  from  such  a  hunt  as 
sound  as  he  started  on  it,  ought  to  have  him. 
King  Agrippa  goes  to  England,  not  to  Vir- 
ginia." 

Hovon  fairly  stuttered  in  his  surprise  and 
pleasure.  "But — but — Hugo,  I  thought 
that — I  understood — that  you  had  a  senti- 
mental reason  for  keeping  him,  a  sentiment 
about  him?" 


"  I  had.  I  have.  But  the  one  whose  asso- 
ciation with  him  endeared  him  to  me  wants 
to  take  Middy  for  her  special  riding  horse. 
And  more  than  anything  I  have  a  sentiment, 
Basil,  about  the  friend  who  didn't  wait  to 
be  sent  for  when  he  fancied  that  I  might 
need  him." 

"I'll  take  care  of  him,"  Hovon  promised. 
"You  shall  have  him  when  you  hunt  at 
Hovon.  And  when  he's  past  hunting  he  shall 
live  in  an  English  park  as  Midshipman  lives 
in  a  Virginia  park." 

Ihere  is  something  about  the  hounds," 
Hugo  added.  "Dev,  you  need  a  young  stud 
dog  to  carry  on  the  black  breed.  We've 
spoken  of  it  from  time  to  time.  Which  of  the 
sons  of  Lead  and  Laura  do  you  want — Faust 
or  Fatal?" 

I  had  not  yet  recovered  from  being  given 
Rupert.  I  was  even  more  incoherent  than 
Hovon. 

Hugo  smiled.  "Shall  we  toss  a  penny  for 
it?"  he  suggested.  "Heads,  Faust — tails, 
Fatal.  You  toss,  Basil." 

Fatal  stayed  in  Jersey  to  sire  a  long  line  of 
black,  bell-voiced  hounds. 

"And,  Joseph."  Hugo  was  speaking  to  the 
little  hound  as  if  he  were  human.  "To  my 
mind,  you  are  entitled  to  something  your- 
self. Pedigree  or  no  pedigree,  I'm  going  to 
raise  some  of  your  stock.  You've  had  your 
eye  on  Trackless  for  some  time,  sir.  I  know, 
I've  seen  you.  Well,  this  settles  it.  You  shall 
have  Trackless  when  you  get  home.  Track- 
less shall  be  your  mate." 

Joseph,  little  and  multicolored,  and  sans 
paper  history  and  honors,  had  won  for  his 
wife  the  great  Trailmaster's  best  daughter, 
Trackless. 

It  would  take  a  month  of  feeding  and  care 
before  the  hounds  would  be  again  the  sleekly 
shining  beauties  they  had  been  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Christmas  Day.  Now  that  they  were 
at  their  trail's  end  &nd  they  were  a  spent 
bunch,  there  was  not  a  paw  among  them 
that  did  not  bleed.  By  the  looks,  we  should 
just  nicely  get  them  down  to  Lowmont, 
where  they  could  flop  over  and  go  to  sleep 
in  the  thick  straw  of  a  sheep  pen.  They 
should  sleep  for  a  week  and  be  interrupted 
only  to  have  something  more  to  eat,  yawn, 
stretch  and  begin  again. 

The  horses,  too,  were  much  thinner  than 
they  had  been  when  they  came  out  of  their 
stalls  for  the  Christmas  hunt.  They  were  not 
exhausted,  they  seemed  able  to  continue  for 
a  long  while  had  it  been  necessary;  but  they 
were  wearing  steel  rags  on  their  feet,  and 
their  hard  fitness  of  two  days  ago  had  be- 
come a  real  leanness. 

Ourselves,  we  were  a  sorry  sight.  We  had 
been  soaked,  and  frozen,  and  dried,  and 
soaked  again,  and  cut,  and  bruised,  and  bat- 
tered beyond  recording,  not  to  speak  of  two 
sleepless  nights  and  the  semistarvation  we 
had  borne. 


clattering  of  approaching  hoofs  caused 
I  turn,  and  the  horses  to  throw  up  their 
s.  A  horseman  was  riding  swiftly  toward 
■  knew  that  horse.  Ash  Drake  was  com- 
tp,  on  the  Rover.  He  stopped,  and  sat 
I  e  saddle  staring  blankly. 

■  }ood  morning,  Ash,"  I  said  cheerfully. 
J  Tie  on  over  and  meet  my  friends.  My 
» n,  Mr.  Hugo  Bolinvar,  and  His  Grace 
Ouke  of  Hovon.  Gentlemen,  my  good 
•  d  and  right-hand  man,  Ashton  Drake." 
'Veil— I'll — be — hornswoggled,"  said  Ash 

y.  "  Where  in  blazes  did  you  come  from ? 

■  did  you  come?  How  far  have  you 
l:n?" 

■■[{oughly,  two  hundred  miles — some  of 
8  very  roughly,"  I  said.  "We  came  from 
Jnia." 

'  lunting?  Hunting  what?  " 
'  he  Colfax  Fox,"  I  said.  I  pointed  to  it. 
'  en  Ash  recovered  his  senses.  He  looked, 
vung  off,  he  bent  over  it.  "By  the  Al- 
ity!"  he  whispered.  "One  of  the  old  red 
h !  And  the  biggest  specimen  I  ever  saw. 
i  Dev,  what  is  this  all  about?" 


53 


We  told  him.  "We  want  his  entire  head 
mounted,"  I  concluded.  "It  was  pledged  to 
Doctor  Colfax  long  ago." 

We  left  the  Colfax  Fox.  Nothing  would 
molest  the  body  in  the  short  time  before 
some  of  the  men  from  Lowmont  could  bring 
it  down. 

We  called  the  hounds  and  marshaled 
them  around  us.  We  mounted  and  rode 
slowly  over  the  barrens  of  the  Sor'land  to 
the  slash  where  Rag  Avenue  came  out  upon 
the  plateau.  From  the  high  clearing  we 
could  look  two  ways  into  two  worlds. 

Behind  us  lay  the  Mountain.  Before  us 
spread  the  Vale,  far  and  fair.  The  splendor 
of  the  morning  rose  upon  it.  It  was  fresh 
with  Eden's  freshness. 

We  started  the  horses.  Pricking  their  ears 
as  if  they  sniffed  the  welcoming  stables  be- 
low, or  the  Rover  had  informed  them  pri- 
vately what  cheer  awaited  them,  they  car- 
ried us  downward,  with  the  hounds  around 
us,  toward  the  golden  light  that  shone  on 
Lowmont. 

(THE  END) 


BREAKFAST   IIV   BED 

(Continued  from  Page  37) 


was  dark  under  the  trees,  and  a  fog  was 
g  in;  it  smelled  of  the  sea.  I  could  hear 
uU  humming  sound  made  by  the  great 
;las  plant,  only  three  miles  away.  The 
:  lights  were  still  hooded,  but  the  long 
outs  were  at  an  end.  We  weren't  afraid, 
inore,  that  we'd  hear  the  banging  of  the 
larms.  Boys  like  Buzz  had  pushed  the 
y  back,  back  across  the  Pacific.  And 
Deople  like  us,  living  in  the  combat  zone 
the  California  coast,  could  sleep  at 
in  safety.  No  one  bothered  to  draw 
shades  any  more ;  you  could  walk  along 
uiet  streets  beneath  the  double  rows  of 
ines,  and  see  lamps  glowing  behind  the 
jws.  I  guessed  mother  was  right :  Buzz 
all  the  flowers  I  could  find, 
e  dogs  were  certain  something  special 
up.  They  scratched  and  growled  and 
ed.  And  when  the  O'Briens'  big  red 
,  Pat,  drifted  by,  Skip  didn't  challenge 
It  was  more  fun,  I  guess,  to  follow  me 
:he  house. 

e  radios  were  on  again.  The  orchestra 
(laying  The  Surrey  With  the  Fringe  on 
and  Sarah,  who  is  my  talented  sister, 
lancing. 

^atch  me,"  she  said.  "Look!  I'm  on 
)esr' 

e  careful  or  you'll  have  bunions,"  I 
I  dumped  the  flowers  on  the  table  and 
igan  to  arrange  them. 
ah  is  seventeen.  Sally  is  sixteen.  And 
fifteen.  We  aren't  any  of  us  very  beauti- 
lut  I  think  we  have  charm.  We're  en- 
istic  and  excitable  and  we  know  how  to 
Mother  is  the  beauty  of  the  family, 
dy  will  believe  she  has  six  children, 
boys  in  the  service.  Billy,  flying  in 
ind.  Bruce,  somewhere  in  Italy.  And 
radioman  second  class. 
ly  came  in  with  a  basketful  of  wood. 
dear,"  she  said,  "the  andirons  need 
|iing." 
uzz  won't  notice,"  Sarah  said.  "I'll  bet 
ouse  will  look  wonderful  to  him.  We'll 
firelight  and  candlelight.  And  we'll  put 
s  Rachmaninoff  records  while  he's  here, 
•nes  he  used  to  play  so  much.  Remem- 

ly  went  down  on  her  knees  and  built  a 
of    kindling.     "I    wonder    if    he's 

;ed,"  she  said.  "It  sort  of  scares  me. 

he's  been  all  over  the  world !  He's  not 

any  more." 

Q  sounded  just  the  same,"  I  said. 

put  a  great  bunch  of  crimson  glads  on 

ano,  and  yellow  dahlias  on  the  mantel, 
drew  the  curtains  and  fluffed  up  the 

'S  on  the  sofa.    Suddenly  the  room 

d  warm  and  cozy  and  delightful. 

lall  we  dress  up?" 

don't  think  there's  time." 

et's  just  fix  our  hair  and  put  on  some 

lipstick." 

i  dogs  followed  us  upstairs,  their  claws 

ag  on  the  wood. 


"I  think  Skip  knows  Buzz  is  coming," 
Sally  said. 

We  ran  to  our  mirrors  and  brushed  our- 
selves smooth.  I  have  a  room  of  my  own; 
Sally  and  Sarah  share  the  big  front  room 
that  used  to  belong  to  the  boys.  And  Buzz's 
room  is  down  the  hall,  near  mother's.  We 
don't  go  in  for  frills,  but  we  like  solid  com- 
fort: chintzy  chairs  and  plenty  of  lamps  and 
bookshelves,  with  family  photos  in  silver 
frames. 

We're  terrific  for  family.  Oh,  we  criticize 
one  another.  But  just  let  any  outsider  try 
it!  We  believe  in  standing  together.  Since 
my  father  died,  mother  has  been  Authority 
for  the  rest  of  us.  But  she  calls  a  council 
whenever  anything  really  serious  happens. 
Such  as  the  day  Sarah  decided  she  was  going 
to  be  a  ballerina  like  Markova.  And  the 
time  Sally  fell  in  love  with  a  screen  star  who 
lived  just  around  the  comer.  And  Billy's 
craze  for  midget-auto  races.  Mother  settled 
all  those  important  troubles  simply  by 
bringing  them  up  at  a  round-table  discussion. 

Of  course,  I  have  decided  to  be  a  writer. 
Unless  I  marry.  Later.  But  there  is  plenty 
of  time  for  worrying  about  life.  Although,  of 
course,  I  think  about  it  a  lot. 

I  think  mother  loves  Buzz  the  best  of  all 
of  us,  perhaps  because  he  was  such  a  prob- 
lem when  he  was  young.  To  begin  with,  he 
had  every  one  of  the  children's  diseases,  from 
mumps  to  scarlet  fever.  And  he  was  always 
cutting  himself  on  glass,  and  breaking  his 
arms  and  legs,  and  falling  off  horses  and 
doing  crazy,  wild,  reckless  things.  The 
neighbors  were  always  bringing  him  in  cov- 
ered with  blood  and  saying,  "Here's  your  son 
again.  This  time,  he  ran  his  motorcycle 
head-on  into  a  stone  wall."  Things  like  that. 
I  knew  how  mother  felt  when  he  enlisted. 
And  how  she  must  be  feeling  now.  So  I  ran 
downstairs  to  the  kitchen,  to  help. 

She  was  standing  in  front  of  the  refriger- 
ator, looking  doleful.  She  gave  Skip  a  slice 
of  pork.  His  jaws  snapped  on  it  and  he 
sat  back,  bug-eyed,  waiting  for  more.  Bum 
never  expects  a  handout,  so  he  never  gets 
one. 

"For  years,"  mother  said,  "I've  been 
dreaming  about  Buzz's  coming-home  dinner. 
Turkey.  And  candied  sweets.  And  a  big, 
deep,  sour-apple  pie — with  cinnamon.  All 
the  things  he  likes.  And  look!"  She  jerked 
open  the  refrigerator  door  again;  the  light 
flashed  on,  and  even  Skip  was  depressed. 
However,  mother  gave  him  another  slice. 

"We  could  make  a  salad,"  I  said. 

"We  could."  Mother's  eyes  shone  again. 
She  slammed  the  refrigerator  door  and 
whipped  off  her  apron.  "We'll  wait  until  he 
gets  here,"  she  said.  "He  mustn't  find  us  in 
the  kitchen.  I'm  going  to  put  on  my  cherry 
linen."  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  stopped 
and  grabbed  me  and  put  her  cheek  against 
mine,  hard.  "Oh,  Susan,"  she  said,  with  a 
sort  of  funny  squeak  in  her  voice,  too,  "I'm 


uirrier  ciornes  ro 

wash  now  I'm  on  war 

work  •  •  •  but  DUZ 

cleans  'em  EASY! 


,>|S.>HV^^^- 


*^U6^IM»\ 


No  soap  made  gets  clothes  cleaner  or 
whiter  than  DUZ.  Yet  DUZ  does 
more  for  you.  It's  safer  for  colors 
than  any  other  leading  washday  soap. 
Safer  even  for  rayon  undies!  DUZ 
does  everything! 


DON'T  WASTE  SOAP-MAKE  DUZ  DO  MORE! 

Measure  DUZ  in  cup  or  glass.  A  little  DUZ  a  lot 
Soak  clothes  in  clear,  cool  water  before  washing 
Use  same  DUZ  suds  for  several  loads  of  clothes 


54 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1941 


THINGS  YOU 
CAN  MAKE 

MOIVEV  SAVIJVG...EASY  TO  MfO. 
KBEOLEWORK  IDEAS 


•  Make  this  cute 
little  girl  set  —  hat, 
suspenders,  vest,  bag 
—  in  pure  wool  felt. 
It's  one  of  the  new 
BUClilAPeasantries- 
— comes  with  all  the 
makings  complete  in 
a  kit.  This  is  the 
"Lucky  Leaf."  Lots 
of  other  lovely  de- 
signs too.  Easy  to 
make  and  costs  much 
than  ready-made.  Ask  for  BUCILLA  I'easant- 
at  your  favorite  needlework  counter. 


less 
ries 


•  Just  when  I  think 
there  isn't  an  exciting 
new  sweater  design  in 
the  world  out  comes 
BEAR  BRAND  witllStyle 

Book  Vol.  21.  It's 
brimful  with  en- 
chanting designs  for 
sweaters,  cliarniing 
blouses,  dresses,  car- 
digans, smart  suits. 
I've  already  started 
one  of  t lie  new  sweat- 
ers with  BEAR  BRAND  yarn — the  directions  are 
easier  to  follow  than  ever!  At  yo\ir  i)ct  needle- 
work counter  or  write  to  me  enclosing  iH^. 

•  I  can't  part  the 
youngsters  from  their 
beloved  percale  and 
polka  dot  "Hansel 
and  Cirelel."  And  it 
took  me  such  a  Httle 
time  to  mid<e  these 
safe,  .sanitary  cuddle 
toys.  All  the  ncces- 
|k  't ■ilif^  V^tjii  7'''*;  sary  material  for 
■k      '*r"'^dtk   ■^!    -'    making  this  lovable 

^^^L    r^        M^^^M  tractive  box 

makes  an  ideal  gift. 
I've  bought  a  couple  of  boxes  for  mothers  of 
my  youngsters'  playmates.   At  your  favorite 
needlework  counter  for  amazingly  little. 
*  #  * 

Always  choose  BUCILLA  and  BEAR  brand  in 
needlework  or  yarns.  That's  assurairt'e  of 
lasting  value,  unusual  beauty.  You'll  find  BEAR 
BRAND  yarns  and  BUCILLA  needlework  in  all  good 
stores.  Here's  another  good  tip.  If  you  want 
smart, fmi.shed, decorative  linens,  ask  for  BUCILLA 
in  your  favorite  Liueu  Department. 


The  first  name  in  needlework 

BEAR  BRAND 
YARNS 

FAMOUS   FOR   OVER   77  YEARS 

230  Fifth  Avenue      •      New  York  1,  N.  Y. 


ANN   BUCILLA  | 

230  5th  Avenue,  New  York  1 ,  N.  Y.  j 

Please  send  me  your  Bear  Brand  Style  I 

Book,  Vol.  21— Hand  Knit  Glamour.  I  am  | 

enclosing  25('.  I 

Name ' 


Address- 
City 


-Zone- 


State. 


SO  happy!  Buzz  is  the  one  I  worry  most 
about." 

"I  know." 

I  patted  her  back.  She's  smaller  than  I 
am,  and  weighs  less  than  a  hundred  pounds. 
And  it  always  scares  me  to  death  when  she 
gets  emotional,  because  as  a  rule  she's  as 
steady  as  a  rock. 

"You  look  awful  when  you  cry,"  I  said, 
making  it  sound  gruff.  "Remember  how  the 
English  behave?  Chins  up!" 

"Right,"  mother  said,  being  very  British 
and  Mrs.  Miniver. 

She  ran  upstairs  to  change,  and  I  went 
into  the  sitting  room  to  light  all  the  candles. 
The  radio  was  playing  an  Eric  Coates  march. 
Sarah  was  being  a  whole  parade,  from  the 
drum  major  to  the  straggling  kids  at  the 
rear.  Skip  was  barking  and  snapping  affec- 
tionately at  her  legs.  Bum  was  under  the 
sofa,  with  his  eyes  showing  and  his  nose  very 
moist  with  excitement.  Sally  was  blowing 
like  mad  on  the  fire  and  tossing  pine  cones 
into  the  flames  to  make  them  crackle. 

Just  then  the  front  door  opened  and  Aunt 
Blanche  walked  in.  "  Well,"  she  said,  over 
the  din,  "what  on  earth  is  going  on?" 
Aunt  Blanche  is  father's  sister.  She  is  a 
terrific  person.  Very  rich  and  important. 
She  scares  all  of  us  because  she  is  so  superior. 

"Buzz  is  coming,"  I  explained.  Sarah 
switched  off  Eric  Coates,  and  everything 
dropped  about  three  octaves.  But  I  kept 
right  on  lighting  candles. 

Aunt  Blanche  was  wearing  her  uniform — 
a  perfectly  cut  suit  with  shoulders  out  of  this 
world  and  all  sorts  of  insignia  gadgets  on  the 
sleeves,  and  service  stripes  and  what-havc- 
you.  Her  hair  is  gray.  She  wears  it  in  a 
short  upswept  bob.  Elegant  as  all  get-out, 
hut  practical.  She  has  swell  ankles,  and  you 
never  saw  such  shoes.  Boy!  She  always 
makes  me  feel  like  the  ad  that  shouldn't 
have  "made"  Vogue.  Just  wrong. 

"Buzz?"  she  repeated.  "When?" 

So  we  told  her  that  his  ship  was  in  port, 
"somewhere  in  California,"  and  that  he  had 
shore  liberty  and  was  on  his  way,  hitchhik- 
ing, and  would  arrive  any  minute.  To  spend 
a  couple  of  hours.  Then  he'd  have  to  hurry 
back. 

Aunt  Blanche  did  one  of  those  sweeping 
looks  around  the  room.  Just  then  mother 
came  down,  wearing  the  new  cherry  linen, 
with  a  (lower  in  her  hair,  and  looking  about 
twenty  years  old. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?"  mother  said.  "Buzz 
is  coming!" 

Aunt  Blanche  drew  her  gloves  across  the 
palm  of  her  hand,  the  way  high-ranking  offi- 
cers do  when  they're  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 
The  whole  gesture  added  up  to  disapproval. 
None  of  us  missed  it.  Not  even  Skip,  who 
retired  under  the  sofa,  shaking  all  over. 

■'  I  can't  understand,"  Aunt  Blanche  said, 
"why  you're  all  so  gay." 

"Shouldn't  we  be?"  mother  asked. 

Aunt  Blanche  smiled  and  sat  on  the  arm 
of  a  chair. 

"The  men  who've  been  at  the  front  can't 
understand  the  civilian  attitude,"  she  said. 
"  I  know.  I  talk  to  hundreds  of  them  every 
day.  They're  not  sorry  for  themselves.  But 
they  do  feel  that  there's  a  wall  between 
them  and  the  people  here  at  home." 

Mother  began  to  lose  color.  I  can  always 
tell  when  she's  churning  inside.  She  turns 
pale.  And  her  eyes  get  dark  and  sort  of  still, 
like  very  deep  water. 

Aunt  Blanche  went  on:  "Life  as  usual  is 
all  very  well  in  peacetime.  It's — it's  some- 
how subversive,  nowadays." 

"If  you  mean  us "  mother  began. 

"I  do,"  Aunt  Blanche  said.  She  got  up 
and  smoothed  down  her  skirt  and  gave  her 
jacket  an  expert  tug.  "  I  mean  you.  You're 
living  in  a  fool's  paradise.  The  world  isn't 
what  it  used  to  be:  candlelight  and  music  and 
flowers.  We're  living  in  grim  times.  I'd  be 
ashamed,  if  I  were  you,  to  let  my  boys  do  all 
the  fighting " 

"I'm  a  nurses'  aide,"  Sarah  said  sud- 
denly. 

"But  you,  Sally!"  Aunt  Blanche  cried. 
"And  you,  Susan!" 

Sally  and  I  curled  up,  hot  with  shame.  I 
could  feel  my  petals  withering. 


"Sally  and  Susan  are  still  in  school," 
mother  said.  "They're  going  to  stay  in 
school.  Until  they  graduate." 

"Let's  not  quarrel,"  Aunt  Blanche  said. 
"I'm  only  warning  you  that  Buzz  may 
find  you — well — disappointing."  She  looked 
around  the  room  again.  "All  this  will  seem  a 
little  ridiculous,  and  old  hat,  and  futile. 
After  Tarawa.  And  Saipan." 

She  went  toward  the  door.  None  of  us 
could  move  a  muscle  to  follow  her.  Only 
Skip,  who  came  out  from  under  the  sofa,  and 
did  the  honors,  limping  on  one  leg,  the  way 
he  does  when  things  aren't  going  well.  Aunt 
Blanche  looked  down  at  him  as  if  she  won- 
dered why  he  wasn't  patrolling  a  beach  or 
acting  as  mascot  of  a  flying  field. 

"Good  night,"  she  said,  at  the  door.  "I'd 
wait  to  see  Buzz,  only  I'm  on  duty  from  ten 
to  twelve.  Give  him  my  love." 

OKIP  saw  her  out,  then  came  back  to  sit 
shivering  on  the  rug,  making  ox  eyes  and 
asking  when  things  were  going  to  get  gay 
again.  I  went  around  the  room  blowing  out 
the  candles.  Then,  for  a  long  time,  we  sat  in 
silence.  Deflated.  Like  four  flat  balloons. 
We  couldn't  remember  what  we  had  been  so 
happy  about,  a  few  minutes  ago.  Every- 
thing looked  dark  and  unnatural,  somehow. 

"I  suppose  she's  right,"  mother  said. 

"But,  mother,"  I  burst  out,  "we  gave 
tons  of  metal  to  the  scrap  drive !  And  we  save 
fat,  and  paper.  And  we  give  servicemen  lifts. 
And  have  them  for  dinner.  And  we  write 
letters — hundreds  of  them — and  we're  care- 
ful of  gas,  and  we  buy  bonds." 

Mother  shook  her  head.  "But  it's  not 
Tarawa,"  she  said,  "or  Saipan.  It's  home. 
It's  what  we  like.  And  want." 

"I  guess  Buzz  will  just  find  us  ridicu- 
lous," Sally  said.  "We  haven't  even  been 
bombed." 

"That  isn't  our  fault,"  I  said.  "We  could 
have  been.  Anyhow,  we  didn't  run  away! 
And  lots  of  people  did,  after  Pearl  Harbor." 

Suddenly,  mother  looked  her  age,  and  it 
made  me  furious.  Because  I  know  how 
brave  and  fine  she  is.  Sally  was  sitting  on 
the  hearth,  her  arms  around  her  knees,  her 
head  down.  And  Sarah  was  just  frozen  with 
humiliation.  Skip  sat  up  and  begged,  but 
no  one  paid  any  attention  to  him.  We  were 
all  thinking  that  perhaps  we  hadn't  backed 
the  boys  up.  Not  really.  Not  until  it  hurt. 
Perhaps  it  wasn't  enough  to  keep  the  home 
fires  burning.  Buzz  would  have  met  brave 
people.  Heroic  people.  And  here  we'd  be: 
safe  and  sound  in  our  warm,  comfortable 
house.  Cowards.  And  it  was  too  late,  now, 
to  do  anything  about  it. 

We  heard  a  car  door  slam,  and  then  some- 
one running  up  the  walk,  and  Buzz's  old 
signal  on  the  front  doorbell:  one — two — 
three  .   .   .  four! 

"He  hasn't  forgotten,"  mother  said. 

She  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  sort 
of  lifted  herself  up  and  went  to  meet  him. 
Sally  and  Sarah  and  I  stood  where  we  were, 
solemn  and  stiff.  We  heard  mother  say, 
"Buzz,"  and  her  quick  rush  into  his  arms. 
Then  they  came  to  the  sitting-room  door, 
clinging  to  each  other,  and  looked  in  at  us. 

Oh,  but  he  was  cute!  Older.  Thinner. 
But  with  that  darling  face  of  his.  Some  new 
doodads  on  the  arm  of  his  uniform.  And  the 
little  round  white  cap  on  the  back  of  his 
dark,  curly  head. 

"Blow  me  down,"  he  said,  "if  it  isn't  the 
three  Graces."  He  stared  at  us  a  minute. 
"What's  going  on?"  he  said  then.  "What's 
wrong?  Better  tell  me.  Quick."  We  could 
see  what  was  in  his  mind.  Billy,  in  England. 
And  Bruce,  in  Italy. 

"It's  not  that,"  mother  said  quickly. 
"Thank  God,  so  far  they're  all  right." 

"Then  why  the  gloom?  Gosh,  I  thought 
you'd  be  glad  to  see  me  I " 

"We  are,"  all  of  us  said  at  once.  We 
couldn't  help  kissing  him.  And,  boy,  did  he 
feel  warm  and  real  and  strong  and  alive !  He 
grabbed  each  one  of  us,  hard,  and  then  all  of 
us  were  crying  as  if  our  hearts  would  break, 
and  Skip  and  Bum  were  lying  upside  down, 
having  the  shakes. 

"This  is  a  swell,  gay  home-coming," 
Buzz  said,  swallowing.  "Here!  Stop  it! 
Alloi  you!" 


CHEST  COLD  MISERY 

RELIEVED  BY 

MOIST  HEAT  OF 


SIMPLE 
CHEST  GOLD 
SORE  THROAT 
BRONCHIAL 

IRRITATION 
SIMPLE 

SPRAIN,  BROISE 
SORE  MUSCLES 
CHARLEY  HORSE 


The  moist  heat  of  an 
ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  relieves 
cough,  tightness  of 
chest  muscle  sore- 
ness due  to  chest 
cold,  bronchial  irri- 
tation and  simple 
sore  throat. 


Apply  that  ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  just  hot  enough  to  be 
comfortable — then  feel  the  moist 
heat  go  right  to  work  on  that 
cough,  tightness  of  chest  muscle 
soreness.  Does  good,  feels  good 
for  several  hours. 
The  moist  heat  of  an  ANTIPHLO- 
GISTINE poultice  also  relieves 
pain  .  .  .  reduces  swelling,  limbers 
up  stiff  aching  muscles  due  to 
a  simple  sprain,  bruise,  charley 
horse,  similar  injury  or  condition. 
Get  ANTIPHLOGISTINE  (Aunty 
Flo)  in  tube  or  can  at  any  drug 
store  NOW. 

Antipklogistim 


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(  "AntipUo! 


o^istine  ii?i 


og^ 


CCUE  SCHCCI 

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making.  Line.  Color.  Fabric  Analysis.  M 
linery.  Styling:  Buying,  Merchandisir 
Modeling.  Advertising.  Display.  Fashi , 
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contacts.  Excellent  livins  accommodatior 
Entrance  Dates:  January  2.  3,  10,  17.  24,  3 
116  5.  MICHIGAN  BOUUVARO,  CHICAGO  3,  DEPT.  L 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


55 


Mother  was  the  first  to  get  control. 
Buzz,"  she  said,  blowing  her  nose,  "I  hate 
0  ask,  but  how  long  can  you  stay  ? " 

He  glanced  down  at  his  wrist.  "Exactly 
ne  hour  and  thirty-five  minutes."  He  sat 
lown  on  the  floor  and  gave  his  face  to  Skip 
nd  Bum  to  be  licked.  That's  what  I  love 
bout  Buzz.  He's  so  darned  generous. 

We  stood  gazing  at  him,  not  knowing 
/hat  to  say  or  do. 

He  sat  up,  after  a  while,  his  arms  around 
he  dogs,  and  laughed.  The  happiest  laugh 
ou  ever  heard.  "I  can't  believe  I'm  here," 
e  said.  "Am  I?  You  wouldn't  kid  me, 
/ould  you?" 

We  shook  our  heads. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Buzz 
ried.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet  again  and 
aced  us,  frowning.  "You  act  like  profes- 
ional  mourners,  or  something."  He  broke 
ff  suddenly.  "Has  it  been  a  tough  pull? 
s  that  it?  Gosh,  mother — your  letters  were 
0  cheerful.  I  thought,  of  course,  things  were 
kay " 

"Buzz,"  mother  said  quickly,  "would 
ou  hate  us  if  I  told  you  we  haven't  lacked 
jr  anything?" 

"I  don't  get  you,"  Buzz  said. 

Then  mother  explained.  Quickly.  The 
'ay  you  confess.  Not  liking  the  sound  of 
'hat  she  said,  but  getting  through  with  it : 

"I'm  not  asking  you  to  tell  us  what  you've 
one  or  what  you've  seen — I  know  you're 
onor-bound  not  to.  But  that  doesn't  mean 
lat  we  don't  feel  compassion  for  what 
bu've  suffered  and  pride  in  what  you've  ac- 
pmplished.  We're  civilians,  Buzz.  We  had 
)  stay  here.  We  had  to  let  you  go  and  fight 
)T  us.  And  maybe  die  for  us.  It  must  be  a 
lock  to  come  home 
.id  find  people  safe 
lid  sound  and  busy, 
if  they  didn't 
low — about  you. 
)me  of  them  don't. 
ot  yet.  But  a  lot  of 

iCm  do.  I  wish  you'd 

11  us  what  you  ex- 

ct  of  us.    I  wish 

)u'd    say,    frankly, 

>w    you'd    like    to 

-lend  this  hour  and 

half.    Because   I 

»n't  know." 

Buzz  didn't  answer 
a  minute.    I  saw 

lat   the    war    had 

me  to  him:   there 

re  deep  lines  across  his  forehead;  his  eyes 

!re  different — as  if  they'd  seen  too  much 
a  kid.  I  knew  like  a  flash  that  he'd  never 

the  same — not  exactly  the  same — ever 

ain.  And  I  wanted  to  cry,  only  I  wouldn't. 

"Listen,    mother,"    he   began,    speaking 

iwly    and    carefully.  "When    this    thing 

irted,  they  had  to  tell  us  something.  We 

d  to  know  why  we  were  fighting.  It  boiled 

wn  to  this."  He  looked  around  the  room. 

lome.    Ever  since,  we've  thought  about 

me.  I  don't  know  a  guy  who  doesn't  want 

comeback.  Some  of  them  complain.  Sure. 

le  ones  who  get  a  furlough  and  find  every- 

ing  shot.  Their  wives  on  the  loose.  Their 

is  neglected.  I  can  only  speak  for  myself. 

I  have  to  fight  for  our  way  of  living,  I 

nt  to  be  sure  the  thing  I'm  risking  my 
k  for  will  be  here  when  it's  all  over."  He 

t  his  arm  through  mother's.  "Say!  Who's 

;n  talking  to  you?  Putting  ideas  in  your 

id?" 

'Aunt  Blanche,"   I  said.   "We  were  so 

3py.  And  she  came  and  called  us  spies." 
'Subversive,"  Sally  corrected  me. 

JZZ  roared.  And  all  of  a  sudden  our  spir- 
began  to  fizz.  Mother  turned  pink  again, 
i  Skip  wagged  like  crazy. 
'Look,"  Buzz  said.  "Tempus  is  fugiting 
all  directions.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like 
to  talk  about  the  war.  Only  this:  we're 
ng  to  lick  'em — for  keeps!  Now" — he 
ared  off,  his  dimples  showing — "will  you 
something  for  me?  Will  you  let  me  have 
I  way?  I  don't  want  a  big  feed,  or  friends 
tiing  in,  or  a  long  monologue  about  my 
roism — if  any!  I  want  things  to  be  ex- 
lly  as  they  used  to  be.  I  want  breakfast  in 
H,  like  the  time  I  had  the  measles." 


If  Your  Copy  is  late 

^  Becauap  of  the  uncertainties 
"  of  wartime  transportation, 
many  periodicals  will  frequently 
be  late  arriving  at  destination. 
If  your  Journal  or  Reference 
Library  order  does  not  reach  you 
on  time,  please  do  not  write 
complaining  of  delay.  The  delay 
is  caused  by  conditions  arising 
after  your  copy  or  order  has  left 
Philadelphia. 


"Breakfast  in  bed?" 

"Look,"  he  said.  "  I'm  going  upstairs  and 
put  on  a  pair  of  Christmas  pajamas— the 
ones  gran'ma  sent  four  years  ago.  And  I'm 
going  to  bed.   I  want  service — and  quick!" 

"You'll  get  it,"  Sally  said. 

He  tossed  his  cap  onto  the  hall  table  and 
took  the  stairs  two  at  a  time. 

"At-a-girls,"  Sarah  cried. 

And  we  got  busy.  Mother  flew  to  the 
kitchen.  First  I  lighted  all  the  candles  again. 
Then  I  fixed  a  tray  with  the  best — saved  for 
the  duration — tray  cloth  and  napkin,  the 
Spode,  and  a  rose  in  a  squat,  safe  little  glass. 
The  heavy  spoons.  The  silver-topped  mar- 
malade jug.  And  the  evening  paper  folded 
into  a  triangle.  Mother  made  thin  hot  cakes 
and  bacon  and  a  big  pot  of  coffee.  She  was 
positively  starry-eyed  with  happiness. 

"I'm  so  glad  we  didn't  surrender,"  she 
said. 

I  knew  what  she  was  thinking:  that  we 
might  have  closed  the  house.  We  might  have 
given  up  the  little,  important  things,  like 
the  books  and  records  and  pictures.  We 
might  have  had  Skip  and  Bum  "put  to 
sleep,"  because  it's  so  hard  to  feed  dogs  now- 
adays. We  might  have  sold  the  boys'  horses, 
instead  of  caring  for  them  ourselves,  over  at 
the  riding  stable.  And  Buzz  would  have  had 
to  come  back  to  find  home  scattered,  or 
stored,  or  "postponed."  It's  true,  the  attic 
is  empty:  every  spare  piece  of  furniture  and 
every  available  garment  has  gone  to  relief. 
And  I  guess  Sally  and  Sarah  and  I  have 
knitted  or  crocheted  enough  bootees  and 
sweaters  to  supply  a  villageful  of  Greek 
babies.  But  we've  hung  on  to  what  is  our 
own — the  things  that 
mean  a  lot  to  us  and 
won't  help  anyone 
else.  And  we've  loved 
them.  We've  kept 
them  shining  and 
mended  and  whole. 
For  us.  Why  not? 

If  you  could  have 
seen  Buzz  up  there 
in  his  room,  you'd 
agree  we  were  giving 
him  something  in  ex- 
change for  Tarawa. 
He  was  wearing  the 
crazy  silk  pajamas 
and  looking  like  the 
Buzz  he  used  to  be, 
not  a  line  in  his  face 
and  mischief  in  his  eyes.  Sally  was  play- 
ing the  Rachmaninoff  records  on  the  port- 
able phonograph.  There's  a  kind  of  jazz 
rhythm  in  the  beginning  of  the  concerto,  and 
Sarah  was  cutting  rugs.  The  clock  on  the 
mantel  said  ten-forty-five.  Not  a.m.!  p.m.! 
Can  you  beat  it?  And  there  was  Sally  with 
the  tray  and  mother  bringing  the  coffee,  as  if 
it  were  Sunday  morning ! 

"Now,"  Buzz  said,  "talk!  I  want  all  the 
news.  And /as/." 

We  told  him  about  school.  Sally's  piano 
lessons.  The  Bowl  concerts.  Sarah's  nursing 
course.  And  her  study  under  Bolm.  How 
we  saw  Stravinski,  close  up,  one  day.  And 
the  horses;  Peter's  brand-new  gait:  "He's 
turning  into  a  pacer!" 

"More!"  Buzz  cried,  eating  his  fifth  piece 
of  toast.  "More!" 

So  we  told  him  about  the  books  we'd  been 
reading.  And  about  Cousin  Alicia's  new 
baby.  The  one  who  was  born  with  a  front 
tooth  already  in.  And  we  told  him  about  the 
apricot  tree  in  the  back  yard  that  bore  so 
many  apricots  it  died  from  overwork.  And 
the  O'Briens'  midget  car.  And  how  Garbo 
walked  past  the  house  all  alone,  and  said 
"Hello"  in  a  deep  bass  voice  to  Skip.  And 
about  the  writer  woman  down  the  street  with 
twelve  cats.  And  how  the  big  old  goldfish 
burst.  We  all  talked  at  once. 

Mother  sat  on  the  end  of  the  bed,  watch- 
ing Buzz.  She  looked  a  little  anxious,  I 
thought.  "This  must  sound  awfully  unim- 
portant," she  said  at  last. 

Buzz  shook  his  head.  "Unimportant?"  he 

said.  And  suddenly  his  dimples  went  out  and 

the  lines  appeared  in  his  forehead  again.  He 

stirred  his  coffee  a  minute,  gravely.  Then  he 

(Continued  on  Page  57) 


Ladj  Stanley  of  Aldeil^ 

An  internationally  famous  beauty,  Lady  Stanley  has  been 
in  this  country  with  her  husband,  an  officer  in  the  Royal  Navy. 
Lady  Stanley  has  vivid  charm — shining  golden  hair, 
vibrant  blue  eyes,  and  a  fine,  clear-blonde  English 

complexion.  "When  my  skin  looks  tired  after  a 
day  of  war  work,  I  cover  it  with  a  cool,  1-Minute  Mask  of 
Pond's  Vanishing  Cream,"  Lady  Stanley  says.  "My 
face  emerges  from  the  Mask  looking  smoother,  brighter,  and 

so  much  fresher.  I  use  the  Mask  3  or  4  times  a  week — at  least!" 


Lady  Stanley  of  Alderley  says  "The  1-Minute  Mask  is  my  favorite  beauty  pick-up" 

Ho^v  to  liave  a  more  attractive  oompleoBion  —  in  one  minute 

Spread  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  whilely  over  your  entire  face — except 
eyes.  Leave  this  cool,  fragrant  Mask  on  for  one  full  minute. 

Then  tissue  off.  "Keratolytic"  action  of  the  cream  loosens 

trapped  dirt  particles  and  scaly  dead  skin  cells — dissolves  them! 

Result— your  skin  looks  beautifully  revived!  Lighter  .  .  . 

fresher  .  .  .  prettier.  And  it  has  a  new,  softer  feel. 

Now  your  make-up  cant  go  wrong! 


For  quick-and- silky  powder  base — 
spread  one  finger  tip  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream  over  your  whole  face — 
and  leave  it  on.  It's  non-greasy  .  .  . 
holds  powder  fanatically! 


IMPORTANT!    Buy  one  luscious  big  jar  of  Pond's  in- 
stead of  several  smaller  ones.  Save  glass  and  manpower! 

THE  MORE  WOMEN  AT  WORK-THE   SOONER  WE  WINl 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  194 


Old  cooks  or  new  cooks . . .  they're  all  excited 
about  this  wonderful  new  idea  in  cakemaking! 
The  speed . . .  the  ease . . .  the  delicious  goodness 
of  cakes  made  with  Swans  Down  and  Swans 
Down's  new  "Mix-Easy"  recipes. 

No  creaming!   Beating  time  cut  in  half! 


Fewer  dishes  to  wash!  Swans  Down  "Mix- 
Easy"  cakes  taste  richer ...  keep  fresh  longer! 
Yet  in  spite  of  the  hurry-up  mixing,  every 
little  crumb  has  the  famous  Swans  Down 
quality . . .  the  tender  "downy"  texture . . .  the 
beautiful,  even  grain  that  have  made  Swans 


Down  cakes  famous  for  generations. 

Don't  forget... Swans  Down  guarantees 
these  "Mix-Easy"  recipes ...  6a^  not  with  any 
other  flour !  Double  the  cost  of  your  ingredi- 
ents back  if  you  aren't  delighted  with  your 
results — when  you  use  Swans  Down. 


'Hocreamwcii" 


# 
# 

lander/" 


TUNE  IN:  Kafe  Smith  Speaks  — CBS  Network 

Guarantee  — Double  the  cost  of  all  in- 
gredients back,  if  you  don't  think  your 
Swans  Down  "Mix-Easy"  Cake  is  better 
than  any  similar  cake  you've  baked  with 


not  changed  — you  can  still  use  aU  your  old 
favorite  recipes.  Swans  Down  has  made 
supremely  fine  cakes  for  50  years.  And  today 
more  women  choose  Swans  Down  than  all 


any  other  flour!  .  .  .  Swans  Down  itself  has        other  packaged  cake  flours  put  together. 

'Bake  a  beltercalce  «wrii 


Watch  for  New  "Mix-Easy"  Recipes 
in  your  Swans  Down  box! 

New  "  Mix-Easy"  recipes . . .  develoi 
and  tested  in  Swans  Down  kitchen? 
General  Foods . . .  are  constantly  appt 
ing  in  Swans  Down  packages. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


57 


(Continued  from  Page  55) 
said,  "All  of  us  here.  And  the  music.  And 
aid  Skip.  The  way  we  feel  about  each  other. 

Bum's  eyes,  right  now,  looking  at  me " 

He  broke  off  again,  and  laughed  a  little. 
Shy.  And  earnest.  "Unimportant?  Not  on 
your  life!  I'm  trying  to  say  that  war  can't 
take  away  the  everlasting  things.  It  can 
blast  the  replaceable,  material  stuff.  But 
this— the  kind  of  fun  we  have  together " 

"I  know,"  mother  said  very  softly,  "the 
deathless  verities." 

"Sure.  The  goldfish  blows  up.  And  Bum 
?ets  a  canker  in  his  ear.  And  Rachmaninoff 
plays  like  that."  He  stopped,  and  we  all 
listened. 

"Rachmaninoff's  dead,"  Sally  said. 


"Is  he?  I  didn't  know." 

"We  heard  him  play.  He  missed  a  bar  of 
his  own  concerto.  But  he  was  sick.  Only 
nobody  knew.  It  was  wonderful,  seeing  him 
fight  to  remember — and  to  conquer.  And 
everyone  sat  there  shivering  for  his  sake. 
Twenty  thousand  people." 

"More  coffee,"  mother  said,  filling  his  cup. 

"Oh,  boy,  oh,  boy,"  Buzz  said.  "This  is 
great.  This  is  tops.  Someday " 

"Someday,"  mother  said,  "you'll  have  a 
wife,  and  a  home  of  your  own,  and  children." 

"Wish  me  luck,"  Buzz  said.  He  glanced 
at  the  clock.  "Beat  it,  you  females.  I've  got 
to  dress." 

We  left  him  alone  and  went  downstairs. 
When  he  came,  about  three  minutes  later. 


he  grabbed  his  cap  off  the  hall  table  and 
kissed  each  one  of  us  and  roughhoused  the 
dogs  and  went. 

It  was  like  thai.  Quick.  We  didn't  have 
time  to  go  to  pieces.  He  wouldn't  let  us  walk 
as  far  as  the  highway.  He  said  a  sailor  alone 
stood  a  better  chance  of  being  picked  up  by 
a  motorist  than  a  sailor  surrounded  by  pretty 
girls. 

"Don't  blow  out  the  candles,"  mother 
said.  "Let  them  burn  out.  Sally— stir  up 
the  fire,  will  you,  darling?  And  turn  on  the 
radio." 

She  was  carrying  Buzz's  breakfast  tray. 
She  went  very  slowly  into  the  kitchen,  and 
closed  the  door.  After  a  while,  we  heard  her 
washing  the  dishes. 


WHEBf   GOOD   FRIENDS   GET  TOGETHER 

(Continued  from  Page  39) 


just  happen.  Anyway,  I'll  tell  you  how  to  get 
the  best  of  that  parsley.  Fry  it.  It's  never 
the  same  again.  Fry  it  and  drain  it  and  put  a 
little  salt  on  it  and  while  it  may  be  furious 
because  it  can't  limp  all  over  the  plate,  >'om'11 
be  quite  happy  about  it.  And  that  is  what 
:ounts— or  doesn't  it?  Or  would  you  give 
jp  almost  anything  for  a  hunk  of  parsley? 
It's  up  to  you.  I  have  worked  on  this  for 
years.  I  am  all  through. 

SIVEETBREAD-AND- 
MVSHROOM  CROQUETTES 

Get  a  fine  pair  of  calf's  sweetbreads,  and 
ion't  let  them  put  you  off  with  anything  dif- 
ferent. Put  them  in  cold  water  for  half  an 
lour,  then  drain  them  and  set  to  cook  in 
old  salted  water.  (Well,  the  water  will  get 
lot  after  a  while,  won't  it,  so  why  the  gig- 
les?)  After  they  begin  to  cook,  keep  them 
loing  so  for  about  twenty  minutes,  and  be 
areful  not  to  overcook.  And  be  sure  not  to 
ndercook,  but  cook  carefully  just  about 
wenty  minutes  after  they  begin  to  cook.  Is 
hat  clear? 

Second  step  ahead.  Now  take  them  off  and 
ilunge — and  I  mean  plunge,  and  no  non- 
ense  about  it — into  a  bowl  of  ice  water. 
Of  course  the  ice  cubes  will  freeze  again  be- 
3re  he  gets  home  on  the  5:13.  Don't  be 
illy.)  Let  them  (the  sweetbreads  and  the 
;e  cubes)  stick  around  in  the  bowl  for  a  good 
[alf  hour.  That's  time  enough  to  hear  the 
ews  and  try  to  remember  who  was  Mark 
^ntony's  third  wife  on  the  crossword  puzzle. 
Take  them  out  and  drain  and  dry  in  a 
3wel  (clean  one),  then  trim  off  every  scrap 
f  membrane,  muscle  and  fat,  and  take  off 
\ie  thin  membrane  that  clings  closer  than 
ae  petal  to  the  bud. 

}  Now  you  are  all  set.  Chop  the  sweet- 
jreads  quite  fine.  (Be  sure  now,  they've  got 
be  cold  and  firm.)  Maybe  you  better  try 
at  what  is  a  limpet  on  your  puzzle.  That 
ill  give  them  an  extra  fifteen  or  twenty 
inutes  of  communion  with  the  ice  cubes, 
his  is  quite  a  receipt,  isn't  it? 
Chop  pretty  fine  and  mix  in  1}^  cups  of 
lopped,  cooked  mushrooms.  Canned  ones, 
fresh  ones  aren't  about,  do  all  right. 
Proceed  to  make  a  thick  cream  sauce — 
le  that  can  take  it,  as  the  boys  say.  Put  in 
le  double  boiler  VA  cups  of  milk.  (I  call 
lis  cream,  but  don't  mind  me.)  Blend  nice 
id  smooth  4  tablespoons  of  butter  or  mar- 
irine  with  4  tablespoons  of  flour  and  add 
the  heating  milk,  gradually,  gradually, 
irring  all  the  while.  It's  not  lumps  you'd 
having,  so  help  me ! 

Third  position.  Put  the  sweetbreads  and 
ushrooms  together  with  the  cream  sauce. 
d  I  forgot  to  say  that  before  you  put  in 
e  sweetbreads,  etc.,  it  would  be  well  to 
eat  the  sauce  to  a  little  egg-beater  tech- 
que.  Smooths  things  out  just  wonderful, 
ason  with  a  couple  of  tablespoons  of 
ated  onion,  salt  and  pepper  to  taste.  Leave 
ir  herbs  out  of  this.  Also  carrots. 
Stir  a  lightly  beaten  egg  in  now  and  cook 

ffew  minutes  more,  over  water  always.  But 
ir.  Oh,  how  you  must  stir.  Now  pour  out 
to  a  shallow  pan  and  chill  in  the  refriger- 
or  until  firm. 

Final  step  this  side  of  eating.  Shape  the 
lixture  into  finger-size  croquettes.    (I  wear 

I 


a  size  seven,  and  this  receipt  should  make  25 
to  30  croquettes. )  Dip  in  fine  cracker  crumbs, 
then  in  beaten  egg,  again  in  crumbs  and  fry 
in  deep  fat  or  salad  oil.  Drain  on  paper. 
Serve  hot.  Garnish  the  plate  with  parsley! 
That's  how  it  got  there. 

Better  and  bvtier — wnayb».  Here  is 
nothing  less  than  our  old  friend  of  the  wed- 
ding receptions  and  other  glamorous  func- 
tions— chicken  salad.  But  wait.  It  has 
something  new  added.  You'll  never  guess, 
so  give  it  up  and  I'll  tell  you.  It  is  curry. 
Seems  as  if  everyone  was  putting  curry  into 
most  everything  nowadays,  as  if  from  India's 
coral  strand  the  old  condiment  had  just 
wound  its  way  and  was  hot  news.  It  is  hot, 
all  right.  No  question  about  that. 

CURRIED  CHICKEIV  SALAD 

Have  2  ■■'4  quarts  of  diced  chicken  ready 
(the  meat  from  3  chickens) .  Chicken  should 
be  cut  as  for  any  good  chicken  salad — not 


TRUE  JUSTICE 

^  In  every  country  you  will  find  the 
^  people,  even  in  the  democracies, 
holding  that  their  country  is  always 
right.  For  them  there  is  only  one 
side  to  every  question,  and  that  is 
their  country's  side.  They  must 
learn  that  the  idea  of  justice  is  not 
only  justice  to  themselves  but  jus- 
tice to  others:  that  liberty  is  not 
only  that  they  shall  be  free,  but  that 
they  shall  be  glad  that  others  are 
free.  They  must  learn  that,  in  in- 
ternational affairs,  just  as  in  family 
affairs  and  neighborhood  affairs, 
respect  for  the  feelings  and  the  prej- 
udices of  others  is  a  condition  of 
having  one's  own  feelings  and  prej- 
udices respected.  They  must  become 
internationally  minded.  They  must 
learn  that  it  is  not  what  a  nation 
does  for  itself,  but  what  it  does  for 
humanity  that  makes  it  great. 

EUHU  ROOT:  Quoted  in  Digest  and  Review. 


too  big.  Add  3  cups  of  finely  diced  celery,  14 
cup  of  minced  onion.  That's  that,  and  very 
simple.  Blend  2  tablespoons  of  curry  pow- 
der with  H  cup  of  cream  and  stir  into  3  cups 
of  mayonnaise.  Mix  the  dressing  with  the 
chicken,  celery  and  onion.  Season  very 
lightly  with  pepper.  Salt  it  will  need.  You 
better  taste  as  you  move  onward  and  up- 
ward with  the  arts.  Arrange  on  a  bed  of  let- 
tuce and  garnish  with  sliced  stuffed  olives  or 
tomato  slices. 

Tliii«  u>iU  intrigue  you—ar  else.  At  this 
point  I  feel  I  should  remind  you  that  this 
whole  supper  is  no  family  affair.  It  is  a 
party  we're  after,  and  a  New  Year's  party  at 
that.  No  telling  what  might  happen.  So  I 
am  preparing  you  for  what  come  may,  as 
Shakespeare  so  aptly  put  it— or  was  it 
Shakespeare?  Maybe  it  was  Browning.  No, 
it  was  Shakespeare— so  let  "come  what  come 
may,"  and  a  more  mixed-up  line  I  never 
came  across,  and  I  have  come  across  several. 
Well,  there  are  biscuits— baking-powder 
biscuits.  You  know,  you  toss  them  together 


when  you  find  there's  no  bread  in  the  house 
"Let's  have  some  hot  biscuits,"  you  say, 
more  to  be  saying  something  than  really 
wanting  to  make  conversation.  So  make 
them.  But  here  is  the  pay-off — the  thing 
that  makes  these  biscuits  party  biscuits. 

BISCUITS  WITH 
AVOCADO   BUTTER 

Follow  the  usual  receipt  for  biscuits,  dou- 
ble batch.  Or  even  more.  As  I  said,  this  is  a 
party.  Add  1  teaspoon  of  grated  lemon  rind 
to  the  shortening  and  dry  ingredients  before 
adding  the  liquid.  Might  make  them  with 
orange  juice — go  on,  be  a  sport.  In  other 
words,  use  }  2  teaspoon  of  grated  lemon  rind 
for  each  2  cups  of  flour.  Use  a  star  cutter,  if 
you  have  one,  for  this  special  occasion.  I 
don't  know  just  why,  but  it's  sort  of  reaching 
for  the  stars,  I  guess.  Keep  the  biscuits 
small. 

Go  farther,  if  you  get  me.  Split  hot  and 
spread  with  this  mixture:  Cream  }4  cup  of 
butter  or  margarine  with  2  tablespoons  of 
cream  cheese  until  light  and  fluffy.  Rub  1 
peeled  avocado  through  a  sieve.  Beat  into 
the  butter  and  cheese.  Use  your  electric 
mixer  or  egg  beater.  Season  with  salt  and 
pepper  (not  the  beater,  Emma,  the  mixture) 
and  a  little  lemon  juice.  Spread  on  the  bis- 
cuits while  hot. 

Don't  believe  all  you  hear.  When  it 
comes  to  a  plum  pudding — yes.  Pin  your 
faith  on  that.  How  long  it  has  been  since  I 
had  a  real  English  plum  pudding.  Before 
this  beastly  war,  a  good  reader  of  mine  in 
England  used  to  send  me  one  in  a  white  jar 
every  year.  It  used  to  look  sort  of  dried  up 
and  discouraged  when  it  arrived,  but  /  knew. 
I  just  got  it  out  of  its  white  muslin  bag  and 
steamed  and  steamed  it.  Like  a  winner  of 
the  Derby  at  Epsom  Downs,  it  stretched 
and  stretched.  And  like  the  sweet  fragrance 
of  a  hunt  breakfast,  when  you  lift  the  silver 
lids,  it  had  all  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  of 
Araby.  I  would  make  a  hard  sauce  and  go 
to  it. 

We  know  about  these  things  from  way 
back.  From  pinafore  days  on.  But  now  we 
are  all  in  a  dither,  and  here  is  our  version  of 
a  plum-pudding  pie.  "Radical"  is  the  word. 
Looking  to  the  future. 

PLUl»f-l>UDDIN4>   PIE 

Use  an  oblong  casserole  for  a  pie  dish,  or 
two  regular  nine-inch  piepans.  Line  with 
pastry  and  bake  as  you  do  any  pie  shell. 
For  the  filling:  Soften  2  envelopes  of  un- 
flavored  gelatin  in  ]■>  cup  of  cold  milk. 
Scald  2  cups  of  milk.  Beat  8  egg  yolks 
slightly  and  mix  with  1  cup  of  sugar  and  1 
teaspoon  of  salt.  Cook  in  the  double  boiler 
until  the  custard  coats  the  spoon.  Take  from 
over  the  hot  water  and  add  the  softened 
gelatin.  Stir  until  dissolved.  Cool  and  add 
Yi  cup  of  cream,  H  cup  of  chopped  figs,  H 
cup  of  chopped  nuts,  li  cup  of  raisins,  \4, 
cup  of  maraschino  cherries.  Chill  until  thick. 
Beat  8  egg  whites  stiff  but  not  dry.  Add  1  cup 
of  sugar  a  tablespoon  at  a  time.  Beat  well 
in  between.  Fold  this  fluffy  meringue  into 
the  custard.  Pour  into  the  two  pie  shells  or 
the  large  one.  Sprinkle  the  top  with  toasted 
coconut  and  chopped  maraschino  cherries 


IN  ot  even  a  war  has  changed 
the  high  quahty  of  these  famous 
brands  of  tuna. 

With  most  of  our  great  fishing 
fleet  in  the  Navy,  we  aren't  able 
to  pack  as  much  as  before  the 
war.  But  what  we  do  pack  is  just 
as  tender,  just  as  dehcate,  just  as 
deUcious  as  always. 

We  are  supplying  your  grocer 
as  often  as  we  can  .  . .  giving  him 
as  much  as  possible. 

VAN  CAMP  SEA  FOOD  CO.,  INC. 
Terminal  Island,  Califorr 


Buy  EITHER  brand... 
the  quality  is  the  same 


You  are  an  American 
...buy  WAR  BONDS! 


58 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Oixper  Supper... 

,th  Swiff's  Bz-ookfie*** 


or  grated  chocolate.  Chill  until  firm  before 
cutting. 

]\ot  the  »amf  at  all.  Of  course  it's  crys- 
tallized grapefruit  peel,  and  I  can't  deny  it. 
I  could  eat  it  all  day— but  I  won't.  Having 
a  waistline,  it  is  my  object  in  life  to  hang  on 
to  it.  But,  take  it  or  not,  here  is  an  altogether 
different  receipt  for  candied  peel.  All  I  can 
say  is,  "It's  the  best  I  ever  ate."  Try  it.  Eat 
it  Give  it  to  your  friends.  What  do  you  care 
how  much  they  gain?  As  for  yourselves,  use 
your  will  power.  For  use  it  you  must. 

1  AISDIED   GKAl'ErBriT   PEEL 

Peel  as  many  grapefruit  as  you  wish  to 
use.  (If  the  outer  skin  of  grapefruit  seems 
hard,  grate  it  a  little  before  peeling.)  Cut 
the  peel  in  strips  or  petals,  or  use  cooky  cut- 
ters. Add  enough  water  to  the  peel  to  cover 
it.  Boil  fifteen  to  twenty  minutes.  Drain 
and  repeat  twice— three  times  in  all.  Meas- 
ure the  drained  peel,  and  for  each  quart  of 
peel  add  4  cups  of  sugar,  3  cups  of  water  and 
between  U'  and  '  ■>  teaspoon  of  salt.  Cook  in 
open  kettle  till  the  sirup  is  quite  heavy.  Do 
not  cook  to  thread  stage.  When  done,  remove 
from  range  and  for  each  quart  of  peel  add  1 
envelope  of  unflavored  gelatin,  soaked  in  H 
cup  of  cold  water,  to  the  sirup.  It  improves 
the  fruit  and  prevents  the  sirup  left  over 


AF4SVtoMA^ 


^uiTcgraBtt> 


«^|,e  sausage  „;f\,  ^U 

Add  one  more  to  your  list  otWNNER  FAVORITES-famous  Swift's 
Brookfield  Sausage!  Made  from  selected  cuts  of  pork,  it  gives 
you  the  FINE  NUTRITION  of  high-quality  proteins.  And  lady,  lady, 
is  it  goodi  For  Swift's  Brookfield  is  America's  most  popular 
PURE  PORK  sausage  ...  the  kind  with  the  just-right  seasoning. 
You'll  marvel  at  its  master  blend  of  DELICACY  and  ZEST.  Next 
time  you're  at  your  dealer's,  look  for  the 
handsome  package  with  the  red-plaid  ends; 
ask  for  Sicift\s  Brookfield  Sausage! 


MAN'S  FOILY 

^  All  «)1<1  Onager  lady,  «ho  was 
^  very  philosophical,  used  to  say 
that  there  were  three  outstanding 
follie.s  of  which  men  were  guilty. 
The  first  folly  «as  that  they  would 
lilt  to  war  and  Kill  each  other  when, 
if  they  wonhl  only  wait  long  enough, 
ihev  would  all  die  naturally.  The 
.second  was  that  the  men  would 
elimh  trees  to  knock  down  the  fruit 
«hen.  if  they  would  only  wait  long 
enough,  the  fruit  would  fall  to  the 
ground.  The  third  and  crowning 
f.div  was  that  they  would  pursue 
the  women  «  hen.  if  they  would  only 
«ait  l«>ng  enough,  the  w.imen  would 
pursue  them. 

—  Adopted  from  Digest  and  Review. 


DuFF-s  Hot  Muffin  Mix 
makes  vvonderiul  muffins. ..and  doz- 
ens of  other  good  things,  like  Fruit 
Cobbler  made  with  iresh  or  canned 
fruit.  Easy  directions  on  box. 
Just  add  WATER-ffiaf  s  all! 


wsm 


Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS 


from  crvstallizing.    Let  peel  stand  in  the 
sirup  till  cool  before  draining.    Drain,  cool 
and  roll  in  sugar. 
Anmthvr  one  of  thime  things.    Nuts  go 

over  big  at  parties.  I  have  a  beau  of  sorts, 
and  when  he  comes  out  he  brings  scads  of 
nuts.  I  got  a  little  tired  of  nuts  for  a  while. 
After  all,  I  could  do  with  some  sapphires,  or 
even  a  dozen  ripe  pears.  But  nuts  it  is,  and 
what  can  a  girl  do?  I  can't  say,  "  Isn't  there  i 
anything  for  sale  in  New  York  but  nuts?''^ 
Or,  "Nuts  aren't  very  expensive,  are  they?" 
I  can't  say  that.  So  I  get  them. 

But  here  is  a  receipt  that  helped  solve  that 
problem;  now  I  never  have  too  many  nuts. 

OKAISGE  SLOAUED  WALXITS 

Toast  lightly  2  cups  of  California  walnut 
halves  in  a  slow  oven.  Mix  2  cups  of  sugar. 
10  tablespoons  of  orange  juice,  the  grated 
rind  of  1  orange  and   U  teaspoon  of  salt. 
Cook  as  a  sirup  to  the  soft-ball  stage,  or 
'^38°  F     if  you  use  a  thermometer.    Stir 
around  well  and  add  the  nuts.   Stir  slowly. 
Don't  break  the  nuts.  They  love  to  stay 
whole  At  a  certain  point  the  sirup  will  be- 
gin to  whiten  and  sugar.    Lift  out  the  wal- 
nuts with  their  sugar  coating,  a  piece  at  a 
time.  Dry  on  waxed  paper. 
Uappi  landings.     Wouldn't   I   say  just 
that'   Better  try  to  be  original,  and  that  is 
my  New  Year  resolution.  Be  original.  Write 
my  name  so  almost  anyone  can  make  it  out. 
Try  not  to  send  the  check  for  the  telephone 
bill  to  the  oil  man  and  make  him  like  it.  And 
try  to  be  original  about  stamping  letters  and 
not  get  them  back  next  week,  "Returned  for 
postage  "  When  /  run  a  country,  there'll  be 
no  postage.    But  I  will  tell  you  about  that 
and  some  other  original  ideas  as  soon  as  the 
editors  let  up  on  me  a  little.   In  the  mean- 
time—Happy New  Year. 


The  gathering  of  maple  sap  starts  with  a  rush 
when  the  frosty  nights  of  early  spring  are 
followed  by  days  of  brilliant,  warm  sunshine. 

Bich  in  real 
maple  sugar  flavor 

The  luscious  taste  of  real  maple  sugar 
—it's  a  downrigl>t  mouth-watering  treat! 
'And  it's  a  treat  you  get  in  every  bottle 
of  our  delicious  Vermont  Maid  Syrup. 

We  take  maple  sugar  with  a  full,  rich 
flavor.  Then  blend  it  with  cane  sugar  and 
other  sugars.  This  enhances  the  maple 
flavor— makes   it   richer,    more   dehcious. 

Always  uniform,  too.  You  get  the  same 
true    maple    sugar    flavor    in 
every  bottle  of  Vermont  Maid 
Syrup.  Get  it  at  your  grocer's. 

Penick  &  Ford.  Ltd.,  Inc., 
Burlington,  Vermont. 


Vermont 

Syrup 


GEVGERBREi^ 


V  COOKIES  ^ 


Duffs  Gingerbread  Mix 
makes  wonderful  spicy  cookies... the 
soft  "drop"  kind... or  crisp,  crunchy 
ones.  Make  some  for  the  youngsters 
today.  Easy  directions  on  box. 

Just  add  WATER- f/iofs  all! 


Wade  with  finest 
Louisiana  molasses.' 


Seems  too  flat... 


5RIN&  OUT 
THE 

HAVOK 

)ERBy  STEAK.  SAl/CE 


This  rich,  all-purpose 
sauce  brightens  the  flavor  of 
every  dish  it  touches.    Serve 
it  at  the  table,  use  it  in 
:ooking,  add  its  tangy 
'lift"  to  meats,  casseroles, 
.sandwich  fillings,  gravies. 
5o  inexpensive.  / 


GLASER,  CRANDELL  CO. 
Dept.  B1,  Chicago  8 


/    FREE 

;   Send  for 

/new  color- 

/  illustrated 

.'  recipe  booli 

/  "More    Ap- 

/peal   in   Ev- 

.'ery    Meal." 

.•Filled  with 

appetizing 

suggestions. 


Clever  Cooks       ^CLUC  wS 
Darby  Barbecue  Sauce    •  Hot  Sauce  •  Worcestershire  Sauce 


YOU'LL  MAItlKY  ME 
AT  NOON 

(Continued  from  Page  24) 

furniture  in  her  bedroom.  And  she  wanted 
to  know  why  she  couldn't  have  them 

She  could  have  understood  being' poor 
Ihe  town  had  plenty  of  poor  people,  and 
bcott  was  always  in  the  group  that  brought 
toys  and  Christmas  dinners  to  the  unfortu- 
nate children  in  Shantytown.  But  her  own 
position  was  not  so  simple.  No  one  had  a 
larger,  more  magnificent  house  than  hers 
No  one  else  had  avenues  and  churches  and 
opera  houses  named  for  the  family.  And  no 
one  was  more  popular  in  the  satin-hair- 
ribbon  group  than  Scott.  And  yet  she  was 
always  aware  that  other  children  of  her 
group  had  warmer  though  less  impressive 
homes,  that  they  had  more  spending  money 
and  that  their  governesses  spoke  French  and 
German  and  were  a  great  deal  smarter  all 
around  than  Mrs.  Dodge. 

She  knew  a  lot  of  the  answers  before  Mr. 
Wingate,  the  family  lawyer,  had  his  little 
heart-to-heart  talk  with  her. 

Scott  was  very  pretty  at  sixteen.  She 
would  be  prettier  a  few  years  later,  but  Mr. 
Wingate  was  certain  that  he  had  never  seen 
anything  lovelier  as  she  came  toward  him 
through  the  gloomy  drawing  room  that 
autumn  evening.  She  had  been  riding  and 
her  cheeks  were  bright  with  color,  her  black 
hair  a  tousled  mass  of  short  curls.  She  was 
a  half  hour  late  for  their  appointment,  but 
his  irritation  vanished  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Wingate,"  she  said.  "I 
would  have  been  on  time  except  that  my 
horse  was  limping  and  I  couldn't  go  without 
knowing " 

"Of  course  not.   Is  he  all  right?" 

"Yes.  It  was  only  a  stone  wedged  in  his 
shoe." 

She  sat  down  and  they  were  talking  about 
money  before  Mr.  Wingate  had  finished 
wondering  how  they  would  get  together  on 
such  a  subject.  Scott  had  merely  gone  to 
the  point  without  any  build-up.  He  had  in- 
tended to  be  vague  and  clever.  He  consid- 
ered her  far  too  young  for  a  clear  picture  of 
her  financial  condition,  but  he  heard  himself 
saying,  as  though  she  were  a  hardheaded, 
realistic  woman  of  forty: 

"You  can  see,  of  course,  that  the  horses 
are  a  ridiculous  extravagance." 

It  was  her  own  fault.  She  wanted  the 
truth  and  she  knew  how  to  get  it.  After  a 
while  she  was  silent  and  thoughtful.  Then 
she  said,  "I  hear  Mrs.  Dodge  muttering  all 
the  time  about  the  servants.  The  house  is 
too  big,  I  suppose,  for  two  people  to  keep  it 
up  properly." 

He  nodded.  "There  were  six  servants  in 
your  grandmother's  day.  Of  course  it  isn't 
Mrs.  Dodge's  fault " 

"I  understand."  Scott  was  thoughtful 
again.  "What  is  Mrs.  Dodge's  salary?" 

"Mrs.  Dodge  came  here  to  take  care  of 
you  when  your  mother  died,"  he  explained. 
"She's  been  here  a  very  long  while  and " 

"I  know  that.  What  is  her  salary?" 

"She  gets  no  salary,  Scott." 

"But  that's  absurd.  She " 

"She  loves  you.  She  wants  to  look  after 
you.  There's  a  few  dollars  a  year  from  some- 
thing her  husband  left,  and  that  keeps  her 
in  the  few  things  she  needs." 

The  girl  stared  at  him.  "Do  you  mean 
that  when  my  mother  died  my  father  inter- 
viewed applicants  and  said  to  them,  'This 
is  a  twenty-four-hour-a-day  job  with  no 
pay'?" 

Mr.  Wingate  shook  his  head.  "She  was 
paid  for  a  few  years.  Then  your  father  de- 
cided that  he  couldn't  keep  her.  Mrs.  Dodge 
didn't  want  to  go.  She  stayed  on  without 
being  paid." 

"Oh,  I  see."  She  looked  at  him  so  hard 
that  he  stirred  nervously  in  his  chair.  "I 
think  I  have  a  pretty  good  idea  of  things 
now,  Mr.  Wingate."  She  stood  up  and  he 
felt  himself  dismissed. 

There  were  a  few  changes  made  in  the 
house  after  Scott  had  her  talk  with  Mr.  Win- 
gate.  Mrs.  Dodge  was  unprepared  for  such 


When  anything  is  in  "apple-pie 
order"  it's  hunky  dory. 

So  is  a  wedge  of  ajiple  i^ie  . .  . 
big,  juicy  chunks  of  ajjple  . . . 
cinnamon  flecked  .  .  .  crispy 
crusted. 

Apple  pie  is  as  American  as 
Yankee  Doodle  and  Shcfford  is 
its  copartner  in  pleasure.  That 
gold  of  ShelTord  Olde  Yorke  puts 
the  "tang"  with  the  sweet. 

And  don't  forget  every  lime 
you  use  thisorany  ShelTord  prod- 
uct, you  also  add  good,  hodv- 


is  like  a  kiss  uillitnil  lln-  sqiivezv." 

needed  iiroteins  to  the  nu-al. 

Remember,  theSiiefford  name 
stands  for  the  highest  quality  in 
(he  cheese  business. 

Look  at  tliese  line  ShelTord 
cheese  UxkIs  jiaraded  below  and 
say  "ShelTord"  olltii  for  your 
cheese  sandwiches,  clieese  cas- 
seroles, cheese  salads,  cheese 
snacks,  cheese  dishes  and  just 
plain  "eating"  cheese. 

SHKl'l-ORI)  CIIKKSK  CO..  INC. 
(ireen  I^av,  Wisconsin 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


58 


AitchenHelpfbr74aWeek! 


goings  on.  "I  am  going  to  discharge  Mary 
and  Bertha,"  Scott  told  her.  _^ 

' '  Oh  you  are,  my  fine  lady.  Just  like  that. 

Scott  smiled.  It  was  funny,  in  a  pitiful 
sort  of  way.  She  patted  Mrs.  Dodge  on  the 
arm  and  then  gave  her  a  little  hug.  _  Yes. 
Then  I'm  going  to  hire  someone  else. 

"Some  one  else.  Tell  me  when  you  get  this 
creature  who's  going  to  handle  the  house 

alone."  ^     ,  .. 

Mrs  Dodge  didn't  believe  any  part  ot  it 
till  Mary  and  Bertha  told  her  that  evening 
that  they  had  been  given  their  notice  by  the 
little  one.  Mrs.  Dodge  charged  up  the  stairs 
in  fury.  "What  sort  of  a  joke  is  this,  Scott.-' 
Where  do  you  think  we're  going  to  get  other 
girls  if  Mary  and  Bertha  actually  leave  us.-* 

Really,  I  never " 

"Sit  down,  darling.    I  want  to  talk  to 

you."  ,     , 

Mrs  Dodge  sat  down.  She  had  an  uncom- 
fortable feeling  that  she  should  be  spanking 
Scott  instead  of  obeying  her.  But  there  was 
something  in  Scott's  voice  that  was  new  and 
irresistible.  . 

"Mrs.  Dodge,  don't  be  angry  with  me.  l 
love  you  and  as  long  as  I  live  I  want  you  to 
live  with  me.  But  I'm  going  to  manage  the 
house  now." 

"I've  always  realized  that  it  was  your 
house  and  not  mine,  Scott.  But  I  don't 
think  the  time  has  come  to  hand  the  man- 
agement over  to  you 


SAVE  WASHING.  Fewer  dish 
towels  to  wash  when  Scot- 
Towels  dry  your  pots  and  pans 


SAVE  IRONING.  Less  hand- 
towel  laundering — and  less 
wear  and  tear  on  good  linens 


HELP  PROTECT  HEALTH. 
Clean  individual  towels  help  to 
prevent  the  spread  of  infections 


A  DOZEN    KITCHEN   CHORES  MADE   EASIER  .  .  . 
speedier-at  a  cost  of  only  a  penny  a  day. 
That's  the  bargain  ScotTowels  give  you! 

Just  now,  we  can't  promise  you  all  the  Scot- 
Towel  kitchen  help  you  want.  Large  quantities  of 
Scott  paper  products  are  going  to  our  armed  forces 
and  to  war  industries.  But  after  Victory,  ScotTowels 
will  be  more  plentiful-to  help  you  whizz  through 
kitchen  work  in  jig-time. 

In  the  meantime,  if  your  dealer  is  temporarily 
out  of  stock,  won't  you  try  him  agam  later? 
ScotTowels  are  worth  waiting  for! 

Trademark  "ScotTowels"  Reg.  n.S.  Pat.  Off. 


AFugoeinTime 

"\rhen  Pelham  kisses  me,"  says 
Lark  dreamily,  "'it  doesn't  go  any- 
deeper  than  my  skin." 

"And  when  I  kiss  you?"  asks 
Rollo,  and  his  voice,  as  once  before, 
is  blurred  and  husky. 

There  is  a  sudden  stillness. 

"You  have  never  kissed  me — 
yet." 

A  Fugue  in  Time,  by  Rumer 
Godilen,  is  a  novel  of  the  mo- 
ment's infinity  within  which  ever- 
lasting space  a  love  was  made 
which  burst  the  boundaries  of 
human  hearts,  became  the  es- 
sence of  itself,  and  sailed,  intan- 
gible and  immortal,  above  the 
surface  of  the  passing  years. 

Complete  in  the 
FEBRIIAUY  JOURNAL 


Af/iD£smom 


When  it  does,  I  will 

know  and " 

"You  didn't,  Mrs. 
Dodge." 

"I  didn't  what?" 
"You  didn't  know 
when  the  time  came. 
It  came  today.  I'm 
already  managing  the 
house." 

Scott  had  known 
there  would  be  tears. 
There  were  two  ways 
you  could  go  from 
tears.  You  could  let 
them  stream  down 
your  face  as  you 
packed  your  things 
and  made  a  complete 
break.  Or  you  could 
dry  your  tears  and 
say,  "I  was  a  goose. 
I'll  try  to  be  more  sen- 
sible in  the  future." 
Scott  hoped  Mrs. 
Dodge  would  choose 
the  latter  way.  But 
she  knew  she  must 
stick  to  her  guns. 

Presently  Mrs.  Dodge  dried  her  tears  and 
smiled  a  little.  "I  keep  forgetting  you're 
growing  up,  Scott.   I'm  an  old  fool." 

Scott  told  her,  then,  the  things  that  were 
in  her  mind.  "We'll  combine  the  wages  we 
paid  to  Mary  and  Bertha  and  get  one  good 
experienced  person.  We're  going  to  close  up 
most  of  the  house.  We're  going  to  live  in 

about  six  rooms  and " 

"We  might  as  well  move  to  a  small  place, 
then.  You'd  have  more  money  and  less  worry 
in  a  small  place." 

Scott  said  nothing  and  at  last  Mrs.  Dodge 
saw  that  Scott  was  never  going  to  say  any- 
thing on  the  subject  of  the  old  house.  She 
was  going  to  keep  the  house  and  worry  and 
fret  over  it  as  her  father  had  done.  Mrs. 
Dodge  said  no  more. 

The  subjugation  of  Mrs.  Dodge  had  been 
easy.  Scott  had  taken  no  pride  in  beating 
down  someone  who  loved  her.  But  before 
she  was  eighteen  she  made  a  tremendous  dis- 
covery. She  found  that  people  didn't  have 
to  love  you  to  accept  your  orders.  If  you 
knew  what  you  were  talking  about  and  spoke 
with  full  confidence  in  yourself  you  were  cer- 
tain, nine  out  of  ten  times,  to  get  your  way. 
Most  things  were  better  for  Scott's  man- 
aging. She  began  to  look  at  horses  from  the 
standpoint  of  business  instead  of  pleasure, 
and  surprised  herself  by  making  a  fifty-dollar 
profit  on  a  mare.  She  cut  expenses  on  clothes 
to  practically  nothing  by  the  simple  expedi- 
ent of  not  buying  any.  She  did  the  market- 
ing herself. 


January,  1945 

There  was  much  that  was  better  for 
Scott's  managing,  but  Mrs.  Dodge  was  dis- 
turbed about  Scott  herself.  She  did  not 
much  like  the  bossy,  self-assured  girl  who 
lived  in  riding  breeches  and  was  very  certain 
of  her  right  to  give  orders  and  have  them 
obeyed.  Some  man  will  take  her  down  a  peg 
one  of  these  days,  Mrs.  Dodge  thought.  But 
when  Conlon  Paige  came  along  he  didn't 
seem  the  fellow  to  do  it. 

It  was  one  of  those  things  that  happen  in 
small  cities.  Two  children  grow  up  in  the 
same  circle,  going  to  the  same  parties  and  the 
same  picnics.  Neither  of  them  sees  anything 
noteworthy  in  the  other;  then  suddenly  they 
are  inseparable. 

CoNLON  was  a  handsome  boy  with  a  mass 
of  yellow  hair  and  eyes  that  were  perhaps  a 
trifle  too  blue,  a  trifle  too  soft.  Mrs.  Dodge 
couldn't  tell  whether  or  not  Scott  loved  him.. 
It  was  hard  to  tell  with  Scott.  She  bossed 
the  boy  unmercifully. 

"Young  men  don't  like  bossy  girls,"  Mrs. 
Dodge  warned. 

"Don't  they?   Conlon  seems  to  like  me 
very  much." 

"Yes,  of  course  he  does,  but  he'll  get  tired 
of  being  ordered  about  one  of  these  days." 
Scott  didn't  care  for  criticism.  She  took  it 
with  tight  lips  and  a  small  scowl  between  her 
eyebrows.  Mrs.  Dodge  had  known  she  would 
take  it  so,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  keep  si- 
lent.   It  was  terrible 
to  think  that  Scott 
might  love  Conlon 
and  lose  him  for  want 
of  friendly  advice. 

"You  know,  dar- 
ling, the  world  isn't 
composed  of  people 
who  just  take  youi 
orders  and  keep  com- 
ing back  for  more. 
You've  told  Conlor 
what  kind  of  a  car  tc 
buy,  what  he  shoulc 
do  with  his  after- 
noons, what  he  shoulc 

read,  what " 

"Well,  he  doesn'i 
have  to  do  anythinf 
he  doesn't  want  t( 
do,  does  he?  I  jus 
tell  him  because  he' 
too  silly  to  think  o 
things  for  himself 
Any  time  he  doesn' 

want  to " 

"But  any  time  h 
.doesn't  want  to  do  a 


you  say,  you  just  get  furious  at  him,  Scotlj 
The  poor  boy's  in  love  with  you  and  obey: 
you  to  keep  you  smiling  at  him.  That's  Hj 
way  to  be." 

"Well,  it's  the  way  I  am." 
Mrs.  Dodge  knew  it  was  the  way  Scoi 
was.  "I  only  thought,"  she  ventured,  "th: 
in  case  you're  in  love  with  Conlon  ^^ 

Scott  said,  "I'm  going  to  marry  him." 
"Oh.  When?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  He  hasn't  asked  m 
but  he  will." 

Mrs.  Dodgd'  was  certain  that  he  woul' 
She  sat  considering  many  things.  The 
would  be  a  change  in  Scott's  financial  co: 
dition,  for  Conlon's  family  had  money. 

"It'll  seem  funny  going  away  from  tl 
house,"  she  said  musingly. 

Scott  gave  her  a  long,  hard  look.  "  I'm  n 
marrying  a  man  with  money  just  to  g 
pitched  out  of  the  place  we've  fought 

Mrs.  Dodge  said  nothing.  She  didn't  lil 
the  look  Scott  had  given  her.  Conlon  Pai 
was  too  nice  a  boy,  Mrs.  Dodge  kept  sayii 
to  herself.  He  was  too  nice  a  boy. 

Sometimes  in  the  dark  of  night  Scott  1 
upon  her  pillow  and  could  not  sleep.  S 
would  think  about  Conlon  Paige.  There  w 
a  date  set  for  their  wedding  now.  It  woi 
be  a  spring  wedding.  And  Scott  would 
unable  to  sleep,  for  there  was  so  much  to  cc 
sider.  Was  it  wrong  to  marry  Conlon? 

How  did  a  girl  ever  know  the  answer  abc 
love?    Maybe  a  girl  never  did.    Maybe 


Yoi/LL  Marry  Me  at  Noon 

one's  silver  anniversary  one  knew  whether 
or  not  it  had  been  real  love.  When  Conlon 
kissed  her  she  didn't  hear  sweet  music  or  see 
the  world  alight  with  flaming  skyrockets. 
But  what  did  that  prove?  Perhaps  she  was 
not  soft  and  warm  by  nature  and  yet  loved 
Conlon  as  deeply  as  any  young  man  is  loved. 
But  suppose  she  didn't  love  him?  Was  it 
wicked  to  marry  him? 

It  would  have  surprised  Mrs.  Dodge  to 
know  how  seriously  Scott  considered  wicked- 
ness. She  wanted  to  be  good  and  fair  and 
also  she  was  terribly  frightened  of  the  just 
punishments  that  are  dealt  out  by  those 
fane-grinding  mills  of  the  gods. 

Sometimes  she  would  rise  at  this  point  and 
walk  up  and  down  the  room.  //  /  don't  love 
him  and  I  do  marry  him.  what  harm  is  it  to 
him?  I'll  be  a  very  good  wife  and  he'll  never 
know  I  don't  love  him.  But  maybe  I  do  love 
him.  How  does  a  girl  ever  know  about  love? 
When  she  was  with  Conlon  she  was  an- 
noyed by  the  childishness  of  his  thoughts,  by 
the  indecision  of  his  character.  He  seemed  to 
be  incapable  of  getting  through  a  day  with- 
out advice  and  instruction. 

He  would  phone  her  in  the  morning  and 
perhaps  he  would  suggest  a  game  of  tennis. 
"Tennis,  Conlon?   I  thought  you  had  to 
go  downtown  today." 

"Yes,  there's  some  business  my  father 
wants  me  to  see  about,  but  I  imagine  it'll  be 
all  right  if  I  let  it  wait  a  day." 

She  was  always  infuriated  by  his  vague- 
ness. "Look,  Conlon,  you  better  go  down- 
town today  and  think  of  tennis  tomorrow. 
Call  me  when  you've  finished  imagining 
about  your  business  appointment." 

She  would  hang  up  the  receiver  feeling 
pretty  mean  deep  inside.  He  was  sweet,  but 
somebody  had  to  tell  him  what  to  do.  To- 
morrow they  would  play  tennis,  drive  out 
and  see  the  horse  Link  wanted  to  sell,  and 
afterward  they'd  lunch  at  Trowbridge's. 
She'H  be  very  pleasant  and  companionable 
tomorrow,  provided  that  he  had  actually 
kept  the  business  appointment. 

Conlon's  family  were  much  the  same  as 
the  boy  himself.  It  was  a  gentle,  kindly  fam- 
ily that  had  always  made  mistakes  but  had 
never  whined  about  them.  The  list  of  things 
that  happened  to  them  included  the  loss  by 
fire  of  a  gorgeous  home  full  of  irreplaceable 
art  treasures.  Conlon's  mother  had  accom- 
plished that  with  a  Christmas  tree.  His 
father  was  always  being  swindled  by  some 
pleasant  person  who  had  taken  his  fancy. 
The  sisters  had  both  had  unfortunate  love 
affairs.  One  sister  was  a  countess  who 
hadn't  seen  the  count  since  shortly  after  the 
honeymoon,  when  her  father  had  settled  a 
rather  large  sum  upon  him.  The  other  sister 
lost  her  heart  to  a  charming  fellow  whose 
wife  appeared  unexpectedly  when  she  read 
newspaper  accounts  of  his  engagement. 

acoTT  found  it  impossible  to  smile  with  the 
Paiges.  They  needed  someone  to  tell  them 
how  to  behave./  Conlon,  she  thought,  would 
have  to  find  something  to  do.  The  Paige  fam- 
ily were  under  the  impression  that  Conlon 
was  delicate.  He  had  wanted  to  study  art, 
I  but  they  thought  it  would  be  too  much  of  a 
stj-ain.  Hence  Conlon  did  nothing  but  see 
the  family's  lawyers  a  few  times  a  year. 
Scott  thought  perhaps  she'd  have  him  study 
something. 

The  Paige  sisters  were  enchanted  with 
Scott.  They  admired  her  forcefulness  and 
cleverness.  "You're  beautiful,  too,  Scott." 
The  girls  looked  at  each  other  and  away. 
Obviously  they  had  planned  to  add  some- 
thing further  but  had  lost  their  nerve. 

Scott  prodded  them.  "What  else? 
There's  something  you  want  to  say.  What 
is  it?" 

They  began  to  talk  rapidly.  "We  were 
thinking  that  you're  so  beautiful  and  it's  a 
shame  that  you  don't  care  anything  about 
clothes  or  fixing  your  hair  pretty.  You  know 
if  you  bothered  a  little  you'd  be  absolutely 
dazzling.  We'd  like  you  to  fuss  a  little  and 
just  show  this  town  something  gorgeous!" 

Scott  looked  down  at  her  soiled  riding 
breeches.  She  knew  there  was  no  more  to 
the  girls'  words  than  what  they  said.  They 
wanted  everyone  to  be  aware  of  the  perfec- 
tion of  their  future  sister-in-law.  "  I'm  hope- 


LADIF.S'  IIO.ME  JOLRNAL 


61 


less."  she  said.  "I  like  these  old  pants.  I 
couldn't  ride  all  done  up  like  an  ad  for  sad- 
dle soap." 

"We  don't  care  what  you  wear  riding.  We 
mean  when  you  come  to  the  house  or  go 
places  with  Conlon.  You  could  be  stunning." 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  drag  myself  into  some 
decent  clothes  one  of  these  days." 

She  was  thinking  that  maybe  she  could 
•  afi'ord  to  be  a  little  extravagant.  Very  soon 
now  the  burden  of  paying  her  own  way 
through  life  would  be  removed.  It  would  be 
up  to  the  Paiges.  The  money  that  had  sup- 
ported the  ugly  old  house  would  be  just 
pocket  money  to  squander  as  she  chose. 

Scott's  veil  and  her  shimmering  white 
satin  gown  lay  on  the  bed  in  the  north  suite. 
The  caterers,  the  florists,  the  choir,  the  wed- 
ding party.  Mrs.  Dodge  and  a  dozen  by-the- 
day  servants  had  their  orders  and  instruc- 
tions. The  granddaughter  of  Camilla  Rans- 
ford  was  getting  married.  It  would  be  the 
biggest  workout  the  society  photographers 
had  had  in  years. 

On  the  night  before  the  wedding  Scott 
walked  over  to  the  Paige  house.  For  a  week 
their  friends  had  been  filtering  into  town  for 
the  wedding.  Tonight  Matt  Bleeker  would 
be  there.  Scott  knew  nothing  about  him  ex- 
cept that  he  wrote  travel  books,  that  Conlon 
thought  him  "terrific"  and  for  days  had 
been  worried  lest  something  interfere  with 
Bleeker's  coming.  And  now  Bleeker  was  here. 

Conlon  had  phoned  to  announce  the  ex- 
citing news.  "Come  on  over,  Scott.  You  just 
have  to  meet  him." 

"Well,  bring  him  over  here,  then.  Or  is 
it  something  like  being  presented  at  court?  " 

"No,  no,  it's  not  that,  darling.  Bleeker'd 
be  glad  to  come  to  your  house.  It's  only  that 
Cousin  Grace  arrived  today,  too,  and  mother 
wants  you  to  meet  her,  and  of  course  several 
other  people  are  here." 

How  like  Conlon  it  was  to  sit  around  his 
own  house  the  night  before  his  wedding. 
Other  young  men  said  good-by  to  their 
bachelorhood  in  rather  colorful  ways.  But 
it  would  never  occur  to  anyone  to  give  a  gay 
dinner  for  Conlon  Paige. 

Conlon's  sisters  looked  at  Scott  reproach- 
fully as  she  entered  the  room  where  every- 
one was  gathered.  It  was  the  first  time  it  had 
crossed  Scott's  mind  that  she  should  have 
dressed  up  a  little.  She  sighed.  She  had  done 
it  again.  Oh,  well,  she'd  be  beautiful  to- 
morrow. 

Cousin  Grace  stared  at  her  in  wonder- 
ment. Riding  breeches  at  this  hour  of  the 
evening  was  something  new  to  her.  Scott 
thought  that,  for  the  Paiges'  sake,  she  would 
attempt  an  explanation.  She  would  say,  "  It 
was  such  a  beautiful  evening  that  I  rode  for 
a  while.  I  didn't  intend  to  make  a  call.  I 
hope  you'll  pardon  my  appearance." 

The  words  had  almost  been  spoken,  but 
not  quite.  Conlon  said,  "Scott,  this  is 
Bleeker."  And  Scott  forgot  that  there  was 
anything  she  wanted  to  say  to  Cousin  Grace. 

He  was  standing  there,  grinning  down  at 
her.  He  was  a  red-haired  giant  of  a  man 
with  gray  eyes  that  remained  sober  despite 
the  grin.  His  features  were  not  regular  nor 
handsome,  but  there  was  something  about 
Bleeker's  face  that  made  Scott  think  it  the 
most  attractive  she  had  ever  seen. 

"Why  are  you  always  called  by  your  last 
name?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  that  kind  of  fellow, 
I  guess." 

She  had  not  known  that  she  would  ask 
questions  of  Bleeker.  Now  she  wanted  to 
know  a  dozen  things  about  him.  What  had 
he  written?  Where  had  Conlon  met  him? 
How  had  they  become  such  firm  friends? 

She  found  herself  sitting  with  Bleeker  on 
a  settee  near  tiic  long  French  window.  The 
spring  air  that  drifted  into  the  room  was 
warm  and  moist  and  filled  with  the  scent  of 
lilacs.  "Wonderful  weather  for  a  wedding," 
Bleeker  said. 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  thinking  how 
strange  it  was  that  the  white  satin  gown  and 
all  the  prodigious  preparations  had  not  made 
her  realize  that  tomorrow  was  actually  her 
wedding  day.  Now  she  was  suddenly  very 
aware  of  it. 


"I  hurt  Bob's  pride 


1?^  trSes 

>^<^^'J°\o  red'' 

»  ^t-^«.  soap- 


no  "^^'^ 


^/77^/LUX  does 
up  to  twice  as 
many  dishes! 


SOAP  USES 

VITAL  WAR 

MATERIALS 

Don't  waste  it! 


(Scores  of  women  made  tests  under 
conditions  similar  to  home  dishwashing. 
Simply  changing  from  strong  soaps  to 
gentle  Lux  took  away  dishpan  redness! 
Lux  is  not  only  kwd  to  bands— it's 
thrijty.  too!  Recent  tests  prove  that,  ounce 
for  ounce,  Lux  does  up  to  twice  as  many 
dishes  as  any  of  10  other  leading  soaps 
tested.  Lux  suds  are  so  rich  they  last 
longer— do  more  work!  Get  the  thrifty 
big  box  for  dishes. 


62 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


ifii*ij 


Rag.  U.  S.  Pal.  Off. 


by 

Al 

CAPP 


'itsanAYAUKCHE 

-WEAPIN'    FO'  TM' YOKUM   CABIN/; 
LI'L  ABNER    AN'   HIS    FAMBLV 

WILL  BE   BURIED  ALIVE 

IN    SKIOW 


KIN  YO'  HEAR    \  AH '5  C-CCOIP.''- 

ME   POWN  THAR,  We'll  FREEZE 
Ul'L  ABNER  f-   /'LESS  V/E  Gir5 

-  15  yo'  safe  ?/  somp'n'  wot 
t'najarm  us  up 
quick.':''-  prap 

ME    POWM  A  BOX 

O'  FAST- COOK  IN 

''ENt?ICMEP 

,     „.     5-  MINUTE' 

V  V  CREAM  OF    , 

?-'ivvCl     WHEAT -AN' 


YO'  HAS    V  WIF  THET  SUPER- 
MELTEP  ALL\  KJOURISHIW' CREAM 
iTH'  $NOW.»'-    OF  WHEAX  NATC<J- 
HOW  COME.y  E^LY  GOOP  HOT 
CREAM  OF  WHEAT 
IS  TOPS  FO'  FOOD- 
.^-fl  EME(ctJYA^l' VHAMINS 
^    ,i\  AN'  MIN'RAL5ABOtV 
NEE  PS   IN  COLP 
^EATHER  ^r 


^>^^^ 


|i|)iii))))J 


**    MORHIHCS  r    ^^^ 

JS?  &?:,^^^tfo5PHO«U5  IRON, 
CALCIUM. P"°AViO  NIACIH.    >, 

THEY'RE  ^^.^kJcAST  l^^      ? 
BETTER  BR|%^?£''CRtA^A- 

O'^  ^^^^X*  HOT  WHEAT 
cekeau  wllH       ^^^ 


AH  UELPEP 
SAVE  YO' 
LIFE- PON  "r 
AH  GIT  A^ 
REWARP  ? 


5mo"nuffT-  have 
a  pee-l)5hii5  bowl 
o'  cream  of  wheat/ 
thet  5mo-0-0-th 

.    FLAVOR  AN'  Xx\T-  UP- 
AN-GO"  NOURISHMENT 
16>  REWA?P  'NUFFFO'ANY- 


HOT  AND  QUICK !  COOKS  to 

OICESTIBILITY   IN   5  MINUTES 


5  MiNurr* 


•rican  Family  Cereo/ 


llr€7m  ^t{\ 


Bleeker  craned  his  neck  and  peered  out 
into  the  fragrant  darkness. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?  "  Scott  asked. 

"Your  horse." 

"Oh."  She  was  not  amused.  "I  had  in- 
tended to  apologize  to  Mrs.  Paige  and  her 
cousin.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  an  ex- 
planation was  also  due  to  the  gentlemen 
present." 

"We  notice  things,"  he  said  carelessly. 
"And  we're  more  understanding  than  you 
imagine  too.  I  think  you're  absolutely  right 
to  wear  clothes  that  you  can  wear  well.  Why 
should  you  get  into  things  that  you'd  prob- 
ably look  terrible  in?" 

"What?" 

"Sure.  You're  perfectly  right.  I  knew 
another  girl  like  you  once.  A  knockout  in 
riding  habit,  but  a  posit ive-  washout  in 
regular  clothes." 

Scott  looked  at  him  carefully.  He  wasn't 
grinning.  "All  right,"  she  said.  "I'll  bite. 
What's  the  answer?" 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"If  I  knew  I  wouldn't  ask  you." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  answer.  The  Paiges  are 
swell  people." 

She  wrinkled  her  brow.  "The  answer's 
confusing  too." 

"Is  it?  Of  course  I  could  draw  a  few  pic- 
tures." 

Scott  shook  her  head.  "It  won't  be  neces- 
sary," she  told  him.  "  I  think  I'm  beginning 
to  catch  on.  You  mean  the  Paiges  are  such 
thoroughly  swell  people  that  they  don't  de- 
serve the  horrible  fate  of  having  a  girl  walk 
into  their  living  room  in  riding  breeches." 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  it,"  Bleeker  replied. 

Scott  laughed. 
"My  choice  in  ap- 
parel may  not  be  cor- 
rect, but  it  isn't  ex- 
actly a  matter  of  such 
importance  that  it 
might  prove  danger- 
ous to  the  Paiges." 

"No?"  He  looked 
surprised.  "Let  me 
tell  you  how  I  see  it. 
You  walk  in  here  in 
riding  clothes.  That's 
an  indication  of  char- 
acter. I  say  to  my- 
self, '  That  girl  is  rude. 
She  is  inconsiderate 
of  the  Paiges'  love  of 
convention.  She  has  a 

completely  selfish  disregard  of  what  others 
like  and  expect.'  The  Paiges  are  swell  people 
and  I  hope  they're  not  going  to  get  hurt." 

Thiswas  fantastic.  Evenanoldfrienddidn't 
dare  such  liberties.  Why  did  she  let  him  talk 
to  her  that  way?  From  across  the  room  Con- 
Ion  caught  her  eye  and  smiled.  He  was 
beaming  with  pleasure  because  she  and 
Bleeker  had  sat  down  together.  Scott 
thought  of  joining  Conlon,  but  Bleeker  be- 
gan to  speak  again: 

"I  looked  this  town  over  today.  Nice 
town.  Your  name's  pretty  big  around  here, 
isn't  it?" 

"No.  My  name  isn't  in  evidence  any- 
where that  I  know  of." 

"Well,  your  family's  name.  Ransford. 
It's  the  same  thing.  I  saw  your  house  too. 
It  looks  like  an  old  haunted  Irish  castle. 
Why  do  you  and  Conlon  have  to  live  there? " 

I  don't  know  quite  why  it's  your  busi- 
ness; but  just  to  ease  your  mind,  Mr. 
Bleeker,  I'll  assure  you  that  Conlon  doesn't 
have  to  live  there.  I  wasn't  pointing  a  gun 
at  him  when  he  agreed." 

Bleeker  smiled.  "You "don't  like  me,  do 
you?" 

"No.   Does  that  answer  your  question? " 

He  nodded.  "You  wouldn't  like  anybody 
who  wasn't  afraid  of  you,  would  you?" 

"Mr.  Bleeker,  you're  a  very  tiresome  per- 
son. For  some  reason,  known  only  to  your- 
self, you've  decided  to  be  very  objectionable. 
I  see  no  point  in  my  standing  for  your  in- 
sufferable behavior  any  longer." 

She  stood  up.  He  caught  at  her  hand,  and 
as  their  fingers  touched  she  was  startled  by 
the  warm  pleasure  that  swept  over  her.  p-or 
a  split  second  she  had  no  reasoning  power, 
only  a  wandering  joy  in  the  touch  of  his 


HY  W.  E.  FAKBKTEIIV 

Silence  is  golden. 

The  copybooks  sing. 
But  married  men  know 

It's  no  such  thing — 
That  the  quickest  way  to  start  a  riot 
At  home  is  just  to  sit  perfectly  quiet. 


hand.  Conlon's  kisses  had  moved  her  far 
less  than  this. 

"Please  wait,  Scott.  I'm  sorry.  I  can  only 
say  in  my  own  defense  that  the  Paiges  are 
the  one  family  on  earth  I  love.  I  havAio  one 
of  my  own."  He  paused.  "I'm  a  little  too 
overzealous.  I  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself 
at  times." 

"Well,  so  long  as  you  know  it,"  she  said, 
"perhaps  there's  hope  for  you." 

"Am  I  forgiven?" 

"Yes,  mainly  because  Conlon  would  be 
unhappy  if  we  weren't  friends.  He's  so  keen 
about  you." 

"  I  know  he  is.  He's  a  good  kid."  Bleeker 
smiled  across  in  Conlon's  direction  and 
winked  as  the  boy  looked  at  him.  The  wink 
meant,  "She's  swell.  We're  good  friends." 

With  a  sudden  flash  of  intuitive  knowl- 
edge, Scott  knew  a  great  many  things  about 
Bleeker.  She  knew  that  he  had  lived  fast 
and  hard  and  had  seen  too  much.  She  knew 
that  no  one  in  this  room  had  ever  really 
known  Bleeker.  He  would  turn  to  them  the 
side  of  himself  that  they  could  understand. 
He  would  wink  if  the  world  were  collapsing 
and  thus  make  an  effort  to  protect  the  Paiges 
from  knowing  that  anything  was  wrong. 

"Where  do  you  know  the  Paiges  from?" 
Scott  asked. 

"They  never  told  you?" 
"No.   Should  they  have?" 
"Other  people  would  have.  They  collected 
me." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 
"Well,  some  people  collect  first  editions, 
some  glass  or  silver  spoons.  The  Paiges  col- 
lected  soldiers  after 

the  war.    Men   who 

had  been  discharged 
from    hospitals,    but 
who    hadn't     yet 
learned  how  to  live 
again.    The    Paiges 
showed     us     how. 
They  bought  me  my 
first   typewriter  and 
set  me  up  in  a  quiet 
place  where  I  could 
find  out  whether  or 
not   I  could   write. 
There    were    fellows 
who   wanted    to  try 
other   things.   The 
Paiges  saw  that  they 
got  a  chance." 
"That  was  pretty  wonderful." 
"Yes,  it  was.    They  sent  me  to  New  Zea- 
land, too,  when  I  thought  I  wanted  to  write 
about  the  Maori  tribes.  That  book  was  a 
success." 

"You  mean  you  were  a  success." 
"No,  the  Paiges  were.    I  only  created  a 
new  book.  They  created  a  new  man." 

Scott  sat  there  working  over  a  new  esti- 
mate of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paige.  How  strange 
that  they  had  never  mentioned  anything  of 
all  this. 

"And  how  did  Conlon  become  your 
friend?  I  mean  how  did  you  and  he  ever 
become  intimate?  You're  not  exactly  the 
same  type." 

"We  know  eacjj  other  mostly  through  let- 
ters.   I've  seen  him  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
times.  But  our  letters  started  before  I  ever 
saw  him.   He  was  twelve  years  old  and  sick 
in  bed  with  scarlet  fever.  He  loved  detective 
stories,  but  his  mother  couldn't  find  any  that 
were  ungory.   I  wrote  them  for  him." 
She  smiled.  "Tell  me." 
"Oh,  every  night  I'd  write  two  thousand 
words  and  drop  them  in  the  mailbox.  It  was 
a  serial,  you  know.  The  detective  reporting 
his  day's  progress  to  his  boss.  The  complete 
rounding  up  of  the  gang  of  jewel  thieves  co- 
incided with  the  doctor's  decision  that  Con 
Ion  could  return  to  school." 
"That  was  cute.   I  like  that." 
"After  that  we  wrote  to  each  other  all  the 
time.     I    wrote    pep    talks — nicely    sugar- 
coated,  you  understand — on  why  a  fellow 
should  do  his  homework  and  listen  to  hisf 
teacher  and  his  parents.   Later  I  thought  up 
reasons  why  his  heart  shouldn't  break  be- 
cause he  was  too  light  for  the  football  team,  ojuj. 
There  were  always  letters  to  write  to  Coa 
Ion."  (Continued  on  Page  64) 


Lil 

lie  el] 
ateoe 


Uliilg 


LADIES'  IIOMK  JOLK.NAL 


63 


f  -m,    jr^ 


I 


""^tmtMt^J^ 


BUY  WAR  BONOS  AND  STAMPS 


Miss  Muffet  knew  her  vitamins 


Remember?   She  was  eating  "curds  and 
whey."  That's  cheese,  of  course. 

Miss  M.  may  have  been  timid  about  spiders, 
mt  she  ivas  a  smart  girl  when  it  came  to  diet 
—  for  cheese  is  one  of  the  world's  very  finest 
'oods. 

Like  the  milk  from  which  it  is  made,  cheese 
especially  rich  in  protein,  calcium,  phos- 
)horus.  In  fact,  on  the  average,  a  pound  of 
heese  contains  about  as  much  of  all  these 
lements  as  three  quarts  of  milk.  Both  cheese 
,nd  milk  are  good  sources  of  vitamins  A  and  G. 
Whether  you  eat  cheese  because  it  tastes 
ood,  or  because  you  know  it's  nourishing, 
he  chances  are  that  in  recent  years  you've 
aten  considerably  more.  America's  per  capita 
ansumption  of  cheese  has  increased  50% 
uring  the  last  25  years. 


That  has  helped  the  health  of  the  nation 
and  broadened  the  dairy  farmer's  market. 
And  a  good  part  of  these  gains  can  be  credited 
to  the  research  of  National  Dairy's  Kraft 
Division. 

Here,  new  cheeses  have  been  produced  and 
old  ones  improved  .  .  .  the  pasteurization  of 
cheese  perfected  .  .  .  the  purity  and  flavor 
of  cheese  protected  by  better  packaging  .  .  . 
hundreds  of  new  cheese  dishes  created.  In 
every  way,  cheese  has  been  made  easier  to 
buy,  serve  and  eat. 

Besides  these  developments  in  cheese,  many 
improvements  in  other  dairy  products  have 
come  from  the  National  Dairy  Laboratories. 
Some  have  helped  to  meet  pressing  problems 
of  military  supply  —  and  others  are  ready 
now  for  the  peaceful  post-war  years. 


Dedicated  to  the  wider  use  and  better  under- 
standing of  dainj  products  a.s-  human  food 
.  .  .  as  a  base  for  the  development  of  neio 
products  and  viaterials  .  .  .  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and   in    the    towns   a)id  cities    of   Amrrira. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS      CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


64 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


er  courage  lives  xyoday 


Dressed  as  a   man,    Dehorah  Sampson  Crannefi 

vol untcerea    her   services    in    the    American 

^     I\crolutionary    VTar  in   1773,    She   fought    with 

V^-i't"  and  fervor  ana  was  twice  wounded   before 

net  identity  was  discovered  and  she 

tvas   given    an    honorable    discharge 

by  General  Washington. 


!       U^ 


Today,    evcrytiiing    possinle    is    done    so    that 

women  may  reauily  join  tlie  armed  services. 

rliey  are  welcome  necause  tney  are  women, 

and  as   such,   are  lending  loveliness  and 

graciousness    as    well    as    courage    and 

competence  to  eacii  jon  tiiey  undertake.  The 

courage  of  Dehorah  Gannett  is  symtolized 

ty    every    one    or    these    women    in    the 

armed  forces  and  on  the  home  front 

who   desires  to  he  useful  to  her 

country,  and  is  determined  to 

be  lovely  at  the  same  time. 

Avon  s  patriotic  pledge  is  to  pave  the 

way  to  new  loveliness,  a  loveliness 

that  hecomes   an   integral  part  of  your 

charm.  The   Avon   way  of   selecting 

exquisite   heauty  aids    appeals   to 

busy    women    everywhere    hecause 

they  are   purchased  unhurriedly 

ana  pleasantly  in  the  home  — 

hrought  there  by  a  friendly 

Avon  representative. 


BE  HOSTESS    TO   LOVELINESS 


B 


^■*f.- 


AT     RADIO     CITY         Nrw     YORK 

Cofiyrii/ht  IltH,  Avon  Products,  Ino. 


(Continued  from  Page  62) 

She  stirred  uneasily  on  the  settee.  "  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  I  am  no  longer  angry  at  you. 
I  think  I  understand  you  a  little  now." 

"Yes,  I  think  you  do.  Would  you  grow 
angry  again  if  I  said  that  I  also  understand 
you?" 

She  raised  her  eyebrows.  "Why  should 
that  anger  me?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  feel  that  you  want  peo- 
ple to  keep  their  distance,  that  you  stop 
them  from  knowing  you." 

"Apparently  I  didn't  stop  you." 

"No,  you  have  no  secrets  from  me,  Scott. 
I  know  everything  about  you." 

She  studied  the  pattern  of  the  rug.  Was  it 
true?  It  might  well  be.  He  was  not  simple 
and  gentle  and  unsuspecting.  He  was  not 
well-bred  enough  to  forget  the  Paige  money, 
as  they  themselves  forgot  it.  He  was  not 
gentleman  enough  to  pretend  that  she 
hadn't  heard  bugles  blow  at  the  mere  touch 
of  his  hand  on  hers. 

"I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Paige's  cousin  now." 

"Yes,  you  must." 

She  did  not  sleep  that  night.  She  was 
back  again  at  the  old  business  of  tossing 
from  side  to  side  and  going  at  last  to  her 
window  to  watch  the  dawn  arrive. 

Something  had  happened.  She  had  met 
Bleeker.  It  was  not,  she  said  to  herself,  that 
she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  That  was  im- 
possible. It  was  only  that  she  was  frightened 
because  Bleeker  was  a  man.  Conlon  was  a 
boy.  Suppose  after  she  had  married  Conlon 
she  met  a  man  with  whom  she  really  fell  in 
love?   She  had  never  considered  this  before. 

She  thought  about  postponing  the  wed- 
ding. She  thought  about  the  feelings  of 
Conlon  and  his  family.  Their  friends  and 
relatives  had  gathered.  Everything  was  in 
readiness.  Everything  but  the  bride's  state 
of  mind.  Well,  that  was  a  small  thing. 

Conlon  and  she  were  married  in  an  ex- 
quisite and  impressive  ceremony.  The  news- 
papers said  that  no  one  who  witnessed  the 
beautiful  wedding  would  ever  forget  it. 
"After  the  ceremony  there  was  a  reception 
at  the  old  Ransford  house,  which  will  be  the 
home  of  the  bridal  pair." 

Bleeker  didn't  come  to  the  reception. 
Scott  didn't  like  to  ask  why  he  hadn't  come. 
Presently  she  heard  Mrs.  Paige  explain  to 
someone  that  Bleeker  had  been  called  back 
to  New  York.  "Heaven  knows  when  we'll 
see  him  again.  He  goes  to  far-off  places  and 
stays  forever." 

Scott  went  upstairs  and  closed  her  door. 
She  was  supposed  to  be  changing  into  trav- 
eling clothes.  But  when  she  finally  per- 
mitted Mrs.  Dodge  to  come  in  and  help  her, 
she  was  still  in  her  wedding  gown. 

There  were  six  well-trained  servants  again 
in  the  old  Ransford  house.  Mrs.  Dodge  was 
in  command,  and  the  establishment  ran  on 
carefully  oiled  wheels.  The  house  had  needed 
complete  redecorating.  There  was  a  new 
heating  system,  a  kitchen  glittering  with 
tiled  walls  and  a  garage  for  a  half-dozen  cars. 

Entertaining  was  done  once  more  in  the 
Ransford  house.  The  young  Paiges  went 
everywhere,  did  everything,  and  yet  there 
were  those  who  did  not  believe  they  were 
happy.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Dodge  was  ques- 
tioned about  it,  but  her  lips  grew  tight. 

People  said  that  Scott  was  seeing  Mr. 
Paige's  lawyers  nowadays  instead  of  himself 
or  Conlon.  They  said  Mrs.  Paige  couldn't 
hire  or  fire  a  maid  without  her  son's  wife 
approving  the  transaction.  It  was  well 
known  that  the  Paige  girls  were  terrified  of 
horses,  but  that  Scott  made  them  ride. 

"That's  ridiculous,"  Mr.  Wingate  told 
his  wife.  "Why  would  Scott  make  them 
ride,  and  how  could  she  possibly  force  them 
to  do  it?" 

"Well,  the  story  goes  that  Scott  thought 
them  too  pale  and  listless  and  recommended 
riding.  Then  she  picked  out  horses  that  she 
thought  proper  for  them  and  bought  them 
for  Christmas  presents  for  the  girls." 

"But  how  on  earth  could  she  make " 

"She  just  gets  nasty  if  she  doesn't  get  her 
way.  It  would  kill  the  girls  to  have  her  angry 
at  them.  If  they  don't  ride  she  won't  see 
them  or  speak  to  them." 

"That's  nonsense,"  Mr.  Wingate  said. 


"But  it's  true.  She  bosses  everyone,  in- 
cluding you,  and  don't  tell  me  that  isn't  so!" 

Mr.  Wingate  told  her  nothing.  He  went, 
instead,  to  call  on  Scott. 

She  looked  up  as  he  entered  the  dainty 
little  room  she  used  for  an  office.  "Sit  down," 
she  invited.  "How  are  you?  What  brings 
you  a-calling?  Nothing  bad,  I  hope." 

"Oh.  no.  Purely  social.  How's  Conlon, 
Scott?" 

"He's  fine.   He's  opening  a  shop." 

"Yes,  I  heard.   Does  he  like  that?" 

"Well,  naturally.  It's  antiques,  you  know. 
Floyd  Hannock  is  an  authority  on  antiques 
and  couldn't  quite  afford  to  open  the  sort  of 
shop  that  stood  a  chance  of  success.  So  I 
thought  it  would  be  nice  for  Conlon  to  go  in 
with  him.  It'll  give  Conlon  something  to 
do." 

"Did  he  feel  the  need  of  something  to 
do?" 

She  looked  at  Mr.  Wingate  in  perplexity. 
"Certainly  he  did." 

Wasn't  there  something  once  about 
Conlon  studying  art?" 

"He  wouldn't  be  any  good  at  that. 
Antiques  are  much  better  for  him."  She 
smiled  pleasantly.  "He's  having  fun  getting 
the  shop  ready." 

Mr.  Wingate  did  not  smile  back.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  good  old  days  when  women 
kept  strictly  out  of  men's  lives  except  by  in- 
vitation. "How  are  the  rest  of  the  Paiges?" 

"Fine.  Just  fine." 

"I  hear  you've  had  the  girls  out  riding." 

Scott's  mouth  curled  with  grim  amuse- 
ment. 'T'vehad  them  out  sitting  on  horses," 
she  corrected.  "They  can't  ride."  . 

"Then  why  do  they  go  out  at  all?   Arcj 
you.  by  any  chance,  browbeating  them?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I  am.  You  have  to  brow- 
beat the  Paiges  into  doing  what's  best  for 
them." 

"Who  judges  what's  best  for  them. 
Scott?" 

"Well,  most  times  I  do.  I'm  the  only  om 
with  any  ability  to  make  decisions." 

Mr.  Wingate  said,  "I  feel  sorry  for  Con 
Ion's  sisters.  If  they're  afraid  of  horses  the3 
shouldn't  be  made  to  ride." 

"Good  heavens,  they're  not  children, 
don't  punish  them  if  they  disobey." 

"Yes,  you  do,  Scott."  She  opened  he 
mouth  to  protest,  but  he  went  on:  "I'v 
known  you  a  long  while.  You  give  advic 
and  a  person  is  free  to  disregard  it,  but  if  h 
does  you  are  finished  with  him.  That's 
strong  punishment  to  people  who  love  you. 

"That's  silly.  The  girls  can  stop  riding 
they  like.    Only  they're  crazy  if  they  d( 
They    need    the    air    and    exercise."     Sf 
paused.    "Mr.  Wingate,    the    Paiges    Io\ 
someone  else  to  decide  everything  for  them." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Oh,  definitely." 

"And  if  they  don't  take  your  advice?"  j^ 

"Well,  I'm  human,  Mr.  Wingate.    Su^jj 
pose  someone  bothers  you  and  takes  \^^ 
your  time  and  asks  a  million  questions  a^L'"" 
then  does  as  he  pleases  anyway?   Does  th^^.  j,"' 
make  you  feel  all  warm  and  glowing  towa-^  jy 
the  person?" 

"No,  it  doesn't." 

"There  you  3re,  then." 

He  left  her  a  little  while  later.  As 
walked  toward  the  door  he  found  that 
talk  with  Scott  had  cleared  up  nothing. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  Scott  said,  "By  1 
way,  I  have  some  news." 

'  ■  News  ?  Good  or  bad  ? ' ' 

"The  very  best.  I'm  going  to  havel 
child." 

He  set  down  his  brief  case  and  clasped  i 
hand.  "That's  wonderful.  I'm  very  hap 
for  you." 

He  went  away,  hoping  that  the  en 
would  be  a  girl.  It  would  be  possible,! 
thought,  for  a  girl  to  have  the  spirit  crusl 
entirely  out  of  her  and  still  be  saved 
beauty  and  sweetness  from  becoming 
thoroughgoing  nonentity.  With  a  boy 
would  be  different.  As  it  turned  out,  1 
Wingate  was  needlessly  concerned  about 
sex  of  Scott's  baby. 

Conlon  didn't  like  being  in  the  anti 
business.    He  didn't  like  business  of  . 


I 

'.ild 


sak 

4a(l 

1 


f 


You'll  Marry  Me  at  Ncxin 

kind,  and  the  antiques,  the  people  who 
hunted  them  and  his  partner,  Mr.  Floyd 
Hannock,  all  bored  him  prodigiously.  Con- 
Ion  had  been  in  the  shop  less  than  two 
months  when  Scott  realized  that  he  was  un- 
happy. He  had  been  a  trifle  sullen  and  diffi- 
cult to  talk  to  for  some  time.  Even  the 
thought  of  the  baby  had  not  delighted  him 
as  she  had  expected. 

^^  "It  will  be  bom  in  the  spring,"  she  said. 
"Maybe  on  our  anniversary." 
There  was  a  little  edge  to  his  voice.  "Oh, 

It  definitely  will  be  born  on  our  anniversary.' 
If  that's  what  you  want." 
She  was  puzzled.  It  wasn't  like  Conlon  to 

say  disagreeable  things. 
They  were  driving  out  to  the  Maple  Leaf 

Stables  when  she  brought  up  the  subject  of 

the  antique  shop.   She  didn't  want  him  to 

be  unhappy.  There  was  no  point  in  his  going 

on  with  something  that  he  disliked. 
She  said,  "Conlon,  you  don't  have  to  go 

on  with  the  shop  if  you  don't  like  it." 
"That's  awfully  nice  of  you,  Scott."    It 

would  have  been  less  unpleasant  if  he  had 

barked  at  her,  but  his  voice  was  soft  and 

jentle. 
"You  needn't  be  nasty.  I  just  want  to  tell 

/ou  It's  silly  to  go  on  with  it  if  you  hate  it. 

)f  course  the  only  point  in  doing  it  was  to 

;ive  you  something  to  do." 
'T  could  learn  to  tat,"  he  said. 
"Don't  be  silly.  I'm  trying  to  be  serious, 
have  another  plan." 
"I'm  sure  you  have,  Scott." 
"What's    the   matter   with    you    today 

bnlon?" 

He  drove  with  his  eyes  fixed  hard  on  the 
)ad  ahead.  He  did  not  answer.  She  looked 
:  him  and  his  face  was  white.  She  had 
Jver  seen  him  angry  before. 

"What  are  you  sore  about?"  she  asked 
What  have  I  done  or  said  that " 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it  now."  The 

r  moved  along  faster,  as  though  Conlon 

ere  trying  to  run  from  something,  as  though 

ly  in  speed  could  he  find  relief  from  the 

lite-hot  anger. 

Scott  glanced  at  the  dashboard.  "You're 

ing  too  fast." 

He  paid  no  attention.  The  car  flew  on. 

lou'RE   pretty   childish,   you   know,    to 

lige  discussing  the  thing  that's  made 'you 

[d.     I   don't  have  much  patience  with 

fldishness,  Conlon." 

:  The  car  picked  up  speed. 

I' We're  coming  to  a  turn,"  she  warned 

I  ow  down." 

lie  did  not  seem  to  care  that  she  was 

aking.  The  turn  was  only  a  few  yards 
fad  now. 

I  told  you  to  slow  down!"  she  cried 
le  you  crazy?  Slowdown!" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


ying  in  her  room  in  the  hospital,  she 
sv  that  she  was  responsible  for  killing 
ion  and  his  child.  It  had  been  days  be- 
they  had  told  her,  but  she  had  known 
long  that  Conlon  was  dead  and  that  she 
Id  never  have  a  child  of  her  own.  The 
ble  pain  that  she  had  known  in  her  few 


LINDA  WALTER 

"What  makes  you  think  your 
monkey    came    in     here?" 


conscious  moments  was  no  sharper  than  the 
realization  of  what  she  had  done.  The  physi- 
cal torture  had  passed  at  last  and  there  was 
a  too  cheerful  nurse  who  kept  saying  "  We're 
really  perfectly  fine  now." 

Scott  lay  very  quiet  on  her  bed  and 
thought  of  what  Mrs.  Dodge  had  once  said 
of  Conlon:  "He'll  get  tired  of  being  ordered 
about  one  of  these  days." 

She  knew  that  Conlon  would  be  alive  to- 
day had  she  been  the  sort  of  woman  to  say 
"You're  going  so  fast  that  I'm  frightened' 
Please  don't  go  so  fast."  But  she  hadn't  been 
that  kind  of  woman.  She  had  shouted  a 
command  to  him  and  he  who  had  taken  so 
many  from  her  had  been  in  a  mood  to  rebel 
He  had  shown  his  independence  by  dying. 

She  lay  in  the  hospital  a  long  while  and 
had  plenty  of  time  to  think.  She  wept  for 
Conlon  and  for  the  baby  and  knew  that  she 
had  destroyed  them  both. 

And  she  said  to  herself.  It  isn't  my  fault. 
I  became  a  domineering  woman  because  fate 
saddled  me  with  a  parcel  of  brainless  angels 
like  Mrs.  Dodge  and  the  Paiges.  I  couldn't 
help  being  the  person  I  am.  But  it  did  no 
good  to  tell  herself  stories,  and  after  a  while 
she  just  lay  there  weeping. 

Conlon's  family  came  as  soon  as  the  doc- 
tor thought  Scott  should  have  visitors.  The 
Paiges  wore  no  mourning,  not  even  in  their 
eyes.  Their  gallantry  was  almost  more  than 
she  could  bear.  She  wanted  to  tell  them  that 
she  had  killed  Conlon,  but  she  could  not  in- 
dulge herself  in  confession  at  their  expense 
She  lay  silent  and  hollow-eyed  against  her 
pillow  and  she  had  no  desire  to  get  out  of 
the  hospital  and  no  interest  in  recovering. 

In  the  end  they  did  not  consult  her  about 
leaving  the  hospital.  Mrs.  Dodge  and  two 
nurses  took  her  home  one  day.  The  doctors 
thought  they  understood  her  case.  These 
things  happened  sometimes,  they  told  each 
other;  a  woman  loses  her  child  and  is  so 
gnef-stricken  that  she  does  not  care  to  go  on 
And  of  course  Scott  had  also  lost  her  hus- 
band. She  must  be  returned  to  old  surround- 
ings and  little  by  little  forced  to  enter  life 
again. 

It  was  not  easy.  She  did  not  care  to  co- 
operate. She  wept  too  much  and  ate  too 
little,  and  the  doctors  wondered  if  she  would 
ever  be  a  sane  and  active  young  woman 
again. 

Mrs.  Paige  brought  Scott  some  tulips  one 
day  and  sat  down  beside  her  in  the  sunroom. 
"Dear,  I'm  in  the  most  peculiar  predica- 
ment.  Do  you  remember  Bleeker?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  him."  She  remembered 
him  well.  He  had  said  the  Paiges  mustn't 
be  hurt. 

"He's  staying  with  us.  He  came  back 
from  the  Basque  country,  wherever  that  is, 
when— to  see  us.  He's  been  here  quite  a 
while  and  he  doesn't  want  to  leave  without 
seeing  you.  He  made  me  promise  to  ask  you 
to  let  him  come  for  a  few  minutes.  You  can 
say  no,  of  course,  Scott." 

"What  does  he  want  to  say  to  me?" 
"Oh,  there's  nothing  he  wants  to  say  to 
you,  dear.   He  just  wants  to  see  you.  He's 

fond  of  us  all  and "  Mrs.  Paige's 

voice  trailed  off  into  nothingness. 

Scott  said,  "Tell  him  he  can  come. 
Any  time  will  be  all  right." 

Mrs.  Paige  looked  so  pleased  that 
Scott  was  glad  she  had  decided  to 
see  Bleeker.  She  did  not  want  to  see 
him.    He    would    talk   about    the 
Basque  country  in  an  effort  to  take 
her  out  of  herself.    Or  he  would  talk 
about  her,  and  that  she  wanted  less. 
Bleeker  came  at  five  in  the  after- 
noon. He  sat  down  in  the  large  green 
wicker  chair  that  Mrs.  Paige  had 
occupied  and  said,  "What  are  you 
trying  to  do  to  yourself?" 
"What  do  you  mean?" 
"  You  know  what  I  mean.  Where 
are   those    riding   breeches?    Why 
don't  you  get  off  that  couch  and  be- 
have yourself?" 

She  would  not  give  him  the  satis- 
faction of  replying.  She  lay  back  and 
looked  at  him  for  a  time.  Then  she 
said,  "You  can  leave  any  time 
you're  ready." 


65 


vo^ernal 
o^ection 
V  -.5  more        ..,  ^ 


SMITH 


/ 


More  and  more  women  are  turning  to  Meds  for  extra 
comfort!  Meds'  soft  COTTON  is  smooth  and  highly 
absorbent  for  extra  protection!  The  Meds  insorber  was 
perfected  by  a  woman  doctor  to  assure  the  right  size  and 
shape  for  both  comfort  and  safety! 

•  Real  COTTON  for  extra  comfort 

•  "SAFETY-WELL'  for  extra  security 

•  APPLICATORS  for  daintiness 


FOR    10   IN   APPLICATORS 

Economy  package-four  months'  supply-40  for  65c! 

Meds"    exclusive    "SAFET\'-WELL" 
absorbs  so  much  ///ore,  so  much  faster! 
Extra  protection  for  you ! 
*  .*  * 

Meds'  fine  soft  COTTON  can  absorb 
up  to  three  times  its  own  weight  in 
moisture!  The  scientifically-shaped  in- 
sorber expands  s:c,/f/y  and  co/,/fortably 
-adapting  itself  instantly  to  individual 
requirements. 


Because  of  these  dainty,  carefully  designed 
applicators,  Meds  i In  i  l  bh   iiiiii|,  ,..  j 


66 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


A  Toast  To  Health 

Eat  wisely  for  radiant  good  health.  Make  sure  your  family's  diet  is  prop- 
erly balanced.  Let  each  day's  meals  include  the  7  basic  food  groups.  Whole 
grain  products.  Leafy  green  or  yellow  vegetables.  Meat  or  eggs.  Oranges, 
tomatoes  or  cabbage.  Other  vegetables  and  fruits.  Butter  or  margarine. 
Milk  or  milk  products.  Serve  some  of  each,  every  day— and  top  it  all  off 
with  cool,  sparkhng  Canada  Dry  Ginger  Ale !  There's  wonderful  refresh- 
ment, deUcious  flavor  in  every  taste-tingling  sip  —  it's  invigorating! 

Just  as  soon  as  conditions  permit,  we  hope  to  be  able  to  fully  meet  the  ever- 
increasing  demand  for  Canada  Dry  Ginger  Ale... and  again  make  "The  Cham- 
pagne of  Ginger  Ales"  available  to  you  in  the  handy  50  individual  bottle. 

CANADi^^DRY 

''The  Champagne  of  Ginger  Ales'' 


■kOMAS.VCr  .'iltfnebMMH 


so  DELICIOUS,  SO  PURE.  SO  REFRESHING. ..ENJOYED  THE  WORLD  OVER 


"I  know,  but  I'm  not  yet  ready.  Hon- 
estly, Scott,  you're  killing  yourself  and 
breaking  everybody's  heart.  Why  don't  you 
make  the  effort  to  get  up  and  live?" 

"Maybe  I  don't  want  to." 

He  looked  at  her  very  steadily.  She  was 
afraid  of  those  sober  eyes.  He  would  know 
that  Conlon  had  not  been  the  man  to  inspire 
a  soul-shattering  love.  He  would  know  that 
women  recover  from  losing  babies  they  have 
never  seen.  He  would,  by  ruling  out  one 
thing  and  then  another,  come  at  last  to  the 
truth.  He  would  know  that  she  was  suffering 
remorse. 

"Scott,  you  have  to  pull  yourself  to- 
gether." 

She  smiled  a  little.  "I'd  expected  less 
threadbare  phrasing  from  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  a  master  of 
threadbare  phrasing.  Scott,  the  Paiges  have 
enough  trouble.  They  want  to  see  you  your- 
self again.  Give  them  a  break." 

She  lay  back  against  the  pillows.  "I  can't 
<et  up.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  com- 
pletely disinterested  in  every  phase  of  life." 

"Are  you  really  ill?" 

"No.  Not  in  the  sense  that  I  need  med- 
icine. But  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here  until 
I  feel  like  getting  up." 

"That  may  be  never." 

"That  may  be  never,"  she  agreed.  "As  a 
matter  of  cold,  cruel  honesty,  Bleeker,  I 
probably  enjoy  the  pampering  I'm  getting. 
I'm  just  behaving  like  a  spoiled  brat.  Why 
don't  you  go  away  and  let  me  alone?" 

He  went  away,  but  he  did  not  leave  town. 
Instead,  he  went  to  see  Mr.  Wingate.  After 
that  Mr.  Wingate  saw  Scott's  doctors.  They 
listened  and  shrugged  their  shoulders.  It  was 
worth  a  chance.  The  girl  was  in  a  fair  way 
to  sink  into  chronic  melancholia. 

One  day  Bleeker  drove  up  to  the  Ransford 
house,  entered  the  sun  parlor  and  laid  a 
warm,  soft  bundle  in  Scott's  arms. 

She  looked  down  at  the  baby  and  then 
away  again.  "You  don't  understand, 
Bleeker,"  she  said.  "I  didn't  want  a  baby. 
I  wanted  my  baby." 

"That  will  be  your  baby  if  you  choose, 
Scott.  There  is  no  one  who  wants  her." 

Scott  looked  back  at  the  baby.  It  was 
very  small  and  helpless.  She  wondered  what 
would  become  of  it  if  she  handed  it  back  to 
Bleeker.  He  sat  down  and  talked  of  other 
things.  He  stayed  for  twenty-five  minutes 
and  Scott  held  the  baby  all  the  while.  When 
at  last  she  gave  it  back  to  him  her  arms  felt 
cold  and  empty. 

"  Is  the  mother  unable  to  care  for  it?  "  she 
asked. 

"So  I  hear."  It  was  amazing  how  ten- 
derly, how  capably  he  held  the  little  thing. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  have  a  few  hours 
to  think  about  it?" 

lou  could  have  longer  than  that.  Go 
ahead,  make  up  your  mind."  She  had  al- 
ready made  up  her  mind  and  Bleeker  knew 
it,  but  he  walked  out  of  the  room  with  the 
baby.  He  took  it  to  Mrs.  Paige.  "Keep  this 
for  Scott,  will  you?  She'll  want  it  back  in 
about  an  hour." 

Scott  got  up  and  went  to  see  the  baby's 
mother. 

Mr.  Wingate  objected  strongly  to  this. 
"It's  never  done,  Scott.  The  mother 
shouldn't  know  where  the  baby  is.  She 
doesn't  want  the  baby  now,  but  someday 
she  might.  Then  she'll  come  asking  for  her 
child  back  and  making  scenes." 

"I  won't  refuse,  Mr.  Wingate.  If  the 
mother's  intentions  and  her  situation  are 
good,  I  don't  see  that  any  power  on  earth, 
including  adoption  papers,  should  be  strong 
enough  to  keep  her  child  from  her.  If  she's 
an  unsuitable  mother,  the  adoption  papers 
and  I  will  be  equal  to  the  job." 

The  baby's  mother  was  little  and  slim  and 
rather  like  a  flower.  She  asked  at  once  if  the 
baby  were  thriving,  and  immediately  she 
was  embarrassed  and  confused.  "I  forgot. 
I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  but  I  can't  help 
being  interested." 

"Of  course  you  can't." 

"Well,  it  seems  a  bit  of  cheek  for  me  to 
ask,  as  though  I  didn't  think  you  were  tak- 
ing good  care  of  Cherry.  That's  what  I 


called  her — Cherry.  Of  course  you'll  change 
her  name.  She's  your  baby  now,  of  course — 
or  almost.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  asking 
about  her."  ^, 

Scott  shook  her  head. 

"And  you'll  want  to  ask  about  me,  no 
doubt.  I've  been  a  waitress  in  families  and 
I  helped  with  the  sewing.  I'm  well-bred, 
madam.  My  grandfather  was  an  officer  in 
the  British  army  in  India." 

"That's  interesting,"  Scott  said,  "but  I 
only  want  to  look  at  you  and  talk  to  you. 
I'm  not  curious  about  the  baby's  blood- 
lines." 

"I   thought  you  might  be,   madam.     I 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  we're  good  people — 
on  both  sides.   It's  only  in  the  baby's  inter- 
ests that  I'm  giving  her  up." 
•   "I'm  sure  of  it." 

Ihere  was  a  long  pause.  Then,  "She's  a 
sweet  little  thing,  isn't  she,  madam?"  And 
the  two  of  them  stood  in  the  neat  little 
furnished  room  and  wept  because  the  baby 
was  a  sweet  little  thing  and  because  the 
world  was  hard.  "You'll  never  hear  from 
me,  you  know,  madam.  I'm  going  to  New 
York,  and  from  there  I'll  take  a  boat  and 
go  home.  You  mustn't  worry  that  I'll  ever 
be  a  nuisance  to  you.   I'm  not  that  sort." 

"Of  course  you  aren't." 

They  stood  silently  looking  at  each  other 
for  a  time.  "There'sonlyone  thing,  madam." 

"What  is  that?" 

The  girl  flushed.  "  I  don't  know,  of  course, 
what  your  plans  are — I  mean  about  telling 
the  baby  someday  that  she's  adopted.  But 
if  you  do  tell  her,  would  you  mind  saying 
that  I  was  pretty  and  nice  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing?  It  means  a  lot  to  a  girl  to  know 
that  her  mother  wouldn't  have  shamed  her." 

The  baby  was  good  for  Scott.  Everyone 
noticed  it  at  once.  She  had  something  in 
which  to  be  interested,  something  for  which 
to  live.  She  would  have  liked  Bleeker  to 
know,  but  he  was  gone  again — back  to  the 
Basque  country,  perhaps.  He  had  left  no 
address. 

"I  think  the  southwest  suite  is  best  for 
the  nursery,"  Mrs.  Dodge  said.  "Let's  have 
it  done  in  pink." 

Scott  stared.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  the  news, 
Mrs.  Dodge?" 

"What  news?" 

"We're  going  to  move.  I  thought  I  told 
you." 

She  was  selling  the  house.  It  was  going  to 
be  torn  down.  It  was  1925  and  the  world 
was  full  of  money,  modernistic  furniture, 
Pola  Negri,  Gloria  Swanson  and  The  Big 
Parade. 

"Your  father  could  have  had  a  great  deal 
out  of  life,  Scott,  if  he  hadn't  been  set  on 
saving  this  house  for  you." 

"  I  know,  but  we  mustn't  stand  in  the  way 
of  progress." 

"Progress!"  Mrs.  Dodge's  eyes  flashed. 
"Do  you  call  it  progress  to  let  them  tear 
down  a  landmark  ?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself.  Selling  your  birthright  for  a 
mess  of  pottage.  I  never  thought  you'd  join 
in  the  mad  dance  for  the  ready  dollar." 

Scott  did  not  answer  and  Mrs.  Dodge 
knew  that  the  discussion  had  come  to  an 
end  and  would  never  be  reopened.  She  would 
have  been  doubly  mystified  had  she  known 
how  Scott  felt  about  selling  the  house.  Mrs. 
Dodge  never  saw  the  tears  nor  heard  Scott 
weeping  in  the  night.  She  had  loved  the 
house  too  well.  Had  she  loved  it  less,  Con- 
lon might  still  be  alive,  for  she  would  not 
have  married  him.  It  was  childish,  perhaps,  ,  ,",; 
she  thought,  but  she  could  not  go  on  owning 
the  house  that  she  would  have  eventually 
lost  had  it  not  been  for  Conlon. 

Mr.  Wingate  was  not  shocked  at  her  sell- 
ing the  house.  He  thought  it  a  sound  idea. 

He  did,  however,  raise  quite  a  howl  when 
he   discovered  that   the  money  from   the  |jj.* 
house  was  to  be  given  to  Mrs.  Paige's  fa-  "  * 
vorite  charities.  "Not  all  of  it,  Scott !" 

"Yes,  all  of  it.  It  will  make  Mrs.  Paige 
happy." 

"A  quarter  of  it  would  make  her  happy." 

"Let's  make  her  four  times  as  happy, | 
Let's  give  it  all."  ^ 

Of  course  she  had  her  way.  The  money 
was  hers.  She  wanted  only  the  income  from 


bit  I 


ittitp 


ou'LL  Marry  Me  at  Noon 

le  Ransford  estate,  but  there  was  no  way 
[  convincing  the  Paiges  of  this  without 
urting  them  and  causing  them  to  wonder, 
he  was  Conlon's  widow  and  so  what  had 
een  his  was  hers. 

"It's  in  good  solid  things,  you  know, 
cott,"  Mr.  Paige  said.  "It'll  be  something 
herry  will  have  all  her  life,  no  matter  what 
appens." 

It  always  touched  Scott  to  see  that  they 
lought  of  Cherry  as  Conlon's  child.  They 
anted  to  believe  that  he  lived  on  in  the 
ttle  blue-eyed  baby. 

Mrs.  Dodge  got  the  pink  nursery  she  had 
anted  for  Cherry,  only  it  was  in  another 
Duse.   It  was  a  four-bedroom  house. 

Scott  pretended  great  enthusiasm  for  its 
)mpactness  and  cuteness.  "Look,  Mrs. 
'odge,  all  white  woodwork.  It's  a  relief, 
n't  it,  from  that  heavy,  dark,  carved  stuff?  " 

Mrs.  Dodge  glared  at  her.  "Yes.  A  relief 
it  eating  a  gingersnap  instead  of  guinea 
m  under  glass." 

Scott  laughed.  She  stopped  trying  to 
ake  Mrs.  Dodge  like  the  house.  She  didn't 
ce  it  much  herself.  Well,  what  does  it  mal- 
r?  Scott  said  to  herself.  From  here  on  no 
>use  will  ever  be  home  again  anyway. 

They  were  pulling  down  the  Ransford 
)use.  There  was  a  picture  on  the  front  page 

the  newspaper.  Scott  pushed  her  break- 
st  aside  because  she  didn't  want  it,  and 
ter  a  time  she  went  upstairs  to  the  baby, 
le  didn't  feel  like  riding  this  morning. 

The  nursery  with 

3    white    bunny —  • 

bbits  was  a  haven 

peace  and  happi- 
iss.  Scott  always 
und  that  once  in- 

le  the  door  it  was 

Detter  world.  The 

•by  would  cling  to 

r  finger  and  Scott 

)uld    feel    strong 

d  happy.  Between 

i  nursery  and  the 

•■bles,  I  have  every- 

'ng  I  need,  every- 

fig   I   want,   she 

3ught.    And    she 

mdered  why  she 

d  so  much  from 

;.   Certainly  she 

d  not  deserved  it. 


Mrs.  Dodge  came 
me  one  day  with 
ad  story.  She  had 
m  visiting  a  fam- 
whom  she  had 
Dwn  for  years  and  it  seemed  they  knew  a 
man  who  had  a  friend  who  knew  a  man 

0  knew  someone  in  terrible  trouble.  "He's 
acquaintance  of  Harold.  Harold  is  a  friend 
Martin's  who's  a  friend  of  Florence,  the 

1  the  Hadleys  know.  His  wife  died  of 
iumonia  a  few  weeks  ago." 

'That's  a  shame." 

'  It's  terrible.  She  left  a  little  girl  two  and 

lalf  years  old.    He's  almost  crazy.    He 

't  take  care  of  her." 

Hs'll  learn,"  Scott  said.  "It's  sad  when 

appens  that  way,  but  it  often  does,  and 

father  makes  a  few  rearrangements  and 

ks  it  out." 

Unfortunately,  this  father  can't  make 

■rangements.  About  a  year  ago  he  was  in 

aut— in  some  kind  of  an  accident  and 

;  hopelessly  crippled.  The  mother  was  a 

etary  and  she  earned  enough  to  keep 

n,  but  now They  say  it's  a  beauti- 

ittle  girl." 

I'HAT  did  you  say  the  man's  name  was?  " 
Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  Hadleys  know 

■ence,  and  she  knows  someone  who " 

Mrs.  Dodge,  why  on  earth  did  you  bring 

:his  up  if  you  didn't  expect  me  to  do 

ething  about  it?  And  if  you  did  expect 

to  do'  something  about  it,  why  didn't 

find  out  the  man's  name?" 

Irs.  Dodge  was  deeply  injured.  "I  didn't 

Kt  you  to  do  anything  about  it.  What 

d  you  do?" 

Well,  a  little  money  can  help  a  lot  at 

■s.   Maybe  we  could  get  treatments  for 

father,  or " 


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67 


"He's  had  all  kinds  of  doctors  and  treat- 
ments. He  can't  live  more  than  another 
year  or  so.   It's  some  sort  of " 

"You  didn't  say  he  wasn't  going  to  live." 

"Oh.  didn't  I?  Well,  he  isn't.  So  you  see 
the  child  will  need  a  home  and  someone  to 
love  her  and  watch  over  her." 

Scott  nodded.  "Yes,  she'll  need  all  that." 
She  went  upstairs  to  the  nursery.  She 
closed  the  door  behind  her  and  stayed  there 
for  an  hour  or  more.  When  she  came  down 
she  said,  "Mrs.  Dodge,  find  out  more  about 
that  man,  will  you?  Get  the  name  and  ad- 
dress." 

"It's  Edward  Garth,  833  Rincon  Road. 
I  called  the  Hadleys  while  you  were  up- 
stairs." 

"I  think  I'll  have  Mr.  Wingate  go  over 
there.  There  must  be  something  we  can  do." 

Mr.  WINGATE  returned  from  his  visit  to 
Rincon  Road  with  much  to  report.  The 
father  was  young,  intelligent  and  undoubt- 
edly had  been  able  and  industrious  before 
his  accident.  "He  wouldn't  let  me  bring  the 
child  to  call  on  you.  He  very  properly  said 
that  he  didn't  know  me  and  didn't  know 
where  I'd  take  the  little  girl.  I  didn't  men- 
tion your  name,  of  course." 

Scott  was  surprised  at  how  far  Mr.  Win- 
gate's  conversation  had  advanced.  "Then 
you  actually  discussed  adoption?" 

"Yes.  He  thinks  of  nothing  else  but  the 
child's  future.  If  you  like  the  child,  she's 
yours,  Scott.  He 
wants  nothing  but 
the  best  for  her,  and 
as  soon  as  he's  told 
by    someone    he 

trusts " 

A  sudden  thought 
came  to  Scott. 
"What's  going  to 
become  of  him?" 

"He'll  be  all 
right.  He's  a  war 
veteran.  They'll 
take  him  in  the  Vet- 
erans' Hospital  up- 
state and  look  after 
him  till  the  end. 
Think  how  relieved 
he'll  be  when  he 
finds  the  sort  of 
home  his  child  will 
get.  The  proper 
contacts  will  be  es- 
tablished. They'll 
show  you  the  child, 
then  they'll  con- 
vince him " 

"  They'll  convince  him !  I'll  convince  him. 
Good  heavens,  Mr.  Wingate,  the  man's  dy- 
ing. Do  you  want  him  to  lie  somewhere, 
wondering  what  sort  of  woman  is  mothering 
his  child?" 

"Dear,  you  behaved  very  foolishly  when 
you    exposed    your    identity    to    Cherry's 

mother.   Now,  please,  this  time " 

"This  time  it's  imperative  that  I  see  the 
man.  How  could  I  be  happy,  knowing  that 
he  has  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  death  and 
plague  himself  with  questions  about  his 
child's  new  mother?" 

Mr.  Wingate  shrugged.  "You  always 
know  best,  Scott,"  he  said  acidly. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  flew  out  of  the 
house  and  twenty  minutes  later  was  at  833 
Rincon  Road.  It  was  a  neat  little  house  m  a 
neat  little  neighborhood.  The  door  was 
opened  by  a  woman  in  a  gingham  house 
dress. 

"I  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Garth." 
"What  did  you  say  your  name  was?" 
"Mrs.  Paige." 

Scott  walked  in.  The  house  was  so  small 
that  when  she  was  in  the  tiny  foyer  the  en- 
tire living  room  was  no  secret  from  her.  She 
was  conscious  of  the  man  who  lay  on  the 
sofa  and  stared  curiously  at  her. 

"Mr.  Garth,  there's  a  Mrs.  Paige  to  see 
you." 

Scott  took  a  step  or  two  and  had  reached 
the  chintz-covered  sofa.  "How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Garth.  I'm  Scott  Paige.  My  call  is  a 
follow-up  on  the  one  you  had  this  morning 
from  Mr.  Wingate." 
"  I  thought  as  much." 


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68 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1Q45 


FIBS  Tampons  have 

gently  rounded  ends 

for  easier  insertion 

It's  like  finding  a 
tampon  made  espe- 
cially for  you  .  .  . 
that's  how  easy  it 
is  to  use  Fibs  Tam- 
pons for  internal 
sanitary  protection ! 

You  see,  Fibs  are 
different  from  ordi- 
nary tampons  .  .  .  dilTcrcnt  in  such  im- 
portant ways.  Because  unlike  all  IcadiTij; 
tampons  the  ends  of  Fibs  are  rounded, 
gently  tapered  to  ?nake  insertion  more 
comfortable.  Because  Fibs  and  only  Fibs 
are  "quilted"  for  greater  comfort  and 
extra  safety. 

So  next  time,  change  to  Fibs.  You, 
too,  will  say:  "At  last  I've  found  a  tampon 
that's  easier  to  use!" 


•T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pal.  Off. 


RT  nil  10<  STORES 

FOREST    CITY    PRODUCTS,   INC.,  CLEVELAND,  OHIO 


Scott  looked  at  the  very  white  face  and 
the  strongly  drawn  black  eyebrows.  The 
features  were  finely  cut,  and  even  the  hag- 
gardness  of  the  man's  face  did  not  hide  the 
fact  that  he  had  strength  and  character. 

"Mrs.  Paige,"  he  said,  "maybe  you're  a 
lawyer  too.  Maybe  you're  a  welfare  worker 
or  just  a  private  individual  who  sticks  her 
nose  into  everything  under  the  delusion  that 
she's  being  a  great  help  to  the  community. 
Whatever  you  are,  I  want  to  say  this  to 
you:  You  can  tell  the  lady  who  has  shown 
some  interest  in  my  child  that  I  want  to  see 
her.  I  don't  want  to  see  her  lawyer  or  her 
friends.   I  want  to  see  her." 

Scott  was  silent,  looking  at  the  man  on 
the  couch. 

"Go-back  and  tell  her  what  I've  said.  Tell 
her  that  if  she  wants  my  little  girl  I'll  have 
to  die  knowing  that  I  did  the  right  thing. 
She  has  to  come  here." 

He  lay  quietly  then  for  quite  a  time.  He 
was  tired.  Scott  sat  motionless,  waiting  for 
him  to  rest. 

Presently  he  turned  his  head  toward  her. 
"Was  there  something  else?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I  want  to  see  the  little  girl." 

"What  for?  She  isn't  merchandise,  you 
know.  You  can't  go  shopping  for  Mrs. 
Richwitch  and  go  back  and  tell  her  that  the 
article  consists  of  two  gray  eyes,  two  arms, 
two  legs,  and  so  on.  Please  go  now.  I'm  aw- 
fully tired." 

"Mr.  Garth,  I  want  to  see  the  little  girl." 

He  looked  at  Scott  for  a  long,  slow  mo- 
ment. Then  he  put  out  his  hand.  "I'm  sorry. 
It  took  me  a  long  while,  but  I  have  it  now. 
Why  didn't  you  speak  up?" 

"I  think  I  know  you  better,  Mr.  Garth, 
for  having  kept  quiet." 

They  smiled  at  each  other.  "Mrs.  Lind- 
say," he  called,  "will  you  bring  Linda  in?" 

The  woman  came,  leading  the  little  girl  by 
the  hand.  Linda  had  red  hair  and  soft,  white 
skin.    She  had  poise  and  dignity.    She 
came  into  the  room  without  a  moment  of 
shyness  for  the  visitor. 

"This  is  "  Edward  Garth  paused 

and  looked  at  Scott.  "  I've  never  made  this 
type  of  introduction  before,"  he  said  help- 
lessly. "  I  do  not  know  liow  to  name  either 
of  you.  Perhaps  she  will  not  be  Linda  to 
you.  And  perhaps  you'll  not  be  Mrs.  Paige 
to  her."  He  said  it  without  a  break  in  his 
voice  or  a  suspicious  glitter  in  his  eye.  He 
had  lost  all  but  courage. 

Scott  was  to  see  other  evidences  of  Garth 
courage.  There  was  a  day  weeks  later  when 
shecame  to  take  Linda  from  Edward  Garth. 
He  kissed  his  child  and  said,  "Good-by, 
darling,  be  a  g(K)d  girl."  That  was  all,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  whiter  than  usual. 

Scott  walked  to  the  door  with  her  hand 
in  the  child's.  Thank  the  Lord,  she  thought 
solemnly,  that  the  little  one  does  not  know 
what  this  parting  means. 

But  right  on  the  threshold  the  child 
turned  and  looked  back  at  her  father.  Then 
she  went  on  with  her  hand  in  Scott's. 

Ihe  pediatrician  who  checked  on  Cherry 
monthly  had  a  new  little  patient  now.  "  I 
wish,"  he  said  to  Scott,  "that  I'd  known 
you'd  take  another  child." 

"Why?" 

"In  about  a  week  there'll  be  one  that 
will  need  a  good  home.  You  know  Doctor 
Wheatley,  don't  you?" 

Scott  nodded.  Yes,  she  knew  Doctor 
Wheatley.  He  was  the  obstetrician  who 
had  been  engaged  to  deliver  her  own  baby, 
Conlon's  baby. 

"He  does  a  lot  of  charity  work,  you 
know .  He's  looking  after  a  girl  who's  going 
to  put  her  baby  up  for  adoption  when  it 
arrives.  Doctor  Wheatley's  sort  of  inquir- 
ing around  now." 

"  Do  people  actually  arrange  to  take  ba- 
bies they've  never  seen?  Unborn  babies?  " 

The  doctor  laughed.  "Every  time  a 
woman  has  a  baby,  that's  exactly  what 
she's  arranged  for." 

Scott  thought  no  more  about  the  matter 
till  a  month  later,  when  Doctor  Wheatley 
appeared  at  her  house  unexpectedly  one 
evening.  "That  baby's  almost  three  weeks 
old  now,  Scott.  You  could  see  it  and " 

"What  baby?" 


"The  one  Doctor  Roth  talked  to  you 
about." 

Scott  laughed.  "Look,  Doctor  Wheatley, 
you  know  I  can't  take  every  child  you're 
going  to  hear  about  who  needs  a  home." 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  know  that. 
I've  never  troubled  you  before.  This  time 
I'm  a  pest  because  I've  made  a  personal 
problem  of  this  girl.  You  see,  she's  alone  in 
the  world,  a  poor,  unfortunate  youngster 
who's  been  making  her  own  way  since  she 
was  fifteen.  She's  only  twenty  now." 

"A  housemaid?" 

' '  No.  She  was  working  in  some  night  club. 
In  the  chorus.  First  time  I  saw  her  she 
threatened  suicide.  I  had  to  use  a  lot  of 
psychology  to  bring  her  viewpoint  back  to 
normal.  I  promised  a  home  for  the  baby, 
and  somehow  I'm  going  to  make  that  prom- 
ise good." 

"Boy  or  girl?" 

"Girl." 

Scott  stood  up  and  began  to  move  rest- 
lessly about  the  room.  "You  know.  Doctor 
Wheatley,  I  never  thought  about  adopting  a 
child  or  children.  The  first  was  forced  on  me 
by  a  man  named  Bleeker.  The  second  was 
forced  on  me  by  Mrs.  Dodge,  and  now  you're 
trying  to  force " 

"That's  nonsense,  and  you  know  it.  No 
one  forced  those  children  on  you;  you  looked 
at  them  and  wanted  them.  That's  why 
they're  yours  and  that's  the  only  reason." 

"You  know,  doctor,  I'm  not  a  rich 
woman." 

"Money  is  of  no  importance  in  selecting  a 
home  for  a  child.  I  want  to  find  love  and 
intelligence  in  the  foster  mother.  That's 
what's  impxirtant.  Doctor  Roth  says  you're 
doing  a  marvelous  job  with  the  children." 

"I'm  trying  hard." 

"Will  you  just  look  at  this  little  one?" 

She  hesitated,  for  she  knew  that  in  an- 
swering him   she   was  making  a  decision 


about  taking  the  child.  It  would  be  impossi- 
ble for  her  to  look  at  a  helpless  little  thing 
who  needed  a  home  and  to  turn  away.  "You 
know.  Doctor  Wheatley,  I've  taken  on  a 
tremendous  responsibility  now.  I  — —" 

"You  were  born  for  responsibility,  Scott." 

The  nurse  from  Doctor  Wheatley's  office 
brought  the  baby  next  day.  "  Isn't  she  ador- 
able, Mrs.  Paige?" 

"No.  None  of  them  are  at  this  age." 
Scott  took  the  baby  from  the  nurse  and 
held  it  in  her  arms. 

This  time  no  one  objected  to  Scott's  visit- 
ing the  mother  of  the  child.  Mr.  Wingate 
knew  it  was  useless,  and  Doctor  Wheatley 
thought  it  a  splendid,  noble  gesture. 

The  mother  was  in  bed  in  a  small,  reason- 
ably priced  hotel  when  Scott  called.  "I'm 
still  taking  it  easy,"  she  explained.  "Push 
those  things  off  the  chair  and  sit  down." 

Scott  moved  a  dressing  gown  and  a  pair' 
of  stockings  to  another  chair.  She  sat  down 
and  looked  at  the  baby's  mother.  The  girl 
was  putting  red  polish  on  her  fingernails. 
Scott  saw  that  she  had  neglected  her  honey- 
colored  curls  of  late.  An  inch  of  mouse- 
cOlored  hair  had  grown  out  in  the  part. 

"  Don't  look  at  me.  I'm  a  mess.  I'm  just 
trying  to  get  myself  back  into  some  sort  of 
presentable  condition."  She  had  an  elfin 
face  with  one  dimple  that  gave  her  a  par- 
ticularly appealing  smile.  "How's  the  baby?" 

"Fine." 

"I'm  glad.  You  mustn't  think  I  don't  care 
about  her.  I'm  crazy  about  her,  but  I 
wanted  her  to  have  swell  things  in  life."  The 
girl  narrowly  appraised  Scott's  beautifully 
fitting  tailored  suit.  "You  know,  things  like 
you've  had." 

"We  all  want  swell  things  for  our  chil- 
dren." 

"And  I  want  to  get  a  couple  of  swell 

things  for  myself  too.     I'm  going  out  to 

(Continued  on  Page  70) 


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2001.  Scallop-Trimmed  Sweater.    A  slipover  with      1571. 

round  neck  and  bracelet  sleeves.   Size  16.   ,5c. 
1969.  Slip-On  Sweater  With  Stars.    Long  sleeves. 

Plain  stockinet  stitch  scattered  with  sequin 

stars.   Size  16.   5c. 


Knitted    Waistcoat    Trimmed    With    Si 

QUINS.   5c. 
Jeweled  Evening  Sweater.  Stitch  gives  effei 

of  basket  weaving,  5c. 
Sweater  With  Uplift  Front.    Round  nee 

bracelet  sleeves.    Size  16.    5c. 

ClOVERLEAF       APPLIQUfiD       SLIPOVER.         Hi 

round  neck,  short  sleeves.  Light  front  wi 
border  matching  the  dark  back  and  clov 
leaves  in  two  shades  appliqued  on  fror| 
Size  16.    5c. 

Dress  With  Cable-Stitch  Skirt.  Lo 
sleeves,  button-front  waist  with  roll  coll; 
Cable-stifch  skirt  has  8  gores.   Size  16.   5c 

Two-Piece  Dress.  Short  sleeves.  The  waist 
in  moss  stitch  with  a  ribbed  waistline.  T 
skirt  is  knitted  and  purled  to  give  the  eff«| 
of  unpressed  pleats.    Size  16.    5c. 

Two-Piece  Classic  Dress.  Long  sleev- 
small  turned-down  collar.  Buttoned-frol 
sweater  top  worn  with  a  belt.  Ribbj 
throughout.    Size  16.    5c. 

Youthful  Dressmaker  Dress.  Short  sleev| 
dirndl  skirt,  button-front  waist  with  a  y 
in  a  raised-stitch  pattern.   Size  16.   5c 

Classic  Tailored  Dress.  Long  sleeves.  Hi 
ton-front  waist  with  a  turned-down  coll 
Knitted  in  an  attractive  stitch  in  2  piec 
but  worn  like  a  1-piece  dress.  Size  16.  5c. 

Knitted  Sweater  Vest.  Buttoned  front  a 
a  wide  contrasting  border.  Stockinet  stiti 
Sizes  34,  36  and  38.   5c. 

Slipover  Collarless  Blouse.  Long  sleev 
buttoned  opening  down  center  front.  S 
16.   5c. 

Knitted  Drawstring  Dirndl  Skirt.  Knit 
in  stockinet  stitch  in  two  pieces.  Ribl 
drawstring  ties  in  front.   Size  12.   ,5c. 

List  of  Patterns  for  Journal  Knitted  a 
Crocheted  Articles.  Hats  and  caps,  glo 
and  mittens,  stockings  and  socks,  dresses 
sweaters  for  yourself  and  all  the  family.  S 
free  on  request. 


We  will  gladly  send  any  of  these  booklets  if  you'll  order  by  name  and  number.  They  will  be  mailed  anywhere  in 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOLK.NAL 


PaSiccia  ^mt  Jofiej,  c/acudtcz  a/ 
Ma/o^  a/tdMy^.  Hou'ci2^^ Bc/oned 
(^JVaac^,  Nec(^ybzk,  en^zMcc//^ 
Cmz/iwd  Hoeocift^  Modjne^,  Jz. 


JLt's  easy  to  see  why  her  tall  blond  Navy 
fiance  adores  Patricia! 

There  is  a  bright,  warm  aliveness  about 
her  that  is  infinitely  endearing — and  she  is 
so  lovely  to  look  at !  Eyes  of  deep,  sparkling 
brown  .  .  .  rich,  glossy  hair  .  .  .  and  from 
the  tip  of  her  little  pointed  chin  to  the  top 
of  her  smooth  high  brow,  a  skin  as  arrest- 
ingly  beautiful  as  a  new-opened  rose.  Like  so 
many  other  engaged  girls,  Patricia  trusts  her 
flawless  complexion  to  Pond's  Cold  Cream. 

"I  began  using  Pond's  when  I  was  in 
college  at  Northwestern — and  loved  it  right 
from  the  start — it's  such  a  soothing,  silky- 
textured  cream ! 

"Then,  while  I  was  studying  acting  and 
stage  make-up  at  the  American  Academy  of 
Dramatic  Art,  I  grew  to  respect  Pond's  more 
and  more.  It  does  such  a  grand  job  of  re- 
moving make-up  and  of  keeping  my  skin 
really  clean  and  really  smooth!" 


Patricia  has  a  pixie  charm  —  dancing  eyes  and  a  glowing,  ivory-smooth  skin 


m^a<^. 


AT  THE  STATION, 

Patricia  and  Charles 
silently  share  the 
memory  of  wonderful 
days  together.  Till 
Victory,  Patricia  is 
working  as  feature- 
writer  for  The  Nyack 
U.S.O.  Councilor,  ser- 
vicemen's newspaper. 


Xatricia's  complexion  is  disarmingly  fresh  and 
sweet — a  lovely  tribute  to  her  daily  Pond's  beauty- 
creamings — 

Every  night,  every  morning,  Patricia  smooths 
heavenly  cool  fingerfuls  of  Pond's  Cold  Cream 
over  her  face  and  throat — then  pats  briskly  to 
soften  and  release  dirt  and  make-up.  Tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  more  snowy-satin  Pond's 
whirling  creamy  finger  tips  lightly  over  her  face 
for  extra  cleansing,  extra  softening.  Tissues  off 
again — clean.  "My  double  Pond's  creaming  makes 
my  skin  feel  wide-awake,  clean,  and  so  blissfully 
smooth,'^  Patricia  says. 

Give  jowr  face  this  well-loved  beauty  care  with 
Pond's — every  night  and  every  morning.  For 
daytime  freshen-ups,  too.  You'll  see  that  it's  no 
accident  so  many  more  girls  and  women  use 
Pond's  than  any  other  face  cream  at  any  price. 

Ask  for  the  big  jar — you'll  love  dipping  the 
fingers  of  both  hands  in  the  luxurious  6/^  jar! 


LADY  LOI'IS  MOUNTBATTKN  MRS.   ALLAN  A.  RYAN 

MKS.  PIERPONT  MORGAN  HAMILTON 

MRS.  ROBERT  BACON  WHITNEY  THE  LADY  MORRIS 

GLORIA  VANDERBILT  DE  CICCO 


70 


LADIES"  HOME  JOLRNAL 


1945 


2  cups  cake  flour 
IW  teaspoons  Arm  &  Hammer  or 
Cow  Brand  Bakmg  Soda 
'i  teaspoon  salt 
.;,  cup  butter  or  other  shortemng 

1  cup  sugar 

2  eggs 

2  squares  (2  ounces)  unsweet- 

ened  chocolate 
1  teaspoon  vanilla 
A,  cup  sour  milk  or  buttermilk 
1 ,,  cup  boiling  water 
1     Sift     then    measure    the    flour, 
lift'three  times  with  the  baking 
soda  and  salt. 
,     Cream    the    butter    until    light 
'     and  ;^mon  colored.   Add   sugar 
gradually,  beatmg  after   each 
Iddition   until   light   and   fluffy. 
1     3    Slowly  add  the  eggs  which  have 
'  been  beaten  until  they  are  al- 

most as  stiff  as  whipped  cream^ 
gradually  add  the  chocolate 
which   has   been   melted   and 
cooled. 
I    Stir  the  vanilla  into  the  milk. 
Alternately  add  the  dry  ingre- 
S^^nts    and    the    milk,    beatmg 
unt^l   smooth   after   each   add._ 
tion   Add  the  boiling  water  and 
bTat   in   well.   Turn  into   a 
greased  cake  pan.  Bake. 
5    Frost   and  let   cake   stand   two 
'•   hours   before    cutting   to   allow 
the  red  color  to  develop. 

Amount;  2  8-inch  layers 
TemT  350°  F.  Time -.25-30  mm 


iA 


^\     BUY 


(Continued  from  Page  6S) 
HoUpvood.    When  I'm  well  and  everything, 
I'm  just  as  good-lcK)king  as  any  of  those 
movie  girls." 

"That  wouldn't  surprise  me,"  Scott  said. 
"I  was  only  thinking  that  since  you  have 
ambition  and  confidence  in  yourself,  parting 
with  your  child  may  be  a  mistake." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "No.  We  have 
to  part  company  for  either  of  us  to  get  a 
break.  With  you  she's  safe.  With  me  it's  a 
gamble.  And  I'm  handicapped  with  her. 
I'll  need  every  dollar  for  clothes." 

Scott  said  nothing.  She  was  thinking  of 
Doctor  Wheatley  and  she  was  amused,  as 
women  are  often  amused  at  a  man's  estimate 
of  another  woman.  This  was  the  poor,  un- 
fortunate youngster  who  would  have  com- 
mitted suicide  except  for  his  tender,  kindly 
guidance.  Why,  this  girl  wouldn't  destroy 
herself  under  any  circumstances.  Any  woman 
would  know  that  at  a  glance. 

"Doc  says  you're  very  important,"  the 
girl  said.  "He  said  Ransford  Avenue  and  the 
opera  house  and  lots  of  things  are  named 
after  your  family.  Swanky,  huh?" 

"Not  very.  Those  things  all  happened 
long  before  I  was  bom.    I  live  very  mod- 
estly, I  assure  you." 
'    "How  many  servants?" 

"Two." 

"Great  life,  I  guess.  The  baby's  lucky. 
By  the  way,  her  name's  Ursula.  Did  Doc 
tell  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  like  the  name?  It  means  she- 
wolf,  you  know." 

"She-bear,"  Scott  corrected. 

"Oh,  does  it?"  The  girl  seemed  disap- 
pointed. "Missed  again,  as  usual.  A  bear's  a 
big  hulking  thing  that  never  accomplishes 
anything." 

Scott  smiled.  "Just  what  do  you  want  the 
child  to  accomplish  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  want  her  to  ride 
around  in  shiny  cars  and  have  swell  furs  and 
jewels.  You  know,  the  usual  things  a  girl 
wants.  Maybe  through  you  she'll  get  a  rich 
husband." 

"Maybe,"  Scott  said.  "But  I  warn  you 
that  won't  be  my  first  consideration  in  ap- 
proving her  husband." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  the  girl  said  gloom- 
ily. "People  who  have  money  don't  k«ow 
how  swell  it  is." 

Scott  stood  up  to  leave.  She  knew  some- 
thing of  Ursula's  mother  now. 

"Well,  it  was  nice  of  you  to  come,"  the 
girl  said.  She  paused  a  moment.  "  I  want  to 
ask  you  something,  Mrs.  Paige.  I  hope  you 
won't  mind." 

These  were  always  solemn  moments  to 
Scott,  the  moment  when  a  person,  surrender- 
ing a  child,  thinks  of  one  last  request.  "I 
don't  mind.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"You  know  I  told  you  I'm  going  to  Holly- 
wood. If  you  have  any  clothes  you  don't 
need,  I'd  like  to  have  them." 

Scott  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Then, 
"T'll  pack  some  things  for  you  and  send 
them  here." 

"Oh,  gee,  thanks  a  million.  That'll  be 
swell!" 

Ihe  house  that  Scott  didn't  especially 
like  was  a  gay  place,  bursting  with  little 
girls  and  laughter.  Cherry  and  Ursula  were 
two  years  old  now,  Linda  almost  five.  They 
slept  in  a  room  where  sunflowers  danced  on 
the  wallpaper  and  dolls  and  Teddy  bears 
kept  vigil  through  the  night. 

Scott  was  a  romping  mother.  A  mother 
who  wore  riding  breeches,  who  came  home 
from  the  stables  with  streaming  hair  and  a 
high  color  in  her  cheeks,  who  knelt  on  the 
grass  and  said,  "I've  been  a  rider  all  morn- 
ing.  Now  it's  my  turn  to  be  a  horse." 

They  swarmed  over  her  and  screamed  and 
shouted.  She  would  be  breathless  and  happy 
when  they  all  finally  landed  on  their  backs 
in  a  squirming,  hysterical  pile. 

"Scott,  you're  a  tomboy,"  Mrs.  Dodge 
would  scold.  "When  will  you  grow  up?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  It  ought  to  be  soon, 
don't  you  think?" 

One  day  as  they  lay  screaming  with 
laughter  in  the  tulip  bed,  a  long  shadow  fell 
across   them.     Scott    glanced    up    swiftly. 


Bleeker  was  standing  there  grinning  down 
at  her. 

"Hello." 

She  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  him.  "Hello,  Bleeker." 

"Back  in  the  breeches.  Good  for  you." 
He  looked  at  the  children  soberly.  "Nice 
garden  you're  growing  here,  Scott." 

"This  is  Cherry.  Here's  Linda,  and  the 
one  eating  the  nasturtium  is  Ursula.  Chil- 
dren, this  is  Mr.  Bleeker.  .  .  .  Ursula,  don't 
gulp.  Chew  the  nasturtium  nicely." 

Mrs.  Dodge  appeared  and  took  charge  of 
the  children. 

Scott  walked  into  the  house  with  Bleeker. 
"  I  read  your  book  on  the  Basque  coimtry." 

"Did  you  like  it?" 

"I  loved  it.  What  comes  next?" 

"Mexico,  I  think." 

"That  soimds  interesting." 

They  settled  themselves  in  the  living 
room,  and  for  a  time  there  was  small  talk. 
Then  they  just  sat,  smiling  quietly  at  each 
other.  It  occurred  to  Scott  that  this  was  in 
the  manner  of  old  friends  who  have  much  to 
say  to  each  other  and  yet  are  content  to  sit 
in  silence.  She  had  seen  Bleeker  only  a  few 
times,  but  she  thought  of  him  frequently, 
and  always  as  one  whom  she  had  known  long 
and  well.  It  was,  no  doubt,  because  he  had 
thought  for  her  when  she  had  been  unable  to 
think  for  herself.  She  wanted  to  thank  him 
for  that. 

"Bleeker,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  hold 
you  personally  responsible  for  the  sane  and 
comfortable  world  I  live  in  today." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  I  had  something  to 
do  with  it,  but  really  the  baby  was  a  very 
obvious  solution  to  your  problem.  Of  course 
I  never  guessed  you  were  going  to  take  on 
youngsters  in  job  lots." 

"They're  sweet  and  they  all  needed  me. 
I  couldn't  have  refused  them." 

"Of  course  not.  Why  should' you?" 

A  small  frown  puckered  Scott's  brow. 
"Maybe  because  I  have  my  doubts  about 
the  kind  of  mother  I'll  be." 

"What  do  you  mean  'will  be'?  You're 
doing  all  right,  aren't  you?" 

She  nodded  slowly.  "Yes,  I  think  I  am; 
but,  Bleeker,  there  are  women  who  are 
splendid  "mothers  for  little  ones  and  com- 
plete washouts  in  the  job  when  the  children 
are  older.  Just  because  I'm  capable  of  con- 
trolling the  nursery  years  is  no  indication 
that  I'm  going  to  be  a  success  when  Johnny 
comes  rolling  up  in  the  gay  little  convertible 
and  says,  'I  want  to  marry  Cherry' — or 
Linda — or  Ursula." 

He  considered.  "What  will  make  you  a 
flop  at  that  stage?" 

"You're  being  polite,  Bleeker." 

"Oh" — he  laughed — "you're  afraid  you'll 
start  telling  the  kids  where  to  live,  how  to 
live  and  with  whom." 

"That's  it.  It  isn't  funny  either.  It's  a 
serious  matter."  After  a  moment  her  face 
relaxed  into  a  smile.  "Here  I  am  talking 
children  and  mother's  problems  as  though 
you  were  a  psychologist,  hired  for  the  after- 
noon to  hear  the  bleatings  of  my  maternal 
soul.  Don't  go;  we'll  talk  about  something 
else." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  going." 

"Are  you  over  at  the  Paiges'?" 

"Sure.  I  plan  on  staying  a  few  weeks,  so 
they  won't  mind  if  I  skip  dinner  tonight. 
Am  I  invited?" 

"Definitely.  Mrs.  Dodge  will  be  so 
pleased." 

"It's  not  my  aim  to  charm  Mrs.  Dodge." 

"Oh."  Scott  was  startled.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  Bleeker  thought  of  her 
as  anything  but  the  Paiges'  daughter-in-law, 
Conlon's  widow. 

"I'm  a  suitor,"  he  said,  grinning  at  her. 
"Didn't  you  know?" 

She  laughed.  "  I'd  forgotten  about  suitors. 
I  don't  see  any  men  except  doctors  and 
dentists,  and  they  all  have  large  families 
and  wives  to  go  with  them." 

"You  don't  see  any  men.  What  about 
people  you  meet  in  the  horsy  set?  The  gen- 
tlemen who  play  polo  and  leap  over  little 
fences  and  wear  those  pretty  pants." 

"They  don't  want  me.  I'm  a  bore. 
Couldn't  you  tell?" 


Their  Slow  Day-long 
Baking  Is  Why 
You  Like  'Em  Best 


Always  ask  for  B  &  M 
Brick-Oven  Baked  Beans. 
They're  actually  baked 
(not  steamed)  slowly  .  .  . 
all  day  long  ...  to  give 
you  that  famous,  extra- 
deUcious,  real  New  Eng- 
land flavor.  Whenever 
your  Grocer  is  out,  re- 
member it's  this  long, 
s-l-o-w  baking  that  pre- 
vents our  hurrying  these 
Down  East  treats  to  you. 
Burnham  &  Morrill  Com- 
pany, Portland  2,  Maine. 


1 

a 


The  Dennison  Handy  Helper  says: 

It  Took  Time  to  Make  It. 
Use  Care— Don't  Break  It 


AND  INSURE  CARE  IN  HANDLING  WITH 

CAUTION  LABELS 

At  Stationery  Deparfments  Everywhere 


Sifci 


Want  to     MTR^#*i^,^iJt# 
good      /  -  


'a 


MtlOUJEHOLD  PAPERS 

I'^Klj^a^PARCHMENT  .  KALAMAZOO  99  •  MICHIGAN""* 


V'ou'LL  Marry  Me  at  Noon 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


71 


I 


"The  fact  completely  escaped  me." 

"Oh,  sure.  I'm  a  raconteur  of  the  lowest 
order.  Somebody  whips  out  with  a  beautiful 
remark  somebody  used  at  the  Stork  Club 
and  I  say,  'That  reminds  me;  this  morn- 
ing Linda  said  the  smartest  thing.'  I  show 
snapshots.  I  carry  around  a  magnificent 
drawing  Ursula  made  of  a  cow.  She's  never 
seen  a  cow.  so  it's  quite  remarkable." 

"I'm  simply  dying  to  see  it." 

"  I  have  other  drawbacks  too.  I  have  to  be 
home  for  the  children's  dinner.  I  have  to 
watch  them  bathed  and  help  put  them  to 
bed.  Then,  of  course,  I  can't  stay  up  late 
at  nights  because  I  have  to  see  the  children 
get  their  breakfast." 

He  was  intrigued  by  this  recitation  of  her 
day's  activities.  "Why?  "he  asked.  "Doesn't 
Mrs.  Dodge  oversee  the  children's  routine?  " 

"Sure,  she  does,  but " 

"But  you  have  to  tell  her  how." 

She  glanced  at  him  sheepishly.  "That's 
the  truth,"  she  admitted. 

He  stayed  all  day,  playing  with  the  chil- 
dren, talking  to  Mrs.  Dodge,  trying  to  make 
himself  an  acceptable  member  of  this  very 
exclusive  club.  In  the  early  evening  Scott 
disappeared.  When  she  came  back  she  was 
dressed  in  a  deep  red  velvet  frock. 

Mrs.  Dodge  stared.  "Well,  it  must  be 
New  Year's." 

"No,  I'm  only  dressing  up  because  I  have 
a  suitor.  Aren't  you  pleased?" 

Bleeker  was  embarrassed.  Scott  hadn't 
known  he  could  be.  She  was  charmed  by  his 
discomfort. 

"You  have  no  more  manners  than  the 
children,"  Mrs.  Dodge  scolded,  in  a  flurry  of 
confusion  herself.  "Honestly,  Scott,  some- 
times I  wonder  if  you  shouldn't  have  been 
spanked  when  you  were  little." 

"You  feel  that  it's  too 

late,     Mrs.    Dodge?"       

Bleeker  asked.  "I  don't." 

When  the  evening  was 
over.  Scott  sat  alone  in 
the  living  room  thinking 
of  many  things.  She 
thought  of  her  little  world 
which  was  bright  with  the 
riches  she  loved  and  cher- 
ished. And  she  thought 
Df    Bleeker   coming    into 

that  life.  They  had  both      

downed  about  his  inter- 
est in  her,  but  she  knew  that  it  was  real 
ind  serious.  She  sat  there  alone  and  said 
:o  herself,  /  loved  Mm  the  very  first  moment 
r  saw  him.  That  was  a  truth  she  had  al- 
vays  known  and  had  never  been  willing  to 
iccept.  She  thought  about  the  Paiges  and 
cnew  they  would  be  glad.  She  thought 
ibout  the  children  and  felt  sincerely  that 
heir  lives  would  be  enriched  by  having  both 
nother  and  father.  /  will  marry  him  imme- 
iaiely,  she  thought.  And  she  sat  there, 
Tightened  and  depressed.  He  hadn't  asked 
ler  to  marry  him,  and  she  had  no  certain 
nowledge  that  in  any  case  he  wished  an 
nmediate  wedding. 

>HE    jumped   to  her   feet  and  nervously 

oked  at  the  fire.  Why  didn't  she  telephone 

im  and  say,  "I've  decided  you'll  marry  me 

t  noon  tomorrow"?    He  would  probably 

jply,  "I'll  marry  you,  my  fine  lady,  when  I 

:el  like  it."   He  was  not  a  Paige  or  a  Mrs. 

-*)odge.  He  wouldn't  like  taking  orders  and 

Mr  would  say  that  he  didn't.   If  she  wanted 

Sm  she  must  make  the  effort  to  prove  that 

leir  marriage  wouldn't  be  a  tug  of  war 

etween  their  wills. 

/  must  try  to  be  humble,  she  thought.  When 
'.  asks  ?ne,  I'll  say  yes  and  I'll  try  to  be  a 
irlner  this  time  instead  of  a  ringmaster. 
,  Bleeker  stayed  at  the  Paiges'  a  month. 
i!e  and  Scott  saw  each  other  constantly, 
ihey  rode  together  and  drove  and  walked 
lid  even  took  the  children  on  a  picnic. 
;ott   and   Bleeker   went   to   movies   and 
ced  at  night  clubs  and  saw  the  sun  come 
out  of  the  rosy  east.  But  he  went  away 
ithout  saying,  "Will  you  marry  me?" 
"What  kind  of  letter  writer  are  you?"  he 
ked  one  night. 
"Unreliable.  Why?" 

"I'm  going  to  Mexico  Tuesday.  You'd 
:tter  write." 


I 


HOMEY  TOLCH 


In  every  house  there  ought 

to      be      a      child's      chair, 

whether   now    in    use   or   not. 

There  is  something  infinitely 

touching  about    siicli    a   little 

chair!    —THOMAS  FREDERICK  DAVIES; 

The  Diversion  of  Staying  at  Home. 

(Duttons  Inc.) 


"Perhaps  I  will.  When  will  you  be  back?" 

"When  I've  gathered  all  the  material  I 
need." 

"When  will  that  be?" 

"How  can  I  tell?  It's  like  berry  picking, 
you  know.  A  fellow  can't  guess  when  he  goes 
out  how  long  it  will  take  to  fill  the  basket." 

She  went  to  the  train  to  see  him  off. 

He  said  nothing  about  coming  back  to  her. 
He  kissed  her,  said,  "Have  fun."  And  he 
was  gone. 

She  didn't  cry.  Her  pride  was  hurt  and 
she  thought,  Just  wail  till  he  asks  me  to  marry 
him.  I'll  tell  him  something.  But  there  was 
little  satisfaction  in  such  thoughts,  for  she 
knew  that  when  he  asked  her  she  would  tell 
him  yes. 

OHE  did  not  brood  too  much  over  Bleeker's 
departure,  for  another  call  on  her  emotions 
came  when  he  had  been  gone  but  a  week. 
Ursula  became  ill.  Scott  knew  before  Doc- 
tor Roth  began  his  series  of  examinations 
that  a  bitter  cup  was  being  brewed  from 
which  she  would  have  to  drink.  There  was  a 
heart  condition  that  indicated  the  need  of 
constant  rest  and  complete  quiet. 

"I  know  in  small  children  it's  difficult  to 
keep  them  from  playing  hard,  but  it  has  to 
be  done,  Scott.  Her  only  chance  to  reach 
womanhood  is  if  she's  practically  chained 
down  now." 

"I'll  keep  her  quiet." 

Scott  put  Ursula  to  bed  immediately  and 
the  long,  hard  battle  had  begun.  Scott  had 
the  spare  room  redecorated  for  the  small 
invalid.  It  would  be  impossible  for  Ursula 
to  rest  with  the  two  other  active  ones 
swarming  about. 

The  romps  on  the  lawn  with  Cherry  and 

Linda    were    uninterrupted.     Mrs.    Dodge 

said,  "Darling,  you  can't. 

Ursula  will  hear  the  shout- 
ing and  she'll  want  to  be 
down  there  too." 

Scott  said,  "Mrs. 
Dodge,  I  have  three  chil- 
dren. Two  of  them  are 
normal  and  healthy.  I 
will  do  everything  I  can 
for  Ursula,  but  Cherry  and 
Linda  are  not  going  to  be 
forced  to  tiptoe  or   give 

up  their  regular  playtime. 

That  wouldn't  be  fair." 

"When  Ursula  hears  them " 

"That's  where  you  come  in.  Every  time 
I'm  with  the  other  children  you  must  go  to 
Ursula.  You  must  make  her  feel  that  she's 
getting  something  that  Cherry  and  Linda 
are  not." 

"It's easy  to  say,  Scott." 

"And  that's  the  only  easy  part  of  it,  I 
know.  We  both  must  work  as  we've  never 
worked  before  in  our  lives." 

Scott  had  a  tiny,  electrically  equipped 
kitchenette  installed  in  the  sick  child's  room. 
The  idea  of  having  a  tea  party  with  all  the 
dolls  as  guests  and  herself  reigning  in  soli- 
tary splendor  appealed  mightily  to  Ursula. 
Mrs.  Dodge  sewed  for  the  guests,  too,  and 
created  vast  wardrobes. 

Scott  wrote  to  Bleeker  and  told  him  about 
Ursula.    ' 

His  answer  arrived,  followed  by  a  box 
filled  with  Mexican  dolls  and  toys.  "Give 
her  one  a  day  or  a  week.  You'll  know  best. 
It's  only  an  expression  of  good  will  to  show 
that  I'm  thinking  o£  that  poor  little  kid  in 
bed.  And  I'm  thinking  of  you,  Scott.  If  it 
will  help  your  spirits  any,  or  be  of  some  ma- 
terial aid,  or  even  if  it  would  only  please  you 
a  little,  I'll  leave  here  at  once  and  come  to 
you.  It's  up  to  you  to  say." 

She  wrote  back  and  thanked  him  for  the 
box  and  for  his  offer.  "No,"  she  told  him. 
"Stay  there  till  you've  gathered  enough  ber- 
ries to  make  a  pie.  There  is  nothing  you 
could  do  here.  I  worry,  of  course,  but  my 
spirits  are  not  low.  Cherry  and  Linda  take 
care  of  that." 

He  came  in  September.  Scott  met  him  at 
the  train.  "  I  brought  you  a  gorgeous  silver 
saddle,  so  you  can  play  cow  girl." 

"What,  no  lasso?" 

"Sure.  Here  it  is.  How  do  you  feel  about 
it?"  He  produced  a  small  purple  velvet 
case.  "Yes  or  no? "  he  asked. 


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72 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


YOU'VE  NEVER  WORN 
A    MORE    FLATTERING 


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in  America  with  Bourjois. 

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veiling  drab  skin  and  tiny  surface  flaws  with 
a  delicate  mist  of  exquisite  color.  Wear  this 
new  beauty  powder,  and  learn  why  it  is  said 
"to  make  a  lovely  lady  even  lovelier  .  .  . 
Evening  in  Paris  face  powder." 

Face  Powder  SI. 00 


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Lipstick  50i 
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BOURJOIS 


Tunf^  in  "flcTf '8  lo  Romanop,''  with 
Jim  Amfchr  and  Ruy  niorli^H  Or- 
c-hoHlro,  featuring  Larry  Douglas 
with  gurst  Blaru — Thur««iay  eve- 
nings, Columbia  Nelwork. 


N  K  W    Y  (>  K  K   .    n  I  S  l"  R  I  »  U  !■  O  U 


Scott  stared  at  the  diamond.  It  stared 
back  with  fiery  brilliance.  "Yes,"  she  said. 

"All  right.  Fine."  He  slipped  it  on  her 
finger  and  kissed  her.  "Fun  being  engaged, 
isn't  it?" 

She  started  the  car  and  drove  away  from 
the  station.  She  felt  lighthearted  and  young. 

"Shall  we  tell  the  Paiges  now? "  he  asked. 

"Yes.   I  don't  see  why  not." 

"Well,  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  to 
wait.  We  can't  be  married  for  a  while,  of 
course,  on  account  of  the  book." 

"What  book?" 

"What  book!  Why,  the  book.  The  one 
I'm  going  to  write.  It'll  only  take  a  couple 
of  months  and  then  I'll  be  free  to  give  you  a 
little  of  my  attention." 

"Why,  how  sweet  of  you.  Bleeker.  I'll  be 
sitting  and  pining  for  a  word  from  you." 

"It  won't  be  that  bad.  I  work  pretty 
steadily,  once  I'm  started,  and  I  hate  inter- 
ruptions. But  of  course  we'll  see  each 
other." 

She  drove  in  silence  for  several  blocks. 
Presently  she  said,  "Bleeker,  I've  been 
thinking— that  was  a  good  suggestion  of 
yours  about  the  Paiges.  Let's  not  tell  them 
for  a  while." 

"Just  as  you  say,  dear." 

She  did  not  recognize  at  once  the  un- 
|5leasant,  stinging  sensation  that  she  felt.  It 
was  something  new  and  chill.  After  a  time  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  had  been  hurt.  He 
was  in  no  hurry  to  marry  her.  The  book 
came  first.  She  thought  it  would  be  nice  to 
iiand  him  back  his  ring  and  to  say,  "When 
you're  not  so  busy,  let  me  hear  from  you." 
But  he  would  take  the  ring  and  say,  "All 
right,  Scott."  And  she  wasn't  sure  that  she 
wouldn't  finish  by  apologizing. 

As  she  rode,  as  she  sat  beside  Ursula,  as 
she  romped  with  the  other  children,  she 
thought  about  Bleeker  and  their  future  life 
together.  He  was  hard  at  work  on  his  book, 
hut  often  he  would  stroll  in  to  tell  a  story  to 
Linda,  or  to  carry  Cherry  on  his  shoulders, 
or  to  sit  at  Ursula's  bedside  and  teach  her  a 
word  or  two  of  Spanish.  Sometimes  he 
stayed  for  lunch  and  Scott  was  frightened  by 
her  childish  delight.  To  love  a  man  so  much 
was  a  foolish  extravagance  that  could  only 
load  to  trouble. 

But  it  was  pleasant  to  dream  about  the 
I  lie  they  would  have  when  they  were  mar- 
ried, when  he  had  finished  the  book.  She 
was  well  aware  that  there  would  be  other 
books.  He  had  even  spoken  of  China.  That, 
of  course,  was  impossible  now;  he  would 
have  to  be  closer  to  her  and  the  children. 
The  next  time  he  mentioned  China  she  must 
remember  to  point  out  that  this  was  im- 
practical. She  wondered  about  Canada. 
That  ought  to  be  interesting.  Then,  too, 
there  were  parts  of  the  United  States  that 
would  make  fine  reading.  Maybe  Louisiana 
or  even  the  Dakotas. 

J  HEY  would  live  in  this  house  on  account 
of  Ursula.  Everything  had  been  arranged 
for  her  comfort  in  the  room  she  used;  and 
besides,  moving  would  be  too  exciting  for  the 
child.  Scott  would  have  a  room  added  for 
Bleeker  to  use  as  an  office.  She  planned  how 
it  would  be  furnished. 

She  thought  a  lot  about  Bleeker's  career 
too.  Travel  books  were  fine,  but  if  he  wrote 
something  else  there'd  be  no  occasion  for  him 
to  go  away  from  home'.  Why  not  a  novel,  for 
instance?  Or  perhaps  he  could  do  a  play. 

From  time  to  time  she  told  Bleeker  the 
things  that  occurred  to  her.  She  told  him 
quite  frankly  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  go  to  China.  "Of  course  you'd  know 
that  without  me  telling  you,  Bleeker." 

"Why  would  I  know  it?" 

"Well,  common  sense  would  tell  you  that 
you  simply  can't  go  so  far  away." 

He  nodded,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be 
nodding  in  agreement.  There  was  a  faraway 
look  in  his  eyes  and  he  seemed  to  be  thinking 
of  something  else. 

She  told  him  about  the  office  and  how  she 
planned  to  decorate  it.  It  was  annoying 
that  he  never  entered  into  these  plans  with 
her.  Even  when  she  spoke  about  the  travel 
books,  he  did  not  argue  or  make  any  com- 
ments. 


"  Would  you  like  to  write  a  novel,  Bleeker? 
I  think  it  would  be  fun." 

"Then  why  don't  you  write  one?" 

"I  mean  it  would  be  fun  for  yo*  to  do  it, 
Or  a  play.  Why  don't  you  write  a  play?" 

"Because  I  like  to  do  travel  books." 

"Well,  that's  silly.  A  person  can't  always 
do  just  as  he  pleases." 

"I  know.  Sometimes  he  has  to  write  2 
play  or  a  novel.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
Scott,  that  I  haven't  the  type  of  mind  that 
produces  fiction?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  but  it  has  oc- 
curred to  me  that  you  have  the  type  of  mine 
that  only  turns  to  what  it  wants  to  do 
That's  wrong.  You  should  try  other  things.' 

"Why?" 

"Because  that's  the  way  you  grow  and 
progress." 

11 E  GAVE  her  a  very  long,  very  hard  look 
He  said  nothing  more  on  the  subject.  H( 
talked  instead  about  an  idea  he  had  foi 
Ursula.  A  small  piano  when  she  was  a  littU 
older. 

"When  she  is  about  six  years  old  am 
stronger  than  she  is  now  she  could  hav( 
piano  lessons,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  that  would  be  wonderful  for  her.l 

He  said  no  more  about  writing  novels  oj 
plays.  She  hoped  he  would  think  about  it. 

He  evidently  did,  for  he  came  to  her  hous: 
late  one  night.  Scott  hurried  into  a  whit 
silk  negligee  and  ran  downstairs  to  admi 
him.  His  eyes  were  more  sober  than  she  ha^ 
seen  them  in  a  very  long  while.  He  walke 
into  the  living  room,  but  made  no  movemen 
toward  a  chair. 

"  I've  finished  the  book,  Scott.  I'm  takiri 
it  to  New  York  tomorrow  morning." 

She    was    surprised.     "I    didn't    knc 
you  were  taking  it  in  person,  Bleeker. 
thought " 

"No,  I'm  taking  it.  I'm  going  to  Ne 
York,  and  I'm  not  coming  back." 

"Why,  Bleeker,  what "  She  stoppe 

right  there,  for  she  knew  what  he  mean 
There  was  no  need  to  ask  him.  She  walke 
toward  the  mantel  to  conceal  her  white  fac 

"Scott,  we'd  last  together  less  than 
month.  Maybe  less  than  a  week.  I'd  nev( 
give  in  and  say,  'Oh,  well,  let  her  have  h( 
way.'  I'd  fight,  and  presently  we'd  be  mise 
able.  Nobody's  going  to  tell  me  where  to  si 
my  typewriter  or  how  to  write  or  what  1 
write." 

She  was  able  to  confront  him  now.  SI 
said,  "Bleeker,  every  woman  who  is  inte 
ested  in  a  man  makes  suggestions  and  plai 
and " 

"You're  a  domineering  person,  Scott,  ai 
I  couldn't  live  with  you  long  enough 
break  you  down.  I  never  told  you  that 
loved  you,  did  I?  Well,  I  do.  I'll  never  lo 
anyone  except  you,  but  I  guess  I  love  runni' 
my  own  life  better  than  I  could  ever  love  ai 
woman." 

He  walked  to  where  she  stood  at  t 
mantel.  He  kissed  her  and  she  did  not  try 
stop  him.  She  stood  stunned  by  the  suddc 
ness  of  his  decision. 

"Good-by,  Scott." 

She  didn't  feply.  She  was  still  standir 
motionless,  when  the  door  closed.  She  coi 
hear  his  footsteps  echoing  in  the  street.  S 
felt  a  desolation  so  deep  that  it  was  a  phy 
cal  pain  within  her.  It  was  the  end  ol 
dream.  From  now  on  there  would  be 
more  dreams.  Life  wasn't  made  for  drea 
ing.  She  had  always  known  that.  Why  h 
she  forgotten? 


In  1929  Scott's  income  shriveled  in  t 
great  wind  that  blew  from  Wall  Street, 
former  size  was  reduced  by  three  fifths  a 
she  lay  awake  nights  thinking  about  M 
Dodge  and  the  children. 

All  right,  she  said  to  herself.  You  like 
give  orders  and  run  people's  lives.  Give  a } 
orders  now  that'll  show  how  good  a  boss  you  o 
Run  the  lives  in  this  house  so  everybody  i 
the  things  she  needs. 

The  Paiges  had  suffered  a  staggering  1 
in  the  market  crash,  but  they  were  takinj 
as  they  had  taken  everything  else  in  1 
They  had  moved  to  an  apartment  and  ^' 
Paige  said  that  she  couldn't  imagine  w 
they  hadn't  taken  this  step  years  befc 


They  laughed  about  how  each  of  them  had 
assumed  the  role  of  their  departed  servants. 
Mrs.  Paige  was  cook,  the  countess  was  sec- 
ond maid,  the  younger  daughter  did  the 
general  chores.  Mr.  Paige  ran  errands, 
washed  windows  and  waxed  the  floors. 

Scott  didn't  laugh.  "Why  don't  you  all 
get  jobs?  "  she  asked. 

The  Paiges  went  off  into  another  round  of 
merriment.  But  after  a  while  Mr.  Paige 
stopped  laughing  and  asked,  "Where?" 
He  looked  a  little  hollow-eyed  and  Scott  was 
ashamed,  for  it  was  like  the  Paiges  to  have 
tried  and  to  say  nothing  of  their  efforts. 

Scott  consulted  the  Paiges'  lawyer,  who 
assured  her  they  were  not  in  serious  trouble. 
"Don't  worry  about  them,  Scott.  They  can 
live.   Not  well,  perhaps,  but  they'll  eat." 

"I  only  thought  that  perhaps  they  could 
use  these  bonds  that  belonged  to  Con- 
Ion  " 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head.  "Forget  it. 
They  wouldn't  take  anything  from  anybody 
if  they  were  starving." 

After  the  New  Year  in  1930,  Scott  began 
to  carry  out  the  plans  she  had  made  during 
the  long,  sleepless  nights.  She  had  wanted 
the  family  holidays  to  be  untouched  by 
change,  but  now  she  could  delay  no  longer. 

"Mrs.  Dodge,"  she  said,  "our  lives  will  be 
different  from  now  on." 

"  I've  expected  that,  Scott." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  care  for  the  house 
alone?" 

"Yes.  It  isn't  such  a  big  house."  Mrs. 
Dodge's  little  smile,  the  way  she  squared  her 
shoulders,  made  Scott  want  to  cry. 

"And  can  you  also  take  care  of  three  chil- 
dren, one  of  them  sick  in  bed?" 

"Yes,  I  can,  but  can't  you  take  over  the 
children?" 

"No,  dear.  I'll  be  away  a  lot.  I  have  to 
earn  some  money  if  that's  possible." 

OCOTT  wasn't  too  certain  that  she  would 
earn  enough  money  to  make  Mrs.  Dodge's 
efforts  worth  while.  Even  the  most  poorly 
paid  positions  were  sought  after  by  desper- 
ate-looking people  with  years  of  experience. 
The  employment  agencies  were  crowded  with 
panicked  men  and  women  who  would  take 
anything,  at  any  wage.  By  the  end  of  the 
month  Scott  was  convinced  that  she  was  not 
going  to  get  a  job. 

There  was  only  one  thing  she  knew  and 
!  knew  well;  it  would  have  to  be  tried.  She 
j  had  not  sold  her  horses  nor  given  up  her 
I  stables  because  she  had  felt  that,  in  the  end, 
I  she  would  have  to  try  earning  a  few  dollars 
I  at  the  one  thing  she  had  really  learned.  If 
I  this  proved  a  profitless  venture,  then  the 
I    horses  would  have  to  go. 

Mr.  Wingate  said,  "I'm  long  past  the 
place  where  I  expect  you  to  consult  me. 
But,  in  an  unprofessional  and  friendly  ca- 
pacity, may  I  ask  what  you  intend  to  do?" 


L,-i\uirj:y    rnj.>iE,  j  wu  i\i^.'\i-. 


/6 


"Yes.  I'm  going  into  business.  The  horse 
business." 

"Just  what  does  that  mean?" 

"I'm  going  to  do  everything  with  horses 
that  might  turn  me  an  honest  penny.  I  am 
going  to  teach  children  and  beginners  to 
ride.  I'm  going  to  coach  more-advanced 
pupils.  I'm  going  to  instruct  in  jumping. 
I'm  going  to  rent  horses  by  the  hour.  I'm 
going  to  enter  horse  shows  where  they  give 
cash  prizes  instead  of  those  silly  blue  ribbons. 
I'm  going  to  do  a  lot  of  things  that  I've  been 
doing  for  years,  only  now  I  intend  to  make 
something  out  of  it." 

Mr.  Wingate  said,  "I  see  only  one  fly  in 
the  ointment.  Horses  are  a  luxury,  and  we 
have  upon  us,  my  dear,  the  most  complete 
depression  the  country  has  ever  seen." 

"You've  heard  of  Custer's  Last  Stand, 
Mr.  Wingate?" 

He  nodded.  "Good  luck  to  you,  Scott. 
I'll  help  if  I  can." 

She  advertised  in  the  programs  used  at 
theaters  and  at  horse  shows.  She  canvassed 
private  schools  and  wrote  letters  by  the 
score. 

She  called  Doctor  Roth  and  said,  "As  a 
pediatrician,  what  do  you  think  of  children 
riding  horseback?" 

"  It  hasn't  done  Linda  any  harm,  has  it?  " 

"It's  done  her  good.  Would  you  ever  ad- 
vise it  for  a  patient?" 

"I  have.  Why?" 

"When  you  do  it  again,  advise  Scott 
Paige's  Stable,  will  you?  I'm  in  business 
now.  I  personally  handle  each  child,  doctor. 
I  give  you  my  word  a  child  will  be  so  safe 
with  me  that  the  parents  will  thank  you." 

She  was  aware  that  she  sounded  pathetic. 
And  she  hated  herself  for  exploiting  Linda 
on  Saturday  afternoons  and  Sunday  morn- 
ings. People  came  to  rent  horses  and  stable 
space  and  Linda  was  always  in  evidence, 
riding  with  the  perfect  technique  and  show- 
manship that  Scott  had  taught  her.  They 
would  admire  the  little  figure,  perched  upon 
the  sleek  horse,  and  picture  Betty  Jane  rid- 
ing with  such  confidence  and  poise. 

"You  taught  her,  Mrs.  Paige?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"I  wonder "  the  mother  would  muse. 

Scott  would  think.  Yes,  madam,  I  can 
teach  Betty  Jane  to  ride,  but  don't  fool  your- 
self into  thinking  that  she'll  ever  look  like  that 
upon  a  horse.  Anyone  can  learn  to  ride  prop- 
erly, but  Linda's  grace  and  the  manner  of  hold- 
ing her  head  are  things  no  one  could  leach  her. 

"I  suppose  she  wins  all  the  children's 
horse  shows." 

"Not  all  of  them." 

"No?" 

"  No.  I  don't  enter  her  in  all  of  them." 

There  were  people  who  had  sold  their 
horses  and,  because  they  loved  riding,  came 
to  hire  a  mount.  There  were  people  who  had 


Back  and  Other  Views,  Sizes  and  Prices  of  Huilyivood  Patterns 

on  Page  30. 


1386.  12  to  18.  15c, 

1429.  10  to  18.  25c. 

1497.  12  to  18.  25c. 

1505.  12  to  20.  15c. 

1506,  10  to  18.  15c. 


Buy  Hollywood  Patterns  at 
the  store  >vhich  sells  them 
in  your  city.  Or  order  them 
by  mail^  postage  prepaid, 
from  Hollywood  Pattern 
Service,  Putnam  Avenue, 
(Greenwich,  Connecticut; 
or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto, 
Ontarip,  Canada. 


1305 


^  ko^ti  1 


Do  you  think  her  dancing  position 

n   Is  smooth  and  reloxed 

Q  Helps  a  tall  girl  look  shorter 

D  Looks  affected 


Let  your  dancing  be  light  but  not  fan- 
tastic. Strangle  -  holds  are  tiring.  Any 
exaggerated  pose  looks  affected.  So  stand 
naturally,  comfortably  .  .  .  for  comfort 
is  the  first  step  toward  dancing  skill. 
That's  why,  on  trying  days,  most  prom- 
trotting  girls  choose  cushion-soft  Kotex 
sanitary  napkins.  They  know  there's 
all  the  difference  in  the  world  between 
Kotex  and  pads  that  just  "feel"  soft  at 
first  touch  .  .  .  because  Kotex  stays  soft 
a  hile  ivearing. 


Between  sett,  do  you  preserve  your  wove 

Q   By  combing  only 

n  By  brushing    and   combing 

□   By  using  a  net 


What  medal  is  he  wearing? 

□  Sharpshooter 

□  Purple  Heart 

□  Congressional  Medal 


You  can  brush  your  wave  and  keep  it, 
too.  Best  hair  care  calls  for  brushing 
and  combing  in  direction  hairdo  will 
follow.  Then  wave  can  be  gently  coaxed 
into  place.  Fastidious  grooming  pro- 
motes your  confidence.  So  does  Kotex 
— for  unlike  thick,  stubby  pads  Kotex 
has  patented  ends — pressed  flat,  so  they 
don't  cause  revealing  lines.  And  only 
Kotex  comes  in  3  sizes  for  different 
women,  different  days.  Choose  Regular, 
Junior  or  Super  Kotex  to  suit  your 
own  special  needs. 


Every  modal  has  a  moaning  you  should 
know!  Maybe  he's  heon  wounded  in 
action,  or  awarded  the  highest  military 
honor.  Or,  he  may  be  a  crack  marks- 
man— as  the  sharpshooter  medal  above 
tolls  you.  Being  sure  saves  you  embar- 
rassment. And  it  saves  you  needless 
dismay  on  "certain  days"  to  be  sure 
of  extra  protection  — with  Kotex  —  the 
napkin  with  the  4-ply  safety  center  that 
keeps  moisture  away  from  the  edges, 
assuring  safety  plus. 


fAotz  women  choose  KOTEX* 
+hcin  all  other  napkins  puf  together 


74 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


AND  SO  TO  BED..,, 


S..UU.  "'"-'■•■'''"  ",.,„.  u„h  *..-'• '••• 

,Hee,.  an.  lif--;- ;■>■,,,,,,.,  „»Uuny.>i.*« 
^nrin".  Metu»l"""''  c,.iva.'os,  and 

,,„,,erinsl--auUo».M... 

combine  e»l»i"'*'"'' 

„,„,....!..  «■"*■""■  ,,     ,„t„>,reMra*rea.lspeT 

b„>..  Pepper"  *'•"""" '""^ 


PEPPERELL  SHEETS 


lost  huge  estates  and  had  to  rent  space  for  a 
few  favorite  animals.  The  people  who  had 
always  been  interested  in  riding  knew  Scott 
well  and  came  as  a  matter  of  course.  The 
advertisements,  the  letters  and  the  contacts 
she  made  with  schools  brought  lots  of  chil- 
dren. She  came  home  in  the  evenings  so 
tired  that  she  could  scarcely  eat.  but  she 
never  cheated  her  children  of  their  time 
with  her. 

Mr.  Wingatc  and  the  Paiges  and  Mrs. 
Dodge  all  looked  at  her  with  a  new  respect. 
The  profits  mounted,  and  she  bought  a 
trailer  to  transport  her  perscjnal  mounts  to 
shows  in  distant  parts  of  the  state.  It  was 
not  only  the  matter  of  cash  prizes,  it  was 
prestige  for  the  stable.  And  she  had  a  pair 
of  perfectly  matched  bays  which  she  and 
Linda  rode  side-.saddle.  It  was  a  perform- 
ance that  everyone  enjoyed  and  remem- 
bered. The  two  of  them,  dressed  exactly 
alike  in  the  formal  riding  attire  of  another 
day,  would  put  their  horses  through  iden- 
tical paces  with  identical  movements  of 
their  heads  and  hands. 

Mrs.  Dodge  was  retired  from  the  house- 
work and  spent  her  days  with  Ursula,  for 
Cherry  did  not  need  her.  The  girls  were 
growing  up. 

The  busy  months  (lowed  into  years. 
Ursula  sat  at  the  piano  in  her  room  and 
played  beautifully,  and  Doctor  Roth  and 
the  heart  specialist  looked  at  the  girl  and  at 
Scott.  Tliey  said.  "She's  coming  alon|;  in 
leaps  and  bounds.  She  could  walk  up  and 
down  stairs  now  once  a  day." 

"Of  course,"  Doctor 
Roth  added  to  Scott 
in  private,  "she's  never 
going  to  be  a  strong 
woman.  She  has  a 
chance  at  a  normal 
span,  though,  i)r()vided 
she  doesn't  tear  around 
dancing  and  abusing 
her  health." 

"She  won't,  doctor." 

There  was  such  a 
thrill  of  achievement 
in  seeing  Ursula  take 
her  place  at  the  dinner 
table  that  Scolt  did 
nothing  but  beam  upon 
the  girl.  It  was  Mrs. 
Dodge  who  called  her 
attention  to  the  fact 
tliat  dinnertime  used  to 
be  more  {Pleasant. 

"  What  d'you  mean?" 

"I  mean  Ursula.  She  expects  the  house  to 
be  run  for  her  alone  because  she's  been  sick. 
She  won't  eat  at  dinner,  and  as  soon  as 
Martha  has  the  things  cleared  up  she  wants 
a  sandwich  or  a  salad  or  something.  She's 
spoiled." 

Scott  said,  "I'll  talk  to  her.  She  doesn't 
understand  about  how  a  house  is  run,  you 
know.   She's  been  closed  up  away " 

"  I  talked  to  her.  Do  you  know  what 
she  docs,  Scott,  when  she  feels  she's  being 
scolded?" 

"What?" 

"I  hate  to  tell  you.  She  pretends  her 
heart's  hurting  her." 

Scott  was  alarmed.  "How  do  you  know 
she's  pretending?" 

"It's  too  coincidental,  my  dear.  It  hap- 
pens every  time.  Criticize  her  and  she's  in 
pain.  Give  her  her  own  way  and  she's  tine 
again.  I  tell  you  that  sickness  ruins  a  child's 
character." 

OCOTT  looked  into  space  and  saw  a  girl 
with  bleached  hair  and  a  bottle  of  red  nail 
polish.  She  shook  her  head.  "No,  Mrs. 
Dodge,  it  wasn't  the  sickness." 

It  was  time,  that  year,  to  tell  Linda  the 
truth  about  her  i)arentage.  Linda  asked, 
"The  other  girls— are  they " 

"Yes,  dear.  They  were  adopted,  too,  but 
I'm  dejx-nding  on  you  to  let  me  be  the  one 
to  tell  them." 

"Dh,  certainly,  mother.  I  wouldn't  dream 
of  trying  to  do  it.  I'm  sure  it's  very  difli- 
cult." 

"  It  is,"  Scott  admitted.  She  showed 
Linda  photographs  of  Edward  Garth  and 


his  wife.  "These  are  your  parents,  Linda, 
This  photograph  was  sent  to  me  after  your 
father's  death,  along  with  this  medal  he  won 
in  the  war." 

Linda  stared  at  the  photograph  an^  at  the 
medal.  "May  I  have  these  for  my  own?" 

"Of  course.  They  are  your  own." 

Linda  closed  her  hand  tightly  over  Ed- 
ward Garth's  medal.  She  slipped  the  small 
photograph  in  the  pocket  of  her  dress.  Then 
she  put  her  arms  tightly  around  Scott's  neck, 
"  I'm  sorry  for  all  the  times  I've  been  bad," 
she  said. 

Her  eyes  were  dry  but  Scott's  were  not. 
"Linda,  you've  given  me  nothing  but 
pleasure  and  pride.  And  I  love  you  deeply." 

1  LOVE  you,  too,  mother.  May  I  go  now? 
There's  so  much  to  think  about.  I  feel  I 
could  remember  a  little  of  my  parents — in 
flashes,  you  know.  Things  come  to  me." 

It  was  different  when  the  time  came  to  tell 
Cherry.  Cherry  cried.  It  was  not,  Scott 
knew,  because  she  was  saddened  or  hurt  by 
the  revelation.  It  was  because  Cherry  was 
tender  and  easily  moved  to  tears.  Scott 
cried  with  her. 

"You've  always  been  just  like  a  mother. 
I  never  would  have  guessed  you  weren't." 

"But  1  am  your  mother,  darling.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart.  You're  lucky. 
Cherry.  You've  had  two  mothers  to  love 
\(>u.  And  the  first  one  was  as  pretty  as  a 
picture  and  just  as  nice  as  she  could  be." 
Cherry  clung  to  Scott  and  wept,  and  after  a 
while  Scott  said,  "You  can  talk  to  Linda 
about  this,  darling.  But 
please  say  nothing  to 
Ursula." 

"Oh,  I  should  say 
not.  Mother,  tell  me, 
she  isn't  really  yours, 
is  she?" 

Scott  nodded.  "Yes, 
in  the  same  way  that 
you  and  Linda  are 
mine.  I  chose  you 
three." 

"I  can  understand 
anyone  choosing  Linda, 

mother,  but " 

"Now,    Cherry,     I 

don't    like  such   talk. 

Ursula  is  your  sister." 

Cherry    shook    her 

head.   "No,  she  isn't. 

That's    the    one    nice 

thing   about    all   this. 

I've   felt   so  wicked, 

mother,  because  I  couldn't  love  her.  Now  it 

doesn't  really  matter,  does  it?" 

Scott  wasn't  too  proud  of  herself  as  she 
said  what  she  certainly  didn't  beheve. 
"Ursula  can't  be  judged  like  other  people, 
Cherry.  She's  been  cheated  of  all  the  child- 
hood joys  that  you  knew.  You  must  make 
every  allowance  and  forgive  in  her  what 
you'd  never  forgive  in  Linda." 
"But  Linda's  jjerfect." 
"  Ursula  might  have  appeared  perfect  also 
if  she  hadn't  had  the  misfortune  of  being  ill 
almost  all  lior  life.  Every  time  she  does 
sometliing  you  dislike  I  want  you  to  say  to 
Nourself,  'I  wonder  what  I'd  be  like  if  I'd 
been  in  bed  for  years  and  years.'" 
"I'll  try,  mother,  if  you  want  me  to." 
Just  before  Cherry  left  the  room  Scott 
reached  into  her  jewel  case  and  gave  the 
child  a  plain,  gold  chain  upon  which  a  small, 
old-fashioned  locket  hung.  "This  was  your 
mother's.  Cherry.  It  is  yours  to  keep  for 
always." 

Cherry  took  the  locket  in  careful,  respect- 
ful hands.  Her  tears  dropped  upon  the  little 
gold  heart  and  Scott  wished  devoutly  that 
she  had  not  had  to  lie.  But  Linda  had  the 
picture  and  her  father's  medal.  Cherry 
could  not  be  empty-handed. 

It  w^as  hardest  of  all  to  tell  Ursula.  Scott 
conferred  first  with  the  heart  specialist,  who 
strongly  advised  that  full  knowledge  of  her 
situation  should  be  withheld  from  Ursula  no 
longer.  "If  a  stranger  or  one  of  the  other 
girls  should  let  the  story  slip,  it  would  be 
bad.  ^'ou  can  tell  her  gently." 

Scolt  arranged  to  stay  away  from  the 
stables  one  whole  day.  She  felt  that  Ursula 
must  have  all  the  time  for  conversation  that 


^^ 

By 

•Irhanne  tl<>  Mar** 

I  am 

the 

singing  grasses; 

I  am 

the 

many  voices 

Of  small 

things; 

I  am 

the 

wind  and  the  lyre. 

Ask 

me  nt)t  why: 

I  am 

the 

music  chat  passes 

And 

will 

not  die. 

You'll  Marry  Me  at  Noon 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


she  could  possibly  want.  But  Ursula  was 
back  at  her  piano  in  an  hour.  She  had  re- 
acted very  differently  from  either  Cherry  or 
Linda.  She  had  drawn  herself  up  very 
straight  and  said  with  a  peculiar  little  smile: 

"You  know,  I  always  felt  it  somehow  deep 
inside  of  me." 

"You  did,  dear?" 

"Yes.  I  never  was  drawn  toward  the 
other  girls.  They  never  seemed  quite  like 
me." 

"Don't  you  think  that's  because  they 
could  lead  a  more  active  life  than  you 
could?" 

"No.  It's  deeper.  They're  of  different 
blood." 

"Yes,  that's  true."  Scott  was  well  aware 
that  Ursula  was  trying  to  say  that  she  had 
always  known  herself  to  be  of  finer  stock 
than  Cherry  or  Linda. 

"Tell  me  something,  mother,  quite  hon- 
estly, will  you?" 

"I'll  try." 

"What  were  their  mothers  like?" 

Scott  said,  "Don't  you  want  to  know 
what  yours  was  like?" 

"I  think  I  know.  She  was  tall  and  dark 
and  slightly  mysterious.  A  foreign  lady,  per- 
haps. She  was  musical,  of  course,  and  I  pic- 
ture her  as  belonging  to  a  wealthy  family 
that  disowned  her  because  she  was  artistic 
and  sought  a  career.  Did  I  guess  right — or 
won't  you  tell  me?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Ursula.  Your  mother  was 
small  and  her  hair  was — was  blond.  She 
wasn't  at  all  mysterious,  and  she  was  very 
definitely  an  American.  She  was  quite 
pretty,  and  I  don't  know  whether  or  not  she 
had  a  talent  for  music.  She  did  seek  a  career 
and  had  been  seeking  it  since  she  was  fifteen. 
The  family  must  have  been  poor." 

Ursula  smiled  a  secret  smile.  "  Did  she  tell 
you  to  tell  me  that?  " 

"No.  Why  should  she?" 

"To  conceal  herself  from  me,  so  I  wouldn't 
know  her  if  we  met."  Ursula  turned  back  to 
her  piano.  The  secret  smile  was  still  on  the 
sharp  little  face.  "Mother,"  Ursula  said. 

Scott  turned.  There  might  yet  be  some- 
thing from  this  child,  something  soft  and 
gentle.  "Yes,  Ursula." 

"As  you  go  downstairs  will  you  tell  Cherry 
to  quit  that  singing?  She's  always  flat,  and 
it  grates  on  my  nerves." 

Scott  smiled.  It  was  like  those  moments 
that  you  feel  you've  lived  before,  only  you 
know  you  never  have.  Scott  wanted  to  say, 
"I'll  pack  some  things  for  you  and  send 
them  here."  It  would  be  the  wrong  answer, 
of  course.  Instead,  Scott  said,  "Cherry 
never  complained  about  the  piano,  dear, 
even  when  you  played  very  badly,  so  I  think 
she  may  continue  to  sing." 

In  the  winter  of  1939  Scott  had  a  letter 
from  Bleeker.  She  sat  looking  at  it  for  quite 
a  while  before  she  opened  it.  I'm  thirty-six 
years  old,  she  said,  and  I'm  behaving  like  a 
child.  I'm  afraid  to  open  the  letter.  He  will 
say  that  he  has  married  and  that  he  wants  me, 
his  dearest  friend,  to  be  the  first  to  know.  After 
a  while  she  read  Bleeker's  letter.  It  was 
brief: 

Dear  Scott:  I  am  sure  that  you  and  your 
houseful  of  females  are  not  at  all  aware  that 
the  largest,  most  ferocious  war  the  world  has 
ever  known  has  now  begun.  This  letter  is  not 
good-by  from  a  warrior,  for  I  know  that  any 
army  would  look  at  me  and  say,  "  Well,  gramp, 
why  don't  you  go  home  and  knit  a  few 
sweaters?"  But  I  can  do  a  job  of  reporting. 
Free  men  deserve  to  know  what's  going  on.  So 
I'm  going  to  England  and  I  assure  you  that  I 
shall  not  finish  up  by  writing  a  travel  book 
about  Kew  in  lilac  time. 

I'm  writing  this  because  I'm  as  excited  as  a 
kid.  I  must  tell  someone,  and  there's  nobody 
I'd  rather  tell  anything  to  than  you.  That's  a 
cockeyed  sentence,  but  you'll  understand  it. 

I  still  love  you  and  your  entire  family,  in- 
cluding Mrs.  Dodge.  God  bless  you  all. 

Bleeker. 

'She  stood,  holding  the  letter,  for  a  long 
while.  It  was  very  precious  to  her,  for  it 
was  all  she  had  of  Bleeker.  Presently  she 
folded  the  page  and  put  it  on  her  bookshelf 
between  The  Basque  Country  and  I've  Seen 
Mexico.  She  wished  Bleeker  were  here  with 


her  now.  It  was  not  only  that  she  loved  him. 
She  needed  him.  She  was  very  tired  of  being 
boss.  Or  was  it  just  that  she  was  very  tired? 

She  sighed,  remembering  that  she  had 
even  thought  of  taking  something  else  upon 
her  shoulders.  She  had  recently  dreamed  of 
a  new  house  for  the  girls,  but  they  had 
talked  her  down: 

"No,  please,  mother.  Let's  stay  here. 
This  is  home." 

This  was  home.  It  pleased  her  somehow  to 
think  that  this  place  was  to  them  what  the 
old  Ransford  house  had  been  to  her.  And 
suddenly  she  realized  that  she,  too,  loved 
this  house  in  which  the  children  had  grown 
up.   It  was  her  home  too. 

OCOTT  found  a  message  awaiting  her  one 
day  when  she  came  in  from  the  stables: 
"Please  call  the  Hotel  Cathcart.  Room  317." 

She  wrinkled  her  brow,  trying  to  guess 
from  whom  the  call  could  have  come.  "No 
name,  Martha?" 

"No,  ma'am.  It  was  a  female  voice. 
That's  all  the  message  she  left." 

Scott  walked  to  the  phone  and  called  the 
Hotel  Cathcart.  Room  317  was  a  female 
voice,  as  Martha  had  said.  Scott  was  sur- 
prised that  she  recognized  it  at  once.  "This 
is  Scott  Paige.  You  left  a  message  at  my 
house." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Paige.  I  guess  you'll  wonder 
why  I  called  when  I  tell  you  who  I  am.  This 
is  Ursula's  mother.   Remember?" 

Scott  gritted  her  teeth.  Of  all  the  idiotic 
questions!  "Yes,  I  remember." 

"There's  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about.  When  could  I  see  you?" 

"In  about  fifteen  minutes.  I'll  be  right 
over." 

Scott  walked  out  of  the  house,  stopping 
just  long  enough  to  say  to  Mrs.  Dodge,  "I 
won't  be  home  to  dinner.  Tell  the  girls  I'm 
at  the  Paiges'." 

A  seedy-looking  elevator  operator  took 
Scott  up  to  the  third  floor  of  the  Hotel  Cath- 
cart and  directed  her  down  a  dim  hall. 

Scott  knocked  on  the  door  of  317.  The 
woman  who  opened  it  was  a  caricature  of  the 
girl  who  had  borne  Ursula.  She  was  plump 
and  loose-fleshed.  Her  hair  was  a  bright, 
startling  yellow.  "Come  in,"  she  said.  "I 
hope  I  didn't  interfere  with  anything  or  in- 
convenience you  any." 

"Not  at  all."  Scott  walked  into  the 
shabby  little  room  and  sat  down.  Ursula's 
mother  sat  on  the  bed  and  looked  at  her. 

"You  haven't  changed  a  bit,  Mrs.  Paige." 

"Of  course  I  have.  Everyone  does  in  four- 
teen years."  Scott  waited,  but  when  noth- 
ing more  was  forthcoming  she  asked,  ' '  What 
did  you  want  to  see  me  about?" 

The  yellow-haired  woman  reached  down 
between  her  plump  breasts  and  brought  out 
a  scrap  of  lace  handkerchief  that  smelled 
violently  of  cheap  perfume.  She  put  the 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  said,  "I 
wanted  to  see  you  about  my  baby,  of  course. 
What  would  any  mother  want  to  see  you 
about?  How  is  my  little  girl?  " 

"She's  very  well." 

"I've  thought  so  much  about  her.  Only  a 
woman  who's  had  a  child  of  her  own  could 
understand  my  suffering." 

Scott  said  to  herself,  If  I  get  angry,  I'm 
licked.  I  mustn't  get  angry.  She  sat  quietly 
waiting  for  the  other  woman  to  speak  again. 

"Mrs.  Paige,  I  almost  came  to  you  the 
very  night  the  adoption  papers  were  signed. 
I  knew  I'd  made  a  mistake  right  then,  but  I 
said  to  myself,  '  You  gotta  play  square  with 
Mrs.  Paige,'  and  so  I  didn't  come." 

"I'm  sorry  you've  been  so  miserable." 

"Miserable  is  the  word,  all  right.  Night 
and  day  I've  thought  about  that  baby  of 
mine.  I'd  fight  against  my  blues.  But  now  I 
can't  fight  any  more,  Mrs.  Paige." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"  I  had  to  come  back  here.  I  have  to  ask 
you  to  let  me  have  my  baby." 

"Oh,"  Scott  said.  She  nodded  slowly  and 
appeared  not  to  notice  the  hard,  blue  eyes 
that  were  studying  her.  Scott  made  certain 
that  no  expression  crossed  her  face. 

"I've  suffered  all  these  years  that  you've 
enjoyed  the  happiness  and  love  my  baby's 
brought  you.  Certainly  something's  coming 
to  me  now,  Mrs.  Paige." 


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M-i) 

1    ADDRESS                « - 

1    CITY 

STATE... 

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NAME  TAPES 
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NAME  TAPES 


76 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Vecious  Creamy  Softening 


The  Countess  of  Carnarvon  says:  "Pond's 
Dry  Skin  Cream  is  a  perfect  joy — so  soft, 
so  soothing  to  taut,  thirsty  skin" 

•  Something  delightful  happens  to 
dry,  sensitive  skin  when  you  smooth 
on  lanolin-soothing  Pond's  Dry  Skin 
Cream.  Use  doily — on  face,  throat, 
hands,  too.  Leave  its  creamy-richness 
on  5  to  15  minutes,  or  overnight,  to 
help  sleek  away  that  dry,  tiny-lined 
look — to  encourage  a  softer,  pret- 
tier, smoother  complexion  ...  At 
beauty  counters  everywhere  — 
90?^,  49j!5,  28?;,  \0^  (plus  tax) 

3  Special  Features 

Lanolin — very  like  oil  of  skin 

Homogeni'zec/-— to  soak  in  better 

Special  Emulsifiei — extra  softening  aid 


Pond  s  ^i^Crea  m 


^1  dresses  t°  .^^ervcas  ^ 


l-LEisHKB  Yarns,  Inc. 

32  Mercer  Street.  New  York  13,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  your  Fleisher  sport  sweater  leaflet, 
for  which  1  am  enclosing  5f^. 

Name 

Address 

City 


-Zone. 


"There  .are  adoption  papers,"  Scott 
pointed  out.  "  Ursula  is  mine." 

The  woman  cast  her  eyes  down  meekly. 
"I  know  you  have  the  upper  hand  legally. 
But  I  said  to  myself,  'She  won't  stand  by 
and  let  a  mother's  heart  be  broken.'  Be- 
sides. I  thought,  'If  she  won't  give  Ursula 
up,  then  I'll  move  somewhere  near  where  she 
lives  and  I  can  see  Ursula  every  day.'" 
Scott  watched  the  sharp  eyes  rise  swiftly  to 
examine  her  face. 

"Were  you  a  success  in  Hollywood?" 
Scott  asked  presently. 

A  plump  white  hand  waved  contemptu- 
ously at  the  dingy  little  room.  "Would  I  be 
in  a  joint  like  this  if  I  had  been?^  No,  I  was  a 
failure.  Do  you  know  why?  I  wasn't  the 
kind  that  makes  a  success  out  there.  Oh,  I 
could  have  been  a  star.  I  had  plenty  of 
chances  to  play  big  roles,  but  I  thought  of 
my  sweet  little  girl  and  I  said  to  those  men, 
'  No,  you  keep  your  fine  contracts  for  some- 
one else.'" 

Scott  didn't  know  whether  she  wanted  to 
laugh,  be  sick  at  her  stomach  or  explode  with 
rage  at  having  her  intelligence  so  foully  in- 
sulted. She  did  none  of  these  things.  She 
said,  "If  you  haven't  been  a  success,  how 
do  you  plan  on  supporting  Ursula?" 

"I'll  scrub  (l(M)rs,"  the  woman  said 
quickly.  "I'll  take  in  washing.  I'll  do  any- 
thing. Of  course  I  realize  it  would  be  hard  on 
her  after  the  things  she's  had,  but  I'll  make  it 
up  to  her  by  being  the  best  mother  a  girl 
ever  had." 

Scott  slcjod  up.  "I'll  think  it  over." 

"It's  a  lot  to  think  abf^ut,  isn't  it?  L<x)k, 
Mrs.  Paige,  I  want  to  be  absolutely  fair  and 
scjuare  with  you.  If  you  can't  stand  the 
thought  of  giving  her  up.  forget  it,  and  we'll 
do  it  the  other  way.  I'll  take  a  room  close  by 
your  house,  introduce  myself  to  Ursula  and 
sec  a  lot  of  her  just  the  same." 
,  "I'll  think  about  it  tonight  and  see  you 
tomorrow.  Rest  easy,  I'll  be  fair  and 
square  with  you  too." 

"I  know  you'll  be,  Mrs.  Paige.  It's  a  lot, 
though,  for  you  to  work  out  alone.  Why 
don't  you  talk  it  over  with  your  lawyer?" 

"Maybe  I  will.  Good  night." 

"Ciood  night,  Mrs.  Paige." 

It  was  very  late  when  she  got  home,  but 
Mrs.  Dodge  was  sitting  up  waiting  for  her. 
"Tell  me,  Scott." 

"Ursula's  mother.  She  wants  to  hold  me 
up." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"She  wants  her  baby  or  else  she'll  move  in 
the  neighliorhood  and  just  generally  disrupt 
the  pattern  of  Ursula's  life  with  me." 

"Oh,  heavens!  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I  think  I'm  going  to  tell  her  she  can 
have  Ursula.  And  I'm  going  to  bed.  I'm 
really  worn  out." 

In  the  morning  Scott  went  back  to  the 
Hotel  Cathcart.  Ursula's  mother  received 
her  in  a  red  kimono  that  had  yellow  chrysan- 
themums splashed  all  over  it. 

1  didn't  sleep  all  night,  thinking  about 
you,  Mrs.  Paige.  You  have  to  break  your 
heart  or  mine,  don't  you?" 

Scott  nodded.  "And  I've  decided  to  break 
my  own.  You  can  have  Ursula  back.  She's 
yours  again,  my  dear." 

The  blue  eyes  roved  frantically  over 
Scott's  face.  This  couldn't  be  happening. 

Scott  appeared  not  to  notice.  "I  know 
you're  in  a  hurry  to  have  your  daughter 
back,  but  I  think  it  had  better  be  tomorrow 
rather  than  today,  don't  you?  I'll  have  to 
tell  her  and " 

"But  where  would  I  put  her?  I  haven't 
enough  space  here  to  more  than  half  unpack 
my  own  junk." 

"Well,  you're  not  going  to  stay  in  this 
hotel,  are  you?  You  can't  live  here  while 
you're  scrubbing  floors  and  taking  in  wash- 
ing to  support  Ursula.  You'll  no  doubt  get  a 
little  place  of  your  own.  I'll  help  you  look  if 
you  like." 

"That  would  be  nice  of  you,"  Ursula's 
mother  said  bitterly.  "Some  sentiment 
you've  got,  I'll  say.  After  fourteen  years  of 
raising  a  kid  you  can  just  up  and  give  her 
away  without  batting  an  eyelash.  I  couldn't 
do  that  to  a  dog  I'd  had  six  months!" 


"We're  different  types.  You're  soft.  I'm 
hard." 

"You  sure  are.  You  don't  even  know  what 
kind  of  a  deal  I'd  give  the  kid.  Can't  you 
see  that  she'd  have  a  rough  time  with  me?  " 

Scott  shrugged.  "Are  you  taking  her  or 
aren't  you?   I  have  to  know." 

She  held  her  breath.  This  was  it  now.  But 
she  stood  there,  flicking  her  gloves  against 
her  purse  as  though  she  were  waiting  for  a 
salesgirl  to  wrap  a  parcel.  Scott  saw  the 
sudden  spark  flare  in  the  other  woman's 
eyes,  and  it  was  apparent  that  Ursula's 
mother  had  remembered  that  she  was  not 
yet  beaten. 

"Mrs.  Paige,  now  that  the  showdown's 
come  and  you're  as  swell  about  it  as  I 
thought  you'd  be,  I  simply  can't  do  it." 

"Can't  do  what?" 

"I  can't  take  Ursula.  I  can  make  sacri- 
fices too.  When  it  comes  right  down  to  it,  I 
don't  want  to  force  the  kid  into  living  the 
way  I  have  to  live.   I'll  leave  her  with  you." 

"Very  well." 

"Instead,  I'll  stay  in  town  and  move 
somewhere  as  close  to  you  as  I  can  afford. 
How  will  that  be?" 

Fine,"  Scott  said.  "I  think  that's  the 
best  way.  Call  me  when  you  get  settled  and 
I'll  bring  Ursula  over  to  see  you.  I  hope 
you'll  excuse  me  now.  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment." 

She  walked  slowly  toward  the  door. 
Sometime  before  she  turned  the  knob  she 
would  be  called  back,  unless  she  had  failed. 
The  seconds  passed,  but  Ursula's  mother 
was  silent.  Scott  thought,  /  won't  plead  with 
her  to  stay  out  of  our  lives  and  I  won't  pay  her. 
It  has  to  he  settled  some  other  way.  There  was 
the  knob  now.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do 
but  turn  it  and  go  out. 

"  Mrs.  Paige,  can  you  wait  just  a  minute?  " 

Scott  glanced  at  her  watch  as  though  im- 
patient at  the  delay.  "What  is  it?" 

"  I  just  wanted  to  say  that  I  hope  it  won't 
cause  you  a  whole  lot  of  trouble  to  have  me 
•  living  so  close  to  Ursula." 

"Why  should  it?" 

"Well,  naturally,  me  being  her  mother, 
there'll  be  a  bond  between  us  and  she'll  prob- 
ably think  my  opinions  are  better  than  yours 
and  she'll  take  my  advice  and " 

Suddenly  there  was  a  vast  weariness  upon 
Scott.  She  was  tired  of  the  talking,  the 
fencing  and  the  farce  of  two  women  trying 
to  outsmart  each  other.  "Listen,"  she  said, 
"I'm  sick  of  this  routine  we've  been  going 
through.  I  don't  know  what  you've  been  do- 
ing with  the  last  ten  years,  but  I've  been 
working  hard  and  I'm  too  tired  to  play 
games.  You  want  a  piece  of  money.  Let's 
not  pretend  there's  any  more  than  that." 
The  woman  looked  sullen.  Scott  continued: 
"I  have  no  money  with  which  to  buy  my 
peace  of  mind.  You  can  move  into  our  sec- 
tion of  town;  and  when  you  do,  you're  due 
for  the  biggest  disappointment  any  mother 
ever  got." 

"How  so?" 

"You  think  you'll  be  such  an  upsetting 
influence  that  I'll  have  to  pay  you  to  leave. 
Well,  here's  the  joker.  You  couldn't  make  a 
friend  of  Ursula.  After  she'd  seen  you  once 
she'd  never  see  you  again." 

"And  why  not?  " 

"This  is  going  to  be  hard  to  take.  Are  you 
sure  you  want  to  know?" 

"Of  course  I  want  to  know." 

Scott  drew  a  breath.  "Well,  your  little 
girl  is  as  hard  and  cold  as  you  are.  I  told  her 
something  of  you  and  she  rejected  you. 
Once  you  told  me  you  wanted  swell  things 
for  her.  Well,  she  got  the  best  of  everything 
and  she  likes  the  best.  She'd  take  one  look 
at  your  hair  and  listen  to  you  talk  for  a 
minute  and  she'd  never  consent  to  see  you 
again.  Move  in  next  door  to  us  if  you  can. 
You'll  never  impress  Ursula  and  you'll  never 
get  a  penny  from  me.  Now  I  really  do  have 
to  go." 

"Mrs.  Paige " 

"Yes?" 

"I  know  you  won't  deny  that  it's  a 
nuisance  to  have  me  around.  You'd  pay  my 
train  fare  to  New  York,  wouldn't  you?" 

"No,  indeed.  I  don't  care  whether  you're 
here  or  in  New  York  or  in  Timbuktu." 


\l 


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"^  Lipstick 


STAYS  ON!'' 


Says 

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FAMOUS  ON  SCREEN, 
STAGE  AND  RADIO 

My  lips  stay  lovely 
hours  longer  without 
retouching...  That's  why 
Don  Juan  is  tops  with  me.  ' 


■e;x^ia^: 


1 


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You'll  Marry  Me  at  Noon 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


"You're  the  meanest  woman  I  ever  met. 
I'm  sorry  I  ever  gave  my  baby  to  you." 

"Yes,  she's  had  a  hard  time  with  me.  I've 
treated  her  dreadfully."  Scott  closed  the 
( door  behind  her  and  walked  down  the  dingy 
corridor  to  the  elevator.  She  did  not  feel 
pleased  or  elated.  There  was  no  longer  any 
thrill  in  winning  battles.  There  had  been  too 
many  of  them. 

Cherry  said,  "  I  know  I'm  not  as  good  with 
horses  and  people  as  Linda  is,  but  I  could 
help  more  than  I  do,  mother.  I  could  take 
the  classes  from  Calfox  School  that  you're 
taking  now." 

"Well,  Cherry,  you " 

"I  hope  I'm  not  embarrassing  you, 
mother.  I  hope  you're  not  trying  to  think 
up  a  diplomatic  way  to  say  I'm  not  that 
good  a  rider." 

"No,  of  course  not.  Cherry." 

"Linda  rides  better  than  anyone  except 
you,  but  those  children  only  need  someone 
along  to  keep  discipline." 

"That's  the  point,  darling.  You're  only  a 
baby  yourself." 

"I'm  seventeen,  mother." 

Scott  nodded.  "So  you  are."  It  occurred 
to  her  that  one  of  those  situations  inevitable 
between  two  generations  had  arisen.  She 
was  thinking  Cherry  too  young  for  responsi- 
bilities, and  Cherry  was  thinking  her  too  old 
for  all  the  work  she  did.  We're  probably  both 
wrong,  Scott  thought.  Aloud  she  said,  "I'm 
not  yet  forty,  you  know." 

Cherry  flushed.  "It  isn't  that,  mother. 
You're  really  young  and  you're  terribly 
pretty,  but  you've  worked  so  hard  I  think 
you  ought  to  rest  now." 

Scott  reached  out  and  took  Cherry's  hand. 
Suddenly  from  nowhere,  unheralded  and 
unexpected,  had  come 

the  happiest  moment  of      

her  life.  She  wondered 
how  many  women 
could  boast  of  having 
heard  the  simple  an- 
nouncement that  it 
was  time  for  mother  to 
rest  because  the  chil- 
dren were  now  grown 
up  and  would  carry  on. 

"Cherry,  you're 
very  good  and  kind. 
You  make  me  happy." 

"I  try  to,  mother."        

"You  succeed." 

"Mother,  you  know  you  mustn't  fret 
about  the  things  I'm  going  to  do  around 
the  stables  now.  I  have  to  learn  more  and 
take  over  more." 

"  I  suppose  so,  dear,  as  time  goes  on,  but 
Linda " 

"  You  know  she  has  that  medal  her  father 
won,  and  she's  awfully  steamed  up  about  this 
war.   She'll  want  to  go." 

"Linda?  Why,  she  isn't  a  nurse  or " 

"There's  going  to  be  women's  outfits  in 
the  Army  and  Navy.  Linda's  been  talking 
about  it  and  finding  out  things.  She'll  go, 
mother.   I  know  she  will." 

"And  you?" 

Cherry  said,  "We  won't  be  able  to  keep 
employees  at  the  stable,  except  the  old  men. 
You'll  be  alone,  mother,  if  I  go." 

"I'd  manage  somehow." 

JMo."  Cherry  shook  her  head.  "It  would 
be  too  much  for  you." 

"I'm  going  on  forty,  not  eighty." 

"I  know,  mother,  but  the  stables  are 
larger  than  they  were,  and  we  have  to  main- 
tain a  standard,  you  know.  The  war  won't 
last  forever,  and  the  Scott  Paige  Stable  is 
going  to  still  have  its  reputation." 

Scott  looked  at  Cherry  and  saw  that  the 
stable  was  more  to -her  than  just  a  mess  of 
hard  work  that  gave  back  a  living.  It  was  a 
monument,  a  proof  of  their  integrity,  their 
honestly  won  place  in  the  community.  Sud- 
denly it  came  to  Scott  that  it  was  years 
since  anyone  had  mentioned  to  her  the 
Ransford  Opera  House  or  Ransford  Avenue. 
She  was  not  Camilla  Ransford's  grand- 
daughter any  more  to  the  town.  She  was 
Scott  Paige,  who  owned  the  finest  public 
stable  in  the  state.  And  she  leaned  over  and 
dssed  Cherry. 


REA»Y  RECKOIVEK 

^  Down  ill  Florida  a  INegro  woman 
^  applied  for  relief  during  a  winter 
culd  spell.  She  reported  she  had 
four  children.  She  didn't  remem- 
ber, perhaps  even  know,  the  precise 
ages,  but  on  being  pressed  for  more 
exact  information,  said,  "1  got  one 
lap  chile,  one  creeper,  one  porch 
chile  and  one  yard  young'un." 

— Digest  and  Review. 


"I'm  a  very  lucky  woman." 

"Linda  and  I  have  often  wondered, 
mother.  We've  wondered  if  you  were  happy. 
You  were  so  young  when  you  were  widowed, 
and  there's  never  been  anyone  else  except — 
except  those  books  in  your  room." 

"My,  you  make  me  sound  quaint.  Books 
in  my  room?" 

"Linda  remembers  Bleeker.  She  says  he 
was  nice." 

Scott  nodded.  "He  was  more  than  that, 
dear." 

"Then  why — or  am  I  too  fresh?" 

"You're  not  too  fresh,  dear.  I  loved 
Bleeker  and  he  loved  me,  but  I  was  a  very 
bossy  woman  and  he  needed  a  wife — not  a 
manager." 

"You  still  love  him,  don't  you?  Why 
don't  you  tell  him  so?" 

"What  for?" 

"So  that  you  two  could  be  together." 

OCOTT  shook  her  head.  "He  walked  away 
from  me.   I'd  never  send  for  him." 

"That's  pride,  and  pride  is  wrong,  mother. 
It  always  gets  a  person  into  trouble.  You 
taught  me  that." 

Scott  laughed.  "You're  old  enough  now 
to  know  that  mothers  seldom  practice  what 
they  preach." 

It  was  at  the  end  of  that  summer  of  1942 
that  Ursula  went  away  to  school.  Her  health 
was  dependable  enough  to  warrant  pro- 
longed study.  Doctor  Roth  located  a  school 
that  specialized  in  instruction  for  older  girls 
whom  illness  had  robbed  of  their  early 
schooling,  and  Ursula  packed  and  departed. 

From  the  first  her  letters  were  filled  with 

"Mr.    Lambert."     He    was    the    French 

teacher.  "All  the  girls  are  crazy  about  him, 

but  I  do  think  he  has 

a  little  crush   on  me. 

He  keeps  looking  at  me 
all  the  time  with  the 
cutest  little  smile." 

Mrs.  Dodge  looked 
up  in  consternation  one 
day  from  a  letter  of 
Ursula's.  "This  is  ter- 
rible, Scott.  She's 
crazy  about  that 
French  teacher.  Do 
you  know  how  old  he 
is?" 

"Thirty-four,"  Scott 

said. 

"Yes.  Isn't  it  awful  to  have  a  silly  crush 
on  a  man  that  age?  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"Invite  him  here  for  the  Christmas  holi- 
days." 

"What!" 

Scott  wrote  a  careful  letter.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  know  whether  the  man  had  really 
been  drawn  to  Ursula  or  if  her  girlish  vanity 
had  made  it  appear  so. 

Dear  Mr.  Lambert:  Ursula  writes  that  she 
enjoys  her  French  lessons  greatly  and  I  wish  to 
thank  you  for  your  kindness  and  interest.  She 
iTieans  a  great  deal  to  me  and  I  am  very  grate- 
ful for  your  friendliness. 

There  was  more  in  the  same  mood.  He 
could  take  it  either  way.  She  knew  of  the 
flirtation — if  such  there  was — and  was  not 
angry.  Or,  if  there  was  no  flirtation,  she  was 
a  pompous  individual  who  went  around 
thanking  bored  schoolteachers. 

Back  came  a  letter  very  swiftly: 

Dear  Mrs.  Paige:  It  was  so  nice  of  you  to 
write.  Your  daughter  Ursula  is  an  outstandingly 
brilliant  student.  There  is  something  about  her 
fragile  charm  that  enchants  everyone. 

And  so  on  and  so  on. 

Scott  and  Mr.  Lambert  exchanged  a  few 
more  letters  before  she  extended  the  invita- 
tion for  the  holidays.  It  was  accepted  by 
telegraph. 

"Sometimes,  Scott,"  Mrs.  Dodge  said,  "I 
think  you're  crazy.  He's  thirty-four  years 
old." 

"What  of  it?" 

"What  of  it!  She's  seventeen.  Are  you 
that  anxious  to  get  rid  of  her?" 

"Sure,"  Scott  said. 

Mr.  Lambert  proved  to  be  a  slim  man  with 
a  small  blond  mustache  and  an  undeniable 


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29: 


I  Lewis  Hotel  Training  School 

I  Room  DA.577,  Washington  7,  D.  C. 

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I    Name I 

I    Address I 


ity State j 


City 


78 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


for 
Quick 

Lunches 


Heinz 

Condensed 

Cream  oi. 
Tomato 

Sotip 

made  the  old-time 

smQll-batcli  waj? 

rich  in  energy 

and  flavor 


knack  for  wearing  clothes  well.  He  was  a 
gentleman  and  his  main  interest  in  life  up 
to  now  had  been  books.  The  remarkable 
thing  was  that  he  really  was  in  love  with 
Ursula. 

The  first  moment  that  he  was  alone  with 
Scott  he  asked  her  point-blank  if  she  would 
consider  his  age  as  a  bar  to  approving  him  as 
a  son-in-law. 

"Does  Ursula  love  you?" 

"She  has  told  me  so."  He  smiled  a  little, 
proudly.  "She  does  not  find  me  dull.  I 
can't  imagine  why  she  doesn't.  I'm  a  book- 
ish fellow,  inclined  to  picnics  and  fishing  in 
quiet  lakes." 

Scott  nodded. 

"You  would  not  disapprove,  Mrs.  Paige?  " 
he  went  on. 

"No." 

Mrs.  Dodge  was  beside  herself  with  rage. 
"He's  a  nice  enough  man,  but  I  think  it's 
just  awful.  I  can't  imagine  why  you've  en- 
gineered this  thing." 

"Then  your  imagination  is  very  sluggish, 
Mrs.  Dodge." 

It  took  Cherry  and  Linda  a  while  to  un- 
derstand, but  finally  they  did.  And  they 
said,  "Nice  going,  mother." 

She  remembered  their  words  in  the  year 
that  followed  when  she  was  alone  so  much. 
Ursula  was  gone  to  lead  a  quiet  life  with 
Mr.  Lambert,  who  was  a  bookish  fellow  and 
would  not  tire  of  a  wife  who  could  not  dance 
or  keep  late  hours.  Even  Mrs.  Dodge  saw 
now  what  Scott  had  engineered — a  safe,  se- 
cure life  for  a  girl  who,  the  doctors  said,  must 
never  be  too  active.  Linda  was  a  Wave, 
smart  and  proud  in  her  blue  uniform.  Cherry 
was  showing  the  horses  in  different  parts  of 
the  state,  winning  honors  for  the  Scott  Paige 
Stable. 

Scott  listened  to  the  radio.  Bleeker  was 
back  in  America  now,  telling  people  what  lie 
had  seen.  Perhaps,  she  thought,  he  will  come 
here.  But  the  Paiges  said  he  was  going  to 
the  Pacific  area  and  had  mentioned  nothing 
of  visiting  them. 

There  was  lots  of  work  at  the  stable. 
Jimmy,  who  had  been  with  her  so  long,  had 
gone  to  war.  He  was  the  boy  who  had 
taught  manners  to  high-strung  colts.  Scott 
was  breaking  them  now.  She  enjoyed  the 
tussle,  the  hazard  of  pitting  herself  against 
the  wild  young  animals,  but  she  was  dis- 


satisfied and  disappointed  when  they  learned 
too  easily,  too  soon. 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  with  those  young 
horses.  One  of  them  will  kill  you  one  of 
these  days,"  Mrs.  Dodge  said  over  and  over. 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"All  right,  smartie.  You  always  know  best. 
But  when  you're  lying  there  in  a  heap  on  the 
ground  with  a  horseshoe  in  your  tummy,  re- 
member I  warned  you." 

"Yes,  dear.  I'll  say  to  myself,  'What  do 
you  know?  Mrs.  Dodge  was  absolutely 
right.'" 

"You  will  if  you're  conscious,"  Mrs. 
Dodge  said  darkly. 

"I'm  always  conscious,  dear.  It's  only 
your  impression  that  I'm  not." 

The  girls  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
looked  down  at  her.  She  saw  them  through 
the  fog  and  the  fringe  of  her  eyelashes.  They 
were  behaving  very  foolishly.  They  had  only 
been  there  a  few  minutes,  yet  Cherry  and 


H01%'  TO 
l>IIE*>iERVE  f'HII.»KEI¥ 

lake  one  grassy  lot 

six  eliildren 

a  few  clogs 

one  small  brook 

some  pebbles 
Metliojl:  I'se  the  grassy  lot  and 
mix  lli«-  ehildren  and  dogs  well, 
stirring  eonstanlly.  Pour  the  brook 
over  the  pebbles  and  when  the  chil- 
dren are  brown,  eool  thetn  in  a  bath- 
tub. 

— Confributed     by     Blonche     Hollingworth     in     Im- 
provement Era:  Quoted  in  Digest  and  Review. 


Ursula  had  changed  their  clothes  at  least  a 
half-dozen  times.  Maybe  Linda  had  too. 
You  couldn't  tell  about  a  girl  in  uniform. 
The  fog  suddenly  lifted  and  she  could  see 
that  the  girls  were  not  crying.  They  were 
looking  at  her  with  interest  and  anxiety. 

"Did  you,  Linda?"  she  asked. 

"There!"  a  strange  voice  said.  "I  told 
you  she  was  coming  out  of  it." 

"Did  I  what,  mother?"  Linda  asked,  and 
there  was  breathless  excitement  in  her  voice. 


"Did  you  change  your  uniform  since 
you've  been  here?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

The  strange  voice  spoke  again.  "Slje's  fine 
now.  Coming  along  just  fine." 

Scott  was  at  last  able  to  see  that  the 
stranger  was  a  nurse.  "How  long  have  you 
been  here?"  she  asked. 

"Three  weeks,  Mrs.  Paige." 

"Three  weeks.  That  isn't  possible.  You 
mean  I've  been  here  in  bed  that  long?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Paige,  but  you're  doing  very 
well  now.  You'll  be  up  again  in  no  time." 

"I  suppose."  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
thought  about  being  up  again  in  no  time. 
The  girls  would  go  then,  and  she  would  be 
alone  once  more.  She  opened  her  eyes  again. 
Cherry  was  gone.  "Where's  Cherry?" 

"Here  I  am,  mother." 

Cherry  came  back  into  her  range  of  vision. 
She  had  walked  over  to  the  big  chair  in  the 
comer  of  the  room.  If  Scott  had  turned  her 
head  she  could  have  seen  her.  But  she 
hadn't.   It  was  too  much  effort. 

Her  eyes  moved  to  the  shelf  of  books 
above  her  writing  desk.  She  thought  of 
something.  "What  time  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Eleven-fifteen,"  Linda  said. 

"In  the  morning,"  Ursula  added. 

Scott  was  annoyed.  Didn't  Ursula  know 
that  she  could  see  the  sun  streaming  across 
her  bed?  "Tell  me  when  it's  two-thirty  this 
afternoon,  will  you?" 

Cherry  came  close  and  leaned  over  Scott. 
"He  won't  be  on  the  air  today,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Why  not?  Has  he  gone  to  the  Pacific 
theater?" 

"No." 

"Then  where  is  he?" 

Cherry  leaned  closer  and  whispered  more 
quietly,  "He's  over  there  in  the  big  chair  in 
the  corner.  We've  been  dusting  around  him 
for  weeks." 

"Oh,"  Scott  said.  She  knew  she  was 
laughing  weakly  and  that  her  eyes  were  full 
of  silly  tears.  After  a  while  he'd  come  and 
stand  beside  her  bed  and  look  down  at  her 
and  grin.  And  life  would  be  rich  again. 

But  she  knew  that  he  would  not  stay  be- 
side her,  that  always  he  must  go.  Only  this 
time  she'd  make  certain  that  he'd  want  to 
come  back. 

(THE  END) 


immediate  effect  on  syphilis  of  all  types, 
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ported by  the  Mayo  Clinic,  produces  an  im- 
mediate relief  from  pain  and  attendant 
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Thus,  with  every  prospect  that  penicillin 
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But  sex  education  and  complete  medical 
cures  are  not  enough  to  cope  with  the 
gigantic  problem  facing  us.  Doctor  Stokes 
points  out  that,  following  the  rapid  cures, 
"the  most  fundamental  thing  in  the  whole 
treatment  of  venereal  disease  is  lost — an  edu- 
cation in  social  responsibility.  The  quick 
painless  cure  will  be  less  of  a  device  for  the 
control  of  infection  than  an  incitement  to 
re-exposure  and  country-wide  epidemicity. 
If  sexual  relations  lead  potentially  neither  to 
frightful  illness  nor  to  unwanted  parenthood, 
only  a  few  intangibles  of  the  spirit  remain  to 
guide  our  children  from  an  outmoded  past 
into  an  unbridled  future." 

What  we  are  really  up  against  is  an  enor- 
mous emotional  backlash  created  by  our 
present-day  civilization.  To  attempt  to 
move  intelligently  against  these  power- 
fully insistent  forces,  we  must  understand 
and  recognize  them. 

Nature  used  to  adjust  automatically  the 
balance  wheel  within  us  by  providing  pL-nty 
of  physical  exertion  to  drain  off  our  emo- 


lllA^iiTITY    A^D   $»YPHILIS 

(Coyjlinued  from  Page  23) 

tional  potential.  But  we  have  blunderingly 
upset  Nature.  We  no  longer  have  massive 
physical  weariness  at  nightfall.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  generations  we  have  helped  our- 
selves to  machine-made  leisure:  we  have 
lessened  the  muscular  effort  needed  to  main- 
tain livelihood.  There  is  no  ice  to  break  on 
the  water  pitcher  in  the  morning,  no  dawn 
chores,  no  two-mile  walk  to  school,  no  ax  to 
wield.  In  place  of  them  we  have  substituted 
thermostats,  hot  and  cold  running  water, 
sit-down  jobs,  motorcars  and  oversized 
meals — all  of  which  accumulate,  instead  of 
discharging,  sexual  and  nerve  tensions. 

One  might  think  worry — the  incessant 
gnawing  worry  of  modern  life — would  offset 
and  depress  these  tensions.  But  it  doesn't. 
The  paradoxical  thing  about  worry  is  its 
direct  drive  into  sexual  hyperactivity,  and 
even  sexual  abnormality.  Such  activity 
often  becomes  the  major  mechanism  of 
escape. 

Adding  fuel  to  our  emotional  fires  is  the 
elementary  reversal  taking  place  nowadays 
between  men  and  women  in  carrying  the 
physical  load  of  life  and  family.  Woman,  in 
many  cases.  Doctor  Stokes  says,  is  becoming 
the  hunter,  the  sex  adventurer.  Released  by 
mechanical  and  medical  aids  from  her  old- 
time  routine  of  washboard,  ironing,  kitchen 
sink  and  childbearing,  she  has  often  become 
the  sexual  seeker,  the  aggressor  of  the  male- 
female  combination.  Where  sheer  fatigue,  if 
nothing  else,  kept  her  continent  before,  there 
is  now  less  check.  This  makes  for  rampant 
restlessness  in  all  social  groups.  But  stem- 
ming as  it  does  from  the  very  core  of  the 
household,  this  brand  of  restlessness  is  as 


malignant  a  contagion  as  any  virus.  It  in- 
fects every  other  member  of  that  household. 

Students  of  human  behavior  tell  us  the 
cult  of  individuality  has  had  its  part  in  set- 
ting up  a  character  problem  in  sexual  and 
self  control.  The  triumph  of  "I  want  to" 
and  "I  like  to"  over  "I  ought  to"  and  "I 
should"  has  become  the  motivating  force  in 
human  conduct.  Add  to  this  the  great  emo- 
tional bonfire  lit  by  today's  war  and  its 
devastating  assault  upon  emotionally  un- 
stable juveniles.  Patriotism,  vast  admira- 
tion, fervor  and  precocious  sex  urge  get  all 
tangled  up  in  addlescent  bodies  that  are  not 
yet  equipped  with  the  necessary  adult  in- 
tellectual processes  with  which  to  make  de- 
cisions. 

Juvenile  girls  are  avid  to  show  soldiers  a 
good  time:  in  one  meeting  they  become  the 
girl  friend,  the  pickup,  with  no  inherent 
adult  standard  of  sex  conduct  to  offset  emo- 
tionalism. Let  those  girls  be  from  unhappy 
disrupted  homes,  or  those  where  they  have 
been  starved  for  affection  and  healthy 
praise,  and  the  desire  to  please  the  first  man 
who  comes  along  is  increased  tenfold,  juvenile- 
court  workers  report  from  a  mass  of  just 
such  evidence.  Further  evidence  comes  from 
the  conspicuous  shift  of  infection  sources 
from  the  professional  prostitutes  to  the 
bobby-socks  amateurs.  Last  year  1 1,000  girls 
between  the  ages  of  eleven  and  fifteen  ac- 
quired syphilis.  One  fifth  of  all  who  were 
known  to  have  acquired  it  were  under 
twenty. 

"Sexual  misconduct  begins," Doctor  Stokes 
says,  "at  the  point  where  the  'individual 
((.'ontinued  on  Page  SO) 


L,Auir.:i    nuAii^  juuni\AL, 


Jf^md... 


«er,j?""''^"sicH,,, 


. . .  delicious  PARKAY provides  energy  and  Vitamin  A . 


/ 


Let  'er  blow!  Here's  a  warm,  cheery 
meal  that'll  put  plenty  of  good  nour- 
ishment under  your  belt  these  cold- 
weather  days. 

Especially  in  winter  months,  your  family 
needs  foods  high  in  energy  value  —  and  eco- 
nomical Parkay  Margarine  is  one  of  the  best.  It's 
a  top-notch  energy  food!  So  spread  delicious, 
nourishing  Parkay  on  hot  dinner  rolls,  bread 
and  piping-hot  breakfast  toast  ...  or  serve  it 
in  still  another  appetizing  way,  as  a  seasoning 
for  hot  cooked  vegetables. 


Reliable  Source  of  Vitamin  A! 

It's  reassuring  to  know,  too,  you  can  rely  on 
every  pound  of  Parkay  to  contain  9,000  (U.S.  P. 
XII)  units  of  important  Vitamin  A.  All  through 
the  year — summer  and  winter — there  is  the 
same,  dependable  amount  of  Vitamin  A  in  every 
pound  of  Parkay  Margarine  you  buy. 

Fresh,  Delicate  Flavor! 

And  then  there's  that  fresh,  delicate  Parkay 
flavor — so  welcome  at  every  meal  for  your  added 
enjoyment  of  other  wholesome  foods.  Parkay 


Margarine's  satisfying  flavor  is  just  what  you'd 
expect  of  a  wliolesome  American  farm  product, 
made  to  Kraft's  high  quality  standards. 

Top-quality,  highly  refined  vegetable  oils 
and  fresh,  pasteurized  skim  milk,  blended  to 
appetizing  goodness  with  selected,  milk- 
flavor  cultures,  are  the  principal  ingredients  in 
Parkay. 

Your  family  is  sure  to  give  Parkay  a  warm 
welcome — it's  already  a  favorite  spread  in  mil- 
lions of  American  homes. 

KRAFT  CHEESE  COMPANY,  Chicago  90,  Illinois 


PARKAY-  a  nutritious  spread  for  America's  bread 


80 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


cold  weather  lotion 

Rich!      Concentrated!      Economical! 

Once  cold  weather  comes — thousands  of  women 
change  to  Original  Campana  Balm.  For  this  is 
the  lotion  you  can  DEPEND  on  to  help  prevent 
chapping,  soften  your  skin,  protect  your  skin 
against  winter  weather.  Original  Campana  Balm 
works  quickly — gives  instant  relief  for  chapping. 
Cracked,  smarting  skins  show  wonderful 
improvement  ovemiglu. 

Vhe  0^ina£ 


Campana 
BalTR 


BACK 

*^      ^  For  some  tinie»  Original   Balm   has   been    unavailable   because   ol    war 

AGAIN!   reslriclions.    Now  it's  bark    -unrbanped    -jusi  when  you  need  it  most. 


Don't  try  to  blow  that  cold  away 

When  those  nostrils  are  clogged  with  thick  mucus,  and  breathing 
through  that  cold-sick  nose  is  almost  impossible — don't  try  to  blow  the 
congested  passages  open!  Hard  blowing  makes  tender  membranes  sore; 
may  increase  the  stopped-up  discomfort !  No  cure  for  a  head  cold  has  yet 
been  found,  but  that  smothering  stuffiness,  that  smarting  irritation  around 
nose  and  mouth  can  be  relieved  quickly.  See  how  Mentholatum  helps. 

Easy  way  to  open  stuffy  nostrils  , . .  soothe  irritation 

Applied  right  in  the  nose  and  snuffed  well  back,  Mentholatum  strikes 
promptly  at  nasal  discomforts  with  4  vital  actions: 


1 .  Helps  thin  out  thick,  stubborn  mucus 
— soon  your  nose  starts  to  clear. 

2.  Soothes  irritated  membranes,  reduces 
red,  sore  ring  around  nose  and  mouth 
caused  by  burning,  smarting  discharge. 


3,  Helps  reduce  swelling,  congestion — 
soon  breathing  through  the  nose  is 
possible  again. 

4.  Helps  Nature  heal  by  increasing 
circulation  in  "sick"  area. 


Don't  go  on  "suffering"  right  through  a  heavy  cold.  Use  Mentholatum 
for  quick  relief.  You  breathe  more  easily,  sleep  better,  waken  more 
refreshed,  look  like  a  different  person  !  At  any  stage  of  a  cold,  spread 
Mentholatum  in  nostril,  snuff  well  hack,  and  B-R-E-A-T-H-E. 

Get  MENTHOLATUM! 

Helps  clear  clogged  noses  .  .  .  quickly,  safely 


(Continued  from  Page  78) 
with  excess  energy,  uncontrolled  by  intelli- 
gence, follows  an  emotion  to  the  unsound 
solution  of  a  basic  need.  This  basic  need  is 
inescapable,  and  is  variable  in  its  intensity 
from  individual  to  individual.  But  if  the 
hereditary  bacltground  has  been  decent,  and 
the  home  associations  normally  good,  the 
majority  of  youngsters  will  work  out  a 
creditable  solution  of  their  individual  sex 
problems  by  the  end  of  their  adolescence 
if — and  this  is  where  every  mother  must 
function  doubly — if  girls  and  youths  are' 
given  sufficient  play  to  offset  worry,  and  at 
the  same  time  are  given  sufficient  hard 
physical  work  to  discharge  nerve  tension. 
With  this  follows  the  need  to  control  loneli- 
ness and  homesickness,  to  provide  adequate 
substitutes  for  severed  human  ties,  especially 
with  the  other  sex;  to  provide  a  cause,  an 
ideal  or  aim  which  validates  effort  and  as- 
sures the  future." 

In  all  this  Doctor  Stokes  sees  the  family 
as  the  rock  of  salvation.  Not  the  sketchy 
on-the-wing  laborless  household  where  living 
schedules,  techniques  and  entertainment  all 
happen  with  the  pressing  of  buttons.  But  in- 
stead the  energy-absorbing,  energy-expanding, 
energy-consuming  old-time  home  where  co- 
operation and  abundant  affection  made 
good  citizens  of  the  whole  group. 

This  is  the  democratic  family  which  ob- 
tains a  nice  balance  between  adult  and  child 
dominance  by  a  continual  sharing  of  views 
on  family  and  personal  conduct,  and  where 
the  decisions  made  are  family-forum  deci- 
sions— the  result  of  sitting  around  a  fireplace 
or  a  kitchen  table  or  a  garden  bench  dis- 
cussing and  respecting  the  individual  pros 


and  cons  of  every  other  member  of  that 
family  group.  The  reward  is  healthy  intellec- 
tual and  emotional  growth,  for,  in  among 
other  emotions,  the  vital  sex  drive  gets  full 
and  careful  consideration,  seasoned  counsel, 
affectionate  guidance  which  is  acutely  per- 
sonal always. 

No  school,  no  set  of  textbooks  can  ever 
substitute  for  this  personal  element.  In  fact. 
Doctor  Stokes  questions,  along  with  several 
prominent  sociologists,  whether  schools  and 
the  average  type  of  teacher  are  adequate 
instruments  through  which  so  emotional  and 
unbalanced  an  affair  as  sex  conduct  can  be 
effectively  reached.  Far  too  often  the  ap- 
proach is  arbitrary,  pious,  a  paper  solution 
only. 

"The  whole  fighting  front  of  our  venereal- 
disease  control,"  Doctor  Stokes  points  out, 
"has  shifted  radically  in  the  past  year  with 
the  advent  of  superior  weapons  of  attack 
and  defense.  From  now  on  the  emphasis 
must  be  on  the  human  side — the  regulating 
of  a  powerful  emotion,  and  the  planning  of 
an  intelligent,  a  reasoned  and  a  fulfilled 
human  existence.  Yes,  we  must  continue  to 
call  to  education  and  to  treatment,  but  let 
us  also  make  an  equal  call  to  sound  character 
based  upon  a  positive  moral  force." 

The  international  phases  of  our  postwar 
living  will  be  charted  for  us  at  the  peace 
table.  No  one  of  us  expects  to  have  a  very 
personal  voice  in  that.  But  of  immediate 
and  pressing  interest  to  every  American 
family  is  the  tangled  issue  of  the  eradication 
of  venereal  disease  by  science — and  by  the 
intelligent  and  unceasing  co-operation  with 
the  social  aspects  of  that  problem,  in  the 
home. 


EDEN   ON   A    ROOF  TOP 

(Continued  from  Page  21) 


men  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  buildings. 
They  had  tomatoes  and  squash  and  green 
bananas  on  the  carts.  With  these  glasses,  you 
could  even  see  the  old  alley  cat  leaping  up  on 
a  garbage  can  set  out  at  the  curb  for  collec- 
tion. 

It  was  a  long  stretch,  and  got  longer.  But 
at  night  he  and  Buzz  took  a  couple  of  girls 
from  Poughkeepsie  to  the  ice  show  at  Radio 
City.  They  were  very  pretty  girls  and  full  of 
fun,  Vassar  girls.  They  talked  like  a  five- 
alarm  fire,  and  they  seemed  young  and  silly 
to  Peter  Adams.  Their  rouge  and  lipstick 
and  nail  polish  all  matched,  and  they  wore 
those  fool  fishnets  over  their  hair  and  Buzz 
thought  they  were  very  smooth. 

The  next  day  the  watch  was  shifted.  Pete 
and  Buzz  went  on  in  the  afternoon  when  it 
was  beginning  to  cool  down.  Buzz  had  a  fit, 
because  it  meant  they  missed  their  dates. 
Saturday  was  a  fine  time  to  stick  them  up 
in  the  sky. 

As  they  climbed  out  of  the  little  skylight 
opening,  Buzz  caught  his  foot  on  the  ladder 
and  gave  it  a  mean  jerk.  He  swore  and 
limped  over  and  sat  down,  nursing  his  bruise. 

"You  take  over,"  he  said.  "Lemme  see  if 
I'm  ruined." 

Two  other  men  climbed  out  and  went  off 
to  the  north  side  of  the  big  building.  Pete 
moved  slowly  to  his  vantage  point  and 
screwed  the  barrel  of  his  glasses.  Even  Buzz 
couldn't  help  him  today;  Buzz  was  rubbing 
his  ankle  and  muttering.  He  was  alone  in 
the  sky,  he  felt,  in  a  maddening  isolation. 
He  felt  lousy.  What  a  way  to  put  in  time! 

The  sky  was  deep  and  soft  as  the  sun 
swung  down.  The  river  lost  that  polished 
look  and  was  soft  silver.  Feathers  of  smoke 
from  the  plump  little  tugs  came  up  toward 
him.  He  stood  up,  easing  his  long  legs  and 
squinting  his  dark  eyes,  and  went  over  the 
same  old  ground  below. 

Then  he  did  see  something  different.  After 
all  this  time,  something  was  different. 

On  Middagh  Street  was  a  line  of  very  old 
four-story  buildings,  buildings  that  seemed 
to  lean  toward  the  street.  They  had  crazy 
little  areaways  with  potted  plants  growing 
in  them.  They  had  flat  dark  roofs  with  queer 
crooked  chimneys  sticking  up  all  over  them. 
As  Pete's  powerful  glasses  swung  over  these 
roofs,  he  saw  a  trap  door  lift  on  one  almost 


under  him.*  He  could  have  dropped  a  stone 
on  it,  nearly,  if  he  had  leaned  out  a  little. 

A  girl  came  out  of  the  darkness  and  stood 
looking  up  at  the  sky.  She  could  be  a 
saboteur.  He  focused  sharply  on  her.  She 
was  a  thin  girl  and  she  carried  a  basket  under 
her  arm.  She  wore  blue  slacks  and  a  yellow 
blouse  and  flat  sandals.  She  put  the  basket 
down  and  vanished,  and  came  up  again. 
Every  time  she  went  out  of  sight  it  was  like 
a  swimmer  diving  into  the  hot  black  pool, 
and  when  she  came  back  again,  it  was  like  a 
diver  coming  up.  She  carried  up  several 
things.  Finally  she  carried  up  a  little  black 
dog. 

Pete  gave  perfunctory  glances  now  and 
then  at  the  river  and  the  streets  and  the 
corners  of  the  building  he  was  guarding,  but 
he  saw  no  peculiar  activity  at  all.  But  what 
happened  on  the  roof  below  was  peculiar. 
He  crouched  down  and  watched  intently. 

First  the  girl  went  over  to  a  chimney 
and  watered  some  plants  in  a  wooden  box. 
Then  she  opened  up  a  camp  chair  and  spread 
a  blanket  beside  it.  The  little  dog  sat  beside 
her.  Every  little  while  she  opened  the 
basket  and  leaned  over  it  and  then  covered 
it  again  carefully.  She  sat  down  in  the  chair 
and  took  something  from  a  bag  that  was 
there  and  crossed  her  thin  ankles  and  pushed 
back  her  hair  and  bent  her  head  a  little. 
She  was  knitting. 

It  gave  him  the  oddest  feeling.  There  she 
sat,  up  above  the  dingy  buildings,  with  the 
little  dog  beside  her,  knitting.  Summer 
afternoons  at  home,  women  sat  in  the  grassy 
yards  or  on  the  front  porches  and  knitted, 
while  the  little  children  bounced  around.  He 
turned  his  glasses  for  a  sharper  focus. 

She  had  red  hair.  It  caught  the  late  sun 
and  glowed  with  light.  The  little  black  dog 
was  a  spaniel  with  long  curly  ears.  She 
leaned  over  and  opened  the  basket  and  took 
out  something  and  then  put  it  back.  It  was 
a  rather  small  kitten. 

The  sky  grew  softer,  and  the  smell  of  the 
sea  was  clear  and  salty,  and  the  little  tugs 
blew  soft  smoky  flowers  up  from  the  silver 
river.  The  lights  of  the  Hotel  St.  George 
were  like  yellow  primroses. 

The  girl  on  the  roof  put  away  the  knitting. 
It  was  getting  too  dark  to  see.  Pete  could 
see  very  well,  with  the  Army  special  lenses, 


'tat 
•tfc; 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


81 


DON'T  LET  A 
STOPPED-UP' 
NOSE  SPOIL 
YOUR  FUN! 


/ 


USE 


MISIDL 
DROPS 

WITH  EPHEDRINE 
Helps  soothe  irritated  nasal  passages. 
Helps  relieve  that  "stuffed-up"  feeling  due 
to  a  cold.  Caution:   Use  only  as  directed. 


Copr.  l'>44,  Stance  Incorporated 


"O-O-Oh!  What  relief!"  That's  what  they're 
saying  about  soothing  chap  STICK.  Specially 
medicated,  specially  soothing... CHAP  STICK  is 
the  friend  in  need  for  parched, 
chapped  lips.  254 


Give 

four  Feet  An 

ce-Mint  Treat 

Get  Happy,  Cooling  Relief  For 
Burn'ing  Callouses — Put  Spring  In  Your  Step 

Don't  groan  about  tired,  burning  feet.  Don't 
oan  about  callouses.  Get  busy  and  give  them  an 
;e-Mint  treat.  Feel  the  comforting,  soot'iing  cool- 
;S8  of  lee-Mint  driving  out  fiery  burning  .  .  . 
:hing  tiredness.  Rub  Ice-Mint  over  those  ugly 
ird  old  corns  and  callouses,  as  directed.  See  how 
hite,  cream-like  Ice-Mint  helps  soften  them  up. 
;t  foot  happy  today  the  Ice-Mint  way.  Your 
xiggist  has  Ice-Mint. 


that  she  was  getting  out  some  kind  of  supper 
and  spreading  it  on  a  clean  cloth  beside  her. 
She  was  having  a  picnic  on  that  roof,  and  the 
little  dog  was  eating  from  a  bowl  at  the  same 
time.  The  kitten  emerged,  too,  and  had 
supper  and  then  went  back  in  the  basket. 

"Well,  I  thought  this  stretch  would  be 
longer,"  said  Pete,  when  he  went  off.  "Must 
be  the  weather  is  better." 

He  didn't  feel  so  low  going  back  next  day 
either.  After  all,  if  he  couldn't  be  at  the 
front,  he  could  just  do  what  he  was  told, 
and  that  was  the  Army  way.  The  guys  at  the 
top  probably  figured  things  out  all  right. 

Buzz  was  laid  up  with  a  sprained  ankle 
and  missed  the  watch.  So  he  wasn't  there 
when  Pete  turned  his  glasses  on  the  dark  flat 
roof  and  looked  eagerly  down.  The  roof  was 
empty.  He  felt  let  down,  someway.  Was  he 
going  to  spend  all  his  life  stuck  up  here  on 
this  darned  building  like  a  fly  on  flypaper? 

Then  he  saw  the  girl  come  out  on  the 
roof  again.  Just  out  of  curiosity  he  watched 
her.  Looking  down  that  way,  he  couldn't 
figure  how  tall  she  was.  She  looked  little. 
This  time  she  spread  newspapers  on  the  roof 
and  carried  up  a  chair  and  opened  a  can  of 
paint  and  began  to  paint  the  chair.  It  was  a 
small  old-fashioned  rocker,  rather  like  the 
one  in  mom's  bedroom.  She  was  painting  it 
apple  green.  She  gave  nice  even  strokes  and 
wiped  her  brush  on  the  edge  of  the  can  each 
time.  Her  head  was  tied  up  in  a  blue  hand- 
kerchief. 

Pete  watched  her  with  intense  scrutiny. 
She  capped  the  paint  can  and  cleaned  the 
brush.  She  sure  painted  well  for  a  girl.  Then 
she  moved  the  chair,  by  putting  her  hands 
under  the  seat,  to  a  spot  where  it  caught  the 
full  sun,  and  she  disappeared. 

This  time  she  came  up  with  the  little  black 
spaniel  and  the  basket  kitten.  He  figured 
that  one  all  right:  the  kitten  might  jump  off 
the  roof.  The  dog  had  too  much  sense. 

She  watered  her  plants  when  the  sun  got 
a  little  lower,  and  dug  around  the  pots  with 
a  small  tool.  He  wondered  if  she  knew  about 
that  swell  fertilizer  mom  had  that  made  stuff 
grow  like  crazy  even  in  poor  soil.  Mom  could 
make  anything  blossom. 

It  was  dark  almost  before  he  knew  it.  The 
girl  had  her  supper  and  sat  with  the  dog  in 
her  lap.  Now  and  then  the  dog  reached  up 
and  pawed  her  lovingly  and  she  ruffled  his 
silky  ears.  She  never  moved,  he  noticed, 
with  those  jumpy  nervous  movements  like 
most  girls.  She  was  quiet. 

The  stars  came  over  Brooklyn  like  open 
daisies,  and  the  tall  towers  of  Manhattan 
glimmered  in  the  soft  evening.  All  the  traffic 
noises  were  small  and  distant  as  a  brook  far 
off,  running  over  a  pebbled  bottom.  A  couple 
of  city  sparrows  in  brown  business  suits 
hopped  on  a  lower  ledge  and  talked  the  day 
over.  And  Pete  Adams  was  off  duty  again. 

The  next  day  he  hurried  to  his  corner' as 
fast  as  he  could.  This  day  the  girl  was  late, 
and  he  felt  miserable  about  the  whole  world. 
She  ought  to  get  home  and  get  the  dog  out 
for  some  air.  What  was  she  doing  anyway? 
Look  here,  he  said  to  her,  you  can't  do  this  way 
to  your  dog.  He'll  get  lonesome.  Unreliable, 
women  were.  You  couldn't  get  around  it. 
They  just  simply — well,  they  simply 

She  came  lugging  her  stuff  up  in  a  hurry. 
She  had  been  washing  her  hair  after  she  got 
home  from  wherever  she  got  home  from. 
She  shook  it  out  in  the  light  air  and  brushed 
it  back.  It  was  red  as  embers  when  the  fire 
dies  down. 

She  and  the  little  spaniel  played  games 
while  it  dried.  They  played  bring  it  back  at 
once,  and  go  get  it,  and  sit  on  command,  and 
find  it,  and  other  delightful  games.  And  then 
she  lighted  a  small  alcohol  stove,  which  was 
certainly  against  the  fire  laws,  and  must 
have  made  hamburgers  for  them  all. 

It  was  a  nice  evening.   Pete  had  fun  too. 

Pete  was  about  to  tell  Buzz,  when  sud- 
denly he  thought  better  of  it.  But  Buzz 
would  be  back  on  duty  tomorrow.  Buzz 
would  see  his  girl  too.  And  Buzz  was  a  wolf, 
that  was  the  plain  truth.  Then  Pete  grinned 
to  himself.  /  ought  to  have  my  head  examined, 
he  thought.  It  wouldn't  matter  if  he  were  a 
whole  pack  of  wolves.  She  doesn't  even 
know  us. 


For  that  matter,  he  didn't  know  her  either. 
Oh,  yes,  he  did,  certainly  he  did.  He  knew 
all  about  her,  practically.  Except  her  name 
and  address  and  what  she  did.  Work  at 
something  or  keep  house  or — she  might  be 
married ! 

Pete  sat  back  and  wiped  his  face  and  felt 
the  sweat  in  his  eyes.  Dope  that  he  was;  she 
wasn't  married,  she  was  alone.  Unless  he 
was  in  the  war  somewhere. 

Not  that  it  mattered  to  Peter  Adams. 
Certainly  not.  He  was  going  to  keep  Buzz 
looking  off  the  other  side,  anyway.  If  he  had 
to  break  a  leg  to  do  it. 

IHEY  went  on  guard  together  again  and  it 
was  raining.  Buzz  had  a  fit,  but  Pete  felt 
relieved  in  a  way.  It  rained  for  two  days, 
one  of  those  steaming  summer  New  York 
rains  when  the  water  hisses  down  and  steams 
on  the  pavement. 

"We're  going  to  get  moved  next  week," 
said  Buzz  happily.  "I  got  the  idea  right 
from  the  top.  And  boy,  will  we  be  glad ! " 

"What's  the  matter  with  this?"  asked 
Pete  crossly. 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  burned  up  to 
get  away!" 

"Well,  after  all,  Brooklyn  has  got  to  be 
protected." 

"Waah,"  said  Buzz.  "Brooklyn  can  take 
care  of  itself.  It  always  has." 

The  sky  was  clear  Thursday.  Now  Buzz 
would  certainly  see  the  girl.  Pete  was  more 
and  more  sure  he  didn't  want  him  to.  But 
Buzz  was  right  beside  him  when  they  un- 
slung  their  glasses  and  swept  the  scene  below. 

Pete  took  a  quick  look.  Then  he  stared 
hard,  and  then  he  grabbed  Buzz  by  the  arm 
and  said  hoarsely,  "Look!   Look  there." 

"What's  the  matter?"  Buzz  asked.  "See 
something?" 

"Oh,"  Pete  moaned.  "Oh,  Buzz,  look  at 
that!" 

"I  don't  see  the  fire,"  said  Buzz.  "All  I 
see  is  a  girl  on  that  roof  and  a  marine." 

"Marine!"  Pete  banged  his  fist  on  the 
coping.  "A  marine!" 

So  then  Pete  told  him.  And  Buzz  said 
incredulously,  "You  mean  you're  mad  be- 
cause that  girl  has  a  marine  up  there?  You 
mean  you're  jealous  about  a  girl  who  never 
saw  you?  Stick  out  your  tongue,  and  say 
'ah-h.'" 

Pete  glared  down  at  the  roof.  There  was 
some  kind  of  square  vent  there  and  the  girl 
knelt  down  and  seemed  to  look  in  it,  and  the 
man  disappeared  for  a  few  moments.  Then  a 
big  blue  arm  reached  up  with  a  wire  and  the 
girl  nodded  and  caught  it,  and  then  the  man 
came  back  and  hooked  the  wire  onto  a  box, 
and  Pete  said : 

"He  got  her  radio  hooked  up  through  that 
hole." 

"So  what?"  asked  Buzz.  "You  don't  care 
if  she  listens  to  a  little  music,  do  you?  " 

Pete  sat  down  and  held  his  head  in  his 
hands.  He  felt  terrible. 

"I  sure  don't  get  you,"  said  Buzz.  "First 
you  don't  like  the  girls  you  see  and  then  you 
fall  for  one  you  don't  know  and  can't  see 
you.  Personally,  I  think  you  better  go  on 
sick  list." 

"That's  not  where  I'm  going,"  said  Pete. 

He  didn't  know  how  to  start,  really,  but  he 
got  outthe  map  and  went  over  the  Brooklyn 
streets  and  marked  with  a  pencil  where  he 
wanted  to  go.  And  Saturday  he  walked 
down  a  narrow  little  street  and  started  look- 
ing anxiously  at  the  house  doors. 

It  was  scarcely  a  simple  problem.  He 
didn't  know  her  name,  he  didn't  know  which 
floor  she  lived  on.  He  only  knew  she  was  the 
one  who  came  up  on  the  roof— and  then  he 
had  an  idea.  It  was  the  top  floor.  Dope  that 
I  am,  he  said,  it's  gotta  be  the  top.  Or  else  they 
couldn't  pass  up  the  radio  wire  through  the 
roof.  Thanks  to  the  marine  for  that. 

He  went  up  and  down  the  block,  going  in 
the  entryways  and  looking  at  the  names  on 
the  mailboxes.  It  had  to  be  either  3,  5  or  7 
for  the  building,  he  figured.  He  began  with  3. 
He  rang  the  top-floor  bells. 

His  uniform  was  kind  of  a  drawback.  He 
couldn't  be  a  radio-repair  man,  or  a  brush 
seller.  He  told  the  Italian  woman  he  was 
looking  for  a  friend  named  Marvelli.  He 
told  the  old  man  he  was  trying  to  rent  a 


CLEANSE 
REFRESH 
SMOOTH 

These  are  the  Elizabeth  Arden 
essentials  . . .  essentials  with 
which  every  woman  can  keep 
herself  lovely,  make  herself 
prettier.   They    represent  the 
cleansing,  refreshing,  lubri- 
cating treatments  that  are  her 
daily  beauty  routine,  the^ 
very  foundation  of  good 
grooming.  If  you  have  never 
used  what  Elizabeth  Arden 
has  prepared  for  you,  here  is 
a  thrilling  experience  because, 
for  pleasure  in  use,  for 
delicious  fragrance,  indescrib- 
ably delightful  texture  . . .  the 
fee/  of  loveliness  and 
luxury  . . .  these  Essentials 
are  without  parallel. 


Ardeno  Cleansing  Cream, 

1.00  to  6.00 
Ardena  Skin  Lotion,  .85  to  15.00 
Ardeno  Fluffy  Cleonjing  Cream, 

1.00  to  6.00 
Ardena  Velvo  Cream,  1.00  to  6.00 
Ardena  Orange  Skin  Cream, 

1.00  to  8.00 
Ardena  Special  Astringent, 

2.25,  4.00,  10.00 
Ardena  Velvo  Cream  Mask, 

2.00  ond  5.00 
Ardena  All-Day  Foundation  Cream, 

1.00 
Illusion  Powder,  1.75  ond  3.00 
Cameo  Powder,  1.75  and  3.00 

{Prices  plus  taxes) 


Aka^^t' 


82 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


W^m 


"I'm  a  housewife  and  war 
worker,"  says  Mrs.  George  H. 
Read,  52-09  Van  Horn  Street, 
Elmhurst,  L.  \.  "With  two 
jobs  you  can't  risk  losing  your 
pep     so  I'm  taking  Viinms  (o 
get  the  vitamins  and  minerals 
1  need  to  help  keep  my  natural 
pep  and  energy." 


V 


Why  let  yourself  get  nervous  or  run-down 
from  a  lack  of  suflicient  vitamins  and  min- 
erals in  your  diet?  Right  now  you  may 
need  Vimms.  For  Government  studies — 
other  surveys  too — showed  3  out  of  4  per- 
sons including  rich,  poor  and  in-between, 
weren't  getting  enough  vitamins  and  min- 
erals in  their  diet.  Now  the  chances  are  3 
to  1  that  you  aren't  getting  all  you  should. 


^/imms  cost  little — only  a  few  cents  a  day. 
The  Family  Size,  288  tablets,  is  only  $4.29 


Enjoy  the  buoyant  energy  that's  right- 
fully yours  —  make  sure  you  get  enough 
vitamins  and  minerals.  Take  Vimms!  For 
unlike  so  many  vitamin  preparations, 
Vimms  give  you  not  just  Vitamins  A  and 
D,  not  just  the  important  B  Complex 
Vitamins — but  all  the  vitamins  Doctors 
and  Government  experts  agree  are  essen- 
tial in  the  diet,  including  costly  Vitamin  C. 


No  product  offering   only  one  tablet  or 

capsule  per  day  can  give  you  all  the  vita- 
mins and  minerals  in  the  Vimms  formula. 
For  besides  vitamins,  Vimms  give  you 
Iron  for  good  red  blood;  Calcium  and 
Phosphorus  for  strong  hones  and  teeth. 
Thus  Vimms  come  in  three  tablets  per 
day.  Why  not  start  now  to  do  as  many 
Doctors  recommend — take  3  Vimms  daily. 


UL THE  VITAMINS 
'^^wn  +0  be  needed 
•n+^diet 


ALL  THE  MINERALS 
most  commonly  locking, 
including  IRON 


room  for  his  aunt.  He  told  the  little  girl  he 
was  hunting  for  a  watch  repairer. 

Then  he  wiped  his  brow  and  started  on 
No.  5.  They  were  very  old  houses,  with 
narrow  dark  stairs  and  no  elevators.  After  he 
pushed  a  button,  he  had  to  climb  three  flights 
without  seeing  anything  but  a  pale  glimmer 
at  the  top.  Two  numbers  on  the  top  floor 
didn't  answer.  He  could  go  on  at  this  rate 
all  the  rest  of  his  life.  And  there  wasn't  all 
the  rest  of  his  life  to  do  it  in. 

After  about  two  hours  of  getting  rapidly 
nowhere,  Pete  went  back  to  the  corner  drug 
and  had  a  chocolate  soda.  He  had  to  figure 
something  better.  And  quicker  than  this 
house-to-house  canvass.  He  wanted  the  roof 
top,  that  was  it.  The  roof  was  his  clue.  He 
was  beginning  at  the  wrong  end. 

He  vaulted  out  of  the  drugstore  and  ran  to 
No.  7  and  rang  for  the  superintendent.  A 
very  stiff  hawk-faced  woman  smelling  of 
cabbage  and  moth  balls  answered  his  ring. 
Pete  doffed  his  cap. 

"  I  got  no  rooms  at  all."  she  said  severely. 
"If  I  had  I  wouldn't  bother  with  the  Army. 
Here  today  and  gone  tomorrow." 

"Madam,  are  you  familiar  with  carrier 
pigeons?"  asked  Pete,  moving  inside  the 
doorway. 

"Birds?" 

'  ■  The  Army  has  made  a  good  deal  of  use  of 
carrier  pigeons,"  said  Pete,  with  flawless 
truth.  "  It  occurred  to  me  you  might  like  to 
let  out  your  roof  for  a  happy  little  family  of 
carrier  ijigeons." 

"My  roof!"  She  drew  herself  up  and 
snorted.  "Young  man,  I  have  troubles 
enough  with  my  roof  without  taking  to 
birds." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.  Does  it  leak?"  he  asked. 

"Leak!"  She  waved  her  hands.  "The 
next  thing  I  know  it  will  fall  in,  what  with 
people  tramping  around  up  there  and  carry- 
ing on.  I'll  have  no  more  of  it  and  I  said  so." 

Pete  looked  warmly  sympathetic.  "Pigeons 
doh't  tramp  around.  They  only " 

"And  a  dog  and  a  kitten,  too,"  she  said 
indignantly. 

"A  dog  and  a  kitten?" 

"The  plaster  will  crack  downstairs.  The 
roof  will  leak.  I  told  her  this  morning  she 
could  stay  off  the  roof  entirely." 

"Has  someone  been  damaging  your  roof  ?  " 

"Toj)  door."  she  said.  "Practically  living 
up  there,  that  Davis  girl." 

"What?"  Pete  fell  back.  "You  don't 
mean  Hette  Davis?" 

"Ann  Davis.  So  you  see,  I  am  not  in  the 
mood  for  pigeons."  she  said  firmly. 

Pete  gave  her  his  sweetest  smile.  "I  can 
see  how  you  feel,  (iive  the  birds  no  more 
thought.  They  are  gone.  But  I  have  an 
idea  about  the  roof.  If  you  think  top  floor 
has  already  started  a  leak  or  a  crack,  I  could 
probably  fix  it  in  no  time.  I  used  to  be  a 
roofman." 

"It  doesn't  exactly  leak  yet,"  she  said 
cautiously,  "but  it  will.  It's  got  about  two 
inches  of  that  gravel-and-tar  stufT  on  it,  and  it 
was  never  meant  to  be  tramped  around  on." 

Pete  was  on  his  knees  an  hour  later,  ham- 
mering busily,  and  singing  I've  Told  Every 
Little  Star.  Suddenly  he  looked  up. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing?" 
asked  Ann  Davis.  Only  her  head  was  visible 
through  the  trap  door. 

"  I'm  just  fixing  a  floor,"  he  said. 

"A  floor!" 

He  waved  with  the  hammer.  "  It's  all  done 
except  one  board."  He  sat  back.  "Neat, 
hey?  Come  up  and  see  it." 

Yes,  she  was  little.  And  her  eyes  were 
brown.  The  shape  of  her  face  was  wonderful. 

He  said,  "I  got  the  lumber  ofi  the  junk- 
man. I  figured  just  room  enough  for  the  two 
chairs  and  the  basket  and  the  dog  and  the 
plants.  O.K.?" 

She  said,  "Why,  it's  a  floor!"  Her  eyes 
were  wide  and  really  a  very  lovely  brown. 

"You  flatter  me.  But  it's  not  bad,  I  think 
myself.  Old  Mother  Woggle-goggle  will  now 
allow  roof  privileges.  You  don't  have  to  step 
on  the  mush  they  finished  this  off  with  at  all. 
You  only  step  on  the  boards." 

"  It's  a  floor,"  she  said,  and  stepped  on  it. 
"You  mean  I  don't  have  to  give  up  my 
roof?" 


"That's  what  I  mean." 

"But  where  did  you  come  from?" 

"I  came  from  a  roof  too.  Higher  up." 

"  Who  are  you?  What  are  you  doing  here? 
Will  you  please  explain?  "  ,    ^ 

"Well,"  said  Pete,  "it's  a  long  story.  You 
better  bring  up  the  dog  and  kitten  while  you 
hear  it."    - 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea  who  you  are," 
she  said,  "and  I  think  you  had  better  go 
away." 

"You  mean  take  my  roof-top  floor  and 
creep  down  three  flights  of  stairs?" 

"I — I  didn't  say  you  had  to  take  the 
floor." 

"Where  I  go,  my  floor  goes,"  he  said. 

OUDDENLY  she  laughed.  She  sat  down  on 
the  canvas  chair  and  looked  at  him.  There 
was  a  dimple.  Her  lashes  were  dark  amber. 
"Tell  me  about  it,  really,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  the  marine,"  said  Pete.  "  I'd  have 
gone  on  sitting  there  dreaming  over  you 
forever,  at  least  for  the  week  we'll  still  be 
here,  except  I  saw  the  marine  advance.  Now 
the  marines  are  fine,  but  where  would  they 
be  without  the  Army?  It  was  seeing  that 
marine." 

"What  marine?" 

"The  one  that  came  to  see  you.  I  almost 
jumped  right  off;  I  mean  it  seriously." 

"Have  you  been  spying  on  me?"  she  said. 
"How  did  you  know  Merrit  was  here?  "  She 
made  herself  very  tall  as  she  stood  up.  "I 
really  think  you  have  made  a  mistake,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  no  idea  of  being  picked  up  by 
a  strange  soldier." 

"I'm  not  picking  you  up,"  he  said,  "on 
your  own  roof." 

"I've  never  been  introduced  to  you." 

"I'll  bring  up  the  landlady." 

"Who  introduced  you  to  her?" 

"  I  did.  When  I  was  trying  to  locate  you." 

"Then  she  doesn't  know  you  either." 

"Now,  look,"  he  said,  "fun  is  fun,  but  you 
can't  carry  it  too  far."  He  looked  at  her 
earnestly.  "You  can't  go  clear  back  to 
Adam,  can  you,  for  an  introduction?" 

"  No,  not  clear  to  Adam,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  Look,  I  have  an  awful  little  piece  of  time. 
Are  you  going  to  marry  that  marine?" 

"I'm  thinking  of  it." 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Will  you  pretend 
just  for  one  evening  that  you  aren't?  Then 
I'll  remember  time  stopping  on  this  evening 
You  see,  I  know  you  awfully  well,  even  il 
you  don't  know  me."  He  grinned  shyly. 
even  know  how  you  brush  your  hair  in  the 
sun." 

They  ate  supper  on  the  roof — crusty 
French  rolls,  iced  coffee,  a  big  wooden  bow" 
of  chef's  salad.  The  little  dog  sat  in  Pete's  laf 
afterward,  poking  a  soft  damp  nose  in  his 
sleeve. 

Pete  told  her  his  name,  and  about  hom( 
and  all  his  dreams  of  tomorrow.  She  told  hin 
about  her  war  job;  her  parents  were  dead 
she  took  care  of  herself.  The  stars  cami 
out  all  over  the  sky  and  you  could  hear  tb 
boat  whistles  far  away  on  the  river. 

"It's  probably  better  than  heaven,"  sai( 
Pete,  opening  the  basket  to  give  the  kitte; 
her  milk.  "It's  funny  how  I  thought  ther 
wasn't  any  place  at  all  worth  being  excep 
my  home  townf  And  here  I  like  this  old  roc 
top  as  well  as  any  place  in  the  world.  I'd  a 
soon  stay  here  the  rest  of  my  life.  Why  d 
you  suppose  that  is?" 

"You  get  such  a  wonderful  view." 

"Maybe  that's  it,"  he  said,  looking  at  he 
eyes  and  the  little  smile  around  her  sol 
mouth.  He  sighed,  and  rubbed  the  littl 
dog's  ears  gently. 

"Merrit  was  pretty  bored  with  it,"  sh 
said  thoughtfully.  "He  wanted  to  go  t 
night  clubs.  He  said  it  was  kind  of  silly  t 
stick  here  doing  nothing  on  a  roof." 

"I  can  think  of  several  things  to  do  on 
roof,"  said  Pete.  "One  I'd  like  to  try  rigl 
now,  before  I  have  to  go." 

"It  wouldn't  be  any  use,"  she  said. 

"O.K."  Pete  put  the  dog  down  gentl 
"It's  been  wonderful.  And  I  guess  this 
where  I  came  in."  He  looked  down  at  he 
"I  love  you,"  he  said.  "Somehow  even  t\ 
way  you  move  around  seems  special.  It  dot 
happen  this  way  sometimes,  I  guess.  An; 
how,  it  has  to  me." 


I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


83 


GIVE  THIS  FAMOUS  BABY  BOOK 


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She  said,  "Oh,  Pete,  you  don't  really 
know  me  at  all!  Now  I've  known  Merrit 
for  six  years  and " 

"I  get  the  idea.  I'm  not  wonderful  any- 
way. I'm  just  a  plain  ordinary  guy  from  a 
small  town.  But  look,  if  you've  known  him 
six  years  why  aren't  you  married?" 

"Merrit  isn't  the  impulsive  type,"  she 
said.  "He  wanted  to  get  established  in  his 
business  and  everything  before  he  took  on 
the  responsibility  of " 

"A  marine?  Well,  it  seems  peculiar. 
Marines  aren't  that  type  usually." 

She  smiled.  "He's  not  a  natural  marine," 
she  said.  "Only  for  now." 

Pete  nodded.  "  I  see,"  he  said.  "He's  just 
grafted  on." 

"There's  no  reason  for  you  to  be  un- 
pleasant about  him.  You've  never  even  met 
him." 

"I  never  even  want  to,"  said  Pete  def- 
initely. "It  might  bring  out  the  gypsy 
in  me."  In  the  pure  light  of  the  bomber's 
moon,  her  hair  was  shining.  Her  lashes 
looked  dark.  Her  mouth  was  something  for 
a  man  to  dream  of  a  long,  long  time  and  in 
many  far  places.  "Ann,"  he  said. 

"I — I  think  you  better  go  now,"  she  said, 
"and  I  would  rather  you  didn't — try  to  see 

me  again.   The  way  things  are "    Her 

voice  was  grave,  but 

at  the   same  time         

stubborn   under  the 
sweetness. 

He  kissed  her.  She 
was  light  and  soft  in 
his  arms,  and  her 
mouth  was  even  bet- 
ter than  a  dream. 
Her  hair  smelled  of 
lilac. 

Then  she  pushed 
him  away  and  said, 
"Go  now!"  And  he 
stumbled  down  the 
steep  dark  steps  into 
the  hot  tight  air  be- 
low. 

The  streets  were 
baking  hot.  He 
tramped  up  and 
down,  going  nowhere 
as  fast  as  possible. 
Why  should  she  like 
him  anyway?  No  rea- 
son at  all.  He  was 
just  another  lug  in 
a  uniform .  You 
couldn't  expect  a  girl 
who'd  been  engaged 
to  a  very  suitable  guy 
for  some  time  to  just 
fall  for  you  because 
you  were  crazy  for 
her.  Things  didn't 
work  out  that  way. 

He  had  to  stop  thinking  about  how  she'd 
be  to  come  home  to.  Not  just  beautiful— 
he'd  been  with  a  lot  of  beautiful  ones  with 
Buzz.  No,  it  was  just  something  special 
about  her,  quiet  and  gentle  and  yet  with 
plenty  of  fire  too — making  that  home  on  the 
old  rotten  roof  with  her  dog  and  her  kitten. 
So  competent  and — oh,  well,  he  had  to  stop 
thinking  about  her. 

He  plunged  along  faster  than  ever,  with 
sweat  pouring  down  his  face.  Suddenly  he 
stopped  and  stared  in  a  window  at  the 
corner.  It  was  one  of  those  junk  shops.  "We 
Buy  and  Sell  Old  Furniture,"  it  said. 

In  the  window  next  to  a  livid  green-glass 
water  pitcher  and  a  painting  of  cows  in  a 
meadow  was  a  little  old  pewter  teapot.  It 
was  round  and  smoothly  worn,  and  there 
was  a  cover  on  it  with  a  sort  of  carved  knob 
set  with  a  blue  stone.  At  suppertime,  with 
yellow  candles  lit,  you  could  carry  that  little 
teapot  in.  It  looked  like  a  whole  world  to 
Peter  Adams.  Summer  dusk  and  fresh  lawn 
clippings  scenting  the  air  and  lilacs  outside 
and  a  girl  with  red  hair  and  brown  eyes  wear- 
ing one  of  those  frilly  things. 

"I  want  that  teapot,"  he  said,  rushing 
into  the  shop. 

"That's  a  very  fine  antik  piece  puter," 
said  the  shop  owner.  "A  genuwine  old  antik 
with  a  gemstone  in  the  lid." 


eafiMmy 


BY  BIAIVCA  BRADBtJRV 

How  will  I  see  this  war-long  winter 

through? 
Spring's  on  the  hills,  but  not  for  us, 

for  you 
Have  tucked  our  springtime  in  your 

tunic  pocket. 
I  Tvear  mine  safe  in  an  old  and 

golden  locket. 

Spring's  not  a  thing  of  season  or  the 

weather. 
For  when,  come  wind  come  storm, 

we  are  together, 

I  in  your  arms  will  note  without 

surprise 
How  small  brown  birds  in  barren 

trees  will  sing 
Like  larks  in  January,  and  our  June 
Will  blossom  out  of  snow  before  our 

eyes. 


"All  right,  don't  describe  it  to  me.  How 
much  is  it?" 

"Well,  I  was  keeping  it  for  a  spashul 
costumer  comes  fum  a  swell  store  uptown  for 
antiks.  It  cost  me  plenty.  I  should  have  to 
get  prolly  eighteen  dollars,  worth  twenny- 
five  any  day  you  bring  it  back." 

"I  don't  want  to  bring  it  back,"  Peter 
told  him.  He  counted  his  money;  by  a 
miracle  he  had  it.  "Will  you  deliver  it  for 
me  tomorrow  morning  if  I  add  fifty  cents  to 
the  price?" 

"Why  not?" 

XJUZZ  said,  "Where  have  you  been?" 
"Just  walking,"  said  Peter. 
"I   had  a  really  swell  girl  for  you.    I 
tried  every  place  I  could  think  of — USO, 
Mickey's,   etcetra,  etcetra.   This  girl  you 

really  would " 

"Thanks,"  said  Peter. 
"You  feel  all  right?" 
"Sure.  Sure,  I  feel  fine,"  said  Peter. 
"Must  be  the  weather,"  said  Buzz  doubt- 
fully. "  It's  sure  a  scorcher." 
"Hot,  too,"  said  Peter  dimly. 
The  sky  was  glazed  when  they  went  on 
duty  again  up  on  the  skyscraper.  A  fog  of 
heat   hung   over   Brooklyn  and  over  the 
river  beyond.    Manhattan  was  steamy. 

Buzz  said,  "Well, 

those   guys   in   the 

Aleutians  have  some- 
thing, at  that.  I 
could  chop  a  hunk  of 
seal  off  a  ice  cake  and 
like  it  right  now." 

Pete  sat  down  and 
unslung  his  glasses. 
He  looked  at  the  far- 
off  baking  streets,  the 
hot  span  of  Brook- 
lyn Bridge  swinging 
over  the  river.  He 
watched  a  fire  truck 
roll  down  and  turn  a 
corner  on  two  wheels. 
Every  hour  was  a 
lifetime.  When  his 
glasses  reached  the 
area  of  No.  7  on  a 
certain  street,  he 
swung  them  past 
quickly.  He  wouldn't 
look.  There  was  a 
large  block  of  stone 
where  his  heart  ought 
to  be. 

Buzz  said, "  They'll 
give  us  some  extra 
leave  before  we  move 
on.  How  would  you 
like  to  run  out  to 
Orchard  Beach  with 
a  couple  of  those  Vas- 
sar  girls?" 
Peter  wasn't  listening.  He  focused  his 
glasses  and  held  them  steady.  He  just 
wanted  to  see  if  his  floor  showed  up  at  all. 
Probably  that  flat  ten-by-eight  stretch  of 
rough  boards  wouldn't  even  be  noticeable, 

but  he  just  thought  he'd  take  a  He 

looked,  and  suddenly  he  leaped  to  his  feet 
shouting. 

"Buzz!  Buzz!  Look  here!  "  He  was 
waving  his  glasses  and  yelling. 

"What?  Germansor  Japs?"  Buzz  dashed 
over. 

"No — no — look  at  there— look  at  my 
roof!"  Peter  was  gesticulating. 

"What  is  it?  I  don't  see  anything.  Looks 
like  someone  hung  out  some  wash  is  all. 
What's  the  matter  with  you,  Pete?" 

"It's  a  pillowcase,"  said  Pete,  breathing 
hard.  "It's  a  pillowcase." 
"So  what?" 

"It's  white,"  said  Pete.  "It's  a  white 
pillowcase!" 

Buzz  shook  his  head.  "The  guy  is  def- 
initely nuts.  A  white  pillowcase,  he  says." 
Pete  was  shaking  his  arm  now.  "Did  you 
ever  in  your  long  and  utterly  misspent  life," 
he  said,  "hear  of  a  little  item  called  the  white 
flag?   That's  a  white  flag  hanging  there  on 
that  little  old  roof  top!" 
"What  does  it  mean?" 
"It  means  for  once,"  said  Pete,  "the  in- 
fantry is  landing  ahead  of  the  marines!" 


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84 


LAniES"  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  194S 


]\Ty  frrvoiit  Avish  is  for  him  to  grow  up  foiifulriit.  unafraid,  with 
a  towcrinji  spirit  \\hi(li  bridges  petty  <ar«'s  at  one  stride... 
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the  importance  of  giviui;  your  habyf/zf^/i/A  of  tliis  factor.  Vitamin 
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Squibb's  now! 


To  which  group  will  he  belong  at  age  37 
Of  i'Xi  chililreii  sf  iulii-<i  at  a  wt'll-kuowu 
hospital,  57%  or  more  than  one-lialf  of 
those  between  two  ami  three  years  old 
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Squibb  eo€/  Ut^s^oi/ 


«-  na//?ve'  u.aU'  co/zi'  i^^ic^^ 


DOX'T  «IVE  YOIR  AXI3IALS  A  NAME 

(Conthiued  from  Page  5) 


gosling  yard,  his  neck  anxiously  bent,  his 
voice  shrill.  I  shamefully  remember  my  dis- 
trustful misinterpretation  of  his  feelings,  and 
that  disastrous  morning  when  I  jumped  in 
the  water  of  the  pond  with  all  my  clothes  on. 
anxious  to  save  a  gosling  who  had  slipped 
through  a  hole  in  the  wire  for  a  precocious 
swim  and  seemed  dangerously  approached 
by  the  big  Hermann.  I  didn't  know  then 
that  Hermann  only  thought  to  protect  this 
gosling  against  me.  We  started  to  deliver 
each  other  a  sea  battle  only  to  be  compared 
with  that  between  Admiral  Scheer  and  Com- 
modore Jellicoe  in  the  last  World  ^\'ar,  and 
the  gosling  was  almost  drowned  by  the  com- 
bined efforts  of  its  both  protectors. 


"Turn  Schenectady  in."  some  of  us  would 
call.  '■  Michaela  cackles  at  the  kitchen  door ! '" 
And  the  next  moment  you'd  hear:  "Six  P.M. 
We'll  bring  you  the  latest  news  of  the 
day " 

Late  in  last  wanter  I  suddenly  had  to  leave 
for  New  York  City  and  my  wife,  who  was 
condemned  to  stay  alone  with  the  only 
help  of  a  young  village  boy,  anticipated  all 
the  horrors  and  catastrophes  to  come  in  a 
hopeless  and  ver>'  realistic  elegy.  But  it 
came  worse.  The  eve  before  my  departure  I 
found  Michaela  lying  in  the  cold  snow  in 
front  of  the  henhouse.  I  knew  at  the  first 
look  that  she  was  fatally  sick  and  wouldn't 
recover. 


Later,  when  those  goslings  took  their  first 
regular  outdoor  walk,  we  found  that  Hfer-     1  took  her  to  the  kitchen  and  we  gave  her 
mann  had  no  other  idea  than  to  take  up  the     all  possible  treatment.   \Mien   I  left  next 


attitude  of  a  perfect  family  father,  watchful, 
responsible.  As  he  bossed  and  husbanded  the 
ducks  t)efore  without  being  their  regular  hus- 
band, so  he  fathered  the  goslings  now.  So 
he  became  another  one  not  to  be  treated 
professionally,  a  never-to-be-killed,  plucked, 
fried,  eaten  or  sold  one. 

Watching  a  chicken  yard,  however,  from 
fifty  to  five  thousand  inhabitants,  you  might 
forget  about  your  individual  approach  to 
animals,  but  feel  a  certain  uneasiness  or  dis- 
like with  their  inclination  to  mass  move- 
ments. Yet  among  ordinary  laying  hens 
you'll  find  personalities.  Five  of  our  first  six 
"professionals"  are  still  alive  and  we  know 
all  of  them  from  the  others. 

They    are     named    after       

(some  of  the)  Christian 
names  of  our  two  daugh- 
ters: Michaela,  Maria, 
Magdalena,  Agatha,  Au- 
gusta. Christina.  Since 
they  were  the  first  ones, 
we  watched  them  with  an 
exaggerated  anxiety. 

Even  when  we  got  used 
to  pick  up  and  sell  the 
eggs  per  dozens  a  day,  we 
still  knew  Magdalena's  or 
Michaela's  eggs  from  the 
others  and  took  them 
aside  lor  our  own  break- 
fast table. 

During  the   first    win-       

ter  Michaela  froze  her 
toes.  They  became  swollen  with  a  dark 
reddish  colour  like  a  drunkard's  nose,  and 
she  hardly  could  stand  or  walk  on  them.  My 
wife  insisted  to  take  her  in  the  kitchen  for  a 
special  treatment.  Having  used  some  strong 
and  ineffective  words  about  a  kitchen  being 
no  stable  and  no  chicken  hospital,  I  gave  in. 

"It'll  smell."  I  said. 

"Michaela  does  not  smell,"  said  my  wife, 
and  this  was  a  dogma.  (Confidentially:  she 
smelled.) 

Every  morning  for  a  few  weeks  when 
I  came  dowTistairs  and  entered  the  kitchen 
as  the  first  of  the  house.  I  got  frightened 
for  a  second  (having  forgotten  over  night 
the  presence  of  Michaela)  by  the  odd 
sound  of  an  old  hoarse  woman's  voice 
chatting  behind  the  stove,  something  like: 
"Yo — yoyoyoyoyoyoyo — that's  the  way't 
is,  that's  the  way't  is," 

VN  E  HAD  to  stand  her  ceaseless  and  monot- 
onous chatting.  We  had  to  stand  her — well, 
I  just  smoked  some  more  pipes  in  the  kitchen. 
.\fter  some  time,  having  lost  all  her  claws 
which  fell  otT  like  fingernails  in  a  beauty 
shop,  she  walked  out  again  on  strong  and 
hom>'  feet,  perfectly  all  right. 

As  a  sign  of  her  gratefulness,  she  took  up 
her  job  now  as  a  witch-Ersatz.  My  wife 
used  to  favour  her  with  a  special  bit- 
sometimes  even  of  raw  meat — every  after- 
noon at  six  before  going  to  feed  the  other 
chickens.  Since  then,  every  afternoon,  ex- 
actly at  six  P.M.,  Michaela  appeared  in  front 
of  the  kitchen  door — with  the  strict  punctu- 
ality of  Las.sie,  the  dog  in  Eric  Knight's 
tale  to  ask  with  her  creaking  voice  for  her 
special  "bouchee  de  protection." 


LIVE  AXI»  I.EAKIS' 

1^  Marriage  is  a  process  for 
^  fiiiiliii^  out  what  sort  of 
BUy  your  wife  would  hax'  pre- 
ferred. —STRICKLAND  GILULAN: 
Quoted  in  Your  Life. 


Train  tip  a  child  in  the  way 
he  should  ^o.  and  ualk  there 
yourself  on<'c  in  a  while. 

—JOSH  BILUNGS. 


morning,  I  saw  her  still  alive  but  knew  that 
I  had  to  prepare  our  daughter,  Michaela. 
whom  I  was  going  to  visit  at  Sarah  Lawrence 
College,  for  the  loss  of  her  chicken-godchild. 
Same  day,  after  dark,  the  village  boy  came 
back  from  school  and  found  my  wife  in  the 
most  depressive  and  disastrous  of  moods. 

"This  is  a  terrible  day,"  she  said.  "The 
coal  fire  went  out  in  the  kitchen  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  start  it  again.  And  all  the  water 
pails  are  frozen  in  the  bam  and  there  is  no 
more  hay  in  the  mangers  and  I  think  that 
a  snow  storm  is  coming.  And  now  you  are 
late  for  milking  and  I  see  that  you  forgot 
to  bring  the  mail.    Evervlhing  going  wTong 

today  and  Michaela  died " 

"Oh,"  said  the  boy,  not 

very   excited.  "In  Sarah 

Lawrence?" 

"Ah,  no,"  said  my  wife. 
"Not  our  girl,  of  course! 
Michaela,  the  hen." 

"I  see,"  said  the  boy, 
hardly  oppressing  some 
disappointment. 

That's  the  way  to  take 
life  and  death  in  the 
countrv. 


It  doesn't  make  any  diiTcr- 
enee  hoM  hard  uc  lotik  back: 
\»e  can*t  keep  ttiinorrow  from 
eoniinc.  — C.  F.  KETTERING. 


But  the  killing,  the 
hutching,  the  professional 
miu-der,  this  is  another 
chapter  and  I'll  make  it 
short,  since  it  is  a  sinister 

one.  I  learned  to  do  it  in 

the  fastest  possible  way, 
but  I  still  hate  it.  Things  are  worse  if  you 
have  to  deliver  mass  murder,  not  for  the 
immediate  use  in  your  own  kitchen  but  for 
the  freezer  plant  or  for  sale.  Here  the  naming 
of  animals  suddenly  t)ecaiTie  quite  a  diflferent 
connotation,  and  proved  to  be  an  enormous 
emotional  releave,  I  got  used  to  give  ugly 
and  repulsive  names  to  those  birds  who  carry 
the  fatal  determination.  I  had  an  Adolf,  of 
course,  a  Musso  and  a  Ribbentrop,  two 
brothers  Goebbels  (Paul  and  Joseph,  both 
limping,  both  extremeh'  shrill-voiced,  with 
a  cock-sure  attitude  of  news  and  propaganda 
crowing),  a  Julius  Streicher  and  a  Dr.  Ley,  a 
Count  Ciano  and  several  dozens  of  Quislings. 
Thus  the  executions  became  more  of  a  sym- 
bolic act  instead  of  an  ordinary  and  purpose- 
fid  killing. 

But  how  good  that  there  are  some  animals 
who  are  of  no  use  at  all  and  have  no  other 
determination  but  to  t)e  alive  and  to  live  on, 
beautifully  and  happily  as  long  as  they  will 
and  can. 

It's  almost  three  years  ago  now  that  I 
found  Liesi,  my  deer,  in  an  old  clearing, 
overgrown  with  shrubs  and  bushes,  deep  in 
the  woods — one  of  her  hind  legs  broken  and 
badly  hurt,  tangled  up  with  a  rosty  wire- 
fence.  I  heard  the  dogs  barking  first  and 
just  succeeded  to  call  them  back  before  they 
could  have  wounded  or  killed  the  animal. 
It  was  a  yearling  doe,  and  she  must  have 
hung  there  helplessly  for  several  days,  but, 
in  spite  of  her  wounds  and  her  weakness,  she 
kicked  vigorously  with  her  unliurt  legs  when 
I  got  her  loose  and  took  her  on  my  shoulder 
to  carry  her  home, 

(Continued  on  Page  112) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


85 


HE  NEEDS  YOU  MORE  THAN  EVER 

IN  A  WAR-CHANGED  WORLD 


FROM  THE  MOMENT  when  first  you  cradle 
your  baby  in  your  arms,  you  are  the 
all-important  being  in  his  small,  new  life. 
Today,  especially,  when  his  d(;ctor  is  so 
busy  and  there  are  so  few  nurses,  he  needs 
your  wise,  loving  care  to  help  him  grow  up 
sturdy  and  strong. 

Guard  him  from  the  "other  fellow's  cold" 

In  these  first  few  months  of  his  life  one  of 
the  greatest  threats  to  your  baby's  health  is  a 
cold.  \es,  just  a  common  cold — rarely  serious 
with  an  adult — can  be  the  start  of  a  dangerous 
illness  to  your  baby.  Respiratory  infections 
and  their  resulting  complications  cause  more 
fatalities  among  infants  than  any  other  illness. 

The  surest  way  to  guard  your  baby  from  the 
"other  fellow's  cold  "  is  to  make  sure  he  never 
comes  in  contact  with  it.  But  suppose  you  get 
a  cold — and  there  is  no  one  else  to  take  care 
of  your  baby? 

Trap  germs  with  a  protective  mask 

The  next  best  thing  to  keeping  your  baby 
completely  isolated  from  the  person  with  a  cold 
— is  to  reduce  the  risk  of  contagion  with  a 
protective  mask.  Be  sure  to  wear  it,  if  you  have 
a  cold,  whenever  you  are  in  the  same  room 
with  him.  And  insist  that  anyone  else  who 
has  a  cold  wear  a  protective  mask  if  he  must 
come  in  contact  with  your  baby. 

Tissue  mask  quick  and  easy  to  make 

Even  though  you  may  not  have  a  supply  of 
standard  hospital  masks  on  hand,  you  can  make 
an  effective  emergency  mask  of  tissue.  Just 
take  tv\o  thicknesses  t)f  ScotTissue,  cover  your 
nose  and  mouth,  and  pin  at  the  back  of  your 
head.  Clinical  tests  prove  that  two  thicknesses 
of  ScotTissue  effectixdy  trap  germs — greatly 
lessen  the  danger  of  contagion.  Remember — a 
cold  can  be  a  real  threat  to  your  baby's  health 
—be  sure  always  to  take  this  simple  precaution 
to  guard  him  from  respiratory  infection. 


You  hold,  in  your  two  hands,  your  precious  new  babys  siifety  and  well-being.  R  ith  your  watchful  care, 
he  need  never  suffer  from  a  war-caused  doctor  and  nurse  shortage. 


:ORRECT  CHOICE   OF  A  BATHROOM  TISSUE 
IPORTANT   FOR   COMFORT  AND   CLEANSING 

icorrect  choice  of  a  toilet  tissue  for  your  child  is  important, 
1  should  be  soft  enough  for  comfort  yet  strong-  enough  for 
hh  cleansing.  ScotTissue  has  both  these  qualities.  You  will 
|is  soft  and  "nice"  to  use  even  against  the  face  as  an  cmer- 
lask.  And,  with  1000  sheets  to  every  roll,  it  is  also  an 
Ideal  tissue  for  the  whole  faniih  .  Tiademiu^k"ScotTisi.ue"  ReK.u.s.i'at.off. 


Have  you  ever  figured  how 
much  precious  time  prepared 
baby  foods  save  you?  As  a 
busy  mother,  that  nas  the 
main  reason  which  made  me 
suggest  to  my  husband,  Dan 
Gerber,  17  years  ago,  that 
he  pioneer  In  producing  pre 
pared  baby  foods. 


■ 
Mothers,  you  can  buy  a  smile  like  this! 

The  smile  of  a  happy,  well-fed  baby  who  enjoys  his  food!  For  that  is  one  of  the  strong 
points  of  Gerbcr"s  Baby  Foods  — they  taste  extra  good.  Add  to  that  their  smooth,  even 
texture,  just  right  for  easy  digestion.  Be  sure  to  get  Gcrbcr's  Baby  Foods  — cooked  by 
Steam  to  preserve  precious  minerals  and  vitamins  to  build  healthy  babies!  There  are 
15  Gerber' s  Strained  Poods,  also  8  kinds  of  Gerber' s  Chopped  Loads  for  older  babies. 

Oh,  Hullo — have  you  heard,  too? 


About  serving  variety  in  cereals,  I  mean. 
Mummy  serves  Gerber's  (iereal  Food  at 
one  feeding,  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal 
at  the  next.  Because  variety  helps  babies 


eat  better.  Both  cereals  are  fortified  with 
iron  and  Vitamin  Bi.  Both  are  pre-cooked 
—  just  add  hot  or  cold  milk  or  formula 
and  serve. 


•iCerbejr^, 


.^- 


't 


erber's 


fREMONT.  MICH 


OAKLAND,  CAL 


Jvtee  sei^njole . 


Cc>ec&y    c/^otyg^i^ 


Please  send  me  free  samples 
of  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal 
and  Gerber's  Cereal  Food. 


C«r*aU         Stroinad  Foodt        Choppad  Foods 

Address:  Gerber  Products  Company,  Dcpt.  81,  Fremont,  Michigan 
Same 


Address City  and  State.. 


^.. 


H.  ARMSTRONG    ROBERTS 


Only  a  f ruction  of  infantile-jxiralwsis  liclims  are  para- 
lyzed— and  Oiese  may  he  active  again  with  proper  care. 


PID  "POIIO  PAIIC 


BY   DR.  HEKMAX  N.  BUIVDE!>!>EM 

President,  Chicago  Board  of  Health 


99 


MOTHERS  dread  infantile  paralysis  as  a 
crippler  of  little  children.  When  epi- 
demics rise  during  the  summer,  "polio 
panic"  often  spreads  swiftly.  Fear 
that  children  will  get  poliomyelitis  and  die 
or  be  crippled  then  mounts  unreasonably. 
Healthy  youngsters  are  subjected  to  need- 
less restrictions.  A  few  sensible  precautions 
which  can  be  taken  are  often  neglected. 

Here  are  three  simple  facts — easy  to  re- 
member— which  should  keep  you  from  get- 
ting panicky  when  polio  comes  again.  First- 
only  a  few  children  get  infantile  paralysis, 
even  during  an  epidemic;  actually  it  is  less 
to  be  feared  than  measles  or  whooping  cough, 
as  a  cause  of  death  among  little  children. 
Second — of  the  children  who  are  stricken, 
only  a  fraction  (about  one  fifth  to  one 
fourth)  are  paralyzed.  Third — prompt, 
skilled  medical  care  improves  the  chances  of 
recovery. 

Poliomyelitis  is  caused  by  a  virus — a  tiny 
microorganism,  or  germ — which  attacks  and 
often  damages  a  part  of  the  spinal  cord  that 
has  to  do  with  the  control  of  motion.  But 
the  means  by  which  the  virus  spreads  are 
not  definitely  known.  This  mystery  about 
the  way  children  get  polio  (adults  rarely 
succumb)  is  one  reason  for  the  terror  it 
causes.  When  the  disease  prevails,  mothers 
fear  everything. 

Known  facts,  however,  do  point  to  certain 
ways  in  which  the  disease  may  be  spread. 
Repeatedly,  polio  virus  has  been  found  in 
sewage;  experiments  have  convinced  re- 
search workers  that  flies  can  pick  up  and 
carry  the  disease.  Then  how  does  it  pass  from 
flies  to  healthy  persons?  These  are  possible 
answers:  food,  milk  or  water  contaminated 
by  flies;  swimming  in  stagnant,  polluted 
water  is  less  likely,  but  still  a  possibility. 

Evidence  that  polio  spreads  by  nasal  drop- 
lets sprayed  into  the  air  is  unconvincing. 
Often  children  fail  to  get  the  disease  after 
intimate  contact  with  an  infected  child. 
Seldom  are  two  children  in  the  safne  family 
stricken.  There  is  no  proof  that  closing 
schools,  movies  or  assembly  halls  checks 
epidemics.  Nevertheless,  nasal  droplets  can- 
not be  ruled  out  altogether.  Of  course,  it  is 
possible  that  all  these  methods— and  perhaps 


others,  too — share  responsibility  for  pol 
spread.  An  added  difificulty  in  preven 
is  suggested  by  the  belief  that  many  chile 
become  mildly  infected  without  ever  1 
ing  acute  symptoms,  but  may  yet  spi 
the  disease  to  others. 

However  the  virus  is  carried,  it  inv; 
chiefly  by  two  known  routes — the  throat 
the  intestines.  The  throat  seems  especi 
susceptible.  In  experiments,  small  amo 
of  polio  virus  were  injected  under  the 
in  one  group  of  monkeys  and  into  the  th 
in  another  group.  None  of  the  first  gi 
was  affected,  but  80  per  cent  of  the  sec 
group  developed  typical  polio  sympti 
There  is  circumstantial  evidence  that  sir 
susceptibility  exists  in  human  beings.  ( 
dren  who  have  had  recent  operations  fo: 


(jRATEFUL  young  mothers 
from  Maine  to  California  tell 
us  that  Doctor  Bundesen's 
baby  booklets  have  been  of 
the  greatest  help  to  them  in 
caring  for  their  own  babies. 
The  first  eight  booklets  cover 
your  baby's  first  eight  months. 
They  sell  for  50  cents.  The 
second  series  of  booklets  cov- 
ers the  baby's  health  from 
nine  months  to  two  years — 
seven  booklets  for  50  cents. 
The  booklets  will  be  sent 
monthly;  be  sure  to  tell  us 
when  you  want  the  first  book- 
let. A  complete  book  on  the 
care  of  the  baby,  a  neevs- 
sary  supplt'mvnt  to  the 
monthly  booklets,  OuR  Ba- 
uiES,  No.  1345,  is  25  cents.  A 
booklet  on  breast  feeding,  A 
Do<:tor"s  First  Duty  to  the 
Mother,  No.  1346,  sells  for 
6  cents.  Address  all  requests 
to  the  Reference  Library, 
Ladie.s'  Home  Journal,  Phil- 
adelphia 5,  Pennsylvania. 


4 


In    more    than    half 
marriages    the    first 
year, 
born 


arrives  within 
tenth     ehild 


removal  of  tonsils  catch  polio  more  easily 
than  others;  apparently  the  wound  left  after 
operation  is  an  open  door  for  the  invading 
virus.  Excessive  fatigue  and  sudden  chilling, 
too,  seem  to  make  children  more  liable  to 
infection. 

Incomplete  as  it  is,  this  knowledge  out- 
lines the  precautionary  steps  to  be  taken 
during  an  outbreak  of  polio:  Banish  flies. 
Take  extra  care  to  avoid  contamination  of 
foods.  Guard  against  overtiring  and  chilling. 
Rule  out  swimming  in  unsupervised  or  stag- 
nant pools.  But,  unless  health  authorities 
tell  you  to  do  so,  or  unless  signs  of  infection 
like  sniffles,  sore  throat  or  fever  appear,  it 
isn't    necessary    to    keep 

your    child    home    from       

school  or  away  from  com- 
munity activities. 

In  its  early  symptoms, 
infantile  paralysis  resem- 
bles ordinary  colds  and 
many  other  infections. 
Children  with  any  of  these 
mild  upsets  should  be  kept 
home  and  watched.  If  fever 
gains,  or  if  headache,  vom- 
iting, diarrhea  or  stiff  neck 
should  develop,  the  doctor 
should  be  called  at  once. 

These  warning  symptoms       

may  last  three  or  four 
days.  Then  come  soreness  and  twitching 
of  the  limbs,  with  severe  headache  and 
rising  fever,  and  paralysis.  The  paralysis 
may  be  either  slight  or  extensive;  it  may 
be  mild,  or  it  may  be  accompanied  by  dis- 
tressing pain. 

Now  the  virus  has  attacked  the  nerve 
roots  in  the  spine.  (Sometimes  doctors  draw 
off  and  test  spinal  fluid  in  order  to  distin- 
guish infantile  paralysis  definitely  from 
other  diseases.)  And  now  great  skill  is  re- 
quired in  the  medical  and  nursing  manage- 
ment of  the  disease  to  relieve  pain  and  aid 
in  preventing  deformity.  Detailed  examina- 
tion to  determme  exactly  which  muscles  are 
affected  is  important. 


rillMMIKI^ 


mother  under  twenty,  another 
tenth  of  all  children  to  moth- 
ers over  thirty-five.  The 
>oungest  mother  is  Lina  IVIe- 
<lina.  who  at  five-an<l-a-half 
f.'ave  birth  to  a  hoy  in  Lima. 
I'erii.  — H.  G.  BEIGEL: 

Marriage;  Fobles,  Facts  and   Figures. 


87 


Most  often,  paralysis  affects  the  arms  or 
legs.  Careful  nursing  during  the  acute  stage 
and  expert  aftercare  are  most  important  in 
restoring  stricken  limbs  to  usefulness.  The 
treatment  introduced  by  Sister  Kenny,  in 
which  moist,  warm  packs  are  applied  to  the 
affected  parts  and,  later,  a  program  of  re- 
training inactive  muscles  is  undertaken,  has 
gained  acceptance  in  recent  years. 

There  is  a  question  about  the  effective- 
ness of  polio  serum.  Complete  evidence 
that  the  serum  now  available  helps  in 
either  prevention  or  treatment  is  still  to  be 
obtamed.  In  all  cases,  absolute  rest  is  essen- 
tial. Drugs  may  be  used  by  the  physician 
when  necessary  to  alleviate 

sufferingandcut  down  un- 
controlled motion.  The 
choice  of  treatment,  how- 
ever, will  be  made  by  the 
doctor.  Individualization 
in  treatment  is  important; 
no  two  cases  are  exactly 
alike.  Mother  must  re- 
member this  and  avoid 
blaming  the  doctor  be- 
cause her  child  is  not  get- 
ting some  particular  treat- 
ment she  has  heard  about. 

For  mothers  of  recent 

victims  there    is  hope  in 

the  knowledge  that,  with 

proper  care,  gradual  return  of  function  to  par- 
alyzed limbs  may  continue  for  several  years  or 
even  longer.  For  all  mothers  there  is  reassur- 
ance in  the  fact  that  through  the  National 
Foundation  for  Infantile  Paralysis,  universi- 
ties, medical  schools,  hospitals  and  other 
agencies,  one  of  the  most  intensive  scientific 
research  efforts  the  world  has  ever  known  is 
focused  on  learning  precisely  how  polio- 
myelitis spreads,  and  on  developing  effective 
means  for  its  prevention  and  cure.  Grad- 
ually the  truth  about  infantile  paralysis  is 
emerging. 

Have  faith  in  scientific  knowledge  and  re- 
solve  now    to   avoid    "polio   panic" — this 


of  all 
baby 

Every 
to     a 


year  and  in  the  years  to  come ! 


Straight  and  Sturdy 

fO)     ON  A   KANTWET  CRIB   MATTRESS 


I'M  GROWING 


Here's  the  mattress  for  me  —  the  one  that 
helps  me  grow  up  straight  and  strong  because 
it  gives  firm  level  support.  Kantwet  has 
extra  center  filling,  flat  sealed-button  tufting 
to  keep  it  from  shifting  —  and  a  lusrro^ 
wetproof  covering  that  wipes  clean  and  dry 
in  a  jiffy.  Yes,  siree!  When  you're  shopping 
for  a  crib  mattress,  look  for  the  name 
KANTWET.* 


NO  FOR  BABY'S  HIGH  CHAIR... 

Pretty  as  a  picture  in  gay  new  nurser)- 
patterns  and  carefully  built  to  hold  its 
shape,  a  Kantwet  High  Chair  Pad  means 
better  support  for  baby's  back.  The  easy- 
ro-clean  covering  —  as  on  all  Kantwet 
carriage,  play-pen  and  nursery  furniture 
pads  —  is  satiny  soft  and  wetproof 


V\^^^ 


Kantuet  products  are  sold  by  leading  stores 

ROSE-DERRY  CO.,  Newton  58,  Mass. 

*Pat.  No.  2,106,065 


CRIB  MATTRESSES  •  CUDDLE-NEST  •  NURSERY   FURNITURE  PADS 


>* 


RECtft 


UMON.RA.S.HR  ,„,. 


1  .'Junket"  Rennet 
Tablet 

I  tablespoon  cold 

■water 
1  CUP  cooked  nee 
1/4  cup  raisins 
y^  teaspoon  salt 


5  tablespoons  sugar 
1  teaspoon  lemon 

desired 
2  cups  milk  (not 
canned) 


V,  teaspoon  »-. 

p.soWe  rennet  tabletbvaus^-; 

s:::iat^odcow...-t 

slowly,  storing  constandy  ^^^^^,,. 

ABLY  WARM  ^^'°    fa  ^solved  rennet  table: 
once  from  heat  Add  d>ss  ^^^^^  ^„iy. 

Tnd  stir  quickly  fo^^^;^^^ 
Pouratonce,«;^'/^^J''[f3^,,„aatroomtem- 
tuteindessertd'sh^^;;^^,On.inutes.  Chill, 
perature  until  set 


(,,%/?^^ 


L. 


RENNET 
TABLETS 


for  making 

COTTAGE    CHEESE 


You  can  make 
rennet-custards  with  either: 

"Jonkof"  Rennef  Tablets  — Not  swcelcncd; 
add  sugar  and  flavor  to  taste.  Each  rennet 
tablet  makes  4  or  5  rennet-custard  desserts 
or  more  than  a  pint  of  smooth  ice  cream  in 
automatic  refrigerators.  12  tablets  in  pack- 
age. At  grocers  and  druggists. 

"Junket"  Rennet  Powder  —  Already  sweet- 
ened.  Six  favorite  flavors— at  all  grocers: 
Vanilla  Chocolate  Lemon 

Orange  Raspberry  Maple 


"When  can  I  get  other 
'Junket'  Brand  Food  Products?" 

Here's  the  answer  to  this  often-asked 
question: 

"Junket"  Freeiing  Mix — You  won't 
always  find  all  flavors.   Sorry! 

"Junket"  Danish  Dessert  —  Short, 
because  fruit  juices  are  scarce. 

"Junket"  Quick  Fudge  Mix — Tem- 
porarily discontinued,  but  worth 
waiting  for! 


Make  MILK  fun 
for  your  children 

You  won't  have  to  prod  your  Jane 
or  John  to  ^/r/'w/f"  enough  milk,  once 
you  discover  how  rennet-custards 
appeal  to  appetites!  For  example 
.  .  .  the  cool,  creamy  dessert  pic- 
tured, full  of  fluffy  rice  and  plump 
raisins. 

Yet  you  can  make  this  dessert  in 
a  jiffy,  without  eggs.  The  nutrition- 
richness  of  the  milk  is  unimpaired 
by  cooking,  and  it's  extra-easy  to 
digest,  too,  because  of  the  rennet 
enzyme. 

Give  your  whole  family  this 
tempting,  satisfying,  economical 
dessert! 

Junket 

^^  TBADt     MARK 

RENNET 
TABLETS 

FREE/ 


Copr.  1914,  c;hr.  Ha 


ory.  In 


toric  of  C/ir.  Honien'i  Lob- 
oro'ory,  inc.,  for  its  rennet  and  other  food  products, 
■i  in  the  United  Stales  and  Canada. 


witti  box  front  from  oltltor 
"Junket"  Rennet  Tablets  or 
Rennet  Powder. 
"Wowie  kee  flowie!"  says  Flib- 
biityjibbit.theduck,  when  begets 
excited.  How  children  laugh 
when  you  read  it  to  them!  It's  a 
picture  story  book  children  pore 
overfill  it's  dog-eared — 32  pages 
with  beautiful,  full  color  illustra- 
tions by  Vernon  Grant. 

{Send  Coupon  Today! 


"The  'Junket'  Folks," 

Chr.  Hansen's  Laboratory,  Inc. 

Dept.  21,  Little  Falls,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  my  free  copy  of  the 
picture  story  book,  "Flibbity  Jibbit."  I 
enclose  one  box  front. 

Name.. _ 

Address    

City     State 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1943 


on 

AN   RIVER  SHEETS 


THE  LOXG  WAY 

(Continued  from  Page  33) 


was  like  a  child  that  could  not  speak  or  ges- 
ture. Ann  looked  back  and  saw  the  top  of 
her  mother's  head  as  she  went  quickly  down 
toward  the  basement  laundry. 

Ann  turned  back  to  Gustave.  She  called 
to  him  again: 

"Let  me  in,  then — open  the  door  for  me. 
What's  the  matter  with  you,  Gustave  ?  Don't 
you  want  to  play?" 

At  last  he  went  away  from  the  window 
and  she  ran  to  the  back  door  and  waited  for 
him.  She  could  hear  him  get  a  kitchen  chair 
and  push  it  to  the  door  and  climb  on  it. 
Then  he  undid  the  chain  that  allowed  the 
door  to  be  opened  only  an  inch  or  two.  At 
last  the  knob  turned  in  his  small  hand  and 
he  opened  the  door  and  it  swung  in  a  little. 
He  climbed  down  from  the  chair  and  Ann 
impatiently  pushed  the  door  wide. 

Gustave  just  stood  there  looking  at  her 
and  then  his  face  began  to  work  and  all  at 
once  he  rushed  out  past  her  and  he  began  to 
cry  and  even  to  scream,  hurling  himself 
about  the  porch  like  one  possessed.  Ann 
looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  then  she 
looked  into  the  house.  She  could  see  through 
the  open  door  between  the  kitchen  and 
dining  room,  or  workroom.  She  could  see 
that  everything  was  in  the  wildest  confusion. 
A  great  bolt  of  raw  silk  had  been  spilled  out 
and  lay  in  rippling  shining  sheets  every- 
where, and  the  furniture  was  overturned — 
the  sewing  table  was  upset  and  spools  and 
buttons  were  everywhere,  the  machine  was 
overturned.  And  in  the  midst  of  it— thrown 
down  like  dolls — lay  the  two  women,  mo- 
tionless, silent. 

Ann  stared  with  her  mouth  open.  Then 
she,  too,  screamed.  She  was  stunned  with 
horror,  and  acting  upon  blind  instinct,  she 
caught  tlie  door  and  pulled  it  shut  and  the 
lock  clicked,  shutting  the  children  outside 
on  the  porch.  With  a  great  effort  Ann 
stopped  screaming.  The  sound  of  the  lock 
dispelled  the  worst  of  her  anguish.  They 
were  locked  out  and  she  felt  safe.  But  she 
was  shaking.  She  put  her  hand  over  her 
mouth  to  stop  herself  from  screaming  again 
and  she  turned  to  Gustave  and  put  an  arm 
around  him  and  held  him. 

.  "Don't  cry,  Gustave,"  she  said  in  a  loud 
voice.  "Don't  cry.  The  door  is  locked.  I'll 
take  you  home  with  me.  I'll  take  you  to  my 
mother." 

Gustave  could  not  stop  sobbing.  He  had 
not  uttered  a  sound  when  he  was  inside,  but 
only  looked  at  her.  But  he  had  been  able 
to  come  out,  to  open  the  door,  to  save  him- 
self. Wordlessly  she  recognized  the  heroic 
effort.  They  sat  on  the  porch  floor  and  Ann 
wished  for  her  mother.  There  was  no  use 
calling  down  all  those  stairs.  No  one  would 
hear  her.  She  did  not  want  any  stranger  to 
come,  anyhow.  She  only  wanted  her  mother. 

Gustave  whimpered,  after  a  little,  "Your 
mother's  not  there — she's  in  the  basement." 

"I  know,"  said  Ann,  "but  you  come  with 
me  and  we  will  go  down  there  and  be  with 
her.  I  know  the  way  to  go  down,  and  if  she 
isn't  there  we'll  go  up  to  our  flat.  I've  been 
down  in  the  back  yard  lots  of  times." 

They  got  up  off  the  floor,  and  after  a  little 
more  urging  Gustave  agreed  to  come.  The 
drawstring  at  the  waist  of  his  blouse  had 
not  been  tied  and  Ann  drew  it  tight  and 
tied  it  and  tucked  the  string  into  his  tight 
black  pants.  She  pushed  his  hair  back  from 
his  face  and  wiped  his  face  with  her  own 
hanky  and  took  him  by  the  hand  and  opened 
the  gate.  They  descended  hand  in  hand 
to  the  first  landing,  halfway  to  the  floor  be- 
low. Both  felt  better  for  this  accomplish- 
ment. They  went  down  another  flight  to  the 
middle  floor,  one  step  at  a  time,  hand  in 
hand.  Gustave  had  to  sit  down,  trembling, 
and  Ann  sat  close  beside  him.  She  began  to 
talk  to  him  about  her  Sunday  so  that  she 
would  not  think  of  what  was  up  there  behind 
them. 

"I  could  hardly  wait  to  tell  you,"  she 
said.  "My  Cousin  Mary  has  a  white  cat  and 
she  has  five  kittens.  They  live  in  a  drawer 
of  an  old  dresser  in  their  basement  and  the 


big  cat  goes  in  and  out  like  it  was  Iter  house ! 
Mary  is  going  to  give  me  one  when  it  is  big 
enough.  Oh,  they  are  so  little  now" — she 
measured  on  her  plump  palm.  "I'll  let  you 
share  it,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her,  but  he  could  only  nod. 

They  went  on  down  to  another  halfway 
landing  and  looked  out  into  the  alley.  They 
could  see  the  heads  of  a  team  of  horses  there. 
They  passed  another  back  door,  closed  and 
locked  against  them.  Ann  now  saw  that 
everything  was  reversed  here — the  last  few 
stairs  led  in  another  direction  from  her  stairs. 
She  thought,  /  mustn't  get  turned  around. 

There  before  them  was  the  fence  and  she 
saw,  disappointed,  that  the  space  between 
the  buildings,  the  walk  across  which  she  was 
lifted  almost  every  day,  was  on  her  mother's 
side  of  the  fence  and  closed  off  from  this 
side.  This  fence  was  not  so  high  as  the  one 
across  the  back  of  the  yard,  but  it  was  a 
picket  fence.  It  was  too  high  to  climb.  And 
she  could  not  leave  Gustave  a  moment.  She 
could  just  see  the  edge  of  their  basement 
door.  Her  mother  was  way  up  in  front  in 
the  laundry  by  the  street  windows,  and  the 
door  was  shut. 

Ann  held  Gustave's  hand  firmly  and 
turned  back  to  the  other  side  of  the  yard 
In  her  mind  was  a  clear  picture  of  what  she 
must  do.  Now  that  they  were  down  the 
stairs  she  must  go  to  the  other  side  and  gc 
between  Gustave's  building  and  the  one 
beyond  to  the  street  sidewalk,  then  comt 
back  to  her  own  walk  and  so  to  her  own  back 
yard.  There  would  be  no  use  trying  to  go  up 
the  front  steps,  because  her  mother  was  not 
in  the  flat.  The  dentist  did  not  encourage 
children  to  visit  him. 

Ann  led  Gustave  into  the  narrow  walk  be- 
tween the  buildings.  On  either  side  the  bricl< 
walls  rose,  almost  blank,  towering  abov^ 
their  heads.  Only  the  fronts  of  the  build 
ings  were  of  stone.  Far  up  there  was  a  strip 
of  sky  like  a  narrow  bright  carpet.  Near  th( 
center  of  the  walk  the  space  widened  a  little 
to  let  light  down  into  the  narrow  bathroon 
windows. 

Gustave  was  still  trembling,  but  Ann  wa  " 
not  at  all  afraid  now.  She  was  confident  sW  ''■ 
would  soon  be  with  her  mother. 

"Come  with  me  now,  Gustave — walJ  - 
right  along,"  she  said  encouragingly.  '': 

It  seemed  a  long  way  from  the  back  yari  " 
to  the  front  sidewalk  and  they  walkeJ  '^ 
slowly,  for  Gustave  could  not  come  with  he  ^'■ 
so  quickly  as  she  could  go.  He  was  breatH  ^s 
ing  strangely,  now  deep,  now  shallow,  bu^'. 
he  never  released  his  grip  on  her  hand — hi  ■ '■' 
very  grip  on  life  itself.  Then  they  stoppe  '' 
stock-still.  For  there  on  the  sidewalk  befoii  W 
the  house  was  the  man.  '  ^'j 

He  did  not  see  the  children,  and  they  drej '" 
quickly  back.  Gustave  turned  and  cowerej  ''^i 
against  the  wall  and  hid  his  face  against  tf  ' '' 
bricks  and  put  his  arm  up  over  his  head  arf 
gave  a  dry  little  sob.  Ann  knew  at  once  tha 
however  he  might  have  felt  about  the  ma 
before,  he  was, afraid  of  him  now.   She  w: 
afraid  of  him,  too,  and  she  remembered  tlfP" 
room  upstairs  and  knew  at  once  that  it  w; 
the  man  who  had  left  it  so.  But  she  stiffem 
herself.  She  plucked  Gustave  loose  from  tl 
wall.    She  drew  him  back  away  from  tl 
front  sidewalk. 

"We'll  go  out  the  back  way,"  she  whi 
pered.  "He  can't  see  us  then.  Come  quickl 
Gustave." 

He  came,  stumbling  after  her,  and  th( 
did  indeed  come  back  into  the  yard  ar 
away  from  the  walk.  Ann  carried  a  vivj 
picture  of  the  man,  standing  on  the  cur| 
watching  the  house,  his  hat  pulled  down,  h 
dark  coat  buttoned,  his  eyes  glittering  und 
the  shade  of  his  hatbrim  and  on  his  face  tl 
strangest,  most  vivid  look — of  satisfactio 
Ann  shuddered.  If  he  had  seen  them!  SI 
wanted  to  get  away  very  quickly,  but  si 
could  not  go  without  Gustave. 

The  basement  door,  beyond  the  pick 
fence,  was  still  closed.  Ann  could  not  w< 
here  until  her  mother  came  out.  Not  no 
At  any  time  the  man  might  come  ba 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


89 


irough  the  walk.  She  could  not  even  call 
)o  loudly  that  they  were  here.  Everything 
ad  changed,  become  important,  hurried. 
tie  was  not  afraid  for  herself,  but  for  Gus- 
ive.  They  must  get  to  her  mother,  and 
uickly,  for  if  he  came  he  might  take  Gus- 
ive  back  upstairs. 

Ann  looked  all  around.  There  was  activity 
I  the  alley.  She  could  see  the  ears  of  horses 
ght  at  the  back,  and  there  was  no  one  to 
sip  her.  She  went  to  the  double  gates  and 
tilled  hard  and  one  of  them  opened  a  little, 
here  were  tall  cans  there — garbage  cans — 
id  beyond,  a  wagon  with  a  canvas  over  its 
jep  pit.  A  brown  dog  on  the  driver's  seat 
iw  the  children  and  began  to  bark.  He  was 
ily  giving  the  alarm,  for  he  would  not  hurt 
lem.  He  jumped  down  and  came  to  Ann, 
id  she  put  Gustave  behind  her.  The  man 
fted  the  big  cans  and  emptied  them  into 
s  cart  and  put  them  down  and  rattled  the 
ds  on  them. 

The  dog  was  standing  now,  with  the  chil- 
ren  treed,  and  the  man  said,  "What  are  you 
)ung  'uns  doing  in  the  alley?  Get  back  in 
)ur  yard,"  and  before  they  could  protest  he 
irept  them  back  into  the  yard  and  closed 
le  gate.  He  put  the  bar  across  the  gate  to 
)ld  it,  stepped  up  on  the  bar  and  over  the 
p  of  the  gate  to  the  wagon  seat.  The  dog 
mped  up  beside  him  and  they  drove  away. 
They  stood  imprisoned  in  the  yard.  Ann 
uld  not  think  what  to  do  next.  She  said, 
Don't  cry,  Gustave.  We'll  find  a  way  out ! " 
She  turned  to  the  other  fence,  along  the 
!St  side  of  Gustave's  yard.  She  saw  that 
ere  was  a  little  variation  there.  The  fence 
st  stopped  just  short  of  the  wall  and  there 
iS  a  space  to  slide  through  there.  At  once 
;  changed  her  plan.  With  a  true  instinct 
•  pattern  she  had  a  new  picture  in  her 
nd. 

"We  can  get  through  the  fence,"  she  said, 
nd  we  can  cross  this  next  yard  and  go 
•Qugh  their  walk  to  the  front.  They's  way 
|.Ut  where  he  is.  We  can  go  all  the  way 
jiiund  the  block  and  come  back  on  the 
j.ier  side  to  our  walk.  That  way  he  would 
^.j'er  see  us.  There's  always  people  going 
jj,we  could  walk  in  back  of.  Can  you  walk 

le,itfar?" 

„|  Yes,"  Gustave  said.  "I  can  walk  that 

if  you  go  with  me." 

Oh,  I  will,"  said  Ann.  "I  meant  to,  all 

time." 


P 


(ere: 


danjl 


3  squeezed  her  chunky  person  through 
narrow  space  and  drew  Gustave  after 

Her  pinafore  was  torn  a  little  and  dirty 
,  and  Gustave  was  dirty,  too,  from  cry- 
and   from  putting  his  hands  and  his 

against  the  brick  wall.  But  they  were 
cely  sensible  of  these  minor  troubles, 
y  crossed  the  next  yard  almost  on  tiptoe 

went  through  the  walk  beyond  and 
ped  and  peeked  around  the  corner  of  the 
ding  before  going  out.  The  man  was  still 
,e,  looking  up  at  his  own  fiat.  He  seemed 
e  far  away,  smaller  and  strange  to  them. 
re  were  people  going  along  the  walk  in 

directions, 
he  children,  hand  in  hand,  darted  out 

ixt  the  pedestrians.  They  got  in  front 
vo  women  and  walked  toward  the  cor- 

apidly. 


At  the  corner  two  streetcar  tracks  crossed 
and  there  was  a  big  store  there.  People 
spilled  off  the  sidewalks  into  the  street  where 
there  was  a  tumult  of  horses  and  trolley 
cars  and  drays  and  carriages  of  every  kind. 
Ann  knew  that  she  must  cling  to  the  build- 
ings. She  might  have  to  cross  an  alley  or 
two,  but  no  street.  If  she  just  kept  turning 
to  her  left  and  staying  close  to  the  buildings ! 
Both  children  breathed  easier  when  they  got 
around  the  corner.  Now,  he  could  not  see 
them. 

They  trudged  along  close  to  the  store  win- 
dows, looking  around  at  all  the  people — 
women  in  long  dresses  with  small  parasols  in 
their  hands  and  men  with  dark  beards  and 
stiff  dark  clothes  and  bowler  hats,  or  yellow 
straw  hats. 

In  the  street,  drivers  stood  up  to  manage 
the  great  draft  horses.  There  was  one  wagon 
of  fine  blue  with  black  horses,  with  bright 
silver  and  red  plumes  on  the  harnesses.  Ann 
told  Gustave  that  her  father  had  explained 
to  her  how  the  great  stores  downtown  took 
pride  in  having  fine  rigs. 

JMow  they  came  to  another  corner  and 
negotiated  it  safely.  The  street  they  entered 
was  quieter  and  there  were  tenements  here, 
old  wooden  structures  with  gray  wooden 
steps,  and  there  were  children  swarming  and 
playing  over  the  walks  and  in  the  street  and 
right  under  the  horses.  Ann  and  Gustave 
walked  stiffly  and  warily,  but  no  one  paid 
any  attention  to  them. 

Ann's  heart  beat  thickly.  Suddenly  and 
for  a  moment  the  way  ahead  of  her  seemed 
long  and  perilous.  But  she  remembered  that 
her  mother  was  at  the  end  of  her  journey  and 
she  was  heartened. 

She  had  never  been  on  this  street  before. 
It  looked  like  a  mean  street  to  her.  The  backs 
of  these  tenements  were  visible  from  her 
porch,  and  she  knew  that  the  houses  were 
crowded  and  had  no  porches,  no  basements, 
only  wooden  stairs  running  crisscross  back 
of  the  buildings.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to 
ask  help  of  anyone  she  saw.  Like  a  little 
homing  pigeon,  her  whole  instinct  was  to 
bring  Gustave  to  her  mother.  The  way  did 
not  seem  devious  to  her,  but  plain  after  that 
one  moment  of  panic. 

They  had  almost  reached  another  corner 
when  suddenly  out  of  the  very  earth  beneath 
their  feet  sprang  up  a  dogfight.  It  was  a 
clamorous  thing — with  that  horrible  snarling 
and  growling  and  sound  of  raw  breath  so  dis- 
concerting to  the  human  ear.  Gustave  knew 
nothing  of  dogs.  Ann's  cousins  had  pets  and 
she  was  not  at  all  afraid  of  dogs,  but  made 
friends  with  them  quickly.  But  this  was 
different.  A  bulldog  was  fighting  with  a 
brown  dog  and  they  were  at  each  other's 
throats  on  the  wooden  sidewalk.  There 
was  nothing  for  the  children  to  do  but  run 
up  the  steps  nearest  them.  Immediately  a 
crowd  gathered  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  and 
the  two  little  ones  stood,  hand  in  hand,  and 
watched  the  men  trying  to  separate  the 
dogs,  shouting  and  swearing.  Finally  the 
man  who  owned  the  brown  dog  had  him  up 
in  his  arms,  and  Ann  saw  that  it  was  the 
garbage  man  and  that  his  wagon  stood  in 
the  street.  Another  man  was  holding  the 
bulldog  by  the  collar.    Everyone  began  to 


e«'! 
juicl 

nd* 
iidai 

a  \fl  Lucky  the  living  child  born  in  a  land 
r,e  cui  Bordered  by  rivers  of  enormous 
loa.'         flow: 

jjunJ  Vlissouri  running  through  its 
■M^         throat  of  sand, 
ii0  Vlississippi  growling  under  snow; 
eW  •^  V  country  confident  that  day  or  night, 
bats  : 


'o^  {Of Hid:  3 

BY   PAUL  EIVGLE 


i 


heP* 

{0 


'lanting,  plowing  or  at  evening  rest 
t  has  a  trust  like  childhood,  free  of 
fright, 
"  laving  such  powers  to  hold  it  east 
and  west. 


it 


Water  edged  with  willow  gray  or 

green 
Edges  the  hours  and  meadows 

where  she  plays. 
Where  the  black  earth  and  the 

bright  time  are  piled. 
She  lives  between  those  rivers  as 

between 
Her  birth  and  death,  and  is  in  these 

bold  days 
A  water-watched  and  river-radiant 

child. 


Settings 


cssorics  by  I.oril  X    l<. 


DAD'S  TWO  BEST  GIRLS  sleep 
sweet  tonight  .  .  .  tucked  away 
beneath  their  warm  and  comfy 
North  Stars.  And  Dad,  like  every 
father-at-war,  carries  in  his  heart  the 
picture  of  their  loveliness. 

Good  blankets  are  an  investment  in 
good  living,  in  beauty  born  of  restful, 
peace-restoring  sleep.  And  North  Stars 
are  the  finest  blankets  your  money 
can  buy.  They're  virgin  wool  to  the 
last  fiber,  woven  to  keep  their  luxury- 
softness,  warmth-without-weightness 
through  years  of  wash-and-wear.  When  you 
kets,  look  for  the  label  North  Star.  Light  as 
Spring,  a  North  Star  sweetens  sleep  and  .  .  . 

PICTURED:  North  Star  *'Zephyr'\  I'earh  (Jlow.  From  hiidgot  quality  to  utmost  luxury.  North 
Stars  arc  supremo  valuea.  At  fine  stores.  North  Star   Woolen  Mill  Co.,  Minneapolis  1,  Minn. 

"North  Star"  is  also  your  guide  to  fine  bahy  blankets  . . .  superb  all  wool  fabrics . . .  hand-woven  "Afean^^Pf^a't  Ai^iliiA   f*  1 


shop  for  blan- 
down,  warm  as 


90 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


-f-fw  oH^tkc^i  a^Oyt^tSv- 


John  M.'s  mother''  is  :i  Icidinp;  doctor  in  New 
York  City.  It's  nritural  tli;it  Jolin  is  getting 
the  benefit  of  the  most  modern,  scientific  prin- 
ciples of  infant  feeding.  \ou  can  see  from  his 
picture  wliat  a  strong,  sturdy  baby  he  is. 


JOHN  M.  AT  12  MONTHS 

At  hirth  he  zveiglud  At  birth  he  was 

7  pounds,  1 1  ounces  2 1  inches  tall 

Ninv  he  weighs  Now  he  is 

26  pounds  30  inches  tall 


Mi^ouwJLiACIAPP'S' 


-^ZH- 


"mi**— 


'.mm 


'wKKr  ^- .».-««w-^^^«"'^    '' ^"~"***a^B^BL  fc^*/^  '-■  S-jf-r-f-^ iL..jia>nr»--i«.i.«D 


:^'^=^^ 


M'- 


There's  a  good  reason  why  so  many 
doctors  recommend  Clapp's  Baby  Ce- 
reals —  and  feed  these  cereals  to  their 
own  children,  too! 

Doctors'  requirements 
For  Clapp's  Baby  Cereals  were  made 
to  fill  doctors'  requirements  for  a  baby's 
first  solid  food. 

In  addition  to  fine  whole  grains,  they 
give  a  baby  extra  food  elements— such 
as  dry  skim  milk  and  brewers'  yeast 
—to  supply  growth-promoting  vitamins 
and  minerals. 

The  texture  is  fine  but  definite.  And 
Clapp's  cereals  are  so  easy  to  prepare, 
too  — no  cooking  needed:  you  just  add 
milk  or  formula  right  in  the  serving 
dish.  Try  Clapp's  Instant  Cereal  or 
Clapp's  Instant  Oatmeal  today. 

*Name  on  file  at  Harold  H.  Clapp,  Inc. 


Why  so  many  doctors  recommend 
CLAPP'S  BABY  CEREALS 

Every  spoonful  of  Clapp's  Instant  Ce- 
real gives  your  baby— 

3  times  as  much  Iron  as  in 

unfortified  home-cooked 
cereals. 

21/2  times  as  much  Vita- 
min Bi  as  in  unfortified 
home-cooked  cereals. 


¥1 


Every  ounce  of  Clapp's  Instant  Cereal 
gives  your  baby: 


Vitamin  B\ 
100  U.S.P.  units 

Calcium 
96  mg. 


Vitamin  G 
0.18  mg. 

Copper 
0.6  mg. 


Iron 
6mg. 


-A^k  ^<w^"D»c&v/ 


laugh,  and  the  man  with  the  brown  dog 
jumped  up  on  his  wagon  and  drove  away, 
and  the  man  with  the  bulldog  took  him 
across  the  street  and  into  a  store. 

Ann  and  Gustave  watched  the  people 
drift  away,  talking,  and  the  children  who 
had  been  playing  there — older  children — 
came  back  to  their  game. 

Ann  was  confused.  She  was  not  sure  now 
which  way  she  had  been  coming,  or  which 
way  to  go.  She  just  stood  there,  as  lost  as 
she  could  be 

Gustave  waited  for  her,  looking  at  her 
piteously. 

Ann  walked  slowly  down  the  steps  to  the 
sidewalk.  She  tried  to  bring  together  the 
pattern  she  held  in  her  thought— but  she 
could  not  think.  Her  psyche  was  shattered 
by  the  violence  and  noise  of  the  dogfight  and 
she  stood  almost  helplessly  on  the  street 
and  turned  her  face  the  wrong  way.  Then 
she  remembered  something.  They  had  been 
almost  to  the  corner!  So,  it  was  this  way, 
not  that.  She  turned  about  and  faced  in  the 
other  direction.  But  something  was  still 
wrong. 

Then  she  remembered  a  second  thing.  She 
had  had  Gustave  on  the  other  side.  They 
must  have  changed  hands  when  they  ran 
up  the  steps.  She  walked  quickly  around 
him  and  stood  so,  with  his  other  hand  in  hers, 
facing  the  nearest  corner.  She  just  stood 
there  waiting  and  presently  it  came  to  her 
again  and  she  felt  sure.  She  walked  forward, 
leading  Gustave,  and  he  came  with  her.  Ann 
sighed  profoundly.  It  had  been  a  close  thing 
there — but  now  they  were  safe  again. 

The  next  block  was  short,  and  when  they 
turned  into  their  own  street  and  looked  up 
at  the  row  of  identical  blocks  of  apartments 
Ann  felt  a  great  rush  of  joy. 

*'See!"  she  said.  "There  we  are.  We've 
only  to  watch  for  the  tooth  hanging  in  front 
of  the  dentist's  window  and  that  is  our 
building  and  our  walk  right  beside  it.  We'll 
be  in  our  yard  and  up  our  back  stairs  in  a 
moment  or  two." 

Gustave  was  lagging  and  Ann  stooped  and 
looked  between  the  legs  of  the  man  in  front 
ot  them. 


January,  19'- 

"I  don't  think  he's  there,"  she  said,  "bi 
we'll  be  careful.  He  won't  see  us.  We  don 
have  to  pass  him." 

They  got  close  behind  two  women  who: 
skirts  rippled  along  the  pavement.  The 
came  to  the  dentist's  place — th^re  was  tl 
great  white-and-red  tooth.  Ann  could  n( 
see  the  man  and  so,  she  reasoned,  he  cou! 
not  see  them.  They  pressed  close  to  the  froi 
steps  and  when  they  got  into  the  areawa 
they  ran  as  fast  as  they  could  run.  Th( 
burst  into  the  back  yard  like  seeds  squeeze 
between  thumb  and  forefinger. 

The  grass  was  green,  and  on  the  lines 
the  yard  the  laundry  was  waving  gent 
back  and  forth  in  the  breeze.  The  basemei 
door  was  closed  and  locked.  They  began 
climb  the  stairs.  They  were  both  very  tire 
Gustave  had  to  put  his  hands  down  once  1 
twice,  like  a  creeping  infant,  to  help  himse 
Ann  longed  to  run  ahead,  but  she  staye 
with  him.  And  then  they  were  on  Ann's  ba( 
porch.  They  were  at  the  door. 

"Mother ! "  called  Ann  loudly.  "Mother 
She  opened  the  screened  door  and  dre 
Gustave  into  the  kitchen. 

"Ann!"  Her  mother  came  quickly  dov 
the  hall.  "Oh,  I've  been  so  frightened.  I' 
been  knocking  on  their  window  with  t 
broom  handle — and  calling  and  calling, 
was  just  going  down  to  ring  their  bell.  He 
did  you  get  here — you  and  Gustave  didi 
climb  over,  did  you?" 

She  stopped  speaking  suddenly.  Th 
stood  looking  at  her.  They  caught  at  f 
skirts,  one  on  either  side.  But  they  still  h( 
to  each  other.  She  stooped  quickly,  a 
knelt  between  them,  an  arm  around  ea 
of  them.  A  long  look  passed  between  A 
and  her  mother — a  wordless  look. 

Ann  held  her  mother  tightly.  Her  brcc 
caught,  but  she  said,  in  a  rush  of  words, "( 
mother !  No,  we  didn't  climb  over.  The  n- 
is  on  the  sidewalk,  in  front,  so  we  went 
the  way  around  the  block.  Oh,  mother,  I 
brought  Gustave  home  to  stay.  You  m 
get  daddy.  You  must  tell  the  policeman 
go  over  there — over  there — at  Gusta\ 
house.  Oh,  mother,  Gustave  and  I  hi 
come  such  a  long  way." 


ISA 


GIO/ATfR 


TH/5  1^  A 
VVATCH^I^P 
WATCHiMG  A 

GIOMIR 


! 


Tfll-^  IS  A 

W/^TCHBI^P 

vV/\TCHI^G 


Munro  Lt»af 


Ihis  smug,  satisfied  creature  is  a  Gloater.  It  makes 
everybody  sick  the  way  it  gloats  whenever  it  does  some- 
thing that  other  people  can't  do.  Or  if  it  gets  something 
that  somebody  else  can't  have,  a  Gloater  just  has  to  tell 
you  how  much  better  off  it  is  than  you  are.  This  Gloater 
has  a  dog  and  somebody  else  doesn't.  He  is  so  smug 
about  it  that  even  the  dog  doesn't  like  the  Gloater,  and 
will  probably  try  to  run  away  the  first  chance  it  gets. 

WERE  YOU  A    6L0ATER   THIS    MO/VTM  f' 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


91 


1.  I'm  pretty  proud  to  be  the  head  of  our 
Committee  for  the  Paper  Salvage  Drive  that 
I  started.  Plenty  of  work— but  it's  worth  it. 
Right  now,  our  town's  got  the  best  record  in 
the  county!  So  I  know  we're  doing  a  vital  war 
job  . . .  well. 


Z*  When  I'm  out  of  the  house,  my  neighbors  are 
wonderful  about  taking  care  of  my  daughter, 
Judy.  But  when  I  called  for  her  at  Sue's  one  day, 
I  was  amazed  to  overhear  one  of  my  friends  say: 
"She's  doing  a  swell  job  — but  she's  certainly 
spoiling  Judy!" 


»5.  "Whatever  makes  you  say  that?"  I  de- 
manded, walking  right  in.  They  were  sorry  I'd 
overheard  them,  I  know,  but  Sue  came  right  out 
with  it.  "Well,  we  all  think  you  treat  Judy  like 
a  little  queen— special  this  and  that— and  even  a 
special  laxative!" 


4.  "Come  now,"  I  said,  "don't  tell  me  thafs 
what's  bothering  you!  Don't  you  know  a  child's 
system  7ieeds  special  care?  That's  why  I  give 
Judy  the  laxative  made  especially  for  children— 
Fletcher's  Castoria.  It's  gentle  and  effective, 
never  harsh." 


5.  Well . . .  when  Sue  came  over  Llic  other 
night,  I  happened  to  be  giving  Judy 
Fletcher's  Castoria  —  whkh  she  was  really 
enjoying.  "Apologies  from  all  of  us,"  smiled 
Sue.  "My  aunt,  who's  a  nurse,  says  you're 
not  spoiling  Judy  at  all— you're  just  treating 
her  right!" 


Look  for  these  features  on  the  new 
Fletcher's  Castoria  package: 

1.  Tlie  green  hand  around  each  r-^-'kage  identi- 
fies the  new  stocks  of  Fletche-'^  Castoria. 

2.  77/6'  Sericd  Control  Nwnbcr  is  visible  through 
a  "window"  in  the  package.  It  verifies  the  three 
different  kinds  of  rifC'd  tests— chemical,  bacterio- 
logical, and  biological  — made  on  each  batch  of 
Fletcher's  Castoria. 


Always  take  a  laxative  only  as  directed  on  the  package  or  by  your  physician. 

^:Z^.^//M^Il  CASTORIA 

The  laxative  made  especially  for  children 


92 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


QNtyour  hair  this  Glamour- Bath  hke 


Miss  Bobs  Merrick   —  one  of   John  Robert  Powers'  beauties  who  keeps  her  hair 
naturally  bright  and  lustrous  with  KremI  Shampoo 

Reveal  IValural  Sparklinji  IJeauty  Thai  Lies 
Coiu'oah'*!    In   ) Oiir  aiul  lurry  (iirlV  JIair! 

Those  cnchantingly  lovely  Powers  Models— thc-cpitomc  of  beauty  and  charm- 
must  take  exceptional  fine  care  in  washing  their  hair. 

And  these  stunning  girls  are  advised  to  use  only  Kreml  Shampoo! 

Beautifying  Kreml  Shampoo  washes  hair  and  scalp  spaiikiiig-cleaii.  It 
thoroughly  washes  out  dirt  and  loose  dandruff  and  leaves  the  hair  silken-soft— 
so  much  easier  to  set— sparkling  with  natural  brilliant  highlights  and  glossy 
lustre  that  lasts  for  days. 

So  take  a  tip  from  some  of  the  world's  most  beautiful  girls  and  give  yo/ir 
hair  a  "glamour-bath"  with  Kreml  Shampoo.  It  takes  only  10  minutes— right 
at  home.  Excellent  for  every  color  and  every  type  of  hair  whether  oily  or  dry. 
All  drug  and  department  stores. 

No  Better  Shampoo  For  Children's  Hair 

-»,  If  your  child's  hair  is  dull,  stringy,  lifeless-look- 

^  ing— either  oily  or  dry— "glamour-bathe"  it  with 

Kreml  Shampoo.  Kreml  Shampoo  positively  con- 

'       .  '-              ..  tains  no  harsh  chemicals  or  caustics.  Instead  it 

^^^^^^■l^'            .  has  a  beneficial  oil  base  which  helps  keep  hair 

^^^H^p        ^  from  becoming  dry  or  brittle.  Children  like  its 

^^^r  .soft,  billowy  suds.  And  yo/i'll  take  pride  in  the 

^^              ^^  way  your  child's  hair  looks. 


ITreml SffAMPOO 

FOR  SILKEN-SHEEN  HAIR-EASIER  TO  ARRANGE  /i?^^Gv.n,off..d  bV^ 

MADE   BY  THE  MAKERS  OF  THE    FAMOUS  KREML  HAIR  TONIC    V"'',"^",''"';,"'^ 


THE  PORTRAIT 

(Continued  from  Page  IS) 


iaic 


sudden,  an  electric  current  plugged  into  you. 
She  searched  his  eyes  closely  for  the  truth, 
found  them  dead  sober,  with  nothing  of  a  lie 
showing.  "Oh,  I — I  wouldn't  know  about 
that,  I  guess,"  she  floundered  breathlessly, 
yet  her  eyes  invited  more — invited  more. 

His  eyes  narrowed  slightly.  "I — I  wonder 
if  I  might  have  a  glass  of  water?  "  he  said 
suddenly. 

"Certainly — oh,  certainly,"  Ellen  cried, 
her  eyes  shining  at  something  to  do  for  him. 
She  hurried  to  the  kitchen  and  filled  her 
best  glass  pitcher  and  brought  one  of  her 
thinnest  glasses. 

He  drank  two  glassfuls  promptly,  his 
Adam's  apple  moving  the  full  length  of  his 
throat.  Then  he  dried  his  lips  with  a  hand- 
kerchief and  touched  his  forehead  with  it. 
Suddenly  he  glanced  at  his  wrist  watch. 
"Well,  shall  we  get  on?"  he  said  abruptly, 
crushing  out  his  cigarette. 

Ellen  resumed  her  place  with  more  of  a 
soreness.  Why,  it  seemed  almost  as  if  she 
had  been  doing  this  all  her  life.  She  felt 
warm  and  smug  because  he  felt  an  inspira- 
tion in  it  too. 

He  worked  now  with  an  odd,  almost 
brutal  impatience,  his  hand  striking  off 
swift,  crisp  strokes.  Twice  he  glanced  at  his 
watch. 

Ellen,  watching  his  eyes,  felt  the  sensation 
of  sleet  striking  across  her.  But  it  was  merely 
the  way  of  artists,  she  concluded,  their  way. 

Suddenly  he  laid  down  the  crayon  and 
said,  "  It's  finished."  He  picked  up  a  crayon- 
stained  rag  and  began  to  wipe  at  his  fingers. 

"Finished?"  Ellen's  voice  faltered.  "So 
soon  ? ' ' 

He  was  staring  at  the  portrait  and  seemed 
not  to  hear  her,  and  she  sat,  with  heart 
pounding,  trying  to  read  his  eyes.  But  they 
pinned  onto  the  picture,  and  there  was  no 
reading  them.  He  continued  to  wipe  his  fin- 
gers on  the  cloth. 

Ellen  stood  up  slowly,  but  did  not  move 
toward  him.  No,  I  won't  look  at  it  just  yet. 
she  thought  firmly.  /'//  wait  until  after  he  is 
f^onc ;  I'll  stretch  out  the  anticipation  just  as 
lonn  as  I  can.  and  make  it  last — alone  and 
afterward. 

He  turned  away  and  began  to  gather  up 
the  crayons.  "Well,  aren't  you  going  to  take 
a  look?"  he  said  rather  impatiently. 

She  didn't  want  to  hurt  him;  oh,  she  must 
not  do  that.  Stepping  uncertainly  toward 
him,  she  said,  "Will  you  understand  if  I 

don't  look  just  now  "    Her  eyes  were 

shining  as  if  from  some  quiet  secret  inside. 
"You  will  understand,  won't  vou,  if  I  wait  a 
little?" 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  uncomprehend- 
ingly,  then  he  shrugged.  "As  you  please," 
he  said. 

Oh.  I  hope  I  haven't  hurt  him.  she  thought 
frantically.  She  could  tell  from  the  way  he 
acted  that  the  picture  was  good;  his  not 
making  a  fuss  about  it  was  just  his  modesty. 
She  ran  into  the  bedroom  to  get  the  money, 
noticing,  in  the  dressing-table  mirror,  her 
face  pinkly  flushed. 

Counting  out  the  money,  she  hesitated, 
wondering  if  she  ought  to  offer  him  a  dollar 
extra,  for  all  his  special  pains.  No.  she  de- 
cided quickly,  it  might  offend  him  and  spoil 
everything.  She  handed  him  the  three  and 
a  half,  and  he  stood  for  a  second  holding  it, 
then  thrust  it  quickly  into  his  pocket. 

For  a  second  he  fingered  his  hat.  "I  hope 
you  will  like  it,"  he  said.  His  eyes  flashed 
uncertainly  up  and  down.  "Good-by." 

Ellen  followed  him  to  the  door.  "Good-by," 
she  said  bravely.  As  he  went  down  the  steps 
she  wanted  to  say  something  more,  thinking 
that  if  he  turned  around  she  would  say, 
"I'll  be  here  next  year,  in  case  you  come 
along  " ;  but  he  did  not  turn  and  so  she  called 
out  a  trifle  weakly  after  him,  "Good  luck!" 
But  she  guessed  lie  did  not  hear. 

She  watched  him  go  down  the  path  bor- 
dered by  the  bright  tulips.  At  the  picket 
gate  he  stopped  and  had  to  struggle  with  the 
lock  that  always  stuck.  Then  he  climbed 
into  his  old  coupe,  the  motor  crashed  against 


the  stillness,  and  he  disappeared  down  the 
road  that  ran  past  the  orchard. 

She  ran  eagerly  back  to  the  picture,  her 
heart  leaping  like  that  of  a  young  deer. 
There  it  was,  in  the  roll  that  it  had  sprung 
into  when  he  unpinned  it  from  the  board. 
She  touched  it  lightly,  felt  the  warm  rough 
paper  in  her  finger  tips.  I'll  carry  it  over  to 
the  window,  she  decided,  ivhere  the  sun  ivill 
shine  in  full  force  upon  it.  She  stood  between 
the  ruffled  curtains  as  if  about  to  perform 
some  important  ritual.  For  a  second  then 
she  forced  herself  to  look  away,  just  to 
hold  the  anticipation,  wild  in  her  heart. 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  spread  some  of  this 
excitement  into  all  time  to  come!  There 
was  so  much  of  it  now,  so  much  for  one 
moment. 

Through  the  white  curtains  her  eyes 
flashed  over  what  seemed  foreign  objects  in 
her  own  world:  the  pink-teated  big  white- 
and-black  sow  wallowing  with  her  new  litter 
in  the  meadow ;  the  spotted  cattle  under  the 
willows;  and  across  the  orchard,  Henry, 
about  to  finish  the  last  of  his  trees.  The 
spray  fell  softly  final  in  the  late  light.  And 
then  down  the  road  she  saw  Jimmy  coming  * 
from  school  in  a  skippety  hop. 


e: 

iOfl 

jocli 

ifit 

jtni: 

ar.c 


J: 
Oit 
m 

lighi 

k'i 

ft. 
sal 
Ec: 

k 


A! 


ItOi 

"& 

d 


lii 


riER  hands  tightened  on  the  picture.  Now 
she  wouldn't  have  time  to  look  at  it  prop- 
erly. She  did  not  want  to  feel  rushed.  She 
would  put  it  away  until  later,  when  there 
was  no  hurry,  and  she  could  study  it  fully. 

Hurrying  over  to  the  magazine  rack,  she 
concealed  the  picture  in  its  cradle  shape, 
among  her  women's  magazines  there;  no  one 
ever  touched  those  except  herself;  it 
would  be  perfectly  safe.  She  stood  off  from 
it  a  little,  to  make  certain,  her  suspense 
round  and  full  and  intact  in  her  heart,  and 
felt  a  certain  thankfulness  in  having  to  put 
it  off. 

She  sat  down  for  just  an  instant.  The  late 
sun  sent  in  a  spray  of  warm  gold,  turning  the 
room  into  rose-orange  tones.    It  looked  bet- 
ter than  it  ever  had  before:  it  held  a  kind  of  r^ 
pulse,  a  mellowness,  as  of  having  been  lived 
in.  Then,  rising  hastily,  she  brought  in  scrub 
oak  for  the  fireplace  to  have  ready  for  later. 
The  spring  nights  now  always  brought  a  '  ■^' 
slight  chill.    She  and  Jimmy  enjoyed  an 
open  fire  so  much,  although,  for  Henry's  _. 
part,  he'd  just  as  lief  have  the  steady  heat  '  j 
from  the  old  heater.  Then  she  hurried  to  the 
kitchen  and  tied  a  fresh  apron  around  her 
waist  so  that  it  would  look  as  if  supper  were 
under  way. 

She  had  the  plates  and  silver  on  the  table 
and  the  fresh  pork  tenderloins  frying  when 
Jimmy's  and  Henry's  steps  sounded  at  the 
door.  She  turned  to  meet  them  with  a  some- 
what guilty  radiance  in  her  eyes. 

Henry's  eyes  were  quick  to  catch  the 
radiance  and  clung  wonderingly,  drinking  it 
in.  But  he  passed  it  off  in  bright,  friendly 
silence  and  went  into  the  bathroom  to 
wash  up. 

Ellen  thought  guiltily  to  herself,  Thai's  the 
first  really  happy  look  I've  given  him  in  so 
long. 

"Whose  car  was  that  parked  out  in  front 
this  afternoon?"  Henry  called,  above  the 
running  water,  his  voice  casual,  with  no 
prying  note. 

Ellen  started.  "Oh,  just  a  salesman,"  she 
called,  nervously  shifting  the  plates  and 
touching  the  silverware  into  more  exact  po- 
sitions. She  could  hear  Henry  throwing 
great  handfuls  of  water  into  his  face. 

"What  was  he  selling?"  went  on  Henry 
with  the  same  easiness. 

"Brushes,"  answered  Ellen  promptly. 
"Just — just  brushes." 

"Buy  anything?" 

"No— no, "replied  Ellen.  "Nothing."  She  ' 
felt  the  lie  stab  inside  her  and  promptly  set 
to  defending  herself.    She  had  to,  for  the 
surprise.    Later,  after  she  had  looked  at  it  J 
herself,  she  could  explain  it  all. 

Jimmy  had  thrown  his  cap  onto  a  nail 
and  his  books  into  a  corner.  "Gee  crimany," 
he  said,  "but  I  wish  we  could  go  to  that 
show.   Bill  Harden  an'  his  folks  went  to  it 


Sunday  night  an'  he  said  it  was  super.  Heck, 
vc  never  go  to  a  movie  or  anything!"  He 
;a]d  it  in  just  the  same  fretful  way  he  always 
\ished  for  things,  with  no  hope  of  being 
loticed. 

lillen  pricked  up  her  ears.  A  movie.  It 
;ounded  wonderful.  Well,  why  not!  Why 
ouldn't  they  drive  in  to  a  show  for  a  change  ? 
The  weather  was  good;  it  was  full  moon. 
Xfter  all,  it  was  only  ten  miles  in  and  back. 
Strange  she  had  never  thought  of  the  dis- 
ance  as  being  so  short  before.  Then,  too,  as 
.  immy  said,  the  Hardens  had  gone. 

'Couldn't  we,  Henry?  Couldn't  we  drive 
n  to  a  show  tonight? " 

Jimmy  was  staring  at  her  open-mouthed. 
The  recklessness  of  it  amazed  even  Ellen 
erself.  Why,  it  was  unheard  of:  a  week 
light,  with  work  ahead  tomorrow;  it  would 
nean  their  being  up  at  least  an  hour  later 
han  usual.   Henry  wouldn't,  of  course. 

5he  heard  him  finish  washing,  dry  his 
ace,  pick  up  his  comb  to  comb  his  hair.  It 
sually  took  him  about  that  long  to  think 
omething  over.  He  came  and  stood  in  the 
oorway,  combing  down  his  moist  hair, 
fter  separating  it  in  its  neat  usual  part. 

"Why,  I  dunno,"  he  said.  "We  might." 
gain  he  studied  that  new  brightness  in  her 
yes,  and  his  own  clear  blue  eyes  kindled 
omit.  "What's on?"  he  said. 

"Why "  Ellen  started  to  confess  that 

lie  did  not  know. 

"Abbott  and  Costello,"  Jimmy  spoke  up 
romptly. 

"Who  are  they?"  Ellen  asked. 

"Geemanee,  don't  you  know?"  he  cried. 
iTwo  funny  guys." 

"Yeah."  Henry  stood  grinning.  "We 
eard  'em  over  the  air  a  couple  weeks  ago. 
)on't  you  remember?  They're  pretty  good, 
11  right." 

Ellen  was  a  trifle  disappointed.  She  had 
ither  hoped  there  might  be  some  fine  dra- 
latic  love  story.  But  then  maybe  the 
ughs  would  be  better  for  Henry  and 
mmy.  Anyway,  it  was  a  movie.    It  would 

getting  out,  and  she  guessed  there  was  no 
£tter  reason  to  get  out  than  for  a  good 
ugh. 

"I  could  leave  the  dishes,"  she  volun- 
;ered,  "to  get  an  early  start." 

All  three  were  silent  then,  eyes  passing 
om  one  to  the  other,  simply  from  the 
nazement  of  it. 

Henry  backed  the  car  out  from  the  garage, 
tiey  had  hurried  with  supper  and  got 
ady   with    remarkable   ease    and    speed. 


93 


Odd,  Ellen  thought,  as  she  stepped  lightly 
down  the  path  toward  the  waiting  car,  how 
easily  things  were  managed  when  you  were 
in  good  spirits. 

Once,  while  getting  ready,  she  had  been 
highly  tempted  to  bring  forth  the  portrait 
and  have  the  three  of  them  enjoy  it  together. 
But  there  was  a  terrible  fear  down  deep  in- 
side that  they  might  laugh.  Jimmy  was  just 
reaching  that  honest,  often  cruel  outspoken- 
ness that  children  go  through,  and  if  he  hap- 
pened not  to  like  it — well,  she  just  couldn't 
risk  having  him  blurt  out  something  that 
would  destroy  everything  she  felt  about  it. 
No,  she  would  keep  it  secret  until  she  had  it 
first  alone,  for  as  long  as  she  wanted,  until 
tomorrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  the  next. 
Something  to  look  forward  to. 

The  valley  lay  like  a  deep  blue  saucer 
with  the  scallop-edged  mountains  around, 
and  the  stars  were  thin  and  bright  as  fine 
crystal.  The  air  was  cool  and  tangy  from 
damp  earth  and  swollen  buds,  and  in  the 
pasture  lay  small  mirrors  of  water  left  over 
from  the  early  rains. 

Ellen  sat  in  the  back  seat  alone,  on  the 
wiry,  woollen  blanket  lining  the  seat  to  pro- 
tect the  upholstery;  tonight  she  wanted  it 
that  way,  and  had  let  Jimmy  delightedly 
sit  up  front  with  Henry.  He  sat  very  up- 
right, small,  proud,  trusting,  there  beside 
his  father.  Ellen  noted  the  slight  sag  of 
Henry's  wide  shoulders,  recalling  their  shape 
when  they  used  to  be  thrown  back.  How 
easily  he  appeared  to  control  the  car  down 
the  smooth  road,  in  comparison  with  the 
much  more  familiar  jolting  on  the  big  trac- 
tor through  the  tough  earth.  How  readily 
Henry  had  consented  to  this  trip.  It  oc- 
curred to  her,  with  gratitude,  that  he  had 
done  so  chiefly  to  please  her.  They  must  get 
out  more  often,  Ellen  thought  with  deter- 
mination. Pleasant,  easy  things  were  good 
for  people  now  and  then.  They  knew  too 
much  of  the  other. 

JcjLLEN  picked  out  the  passing  ranches,  not- 
ing that  most  of  the  families  were  home  as 
usual  around  their  firesides,  reflecting  with 
happy  smugness  that  they,  the  Martins, 
were  going  in  to  a  movie  on  a  week  night. 
Her  blood  coursed  with  its  new  wildness 
beneath  her  skin. 

The  moon  was  coming  up,  full  and  golden 
through  the  oak  trees  on  the  Harden  ranch 
to  the  left.  Their  yard  was  quite  a  lot  larger 
than  Ellen  and  Henry's,  with  more  shrubs 
and  trees,  and  then  of  course  their  house  was 
a  two-story  one. 


'^ofmn^ 


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94 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Joan 


Starof  Screen  and  Ra.^,- 

^^--ve/::t?:rr--e 
^         --  deodorant. Xid  "'"" 
•  ■  •  i  ve  used  ArriH 

now  for  years  «„M 

years  and  wouJd 

"^^^er  be  without  it 

^'ve  observed  that  a 

g^eat  n.any  of  n.y 

^ad.oandfil„,f,i 

"^^ArridaJso.  That's 
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^"^'"end  it  to  eve^y 
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No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 
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"Gee  whillikers,  I  wish  we  could  get  a  big 
chocolate  sundae  after  the  show,"  Jimmy 
piped  up. 

That  was  a  boy  for  yon,  thought  Ellen. 
Greedy.  Always  willing  to  try  for  more  of 
anything.  She  hoped  he  wouldn't  try  Hen- 
ry's patience  now  and  spoil  everything. 

But  Henry's  reply  was  surprisingly  placid: 
"We'll  see,  son." 

Ellen  relaxed.  There  seemed  no  end  to 
Henry's  agreeableness.  Movies  and  sun- 
daes afterward.  Ellen  drew  in  a  deep  breath 
of  the  moon  air. 

The  multicolored  lights  and  semidarkness 
in  the  theater  with  people  packed  tightly 
around  seemed  a  forgotten  world  to  Ellen. 
The  loudness  of  the  music  was  curiously  ex- 
citing. She  could  not  help  noting  the  full 
easy  laughs  of  Jimmy  and  Henry,  and  how 
they  completely  lost  themselves  in  the  com- 
edy. Her  own  mind  constantly  wandered 
from  it  and  was  made  up  of  things  she  had 
not  thought  about  for  so  long.  She  had  for- 
gotten how  stimulating  just  a  movie  theater 
could  be,  and  how  it  set  the  imagination  off, 
and  how  much  better  it  was  than  just  sitting 
at  home  with  mending  or  simply  waiting  for 
bedtime  to  come,  the  same  way  every  eve- 
ning. 

Afterward  they  sat  in  the  booth  at  a 
near-by  ice-cream  parlor,  all  showing  a  re- 
strained excitement. 

Jimmy  picked  up  the  menu  and  his  eyes 
ran  over  it  in  wild  appetite.  Henry  sat  with 
his  strong  arms  folded  across  the  table.  His 
hands  and  face  held  a  deep  sun-baked  tan 
which  never  entirely  left,  but  became  ruddy 
each  spring.  The  hairs  on  his  wrists  and  his 
eyebrows  were  strong  and  black,  and  across 
the  very  tops  of  his  eyebrows  were  the  light 
ones  that  the  sun  kept  blond.  His  eyes  were 
still  softly  amused  from  the  picture. 

"That  was  a  downright  funny  picture,"  he 
said,  chuckling. 

Ellen  smiled.  "Yes,  it  wasgood,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"By  golly,  I  just  feel  like  ordering  every- 
thing," Jimmy  declared. 

"Now  here,  Jim,"  Henry  chided,  "your 
eyes  are  bigger  than  your  stomach.  You'd 
better  let  your  mother  order  for  you."     ^ 

"Oh,  let  him,*  Henry,"  Ellen  begged. 
"  It's  good  experience  for  him  to  learn  to  or- 
der for  himself."  She  waited  for  Henry's 
eyes  to  relent  and  shine  back  their  approval, 
which  they  did;  then,  turning  to  Jimmy,  she 
said,  "Now  you  have  to  make  one  choice  and 
stick  to  it,  Jimmy.  You  can  have  just  one 
thing.  Read  everything  over  and  make  a 
choice."  Again  her  eyes  flew  back  to  Hen- 
ry's, and  together  they  were  proud. 

Jimmy  switched  his  hand  through  his 
hair,  frowned,  squirmed  in  his  seat.  "Geem- 
anee,  it's  hard.  So  many  good  things." 

"What  are  you  going  to  have?"  Ellen 
said  to  Henry. 

"Think  I'll  have  a  big  double  malt," 
Henry  said.  "How  about  you?" 

Ellen  shook  her  head.  "That's  too  much 
for  me.  I  believe  I'll  have  a  sundae.  Yes,  a 
marshmallow  sundae.  I  hope  they  put  a 
cherry  on  top,"  she  added. 

"Well,  we'll  ask  'em  to,"  Henry  offered 
boisterously. 

"No,  don't,  Henry,"  Ellen  smiled.  "They 

might  thiiik "   She  flushed  softly  and 

didn't  finish,  and  picked  up  her  glass  of 
water. 

"You  mean,  they  might  think  we're  from 
the  country?"  Henry  grinned.  "Well,  we 
are.  So  what?" 

"Sh-h-h,  Henry,"  Ellen  said  softly. 

The  waitress  came  to  take  their  orders. 

"And  put  two  cherries  on  it,"  Henry  said 
unflinchingly,  when  Ellen  ordered  hers. 

"All  right,"  the  waitress  smiled  pleas- 
antly. "Marshmallow  sundae,  with  two 
cherries."  She  wrote  it  down. 

Ellen's  eyes  tenderly  scolded  Henry. 

The  waitress  brought  the  things  on  a  tray 
and  they  looked  very  festive:  the  big  malt 
in  its  high  glass,  Jimmy's  banana  split,  and 
the  sundae  with  two  cherries.  While  the 
waitress  was  present,  they  sat  with  their 
hands  stiff  in  their  laps,  only  their  eyes  mov- 
ing to  follow  each  dish  as  she  distributed  it. 

They  all  began  to  eat  silently  and  a  little 
unbelievingly. 


"Gettin'  kinda  fancy,  ain't  we?"  Henry 
grinned. 

"Aren't  we,"  Ellen  corrected.  She  ate 
slowly  and  precisely,  with  her  small  finger 
crooked  up  slightly  from  her  other  fiftgers. 

"I  like  'ain't'  better,"  Henry  protested. 
"  It  makes  sense."  He  spooned  down  vigor- 
ously into  the  deep  thick  malt. 

"My  teacher  says  'ain't'  might  come  into 
use  someday,"  Jimmy  spoke  up. 

"See?"  said  Henry. 

The  refreshments  seemed  to  fill  a  thirst 
they  had  all  felt  for  a  long  time. 

As  they  drove  homeward  the  mountains 
were  black  and  distant,  the  moon  high,  and 
from  its  early  orange  rising  color  it  had 
lightened  to  a  clear  silver,  drenching  the  val- 
ley with  a  white  light. 

Henry  let  Ellen  out  at  the  side  gate,  then 
he  and  Jimmy  drove  the  car  on  back  to  the 
garage. 

Ellen  sank  down  lightly  onto  the  front 
steps  of  the  porch.  The  dark  oak  limbs  crept 
up  against  the  moonlight,  letting  in  pat- 
terns of  light  upon  the  lawn.  The  flavor  of 
the  dewy  grass  filled  the  air  and  got  in  her 
throat.  Crickets  chirped  in  unbroken  chorus 
along  the  fields. 

riER  eyes  began  to  take  in  the  finer  possi- 
bilities of  the  yard.  If  only  that  old  piece  of 
unused  weed  stubble  at  the  side  were  turned 
under,  she  could  do  things  with  it;  it  cut 
uselessly  into  the  lawn  and  made  it  look 
smaller  and  gave  the  place  an  ungroomed 
look.  Because  of  its  irregular  shape,  Henry 
had  always  neglected  to  include  it  with  his 
field  when  he  plowed  each  spring.  Suddenly 
Ellen  felt  a  longing  and  need  for  expansion. 
Tonight  she  wanted  to  do  all  the  impossible 
things!  She  drew  in  a  deep  breath  of  the 
night  air  and  held  onto  it  a  little  without 
letting  go. 

Henry,  seeing  the  house  not  lighted  yet, 
came  on  around  to  the  porch.  He  stood,  one 
foot  on  the  first  step,  uncertain  whether  to 
go  in.  They  heard  Jimmy  go  on  in  the  back 
way  and  push  on  the  light. 

Ellen  reached  up  and  took  Henry's  rough 
work  fingers.  "Henry,"  she  said  eagerly,  "I 
wish  we  could  do  away  with  that  old  patch 
of  ground  there.  It's  such  an  eyesore.  If 
you  only  had  time  to  turn  it  under  with  the 
plow,  I  could- plant  grass  and  flowers  there 
myself." 

Henry  turned  to  face  the  patch  of  ground 
where  she  pointed,  and  thought  a  litlk. 
"Well,  I  don't  see  why  not,"  he  said  reason- 
ably, his  tone  smooth  compared  with  her 
breathless  one.  "  It's  no  use  the  way  it  is,"  he 
agreed.  He  pulled  out  his  pipe,  slapped  it 
across  the  palm  of  his  hand,  sat  down  for  a 
smoke. 

Ellen  liked  that.  Moving  closer  to  him, 
she  linked  her  arm  through  his  left  one 
and  laid  her  fingers  across  the  hard  curve 
of  his  left  knee,  rotating  her  fingers  across 
its  solidness.  He  sat  looking  off  into  the 
night. 

"The  kid  sure  got  a  kick  out  of  that  show 
tonight,"  he  said. 

Ellen  sighed  happily.  "Yes."  Leaning 
over,  she  silently  brushed  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder,  "^enry,  do  you  think  you'd 
have  time  to  plow  that  ground  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning?  " 

"I  reckon,"  he  said  fondly. 

1  hey  sat  until  the  crickets'  song  deepened 
in  pitch  with  the  night,  then  Henry  pounded 
out  his  pipe  gently  against  the  step. 

"Well,  I  think  I'll  turn  in,"  he  s.iid. 
"Coming?" 

"Right  away,"  Ellen  replied  absently, 
yet  her  eyes  did  not  quite  turn  to  follow  him. 
She  heard  Henry  tell  Jimmy  it  was  past  his 
bedtime  and  send  him  along  to  bed.  Still 
sharp-eyed,  she  planned,  /'//  have  a  summer 
bed  of  nasturtiums  and  sweet  peas,  and  a 
hedge  of  that  evergreen  bush  whose  shiny 
leaves  catch  the  frost  beautifully  in  winter  and 
hold  red  berries  clear  up  until  after  Christmas, 
and  a  fall  bed  of  asters.  She  spoke  the  names 
quickly  in  the  darkness,  as  if  they  might  es- 
cape before  she  got  her  lips  around  them. 

Henry's  shoes  dropped  on  the  floor  besidf 
the  bed;  one,  a  short  pause,  and  then  th( 
other,  in  their  unvarying  timing  of  the 
years.  The  bed  gave  a  soft  creak. 


Jlitl! 


6bn- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


95 


Ellen  stood  up  then  to  go  in,  turning  to 
give  the  night  a  final,  lingering  look,  closing 
her  eyes  for  an  instant,  to  see  if  she  could 
remember  the  night  as  it  was. 

She  cleaned  her  face  in  the  bathroom  with 
cold  cream,  rather  than  with  the  usual  rough 
soapy  washcloth;  it  gave  her  face  a  shiny 
glow  and  made  her  skin  feel  soft  and  young. 
Tonight  the  extra  trouble  of  doing  it  seemed 
nothing. 

Tiptoeing  into  the  bedroom,  she  felt  in 
the  top  drawer  for  a  clean  nightgown,  her 
fingers  running  through  the  stack  as  she  re- 
membered ironing  and  laying  them  away — 
the  three  cotton  ones  that  she  regularly 
used,  and  then  the  contrasting  silk  one  at 
the  very  bottom,  which  her  sister  Ethel  had 
sent  her  for  Christmas  and  which  she  had 
been  saving  "for  good."  Its  startling  soft- 
ness intrigued  her  finger  tips;  wonderingly, 
she  felt  it  again.  Think  of  feeling  all  that 
softness  next  your  skin,  she  thought.  Sud- 
denly, in  sharp  decision,  she  drew  it  forth. 
It  dropped  down  over  her  like  a  warm 
breath.  She  shivered  slightly,  not  from  .cool- 
ness, but  from  the  surprise  of  its  scanty  cut, 
in  contrast  to  the  high,  somewhat  prudish 
cotton  ones.  She  felt  naked,  standing  on  a 
cool  white  cloud. 

Quietly,  she  stole  out  to  switch  off  the 
floor  lamp  in  the  living  room.  She  realized 
for  the  first  time  now  that  Jimmy  had 
touched  off  the  scrub  oak  in  the  fireplace; 
its  glow  spread  out  from  the  coals  just  deep 
and  red  enough  to  see  by.  She  walked  over 
and  sank  down  onto  the  low  hassock  before 
it.  The  warmth  touched  her,  electrified  the 
silk  in  the  gown  and  made  it  stir  about  her 
ankles  as  if  alive. 

Inevitably,  then,  her  eyes  turned  to  the 
magazine  rack  sitting  almost  within  her 
arm's  reach.  Nothing  stood  in  the  way  of 
her  looking  at  the  portrait  now,  though  actu- 
ally her  mind  sought  some  excuse  to  put  it 

off.  Tomorrow Suddenly,  a  first  faint 

misgiving  swelled  in  her  heart.  What  if  it 
weren't  good;  what  if  it  were  just  common, 
and  cheaply  pretty,  maybe?  Then  all  this 
other  good  that  had  come  out  of  it  would  be 
destroyed.  What  if — no,  it  couldn't  be,  it 
just  couldn't  be.  Her  heart  was  hot,  fast, 
rebellious  in  her  throat. 

Now  she  was  standing  up,  moving  in  a 
peculiar  gliding  movement  toward  it,  and 


she  knelt  and  reached.  Her  heart  stopped 
then,  for  her  hands  could  not  locate  it.  With 
an  almost  snatching  motion  they  felt  again, 
then  desperately,  again  and  again,  separat- 
ing the  magazines  where  it  might  have 
slipped.  Her  fingers  turned  cool  and  trem- 
bling. But  it  simply  was  not  there. 

Gone! 

Her  brain  tried  to  grasp  its  loss  as  her 
fingers  knew  it,  but  thought  was  slow  and 
heavy.  Yet  as  a  mind  must,  it  began  to  figure 
things  out.  She  recalled  Jimmy's  starting 
the  fire  a  while  ago;  it  all  began  to  creep 
through  her  like  ice.  He  had  snatched  the 
portrait  up  with  a  few  sheets  ripped  from  a 
magazine — the  torn  remnants  of  edges  there 
told  her  that — just  as  if  it  had  been  nothing. 
And  it  was  gone,  as  simply  as  that. 

She  turned  and  stared  at  the  dying  coals, 
her  mind  tight  and  flat.  It  was  strange  that 
she  could  feel  no  more  than  this  about  it. 
For  a  moment  she  had  a  fear  of  emerging 
from  this  flatness  and  slipping  back  to  that 
darkness,  that  loneliness  that  was  before. 
That  emptiness,  before  the  painter  came. 
The  fear  of  it  clutched  her  inside  like  a 
paralysis.  And  then  she  was  surprised  to  find 
that  as  a  minute  of  time  went  by,  she  felt  a 
certain  peace,  a  kind  of  triumph,  realizing 
now  that  the  portrait  would  always  be  the 
masterpiece  she  wanted  it.  It  could  never 
fail,  because  its  faults,  if  any,  lay  buried  in 
the  ashes.  Now  she  had  it  forever  in  her 
heart.  And,  more  than  that,  she  had  this 
other  too — the  being  alive  again. 

Lifting  her  head  suddenly  high,  she 
stepped  with  dignity  and  composure,  as  if  a 
thousand  eyes  were  upon  her  in  the  room. 
Carefully  she  placed  the  fireplace  screen 
across  the  coals,  then  on  silent  level  feet 
walked  toward  the  bed  and  Henry. 

He  was  not  quite  asleep,  and  he  let  out  a 
pleased  deep  sigh  as  she  slipped  in  gently 
beside  him.  For  a  second,  she  lay  tensely 
quiet,  wondering  if  he  would  be  cross  for  be- 
ing awakened.  Lifting  her  arms  above  her 
head,  she  lay  quietly  with  her  fingers  touch- 
ing. Henry's  big  warm  hand  flung  from  habit 
across  her  in  half  sleep,  started  slightly  at 
the  new  silk,  then  awkwardly,  surely  began 
to  enliven.  At  his  touch,  Ellen  crumpled 
softly,  welcomingly,  against  him.  The  moon 
lifted  higher  and  higher,  and  shone  almost 
blindingly  bright  across  the  bed. 


•     •••••• 


•     ••••••••• 


ONE  thing  which  will  go  down  in  the  rec- 
ords of  our  family  is  the  younger  sister's 
remark  after  it  was  discovered  she  had  grown 
an  inch  taller  than  her  older  sister :  "Mother, 
will  she  have  to  wear  my  hand-me-downs 
now?" 

Every  child  is  entitled  to  one  parent  who 
knows  the  multiplication  tables. 

"I-do-not-believe-these-carrots-would-be- 
good-for-him "  is  a  sure  method  of  getting 
any  child  to  eat  his  vegetable. 

Once  coeducation  began  in  marriage;  now 
it  begins  in  nursery  school. 

Just  when  a  woman  is  able  to  iron  a  man's 
shirt  in  half  the  time  she  did  as  a  bride,  her 
son  doubles  the  number  she  has  to  do. 

A  child  being  raised  without  love  looks 
I  drawn  together  like  a  closed  umbrella. 

She  ran  her  eye  over  you  as  if  running  her 
Jfingers  over  material. 

Restaurant  philosophy:  It  will  all  come 
[out  in  the  hash. 

A  good  housekeeper  is  more  often  admired 
|than  enjoyed. 

It  isn't  children  who  "have"  pets,  it  is 
Imother. 

Enthusiasm:  That  quality  a  teacher  is 
Isupposfed  to  have  which  makes  up  for  the 
■salary  he  doesn't  have. 


Little  girl,  having  her  hair  combed:  "You 
don't  know  whether  it  pulls,  mother.  You're 
not  wearing  this  hair." 

Parents  too  often  write  orders  in  chalk  so 
they  can  be  easily  rubbed  out  if  the  children 
do  not  approve. 

Like  pomander  balls,  some  of  the  things 
our  mothers  dropped  casually  into  our  hearts 
gather  fragrance  with  the  years. 

Since  rationing,  more  than  one  person 
would  be  willing  to  be  in  the  other  fellow's 
shoes. 

A  close-mouthed  woman  is  one  who 
doesn't  divulge  what  she  does  with  her  left- 
overs. 

I  have  known  many  men,  but  never  one  who 
did  not  quit  when  he  had  done  a  day's  work. 

It  sometimes  seems  that  modern  inven- 
tions haven't  "saved"  women  a  great  deal; 
the  time  grandmother  spent  in  ironing 
ruffles  now  goes  into  polishing  the  kitchen 
porcelain. 

Three  ways  to  get  work  out  of  a  man: 
coax,  scold,  do  the  job  yourself. 

Each  day  there  is  some  picture  I  would 
like  to  "freeze"  and  take  out  of  storage 
years  hence.  Yesterday's  was  a  small  boy 
asleep  with  a  gun  by  his  side  and  a  marine's 
cap  still  on  his  head. 


!••:#••••••••••••••••* 


MRS.  JANE 

ENDE'S  MEASUkEMENTS 

FELL  IHE  STORV 

Before 

After 

Total  Change 

Weight 

202  lbs. 

125  lbs 

77  lbs.  less 

Height 

5'3'/2" 

5'4V2" 

1" 

Bust 

42'/2" 

34Vi!" 

8'      less 

Abdomen 

44" 

32" 

12"      less 

Hip 

46" 

34'/2" 

ll'/2"less 

Thigh 

26'/2" 

20" 

6'/2"  less 

"\  lost  n  pounds  in  6  months! 

"At  28,  I  made  the  wonderful  discovery  that  I  didn't  have 
to  be  overweight,"  says  Mrs.  Jane  Ende  of  Rock  Island,  111. 

"1%  TOST   WOMEN   wor];y   when   their 

iVX  weight  goes  up  just  a  few  pounds," 
says  Mrs.  Jane  Ende.  "Can  you  imagine, 
then,  how  /  felt  — watching  those  scales  go 
up  .  .  .  up  .  .  .  UP!  for  ten  years,  until  I 
actually  weighed  202.  I  think  my  greatest 
jolt  came  when  I  went  to  buy  a  dress  and 
had  to  take  a  size  44.  I  had  been  thinking 
about  taking  the  DuBarry  Success  Course. 
Right  then  was  when  I  decided  to  start." 

That  decision  was  the  turning-point  in 
Mrs.  Ende's  life.  She  learned  that  she 
really  should  weigh  about  125,  and  she 
also  learned  just  how  to  work  for  that  goal. 
The  first  six  weeks  she  lost  30  pounds.  She 
kept  right  on  and  went  through  her  course 
again  and  again.  Today  she  weighs  just 
125— is  slim,  trim,  attractive. 

"Life  is  very  different  now,"  she  de- 
clares. "I  look  and  feel  as  a  young  woman 
of  28  should.  I  can  wear  smart,  stylish, 
youthful  dresses  in  size  14  instead  ot  ma- 
tronly 44.  I  have  the  pep  and  vitality  to 
keep  up  with  and  enjoy  my  two  children. 
And  I  know  that  following  the  DuBarry 
way,  I  need  never  be  overweight  again." 


// 


HOW  ABOUT  YOU  !  If  you  have  wor- 
ried  abiiiit  your  pei-^i>iial  appearance,  find  out 
about  tliis  practical  plan  that  ha*  helped  Jane 
Ende  and  more  than  160.000  other  women 
and  girls  to  be  fit  and  fair,  ready  for  strenu- 
ous wartime  living.  The  DuBarry  Success 
Course  brings  you  an  analysis  of  your  needs, 
then  shows  you  how  to  bring  your  weight 
and  figure  proportions  to  normal,  how  to  care 
for  your  skin,  how  to  style  your  hair  becom- 
ingly, iiow  to  use  makeup  to  enhance  your 
natural  beauty  — how  to  make  the  most  of 
yourself,  ^ou  follow  at  borne  the  same  meth- 
ods taught  by  Ann  Delafield  at  the  famous 
Richard  Hudnut  Salon,  New  York. 

Wlien  the  Success  Course  has  meant  so 
much  to  so  many,  why  not  use  the  coupon  to 
find  out  what  it  can  do  for  you. 


-^ 


DuBARRY  BEAUTY  CHEST  INCLUDED! 

'With  your  Course  you  re- 
ceive this  Chest  containing  a 
generous  supply  of  DuBarry 
Beauty  and  Make-up  Prepa- 
rations and  Accessories. 


'>a(Z^e^ 


ANN  DliLAKlliLD,  Directing 


Richard  Htdni  t  .Salon, 

Dept.  SN-2,  693  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York.  N.Y. 

Please  send  me  the  booklet  telling  all  about 
the  DuBan7  Home  Success  Course. 


I_. 


City- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


FOR  THE  CHARM  OF  PERT  WOOLENS 
WITH  COOL-WATER  IVORY  SNOW 


.  .  .  the  ''snowdrop'^  soap  that 
carries  protection  a  step  farther! 


Washable  woolens  are  high  fashion 
for  winter  wartime  —  rigiit  for  the 
weather  .  .  .  for  fuel  conservation  . . . 
for  the  busy  life  you  lead.  Keep 
tliem  enchanting  .  .  .  help  keep  the 
new  springiness  in  them,  soft  and 
clear-toned  .  .  .  with  life-prolonging, 
gentle  Ivory  Snow  care! 

Never  was  a  soap  more  wonderful 
for  woolens!  Ivory  Snow  is  different 
from  cake  or  flake  soap.  It  gives  you 
gentleness  plus — for  it  is  not  only 
Ivory-pure  and  mild,  hut  firaniilated 
for  quick  sudsing  without  hot  water! 
Even  in  cool  water,  its  tiny  "snow- 
drop" granules  dissolve  completely 
.  .  .  burst  into  rich  suds  that  loosen 


LONGER    LIFE   WITH    IVORY    SNOW 
THAN   WITH   WATER   ALONE! 

Never  let  dirt  g<>t  grimed  into  woolens. 
Wash  them  often  the  quick  safe  way, 
following  tested  directions  on  your  Ivory 
Snow  package.  They'll  actually  keep  their 
new  feel  longer,  washed  with  Ivory  Snow, 
than  if  you  used  water  alone. 


'"—-IVORY  SNOW 

Longer  Life  for  A/ice  Ji^shables 


dirt  and  rinse  easily,  without  the 
rubbing  that  shrinks  and  harshens 
wool.  And  so  gentle  to  washable 
wool  col 

Wonderful  Ivory  Snow  is  the  only 
soap  that  combines  Ivory-purity 
with  this  granulated  "snowdrop" 
form.  It  carries  protection  a  step 
farllier  than  other  soaps  which  are 
not  Ivory-mild.  So  play  very  safe 
witii  your  precious  woolens  . . .  trust 
them  only  to  Ivory  Snow. 


•  U.  S.  Needs  US  Thrifty!  Ivory  Snow  is 
iiiudr  of  vital  uur  niutt'rials.  Muko  <!U(-}|  pat'kage 
H<)  fartluT.  If  >(»ur  dealer  is  out  of  Ivor)  Snow, 
<lon't  lilaine  liini.  We're  luakine  it  as  fast  as 
we  can.  He'll  have  it  soon. 


Ivory  Snow  is 

the  only  soap  that  is  both 

Ivory-mild  and  granulated 

for  speedy  sudsing! 

99  44/100%  Pure 


.^:^ 


ifsr?^ 


..„.f&90giS0^- 


■'^^"It 


.*^.-ti-- 


BILL  RUECKERT,  command  pilot  of  a  B-24  in  England,  was  killed  in  a  crash  on 
May  1,  1944.  His  wife,  Dee  Rueckert,  heard  the  news  on  May  eighteenth.  Dee 
had  spent  those  eighteen  days  fixing  up  the  little  apartment  in  St.  George,  Staten 
Island,  that  Bill  wanted  her  and  the  children  to  have,  and  wondering  whether  Bill 
had  begun  to  get  more  letters  from  her.  He'd  gone  overseas  in  March.  She  had  written  at 
least  a  hundred  letters  since  then — sometimes  she  wrote  three  times  a  day — but  Bill  had 
got  only  eight  so  far,  and  it  made  him  unhappy.  They  were  both  twenty-three  years  old — 
Bill  almost  twenty-four — and  they  had  been  married  not  quite  four  years.  People  didn't 
usually  believe  they'd  been  married  so  long,  because  they  were  so  much  in  love. 

Dee  finished  fixing  the  apartment  finally  on  the  afternoon  of  May  eighteenth.  She'd 
had  both  the  children  down  there  with  her:  Billy,  who  was  two  and  a  half,  and  Dianne, 
who  was  just  a  half  without  the  two.  They  were  still  living  with  Dee's  family  out  at 
Castelton  Corners,  two  or  three  miles  away,  but  Bill  wanted  Dee  to  have  her  own  place. 
He  was  very  fond  of  her  family,  but  he  liked  to  think  of  her  in  their  own  home,  waiting 
for  him  to  come  back.  They  had  never  had  a  home  with  any  permanence  to  it,  though 
they'd  had  a  whole  year  in  one  place  at  Watertown,  before  Bill  transferred  to  the  Air 
Corps.  He'd  had  to  be  away  a  lot,  though;  he'd  had  to  walk  twenty-two  miles  from  a 
bivouac  to  get  home  for  their  second  wedding  anniversary. 

They  had  some  furniture  that  had  been  in  storage  since  they  left  Watertown.  Dee 
got  it  out  for  the  new  little  apartment,  thinking  the  chairs— they  weren't  new  when  she 
got  them— would  have  to  be  done  over  where  the  cocker  spaniels  had  scratched  so,  in 
their  mad  scramble  to  get  up  in  Bill's  lap.  The  other  furnishings— well,  there  were  the 
glass  candlesticks  they'd  bought  when  Bill  was  stationed  at  Santa  Ana,  California,  to 
take  the  curse  off  a  particularly  hideous  table  in  the  place  they'd  rented  near  there. 

i:t.7%  of  Am«>ri«-iin  l'iiniili«'N   liav«'  iiifwiiit'M  wf  from  HK.'IOOO  to  1S4000.«  your. 

97  ' 


'^(}ht''7.'f'(i 


{ 


Just  before  leaving  Kansas  for  overseas,  iiiU  nin-d  his  uiff,  "Stay 
here  probably  short.  I  adore  you."  !\ews  of  his  death  came  one 
beautiful  May  morning  us  Dee  tvas  hanging  up  clothes  on  the  line. 


The  telegram  had  tux)  star^.  Dee  kiteic,  hefi>re  she  rend  it .  "Hill  utis  mi  only  child, 
and  wan  ted  a  family  so  badly.  He  was  terribly  proud  of  his  children.  Those  last  few 
days  together,  he  used  to  talk  to  Dianne  by  the  hour,  dressing  and  bathing  her." 


They  carried  them  everywhere  after  that,  and  when  the 
candlesticks  were  in  place  in  a  new  apartment  in  Cali- 
fornia or  New  Mexico,  Bill  and  Dee  knew  it  was  home. 
And  there  was  the  saber  that  Bill's  college  class  had  pre- 
sented him  with  when  he  graduated— he  was  cadet  major 
and  president  of  the  Cavalry  Officers'  Club.  There  was 
Dee's  baby-grand  piano.  There  was  the  pink  bassinet  Dee 
had  trimmed  for  Dianne,  and  Billy's  high  chair,  and  there 
were  all  Bill's  letters,  and  the  telegrams  he'd  sent  that 
began  "Dearest— Dearest,  orders  received,  come  tomor- 
row—fly to  California— wire  me  the  train,  the  hotel " 

There  were  the  anniversary  cards  Bill  bought — "We  had 
enough  anniversaries  to  last  twenty-five  years":  for  the 
day,  for  instance,  they  intended  to  elope,  and  didn't. 
There  were  the  albums  of  |)ictures  of  Dee  and  Bill  and 
Billy  and  Dianne  and  the  dogs  and  the  car  Bill  gave  Dee 
one  birthday.  They  were  all  there  in  the  apartment. 

Dee  left  them  there  and  drove  the  children  back  to 
their  grandparents.  The  house  was  empty  when  she  got 
there.  Her  mother  was  working  in  New  York  and 
wouldn't  be  home  till  six-thirty  or  seven.  Dee  found  some 
clothes  in  a  basket  ready  to  be  hung  out  on  the  line.  She 
started  to  put  them  up.  While  she  was  doing  this,  a  car 
drove  up  and  a  man  got  out  and  started  up  the  walk.  She 
came  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  see  what  he 
wanted.  She's  little  and  blonde,  and  she  lost  thirty-two 
pounds  after  Dianne  was  born.  She  doesn't  look  frail,  ex- 
actly, but  she  does  look  as  if  a  strong  wind  could  pick  her 
right  up,  whirl  her  away.  The  man  must  have  thought  so. 


"Mrs.  Rueckert?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Dee. 

"Will  you  come  into  the  house?" 

Dee  had  just  about  time  to  think  it  was  funny  for  him 
to  ask  her  to  come  into  her  own  mother's  house.  Then  he 
held  out  the  telegram  to  her.  She  looked  at  it.  It  had 
two  red  stars  on  it.  She  didn't  have  to  open  it.  She  knew 
what  it  said. 

What  she  didn't  know,  the  man  told  her.  He'd  taken  it 
down  himself.  It  said  Lieutenant  Rueckert  was  killed  in 
action  in  England  May  first.  That's  still  almost  all  Dee 
knows.  The  adjutant  general  wrote  her,  of  course,  and 
she's  heard  that  Bill  is  to  be  awarded  the  Purple  Heart 
posthumously.  But  she  has  had  very  few  details.  The 
navigator  who  was  Bill's  best  friend  was  injured  in  the 
crash,  and  it  was  some  weeks  before  she  heard  anythmg 
from  him.  He  and  the  copilot,  too,  were  both  too  shocked 
by  Bill's  death  to  write  very  coherently  at  first.  The  chap- 
lain wrote  to  tell  Dee  that  Bill  had  had  a  military  funeral 
with  all  honors,  and  the  navigator  promised  to  send  her 
a  picture  of  the  grave  as  soon  as  he  could. 

When  Dee  heard  about  the  funeral,  she  was  willing  to 
believe  Bill  was  dead.  She  hadn't  been,  up  to  then.  He 
had  had  one  crash,  and  walked  out  of  it  with  a  few  band- 
ages. He's  dead  now,  and  Dee  knows  it  with  her  head. 
She's  being  very  sensible  about  subletting  the  apartment 
and  selling  the  piano  and  looking  for  a  job— her  mother 
adores  the  children  and  is  anxious  to  stop  working  herself 
and  look  after  them  for  Dee.   But  everything  else  about 


Dee  goes  right  on  as  if  Bill  were  still  alive.  He's  the  big- 
gest thing  in  her  life.  Except  for  the  children — and  they 
aren't  really  separate  from  the  feeling  about  Bill — he's 
the  only  thing  m  Dee's  life. 

They  had  five  years  together — one  year  of  being  in  love 
and  knowing  they  were  always  going  to  be  together,  and 
four  for  the  "always."  They  met  at  the  University  of 
Illinois — on  a  blind  date,  on  April  29,  1939.  It  was  the 
Zeta  Psi  spring  formal.  And  if  they  didn't  fall  in  love  then. 
Dee  doesn't  know  for  sure  when  they  did.  All  the  silly 
things  that  happened  that  night  Dee  remembers,  of 
course.  The  car  bringing  the  gang  to  pick  up  the  girls 
broke  down  and  they  were  two  hours  late.  Someone  else 
had  ordered  the  flowers  Bill  brought  Dee — and  they  were 
just  pure  mangy.  Neither  of  them  said  anslhing  until 
after  they  had  been  dancing  awhile,  when  Bill  said  he 
was  very  pleased  with  his  date  and  asked  if  she  were. 

"He  was  everything  I  ever  wanted,"  says  Dee.  "You 
can't  imagine  how  sweet  he  was.  I  was  always  so  proud  to 
be  his  wife." 

Well,  they  were  very  young,  and  Bill  was  working  his 
way  through  college  and  looking  forward  to  getting  a  law 
degree.  He  read  a  lot;  not  just  his  work,  but  other  things 
too— things  Dee  hadn't  been  sure  people  really  did  read — 
like  Shakespeare  and  Marcel  Proust.  He  was  quiet.  He 
liked  to  listen  to  people  and  analyze  them  /rom  what  they 
said.  But  he  liked  to  dance  too.  He  was— well,  as  far  as 
Dee  was  concerned,  and  it  was  she  who  told  me  about 
him,  he  was  perfect.  They  didn't  have  anything  to  get 


98 


At  6  A.M.  Dee  heats  the  baby's  bottle,  gets  ready 
for  work.  She^s  home  before  7,  sees  the  kids  for  4.i 
minutes.    Then  the  Ions  evening  stretches  ahead. 


Dee's  mother  copes  with  babies  and-  housework,  washes 
diapers  daily.  Billy  likes  to  turn  on  gas  jets,  paint  himself 
with  nail  polish.    W hen  plane  goes  over,  he  asks,  "Daddy?" 


PHOTOS    BY'   MUNKACSI 


(IF  THE  TWO  m\r 

Til  mmi  nm. 


)ee's  mother  lost  a  brother  in  the  last  war,  has 
I  son  in  this  one,  "Bill  was  a  fine  boy,  and 
}ee's  whole  life.   Site  never  wants  to  remarry." 


larried  on,  and  it  was  not  very  clear  when  they  would, 
o  they  waited  a  year.  They  couldn't  wait  any  longer, 
"hey  didn't  expect  to  be  able  to  set  up  housekeeping 
ight  away — they  knew  they  couldn't.  Dee  was  anxious 
ideed  to  take  some  home  economics  courses  at  Mary 
Vashington  College,  in  Virginia.  But  they  had  to  have 
he  bond  holding  them  together.  They  had  to  know  they 
lelonged  to  each  other  for  always,  their  always  that  was 
our  years  long. 

They  eloped  in  June,  1940,  from  Bill's  family's  house  in 

iloline.  They  eloped  on  Monday  morning  in  the  family 

ar  on  a  nice  warm  June  day.  Dee  had  come  down  after 

he  end  of  the  semester  to  visit.    It  was  the  day  after 

{ill's  birthday.  They  went  over  to  DeWitt,  Iowa,  to  get 

larried;  and  when  they  got  there,  they  couldn't.  There 

'as  no  one  to  issue  a  license.  So  they  went  on  to  Clinton. 

laving  to  go  to  Clinton  made  it  a  pretty  tight  fit.  They 

ad  to  be  back  by  noon  to  go  on  a  picnic  with  the  family. 

ut  they  managed.  They  got  married  at  the  courthouse, 

ith  people  they'd  never  seen  before  for  witnesses,  and 

le  clerk  didn't  believe  they  were  old  enough.  Dee  was 

orried  about  that,  but  perfectly  happy  until  she  looked 

)wn  and  saw  that  Bill  had  got  dressed  very  nicely  for 

leir  wedding,  all  but  his  feet.  He  still  had  sneakers  on. 

hen  they  were  out  and  driving  home  and  it  was  all  a  lit- 

'i  incredible — like  and  unlike  every  other  day  they'd 

'ed,  and  they  were  worried  about  getting  back  on  time. 

id  Dee  had  to  take  off  her  lovely  new  hat  made  of  pink 

se  petals  and  hide  it  so  (Continued  on  Page  120) 


nee  a  week  Dee  makes  herself  go  to  soldiers' 
nteen,  plays  piano  for  them.  She  has  com- 
tsed   a    suite.    "It    seems    to    help— a    little." 


"Well,  I  found  a  job.  Office  receptionist.''  Dee 
gets  $55.10  a  month  insurance.  Also,  $50  a 
month  widow's  pension   plus   $28  for  the  kids. 


The  Desert  t>.^  •    • 
■^  itecember  I942 

•y^  and  jtgj  oeri-^-?v,i   "^  S^'^n  from  an  iv^r^   j. 

oao     "  "  *^  that  V.  '""'  °"  youTBrn^T  "*° 

-"•t  wi:i  %°«^-'    or,'J„f -1^  ^  setting  „en 

days   Of  your  H?!^  y°"  «lebrate--tM'^  4     "  ^'^t  i  oan-t  S^^  f  *°'     ^ 

"«y  think  it's  a^^  ^^"^^"*  i3  a  War  Po  . 

even  a  new  hillJ^^  *^ing  to  p- Je  .      ""^  ^^closed  in  this    i  .. 

""^  it  is  youi   'J''^  y°"  °«n  °rSpL  ur^f^"  ^"  °^  your  ale       ^'^     ^°" 
you  in  on  :    ^®'   ^oy,  to  do  wi-f-ir;^^^  ^P'  toss  around     f  !^,  ""^^  isn't 

good  oare   of  t^f^.^*™^'  y°"  are  the  „, 

^'iZ.':6^^^^'J^^3^  -It-t^;^--  ^0  ta.  ' 

ties.     We.re   *  •"'  °'"  '•"turn  bo?h  '  '"■'f'""^  -^eV  C^*       "k'.'  '^*  ''^'■ 

-  -  Sz:r[S£i£  - ^v\^Vt°haT.r-  -  -=-- 

i^^Sfe:-  y°".  your  motterranl^ir'''"*^ 

Dad 


^.Uu^- 


^ouA  /i^encM  J.w€^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JQURNAL 


PART   AND  PARCEL   OF   A   HAPPY   CHILDHOOD 


The  edge  Jack  Frost  gives  to  a  lad's  appetite 


So  good  it  "Melts  in  Your  Mouth"-what  a  happy 
addition  Nucoa  is  to  Nutritious  wartime  eating! 


rrom  American  farms  only  come  the 
Iresh  pasteurized,  cultured  skim  milk  and 
lure  vegetable  oils  which  are  churned  to- 
lether  satin-smooth  in  Nucoa.  That's  why 
llucoa  is  so  pleasing  to  spread  ...  so  good 
It  melts  in  your  mouth."  And  Nucoa  al- 
lays tastes  fresh— a  treat  on  toast,  or  melt- 
Ig  into  hot  breads,  or  seasoning  vegetables 
Ifor  Nucoa  is  freshly  made  the  year  round, 
It  order  only. There  is  no  "storage"  Nucoa! 


For  table  use,  tint  Nucoa  goIden-yellow  with 
the  p>ire  Color-Wafer  includfd  in  each  pack- 
age. For  seasoning  vegetables,  sauces,  etc., 
use  it  just  as  it  comes— a  pure,  natural  white. 


T<><lay"s  children  are  lucky— growing  up 
with  more  know  ledge  about  earing  tlie  bal- 
anced variety  of  foods  that  help  build  strong 
and  beautiful  bodies.  Nucoa  is  nutritionally 
approved  in  Group  7  of  the  "Basic  7"  food 
groups  recommended  as  a  basis  for  good 
daily  diet.  It  provides  as  much  food  energy 
as  the  most  expcnsi\"e  spread  for  bread— and 
every  pound,  winter  and  summer,  supplies 
ar  least  9,000  units  of  \'itamin  A. 


/^^^^NUCOA  « 


102 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


Pc 


1. 


ostwar  miracle... 


THE   ELECTRIC   IRON  THAT   LIFTS    ITSELF! 


4;,  TOUCH  HERE  U"S«» 


f,  TOUCH  HERE 
AND  ITS  READY 
TO  IRON  I 


OTHER  PROCTOR  PRODUCTS  THAT  ARE  COMING  POSTWAR 


Proclor  Automatic  Waffle  Iron. 
Makes  perfect  waffles  browned  to  your 
taste  by  accurate  thermostat  control. 
Glow  Cone  signal  light. 


Proctor  Roatt-or-Grille.  Com- 
bined oven  and  grilling  unit  in  con- 
venient portable  form.  Heavily  in- 
sulated. Hasy  to  keep  clean. 


The  Proctor  Silent  Automatic 
Toaster  with  the  Crisper.  The  only 
toaster  that  makes  both  regular  type 
toast  and  crisp  melba  toast  automati- 
cally. Beautiful  design.  Silent  thermo- 
static control.  Adjusts  to  any  degree  of 
brown  and  any  degree  of  crispness. 


PROCTOR 

AUTOMATIC  ELECTRIC  APPLIANCES 


-•:-^- 


ff 


The  War  Department  Regrets ;. ." 

BY  LT.  COMtoR.  LEISLIE  B.  HOHMA]^,  M.C.,  USIVR 

Associate  in  Psychiatry,  Johns  Hopkins  University 


PROCTOR  ELECTRIC  COMPANY-£>/f/S/0/V,  PROCTOR  &  SCHWARTZ,  INC., 


PHILADELPHIA  40,  PA. 


ON  MAY  18,  1944,  a  two-star  telegram 
announcing  the  death  in  action  of  Bill 
Rueckert  plunged  twenty-three-year-old 
Dee  Rueckert  into  blackness  and  de- 
spair. For  months,  since  Bill  entered  the  Air 
Corps,  she  had  lived  in  a  kind  of  fearful  anx- 
iety which  she  had  been  unable  to  conceal 
and  cover  by  the  heightened  joy  of  the  ecsta- 
tically loving  wife.  Life  had  produced  every- 
thing for  her  a  woman  wanted — the  man 
she  loved  passionately,  extravagantly  and 
respectfully — and  had  blessed  their  union 
with  two  children  that  delighted  her  and  her 
husband.  But  under  all  the  joy  was  the  terri- 
ble fear  that  all  wives  and  mothers  and  sweet- 
hearts of  servicemen  feel.  She  tried  to  share 
Bill's  necessary  and  healthy  sense  of  miracle 
that  nothing  would  happen  to  him.  After 
a  plane  crash,  during  training,  Bill  had  said, 
"You  see,  God  intended  that  I  should  live 
for  you  and  the  children." 

When  death  came  to  Bill,  the  panic  of  the 
months  of  suppressed  tension  broke  through 
to  overwhelm  her.  Sleep  and  appetite  de- 
parted. Interest  in  life  and  living  left,  and 
bitterness  and  im- 
potent  rage   alter-         

nated  with  deep  and 
mournful  depression. 
Her  devoted  and 
adored  mother  was 
fortunately  at  hand 
to  offer  the  kind  of 
silent,  loving  nursing 
that  aided  the  family 
doctor  in  giving 
enough  food  and 
medicine  to  keep  Dee 
from  utter  collapse. 

After  the  acute, 
terrible  impact  of  the 
tragedy  was  over. 
Dee's  mother  took 
charge  in  loving  but 
resolute  and  deter- 
mined fashion.  Sound 
instinct  guided  her  to 
help  her  daughter 
help  herself  out  of  the 

morass  of  despair.  I  think  her  rules  of  hand- 
ling her  daughter  can  be  set  down  so  that 
they  may  help  the  many  others  who  will  have 
to  face  the  deep  sorrow  of  losing  their  loved 
ones  in  the  service  of  their  country. 

Mrs.  Griffith,  Dee's  mother,  knows  that 
death  is  never  easy  for  those  left  behind, 
and  that  nothing  can  rob  it  of  its  deep  pain- 
fulness.  She  also  knows  that  the  only  words 
that  could  give  any  help  had  been  said  in  the 
single  War  Department  letter — "It  should 
console  you  that  your  husband  gave  his  life 
in  the  service  of  his  country."  She,  there- 
fore, did  not  try  to  add  more,  but  followed 
the  first  rule: 

Do  not  try  to  talk  the  grieving  into  resigna- 
tion. Time  alone  can  and  will  bring  accept- 
ance of  death.  Words  are  not  likely  to  hasten 
the  process,  because  there  is  little  need  or 
purpose  in  discussion  when  a  human  being  is 
faced  with  an  unalterable  or  inevitable  cir- 
cumstance. Words  are  apt  to  bring  an  oppor- 
tunity for  the  expressing  of  too  much  revolt, 
or  else  may  plunge  the  grieving  person  into 
unhealthy  silence. 

Her  second  principle  was  a  wise  one: 

Permit  tears  enough  to  release  tension, 
then  try  to  stop  them.  If  Dee  wanted  to  cry 
out  her  pent-up  feelings,  she  was  allowed  to 
for  a  time  without  anyone's  trying  to  stop 
her.  When  the  point  of  relief  and  release  had 
been  reached,  Mrs.  Griffith  often  sent  little 
Bill  up  to  his  mother's  room  and  let  him  per- 


.yvo^ie  ^J(it  ute  ^o 


ofiefii- 

By  Alma  ItubiNon  lliifbee 


suade  her.  with  lisping  words,  that  grace  be- 
fore supper  could  not  be  said  until  she  joined 
the  waiting  family. 

Not  every  family  has  an  enticing,  tact- 
ful little  boy  to  do  this  kind  of  job,  but 
each  family  can  devise  methods  to  help  the 
grieving  one  to  a  sense  of  his  being  needed 
for  some  immediate  purpose.  Perhaps  it, 
may  be  helping  with  table  setting,  the  cook- 
ing or  an  errand  to  the  corner  store.  People 
stunned  by  grief  need  to  be  led  into  activity 
and  action.  The  more  needed  the  task,  the 
more  useful  it  will  be  to  the  mourner. 

Dee's  mother  recognized  almost  at  once 
that  Dee  was  so  deeply  depressed  that  it 
might  be  dangerous  to  her  health  if  she  per- 
mitted her  to  live  alone  with  her  brooding. 
Dee,  after  a  few  days  of  illness  in  bed,  was 
able  to  take  complete  and  good  care  of  the ' 
children,  but  she  was  doing  it  in  the  mechani- 
cal dead-alive  way  that  made  Mrs.  Griffith 
decide  to  take  a  drastic  step.  She  gave  up 
her  own  job,  moved  Dee  and  the  children 
to  her  home  and  said,  "I'll  take  care  of  the 
children  during  the  day  and  you  go  out  and 
get  a  job.  You'll  need 
the  money  to  main- 
tain the  children  the 
way  you  and  Bill 
planned  to  educate 
them,  and  I  think 
you'll  be  of  more 
service  to  them  if 
you  get  yourself  back 
into  the  stream  of 
life.  You  and  your 
children  need  a  job 
for  you."  Dee,  even 
through  the  gloom  of 
her  depression,  saw 
the  wisdom  of  this 
and  was  willing  to 
try  it,  even  though 
it  meant  long  hours 
in  going  and  coming 
between  Staten  Is- 
land and  New  York 
and  reserving  enough 
energy  of  good  qual- 
ity to  give  her  children  concentrated  atten- 
tion when  she  returned  at  night  from  work 
Ope  need  not  hesitate  to  call  upon  this  extn 
energy.  Mourning  almost  always  gives  thf 
extra  drive  and  energy  that  can  be  used  for  < 
constructive  purpose. 

This  third  rule — get  the  person  back  on ; 
job  as  quickly  as  possible — is  probably  th 
most  important  of  all.  The  danger  tha 
mourning  will  turn  into  depressive  illness  i 
all  too  real  a  possibility.  Nothing  is  so  likel; 
to  prevent  the  development  of  the  depres 
sion  of  ill  health  as  the  turning  of  attentioi 
to  something  outside  oneself  and  to  some 
thing  that  requires  objective  attention  an< 
responsibility.  Out-of-the-home  contacts 
when  possible,  are  good  because  they  no 
only  force  attention  to  the  job,  but  the  out 
side  world  doesn't  give  the  opportunity  fo 
too-often-repeated  expressions  of  grief.  No 
every  woman  has  a  mother  who  is  able  an' 
whom  she  trusts  to  manage  her  children  fc 
the  whole  day.  Many  women  will  find  i 
their  homes,  the  task  of  homemaking  an 
child  care,  sufficient  time-consuming  routin 
to  occupy  their  full  time.  I  urge  that  no  mil 
placed  kindness  relieve  the  person  of 
prompt  return  to  routine  duties.  Too  oftei 
kind  friends  and  neighbors  do  a  disservice  b 
relieving  the  sorrowing  person  of  even  mine 
household  responsibilities.  Under  intens 
sorrow,  what  we  need  most  is  work  an 
plenty  of  it. 


None  but  the  lonely  hearted  find 
The  road  that  leads  to  the  highest 
peak 
In  the  mountain  passes  of  the  mind 
Where  the  stars  and  the  night  winds 

speak. 
None  but  the  lonely  hearted  taste 
The  quiet  honey  of  the  spirit's 
food. 
None  but  lonely  hands  have  traced 
The  white  shell  of  inner  solitude. 


•  ••*••*••••••••*••••  i 


PHOTO   BY  Jl'STVS  AHREND 


Last  lovely  evidence  of  her  husband's  constant  tenderness :  the  Mother's  Day  roses  he  had  ordered  reached  Dee  Rueckert  two  weeks  after  his  fatal  crash. 


BY  LOUI.SE   PAINE    BENJAMIN 

Beauty  Edititr  of  the  Jtntrtial 


IN  JUNE,  1944,  Dee  Rueckert  had  every  reason  for 
feeling  that  the  world  was  a  big,  lonely  place.  Newly 
widowed,  she  held  fast  to  one  steadying  thought:  the 
warm  reality  of  her  two  healthy,  demanding  babies. 
She  determined  to  do  for  them,  alone,  what  she  and  her 
young  husband  had  dreamed  of  doing  together.  This 
meant  going  out  and  fighting,  as  only  a  courageous 
woman  with  a  heart  full  of  proud  memories  can  fight. 

Dee  is  no  quitter.  She  also  realized  that  a  good  sol- 
dier must  be  strong  in  body  as  well  as  spirit.  Her  first 
task  was  to  make  herself  physically  fit. 

Like  most  women  who  have  suffered  severe  emotional 
shock,  she  had  certain  definite  conditions  to  combat: 
loss  of  sleep,  loss  of  appetite,  loss  of  weight,  loss  of  en- 
ergy, lack  of  interest  in  her  appearance. 

She  began,  wisely,  on  a  program  of  body  rebuilding, 
knowing  that  a  framework  of  sound  health,  firm  flesh 
and  springy  muscles  would  also  help  to  restore  nerve 
and  emotional  balance.  She  needed  to  do  this,  for  the 
strain  of  unhappiness  had  shrunk  her  already  small  fig- 
ure even  farther.  She  weighed  less  than  a  hundred 
pounds.  Sensing  the  comfort  there  would  be  in  leaning 
on  professional  guidance,  she  asked  for  trained  counsel. 
Here  is  the  prescription  given  her. 

ScUU-'Ufr  Z>£et 

First  of  all  a  depleted  body  must  be  stoked  with  good, 
invigorating  food,  fiw^— and  this  is  an  all-important 
rule — you  do  not  build  sound  fiesh  and  strength  by 
stuffing  with  fatty,  filling  foods.  Sweets,  starches  and 
fats  make  weight,  but  unless  they  are  balanced  with 
vitamin-charged  fruits,  greens  and  grains,  it  becomes  the 
dragging,  pulpy  kind  of  weight  that  no  active  person 
wants.  For  vitality,  as  well  as  curves,  keep  these  simple 
rules  in  mind: 

Start  the  day  with  a  good  breakfast:  fruit,  cereal  or 
eggs,  and  whole-grain  toast. 

For  your  two  other  meals  choose  a  mixed  diet,  with 
plenty  of  fresh  vegetables,  fruits,  salads  and  milky  soups. 

Avoid  fried  foods,  highly  spiced  foods  and  overrich 
foods  which  may  be  hard  for  a  run-down  system  to 


digest,  but  eat  generously  of  all  wholesome  foods  which 
tempt  your  appetite. 

Every  day  include  one  egg  and  a  quart  of  milk.  A  glass 
of  milk  with  crackers  should  be  a  regular  midmorning 
and  afternoon  habit.  A  final  glass  before  bedtime  is  a  dou- 
bly good  idea,  as  it  helps  promote  sleep  as  well  as  weight. 

Try  to  rest  for  twenty  minutes  after  each  meal. 

Even  better  is  a  rest  period  both  before  and  after 
eating,  so  that  the  system  is  completely  relaxed  and 
better  able  to  assimilate  food. 


S*€ncUe^  S*t€nf<f 


Thin  people  need  exercise  quite  as  much  as  stout  folks, 
and  it  is  a  lot  easier  for  them  to  take  it.  Exercise  is  par- 
ticularly important  when  the  system  is  below  par,  as  it 
not  only  improves  muscle  tone  in  general,  but  helps  di- 
gestion and,  especially  when  taken  out-of-doors,  whips 
up  a  lagging  appetite.  It  also  serves  to  ease  taut  nerves 
and  untie  worry  knots  at  the  end  of  the  day. 

Simplest  of  all  exercises  is  stretching.  It  is  economical 
of  time  and  effort,  too,  since  it  can  be  productive  of 
three-way  benefits  if  taken  this  way. 

Lie  flat  on  the  floor  on  your  back.  Start  with  arms  at 
sides,  then  move  them  slowly  in  wide  circle,  still  resting 
on  floor,  until  they  are  above  head.  This  should  give  a 
good  feeling  of  stretch  through  chest  and  shoulders. 
Stretch  your  legs  haid,  pushing  down,  first  with  one  and 
then  the  other,  as  though  you  were  trying  to  be  seven 
feet  tall.  Now  draw  your  knees  up  toward  you,  keeping 
feet  on  the  floor  and  close  together.  At  the  same  time 
bring  your  arms  slowly  back  to  their  original  position  at 
your  side.  While  you  are  doing  this,  try  to  flatten  your, 
spine  firmly  against  the  floor.  Pull  in  your  abdomen 
and  lift  your  chest  while  inhaling.  Hold  breath,  and 
position,  for  a  moment,  then  relax  and  ease  legs  back 
into  starting  position.  Don't  hurry.  This  routine  will 
do  something  for  your  posture  and  your  abdominal 
tone,  and  is  also  a  relaxing  treatment,  through  the  al- 
ternate tension  and  releasing  of  your  muscles. 

In  addition  to  this  indoor  exercise,  try  to  get  in  at 
least  an  hour  of  outdoor  activity  daily.   Sunshine  and 

in.s 


fresh  air  are  better  than  any  man-made  medicine  ever 
prescribed.  Choose  your  own  sport.  The  idea  is  not  to 
diive  the  body  to  effort,  but  to  encourage  it. 

Sleep  comes  when  the  body  and  mind  are  relaxed. 
Obviously,  an  unhappy  mind  makes  for  wakefulness. 
There  are,  fortunately,  certain  definite  physical  steps 
which  help  to  lull  mind  and  body  into  sleepiness.  Warm 
baths  head  the  list.  Their  quieting  effects  arp  well 
known.  They  must  be  only  pleasantly  warm.  Never  hot 
and  never  hurried.  Leisurely,  perfumed  immersions  are 
best.  Stretch  luxuriously  in  the  comforting  water. 
Think  of  yourself  as  drifting  .  .  .  floating.  Afterward, 
blot  yourself  dry  gently.  Then,  in  your  deepest  cush- 
ioned chair,  or  propped  ui)  in  bed,  sip  a  glass  of  warm 
milk  or  a  cup  of  herb  tea.  Listen  to  soothing  music  on 
the  radio  or  read  something  that  produces  a  sense  of 
contentment  rather  than  excitement.  Poetry  is  wonder- 
ful if  your  ear  and  heart  are  attuned  to  it. 

If  finally,  stretched  out  comfortably  in  bed  with  the 
lights  out,  your  mind  still  demands  occupation,  let  it 
play  the  game  of  turning  your  bones  into  jelly!  Like 
tiiis:  beginning  with  your  toes,  think  of  yourself  as  turn- 
ing into  a  soft,  boneless,  nerveless,  amorphous  sub- 
stance. As  agreeably  delicate,  let  us  say,  as  half-jellied 
chicken  consomme!  Lei  fio.  Feel  the  delicious  formless- 
ness creep  inch  by  inch  up  your  legs;  from  your  finger 
tips  up  your  arms,  through  your  body,  until  it  embraces 
all  of  you  in  a  complete  relaxation  that  means  sleep. 

Courage  requires  a  face,  a  gallant  look  to  match  its 
high  goal.  A  heavy  heart  drains  prettiness  away,  so  that 
a  woman  must  make  a  determined  effort  to  capture 
what  was  once  her  natural  right.  It  is  a  rewarding.effort, 
however,  for  the  face  a  woman  sees  in  her  mirror  can 
take  her  spirits  up  or  down.  If  she  will  see  to  it  that  this 
reflection  is  that  of  a  weli-cared-for  woman  doing  her 
best  to  carry  on  in  a  way  that  would  have  made  her  man 
proud,  she  will  find  new  strength.  Brave  hearts  deserve 
brave  faces.   And  brave  faces  help  to  make  brave  hearts. 


II«%V  AMEIlIi  A  LIVES 


106 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


NO\/\r''  ^'^  ^^^^^  ^^^  satiifary  napkif^ 


in  iwo  -forms 


f.  MODESS  WITH  VeoOOf^NT 
Z»  STANDARD  MODESS 


Here's  modess  with  TWO  wonderful 
kinds  of  sanitary  protection.  Now  you 
can  take  your  choice. 

1.  Softer,  safer  Modess  with  a  fine  deo- 
dorant powder  sealed  in — for  those  who 
want  daintiness  protection  right  inside  a 
napkin.  Tried  out  for  a  year  by  thousands 
of  women;  tested  by  a  famous  impartial 
laboratory  and  proved  to  be  most  effective.* 

2.  Softer,  safer  Modess — without  deo- 
dorant— if  you'd  rather  have  it  that  way. 


And,  either  way,  you're  bound  to  get 
greater  safety,  greater  softness,  because: 

209  nurses,  in  hospital  tests,  found  Mo- 
dess gives  far  more  protection  than  na- 
tionally known  layer-type  napkins. 

49,701  women  stated  that  they  switehed 
to  Modess  because  it's  "So  soft".  .  ."So 
safe".  .  .  or  "So  comfortable." 

Both  kinds  of  Mode.ss  cost  the  same.  But  — 
to  get  softer,  safer  sanitary  protection — be 
sure  to  ask  for  Modess! 


TdMr.../lskArMOJ>eSS 


STANDARD  OR  WITH  DEODORANT 


*LOOK!  Facts  about  MODESS  containing  a  DEODORANT 


1.  Only  sanitary  napkin  with  fine  deo- 
dorant powder  .sealed  right  in. 

2.  Modess  is  the  only  .sanitary  napkin 
with  deodorant  tested  for  the  past 
year!  Fastidious  Southern  women 
who  tried  it  arc  overwhehningly  en- 
thusiastic— prefer  it  to  any  other  nap- 
kin tliey  have  ever  used. 


3.  Modess  has  been  proved  by  U.  S. 
Testing  Co.,  Inc.,  to  guard  daintiness 
more  effectively  than  any  other  napkin 
containing  a  deodorant. 

4.  Only  Modess  gives  you  such  proof 
of  its  effectiveness.  So  if  you  prefer  a 
napkin  with  a  deodorant  right  in  it, 
Modess  is  the  only  napkin  for  you. 


107 


Candy-striped    shirt    with    long 
sleeves,  with  or  without  jacket. 


PHOTUI.RAFHS  I 


Navy-blue  coat  with  new  raglan  shoulders  and 
easy  fullness,  right  to  wear  with  suits  or  dresses. 


Mrs.  Rueckert  in  her  business  suit  of  navy-blue  twill  with  pique 
collar  and  printed  tie,  Arpad's  pique  bandeau,  cotton  gloves. 

Another  blouse  for  business — white  crepe  with  eyelet  edg- 
ing   .    .    .    change  of  neckline  for  her  navy-blue  twill  suit. 


Every  morning  Dee  Rueckert  must  cope  with  a  bus,  a  ferry  and  a  subway  before  she  ar- 

Hves  at  her  reception  desk,  where  she  must  look  well  groomed  and  charming  from  nine  to  five. 

I      "/  always  wore  suits  in  college,^''  she  told  us.  "Usually  pastel  tweeds  or  plaids  with 

weaters;  but  I  never  realized  how  much  I  could  do  with  a  simple  navy-blue  twill  suit." 

She  takes  this  suit  as  a  one-and-only  for  business,  changes  it  with  blouses,  adds  a  simple 

iersey  dress  for  variety,  ivears  a  full-length  navy-blue  coat  and  felt  cloche  hat  with  both. 

or  Saturday  afternoon  at  the  club  or  Sunday  afternoon  at  home,  she  has  a  gardenia -white 

repe  afternoon  dress  with  gold  buttons.       •       •       •       •       my  iihth  maky  i»a«kaiii» 


--^r 


IS.  Rueckert 's  favorite  bow  neckline — on  her  rabbi t's- 
Ix-and-wool  jersey  dress  in  natural  beige  for  business. 


The  jersey   bow  is  detach- 
able for  a  change  to  pique. 


A  gray  flannel  skirt  and  bright  red  wool 
jersey  shirt,  favorite  outfit  forweek  ends. 


Navy-blue  rayon-jersey  blouse  worn 
with  gay  clips,  a  change  for  dinner. 


Rentemhcr  lliis,  swoctie?''^  Dee 
shows  Hilly  one  of  her  many  ne- 
cessity "inventions'^ — how  she 
used  to  bed  him  down  sonwtimes 
in  his  play  pen.  " ICs  raised  off 
the  Jloor,  so  there  was  no  danger 
of  drafts,^'  Dee  explains.  "And 
except  for  this,  it  would  often  have 
been  a  bureau  drawer,  like  the  boy 
in   the  comic  strips,  for  Billy.'''' 


The  smell  of  chile  transports  her 
back  to  her  first  struggles  with 
here-today -and- gone-tomorrow 
housekeeping.  Dee  says  ruefully, 
"Tlie  first  thing  I  ever  burned  was 
chile,  and  that  was  on  one  of  those 
hot  plates  that  are  either  all  on  or 
all  off,  so  I  forgave  myself  r  P.S. 
She's  never  burned  anyllungsince! 


DEE  RUECKERT  followed  her  heart 
through  many  states — twelve  times  un- 
packed her  Pandora's  box  and  packed  it 
up  again.  "We  were  just  like  a  turtle  carry- 
ing his  house  on  his  hack,"  says  Dee.  Thought- 
fully, she  listed  mininuini  "must-haves,"  as- 
send)led  them  with  space-saving snugness  into 
the  area  decided  upon — a  husky  packing  box 
that  just  fitted  the  luggage  compartment  of 
their  car.  When  you  hear  of  the  various 
places  where  Dee  scrubbed  away,  in  hard 
water,  quarter-in-the-slot  machines,  even 
sometimes  in  roaster  pans  balanced  on  rickety 
chairs,  you  feel  like  patting  your  washing 
machine  and  feeding  it  a  lump  of  sugar,  just 
to  show  that  you  do  appreciate  its  hard- 
working dependable  help. 

NfvettHity  mothers  invention.    Dee 

learned  short  cuts  and  labor  savers.  One  of 
her  pet  ones  was  a  cleaning  basket  to  be  toted 
from  room  to  room  as  she  worked.  Do  you 
have  one?  It's  a  wonderful  help  in  keeping 
your  house  always  shining — and  besides,  it's 
fun!  A  sort  of  miniature  version  of  those 
fascinating  little  wagons  that  hotel  chamber- 
maids trundle  about,  you  know.  For  your 
purposes,  a  small  open  market  basket  with  a 
handle  will  be  just  about  right.  And  here's 
a  rough  idea  of  what  it  might  contain:  a 
stiff  brush  and  a  small  gentle  one;  treated 
dustcloth  (or  dustcloth  that  you  treat  your- 
self by  whisking  around  in  a  glass  jar  into 
which  you've  dashed  a  few  drof)s  of  polish — 
keep  it  there  to  soak  up  the  "juice"  and  dis- 
tribute it  evenly.  Good  fire-prevention  meas- 
ure— keeping  oily  cloths  in  a  jar!);  also  flannel 


polishing  cloth;  cheesecloth  squares;  chamois; 
ammonia;  furniture  polish  or  lemon  oil;  mild 
scouring  powder;  paint  cleaner;  carbon  tetra- 
chloriile;  scissors. 

''Memos  to  muwnwny^'  is  a  trick  Dee 
learned  from  her  husband,  whose  organized 
mind  she  greatly  admired.  She's  already 
training  Billy  to  have  that  kind  of  mind  too, 
she  hopes.  You  know,  it  is  amazing  how 
much  less  likely  we  weak  women  are  to  back- 
slide and  waste  time  snatching  a  few  more 
chapters  of  that  whodunit,  if  "orders  of  the 
day"  are  right  down  in  black  and  white.  Of 
course,  you  have  to  be  your  own  top  sergeant! 

"Slintming  down"  is  good  for  a  house.  Dee 
had  no  more  things  around  than  it  was  pos- 
sible to  keep  at  the  top  of  their  form.  What 
fun  are  charming  little  silver  vases  or  china 
ornaments,  if  the  silver  is  blackish,  the  china's 
delicacy  clouded  with  dust?  Tlieir  function 
in  life  is  to  be  beautiful — but  if  it's  just  a 
physical  impossibility  to  keep  them  that 
way,  much  better  to  tuck  them  away  out  of 
sight  rather  than  leave  them  looking  forlorn, 
defeating  their  purpose  of  adding  beauty. 

A  double-decker  of  sandwich  and  shop- 
ping for  the  children — lunch  hour  must  often 
include  both,  now  that  Dee  is  working.  Exact 
sizes,  exact  needs  written  down,  not  fishing 
around  in  a  tired  mind  to  guess  at  them,  saves 
time  for  busy  mothers,  busy  salespeople.  Re- 
sisting fussy  "frills,"  sticking  to  simple  sturdy 
clothes  easy  to  care  for,  gives  her  more  time 
to  spend  with  Billy  and  Dianne.  For  of 
course,  that's  where  her  heart  is  now. 


108 


'f^aca  /^fHC^icca  ^caed 


t/ljflmT mu  ucii  do  uM^  m^  App^] 


mcSmj  ot  M0U  cmI  ivijmKin  ijo^ 


Is  CHOICE  FRUIT  almost  made  of  gold  this  winter? 
Well,  how  about  buying  less  and  making  it  seem  like 
more? 

See  what  a  gay  dessert  you  can  make  with  one  red 
apple— and  Jell-O!    Or  pull  another  stunt!    See  what  a 


good  hearty  salad  you  can  make  with  a  few  carrots  and 
peas,  a  hard-boiled  egg  or  two— and  Jell-O! 

You'll  find  that  Jell-O  is  one  of  the  best  and  cheeriest 
friends  a  family  paycheck  can  have! 

And  don't  forget— Jell-O  is  one  gelatin  dessert  that  has 


the  same  high  quality  as  before  the  war! 

That  wonderful  fruity  goodness,  "locked-in"  by  Jell-O's 
exclusive  process,  is  just  as  luscious  and  rich  as  ever. 

So  get  genuine  Jell-O  whenever  you  can.  It's  a  real 
money's  worth  every  time! 


1  package  Jell-O  (any  flavor) 
1  cup  hot  water 

1  cup  canned  apple  juice 

or  cold  water 

2  tablespoons  sugar 
Vs  teaspoon  salt 

1  teaspoon  vinegar 
1  medium  red  apple, 
cut  in  thin  wedges 


APPLE  JELL-O  MOLD -Dissolve  Jell-O  in  hot  water.  Add 
apple  juice,  sugar,  salt,  and  vinegar.  (Vinegar  makes  a  de- 
liciously  tart  and  sassy  combination  with  Jell-O's  extra-rich 
fruit  flavor!)  Chill  until  slightly  thickened;  add  apple 
wedges.  Turn  into  large  mold  or  individual  molds.  Chill 
until  firm.  Unmold.  Garnish  with  additional  apple  slices 
and  fresh  mint,  if  desired.  Makes  5  servings. 


1  package  Lemon  or  Lime 

Jell-O 
1  pint  of  hot  water  and  1 

bouillon  cube 
3  tablespoons  vinegar 
Vz  teaspoon  salt 
Vi  teaspoon  scraped  onion 
%  cup  cooked  diced  carrots 
%  cup  cooked  peas 
Dash  of  cayenne 
1  hard-cooked  egg,  sliced 


Jell-O  is  a  trade-mark  owned  by  General  Foods 


mm^  mno  om  iw  Joto  f - 


JELLIED  VEGETABLE  ENTREE-Dissolve  Jell-O  in  hot  bouil- 
lon. Add  vinegar,  salt,  and  onion.  Chill.  When  slightly 
thickened,  told  in  vegetables,  seasoned  with  cayenne.  Cover 
bottom  of  ring  mold  with  slightly  thickened  Jell-O.  Ar- 
range slices  of  hard-cooked  egg  against  sides  of  mold. 
Chill  until  firm.  Fill  mold  with  remaining  Jell-O.  Chill 
until  firm.  LJniiiold  on  crisp  lettuce,  sprinkled  with  French 
dressing.  Fill  center  of  mold  with  mayonnaise.  Garnish 
with  escarole  and  egg  slices.  Makes  6  servings. 

The  Kale  Smith  Hour — Every  Sunday  —  CBS  Network 


-mAT'tocKEPiAi'^EtLo  mm,l 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945  j 


€H^fi^  a^ieci/ ^/aae  i^Aoi^ 
Mfi€iyu  io  lAe  Poteen-  / 

ZOth    CENTURY-FOX    IN    ASSOCIATION    WITH    THE    U.S.   ARMY    AIR    FORCES    PRESENTS 

MOSS  HART'S 


Here  they  come  out  o.f  the 
"Wild  BlLJteVo^"... flying 

straight  into  your  heart! 

The  greatest  story  ever  told 

of  men  conquering  the  skies . . . 
for  the  sweetest  girfs  on  earth! 


"""  Pvt.  ION  McCALUSTER  •  JEANNE  CRAIN  •  Sgt.  EDMOND  O'BRIEN  •  JANE  BAEE  •  Sgt.  MARK  DANIELS  •  JO-CARROLl 
Cpl.  LEE  J.  COBB  •  T/Sgt  PETER  LINO  HAYES  •  Cpl.  ALAN  BAXTER  •  p,.*™.  ^  DARRYL  F.  ZANUCK  • »,»,..  b, 


OENNISON-CpLOON  TAYLOR  •JOOyHOLLIDAyi 

L  uUMJK  •  stage  and  Screen  Play  by  Moss  Hart 


"mf 


r.j»j. 


to  BY  HAROLD  FOWLER 


i>wf,-^" 


M 


H  ^  1 


Sew,  read  or  work  at  your  hobby  in  this  room  which  doubles  as  a  playroom  for  the  children  in  the  family.    The  room  was  originally  a 
back  bedroom.   As  you  see,  the  furnishings  are  all  make-overs.   Only  the  paint  and  slip  covers  are  new  and  the  scheme  supplies  the  style. 

4  lifAii' mi'Vmtiiifmi 


BY  HENRIETTA  MIJRDOCK 

iiitt'rutr  DvntrntUyti  Kiiitor  ttj  the  Jt*ttrrtttl 


IN  MANY  houses  there  is  one  room  which  can  be  fixed  over  into  a  con- 
venient workroom  for  mother.  The  room  can  function  also  as  a  play- 
room for  the  younger  children  of  the  household  who  like  to  be  near 
mother  as  she  works. 

Mrs.  Rueckert  is  looking  ahead  to  the  day  when  she  and  her  little 
daughter  sit  together  in  just  such  a  room  as  you  see  pictured  here.  Dianne 
will  paint  or  cut  out  dolls,  while  mother  hems  curtams  or  presses  a  dress 
companionably  near  by. 

What  you  want  is  a  place  to  spread  out  your  sewing  and  be  able  to  leave 
it  for  a  quick  pickup;  a  good  flat  top  on  which  to  cut  materials,  wrap  up 
packages  or  lay  out  your  mending;  and  a  bulletin  board  on  which  to  pin 
up  clippings  and  measurements.  Add  your  sewing  machine  and  a  really 
comfortable  chair  or  two,  and  the  main  job  is  done. 

Make  the  room  fresh  with  paint  or  paper,  and  choose  a  favorite  color 
for  your  scheme.  Green,  red  or  blue  with  white  makes  a  fresh-looking  room. 
Yellow  in  a  north  room  is  pure  sunshine,  and  green  or  blue  will  be  cool.  A 
few  yards  of  printed  fabric,  such  as  chintz  or  flowered  sateen,  used  for  slip 
covers  will  give  the  room  style — you  may  start  with  the  fabric,  if  you  like, 
and  take  your  scheme  from  that.  Here  is  the  place  to  try  your  hand  at 
some  kind  of  simple,  built-in  convenience.  For  a  bit  of  hand-painted  dec- 
oration, select  a  motif,  flower  spray  or  leaf  from  your  fabric  and  trace  it 
off  where  you  want  it.  Paint  it  in  with  the  same  paints  you  have  used 
for  your  furniture. 

The  secret  of  decorating  such  a  room  to  make  it  both  useful  and  at- 
tractive is  to  harmonize  all  the  odd  but  necessary  furniture  pieces  by 
painting  them  to  match.  Contrast  in  color  emphasizes  objects,  but  paint- 
ing them  the  same  color  makes  them  belong  together. 

Paint  your  machine  if  it  is  an  old  one— notice  the  big  circular  leaf  we 
cut  out  of  plywood  and  fitted  onto  the  end  of  the  sewing  table— and  also 
paint  the  assorted  tables,  chairs,  boxes  and  other  equipment  a  matching 


color.  You  will  find  that,  no  matter  what  the  shape  and  style,  it  all  goes 
together  when  pamted. 

In  the  room,  you  will  want  to  have  all  the  tools  of  your  various  crafts — 
everything  with  which  to  sew,  paint,  hook  rugs,  crochet,  weave  or  em- 
broider. Work  out  places  to  put  these  things,  but  don't  allow  the  room  to 
become  a  catchall.  You  may  even  include  a  practice  piano  for  the  growing- 
ups,  if  you  like. 

You  will  have  plenty  of  ideas  of  your  own  after  you  start,  but  here  are 
a  few  to  help  you  get  things  under  way: 

•  Cut  down  an  old  upholstered  chair  and  slip-cover  it  neatly.  Add  a 
rocker,  also,  if  you  have  one. 

^  Paint  or  varnish  your  floors  and  add  a  scatter  rug  or  two. 

•  Big  pigeonholes  are  handy,  and  you  can  make  them  just  by  stacking 
small  wood  grocery  boxes. 

•  Chests  made  of  packing  boxes,  painted  or  papered,  are  handy  for 
sewing  materials  or  toys. 

•  Make  a  wall  pocket,  like  a  shoe  case,  to  hold  your  patterns. 

•  Hang  a  secondhand  mirror  so  you  can  see  yourself  in  a  good  light. 

•  Make  a  lamp  out  of  a  big  jar  or  pottery  vase  and  place  it  near  your 
upholstered  chair. 

•  An  old  davenport-table  top— you  can  buy  such  a  table  for  $3.50 — 
makes  a  grand  counter  for  cutting. 

•  A  second  iron — when  they  are  plentiful  again — an  ironing  board  and 
duplicate  scissors  are  luxurious  conveniences. 

•  Keep  adding  ideas  as  you  use  the  room,  and  keep  it  in  tune  with  the 
new  things  you  are  doing. 


m 


HOW  IMERirt  LIVES 


112 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


^    %  OLSON 


How  Your 

Old  Rugs 

AND  CLOTHING 

Scwe  youuptb/z 

It's  All  So  Easy!  Your  material  is  picked  up 

at  your  door  by  Express  or  Freight  and  shipped 

at  our  expense  to  the  Olson  FACTORY,  where  .  .  . 

By  the  Olson  Process  we  sterilize,  shred,  merge 
materials  of  all  kinds — reclaim  the  valuable  wools 
etc.,  then  bleach,  card,  spin,  re-dye  and  weave  into 
lovely,  new,  deep-textured — 

REVERSIBLE  BROADLOOM  RUGS 

— double  luxury   rugs   made   in   seamless  sizes   for 

every  need  up  to  16  feet  by  any  length. 

FACTORY-TO-YOU.  Satisfaction  guaranteed.  Over 

two  million  customers.  We  do  not  have 

agents  or  sell  thru  stores.   Oar  71st  Year. 

Chicago  New  York  San.  Francisco 


Choice  of 

Solid  Colors 
Tweed  Blends 
Flora  I  &  Leaf 
18th  Century 
Early  Amerloan 
and  Oriental 
Patterns 


©ORO.    1949 


FREE 

CATALOG  f 

In  Full  Color  \ 


MAIL  5?^o%°r^SSo  TODAY 


! 

I  OLSON   RUG   CO.,  E-42,  Chicago  41,  in.' 

I       Please  mail  the  Olson  Catalog  l'R]",E  to; 


I  NAME 

I  ADDRESS.. 


TOWN STATE 


ICTORY 


A  GIFT  FOR  YOU! 


{No  Seeds  for  Sale  till  19U>) 

When   this    frilly  golden-orange    giant 
Marigold  was  createu  on  Burjjee's  Flora- 
dale  Farms,  we  knew  everyone  would  want 
it  in  1945... symbol  of  victory  and  peace. 
So  we'll  GIVE  you  a  35c-Packet 
(100  seeds),  d  you  enclose  stamp 
for  postage.  Easy  to  grow,  2  ft.  tall, 
with  loads  of  big  double  blooms. 
Write  for  your  free  seeds  today! 

(To  Kiirpec  Oustoiuers:  You  need 


itfs  Seed  Catalog  Weg 

^^L      ^"^§^0^^^^^  The  paper  shortage   makes   Catalogs 

^nU9^m^  ^^  ^earee  .  .    .  tcrite   today  if  you   want 

^W^^  ''*««  leading  American  Seed  Catalog 

All  about  Burpee's  best  Flowers  and  Vegetables  . . .  with 
pictures  of  all  leading  varieties,  many  in  color.  Newest 
creadons  of  Burpee  scientists.  ..more  delicious,  more  abun- 
dant Vegetables;  more  lovely,  more  colorful  Flowers.  Read 
about  Burpee's  new  Hybrid  Vegetables,  and  Flash' Marigold. 
Complete, accurate  descriptions,  with  modest  prices  for  the 
best  seeds  that  grow.  This  catalog  postpaid  as  long  as  supply 
lasts...  send  postcard  or  coupon  today  to  W.  Atlee  Burpee  Co., 
471  Burpee  Bldg.,  Philadelphia  32,  Pa.  or  Clinton,  Iowa     ' 


uotw  riti 
gold  si-i-d 


»!■<* 


n\o»>P    ^',' 
*•   Carrol. 


Bw!l  ■ 


lOc 


.Pkt. 
.pht. 

;.PKt. 


Postpo>« 


W.  Atlee  Burpee  Co. 

471   Burpee  Building 

□  Send  5  Pkts.    Burpee's  Bi 
Ve«      


KCtahle  Seeds  No.  7050. 
KiitioHed  is  10c. 


Philadelphia  33,  Pa. 
(or)  Clinton,  Iowa 

□  Scud  Victory  CDCC 
MariKold  Seeds  rnCC 
1  cucluse  stami). 


Nome 


Address  . 


DON'T  GIVE  YOUR  ANIMALS  A  NAME 

(Continued  from  Page  84) 


G   Sond  Burpoo's  S«*d  Catalog  FREE. 


The  game  warden  looked  her  over  and 
said  we'd  better  shoot  her.  The  leg  won't 
heal  and  she  would'nt  recover.  So  said  the 
veterinary  whom  I  asked  by  telephone  for  his 
opinion.  Besides,  he  figured  the  doe  would 
never  get  tame  enough  to  be  treated  and  fed, 
since  she  was  grown  up  in  the  wilderness. 

But  I  had  watched  her  sipping  some  fresh 
water  and  nibbling  some  hay  when  she  felt 
alone,  so  I  decided  to  take  the  risk.  I  made 
a  bed  for  her  on  a  part  of  the  hayloft  that  we 
did'nt  use,  and  put  slices  of  carrots,  apples 
and  a  bit  of  corn  near  to  her,  supplying  it 
only  at  dusk  or  dawn  through  a  crack  in  the 
wallboard's,  in  order  not  to  frighten  her  by 
my  approach. 

After  a  few  days  she  would  take  it  regu- 
larly and  eat  it  all,  although  she  would'nt 
touch  it  as  long  as  she  felt  watched.  When 
I  had  to  come  closer  to  her  for  supplying 
the  water  and  looking  for  her  wounds,  I  took 
my  oldest  and  dirtiest  stable  clothes  so  I  was 
sure  that  I  would'nt  smell  a  bit  like  a  human 
being.  I  found  out  that  the  wounded  hind 
leg  had  got  into  a  bad  condition,  infected  a 
few  inches  above  the  foot. 

It  was  clear  that  something  radical  had  to 
be  done  in  order  to  save  her  life.  I  did'nt  say 
a  word  to  my  wife  because  I  knew  that  she 
could 'nt  be  of  any  help,  and  that  it  was  going 
to  be  a  brute  affair,  to  be  done  fast  and  by 
one  man  alone 

I  sharpened  the  axe,  cleaned  it  and  pre- 
pared a  Lysol  solution  and  a  piece  of  gauze, 
soaked  with   a  strong 

antiseptic   ointment,       

and  some  bandages  to 
stop  the  bleeding.  Then 
I  went  straight  to  the 
hayloft,  threw  myself 
on  the  deer's  body  be- 
fore she  could  move, 
kept  her  down  with  my 
knees  and  my  own 
weight,  put  her  leg  on 
a  chunk  of  wood  and 
cut  her  foot  off  with 
one  blow  of  the  axe — 
right  above  the  spot 
where  the  bone  was 
split  and  the  open 
wound  infected.  Then 
I  washed  it  out,  dressed 

it,    put     some     fresh      

drinking    water    near 
and  left  her  alone — having  done  the  whole 
thing  more  in  a  state  of  cold  trance  than 
in  full  consciousness  of  its  ghastly  circum- 
stances. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  my  wife 
said  when  I  came  back  to  the  living  room. 
"You  look  quite  pale." 

"Where's  the  applejack?"  I  answered 
hoarsely  and  took  a  long  sip. 

JjUT  then,  the  most  amazing  thing  hap- 
pened that  I've  ever  experienced  with  an 
animal.  I've  kept  some  roe  bucks  and  does 
at  my  Austrian  country  place,  two  of  them  I 
had  brought  up  with  the  milk  bottle.  If  you 
bring  them  up  that  way,  they'll  get  as  tame 
as  a  goat,  but  a  wild  deer  will  hardly  get  used 
to  people  if  it  grew  up  in  the  woods. 

After  the  terrible  shock  she  must  have  got 
by  my  treatment,  I  was  sure  Liesi  would 
always  be  afraid  of  me — more  than  of  any- 
body else— and  I  doubted  whether  I  could 
get  along  with  feeding  her  at  all.  When  I 
opened  the  door  to  the  hayloft  that  evening — 
very  softly — I  saw  her  standing  upright  on 
three  legs,  the  amputated  one  stratched  out 
backwards  in  a  gracious  manner,  the  dressing 
and  bandages  unchanged.  She  stood  watch- 
ing me,  and  I  stood  watching  her,  both  mo- 
tionless, and  I  think  we  both  trembled  with 
excitement.  Now  I  went  closer — now  I 
stretched  my  arm  out — cautiously — to  offer 
her  a  piece  of  an  apple. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  took  it 
right  from  my  hand. 

The  same  evening  I  succeeded  to  wet  her 
bandages  without  scaring  her,  and  the  next 
day  she  even  licked  my  hand  and  began  to 
follow  me  when  I  called  her  name.  This  name 


LEARNING  BY  DOIIVG 

^  E.  V.  Lucas  tells  of  a  school  in 
^  England  where  sympathy  is 
laughl.  In  the  course  of  the  term 
every  child  has  one  blind  day,  one 
lame  day,  one  deaf  day,  one  day 
when  he  cannot  speak.  The  night 
before  the  blind  day  his  eyes  are 
bandaged.  He  awakes  blind.  He 
needs  help  and  other  children  lead 
him  about.  He  gets  a  grasp  of  what 
it  is  really  like  to  be  blind.  And  those 
who  help,  having  been  "blind"" 
themselves,  are  able  to  guide  and 
direct  the  blind  with  understand- 
ing. 
—ENGLISH  DIGEST:  Quoted  in  Magazine  Digest. 


is  a  very  traditional  one,  since  in  Austria  a 
doe  was  called  Liesi  (pronounce  Leeze^  and 
a  buck  Hansi.  I'm  calling  her  as  I  heard 
Austrian  forrest  rangers  calling  a  deer,  re- 
peating her  name  in  soft  head  tones,  like  the 
lowest  sound  of  a  "joodle." 

The  wounded  leg  healed  and  she  got  used 
to  run  and  to  leap  on  three  legs  as  easily  and 
almost  as  fast  as  any  other  deer.  I  built  a 
pen  for  her  and  a  little  wood  house,  but  I 
kept  her  fenced  in  only  for  her  own  safety, 
for  I  think  she  would'nt  run  away.  When  she 
came  out  of  her  pen  sometimes,  her  first  way 
was  to  the  kitchen  door  to  beg  for  fruits  or 
vegetables.  She's  got  very  greedy  but  I  have 
to  keep  her  weight  down  so  that  she  has  no 
troubles  to  move  on  her  three  thin  and 
gracious  legs.  She's  practized  a  charming 
manner  to  make  her  short  leg  resting  upon 
the  knee-joint  of  the  other  one. 

Winter  came,  the  snow  drifted'high  around 
the  deerpen,  and  since  I  was  too  busy  to 
shovel  snow  everywhere,  this  drift  grew 
almost  as  high  as  the  upper  level  of  the 
fence.  Some  morning  I  let  the  dogs  out  who 
like  to  roll  and  to  play  in  the  snow,  and  while 
I  sat  peacefully  at  the  kitchen  table  to  have 
my  second  or  third  breakfast,  I  looked  out  of 
the  window  and  saw  the  dogs  jumping  from 
that  high  snow  drift  right  in  the  deerpen. 
I  got  so  frightened  that  I  almost  overthrew 
the  table,  dropped  a  cup  of  coffee  and  run 
out  like  mad  to  save  the  deer  from  the  dogs. 
But,  to  my  greatest  sur- 

prise,  I  found  all  three 

of  them,  dogs  and  deer, 
in  the  most  friendly 
and  animated  conver- 
sation, wagging  their 
tails,  snififling  and  lick- 
ing each  other's  noses— 
the  deernota  bit  afraid, 
the  dogs  not  a  bit  ag- 
gressive. Since  this  time 
they  are  great  friends 
with  each  other. 

Sometimes  at  a  foggy 
evening  in  the  early 
fall  or  in  the  middle 
of  a  dark  and  stormy 
night,  there  is  a  deep 
roaring    sound    ap- 

proaching   our    place, 

coming  outof  the  woods 

first,  circling  closer  and  closer  around  the 
house  and  the  barns.  My  wife  was  almost 
afraid  when  she  heard  it  first.  It  sounds 
wild,  grim  and  lonely.  In  the  morning  I 
sometimes  find  the  tracks  of  a  strong  buck 
right  in  front  of  the  house.  Liesi  is  getting 
very  restless  during  this  time  and  she's 
answering  the  call  of  the  "rut-bell"  with  a 
wistful,  bellowing  voice.  But  I  can't  give  her 
a  chance,  for  I  think  she  couldn't  stand 
bearing  on  her  three  legs.  This  is  the  only 
time  when  I  feel  sorry  for  her,  who  otherwise 
seems  to  enjoy  life  as  much  as  any  free  living 
deer.  But  the  good  thing  is  that  the  passions 
of  an  animal  are  bound  to  a  short  limited 
period  and  that  they  completely  forget  when 
it's  over.  ' 

The  only  serious  competition  for  Liesi  and 
my  affection  to  her  would  be  a  horse.  I'm 
dreaming  of  one,  not  too  light,  not  too 
heavy — just  strong  enough  to  pull  a  sleigh 
or  buggy  and  to  carry  my  190  pound  per- 
sonality (only  a  part  of  these  190  are  fat; 
most  of  it  personality) . 

We  had  a  horse — which  was'nt  ours — for 
a  short  time,  and  I  could'nt  pretend  this  was 
a  "normal"  one. 

Nor  would  a  normal  horse  have  chosen 
it's  way  of  entering  our  place.  It  coughed 
suddenly  some  early  morning  in  July  at  the 
open  window  of  my  wife's  bedroom  on  the 
ground  floor.  It  did'nt  sound  like  coughing. 
It  was  more  like  the  snarling  of  an  antedi- 
luvian dragon. 

My  wife,  who  has  never  seen  a  moose, 
thought  it  must  be  one  that  escaped  from  a  | 
zoo  or  run  amok  down  from  north  Canada,  i 
having  lost  its  horns  on  the  way.   But  this 


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)\      with  a 

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beast  was  extremely  peaceful  and  even 
humble,  just  coughing  and  begging  for  a 
little  oats  and  for  a  shelter  when  it  rained. 
I've  never  seen  so  deeply  sunk  a  back,  so 
hanging  a  lower  lip,  so  broad  and  flat  and 
worn-out  a  creature's  shoes  than  the  hoofs 
of  this  horse.  It  could  have  made  a  perfect 
illustration  to  the  "old  gray  mare" — if  it 
wasn't  brown. 

We  found  out  that  it  belonged  to  an  old 
hired  man,  still  a  little  older  and  a  little 
more  worn-out  than  the  horse,  who  could'nt 
make  use  of  it  in  the  summer  when  he  worked 
for  a  farmer,  so  he  just  let  it  go  free  to  find 
some  pasture  and  some  brook  water.  He 
thought  fresh  air  and  the  quiet  life  would  do 
good  to  the  horse's  asthma,  but  obviously 
the  horse  needed  an  audience  for  it's  musical 
performance.  We  got  so  used  to  the  tone  of 
it's  asthmatic  colorature  that  we  felt  like 
missing  something  when  we  had  to  bring 
it  back  to  his  master  before  winter  came. 

We  must  be  an  attraction  for  that  soft 
of  sensational  animals.  There  is  a  she-cat 
living  with  us  who  was  a  tom-cat  for  the  first 
six  months  of  her  life.  I  really  mean  it.  She 
was  recognized  as  a  tom-cat  by  two  different 
veterinaries  who  looked  for  her  when  she 
had  distemper  and  gastritis — and  I  am  not 
bad  in  distinguishing  sex  myself.  She — or 
he — was  always  a  little  sicklish  during  the 
first  half  year,  but  suddenly,  after  a  heavy 
attack  of  feaver,  she  behaved  very  strange 
for  a  male — right  in  the  way  of  a  young  cat 
girl  who  comes  in  the  heat  for  the  first  time. 
And  so  it  was. 

Some  weeks  later  she  got  a  bunch  of  kit- 
tens and  since  then  she's  perfectly  all  right 
and  "normal."  Believe  it  or  not,  I  think 
she's  changed  her  sex.  And  if  this  happens  to 
salamanders,  sea  urchins  and  men,  why  not 
to  a  cat? 

Most  of  the  human  anomalies  happen  to 
animals  as  well.  One  of  our  goats  had  an 
imaginated  pregnancy,  fooling  us  for  months 
with  all  the  characteristic  signs  of  a  real  one. 
But  goats  have  a  particular  notion  to  behave 
extravagant  and  frivolous.  There  is  nothing 
they'd  enjoy  more  than  to  do  something 
naughty  and  destructive — like  breaking 
through  the  fence  of  the  vegetable  garden 
and  destroying  in  half  an  hour  the  work  of 
several  months.  Their  greatest  pleasure  is  to 
find  and  to  consume  something  entirely 
mdigestible — like  frozen  apples  or  rotten 
beets. 

Generalization,  of  course,  is  always  an 
mjustice,  even  to  goats.  There  is  Heidi,  the 
lady  goat,  a  pure  bred  Saanen  who  has  al- 
most as  long  a  pedigree  as  an  Archduchess 
of  Hapsburg.  We  purchased  her  for  half  the 
price  because  she  had  a  very  plebeian  habit: 
she  was  bleating  all  the  time  so  noisily  that 
the  farmer  who  raised  her  and  his  neighbours 
got  nervous  breakdowns. 


"Mother,  stay  out  of  that  cooky  jar — 
it's  only  a  half  hour  till  dinner! " 


Aware  of  her  aristocratic  descent,  we  were 
sure  we  could  find  a  psychological  way  to 
improve  her  manners.  We  bought  her  a  very 
beautiful  collar,  shimmering  with  nickel  and 
chrome  like  a  precious  bracelet,  and  a  little 
bell  that  rang  with  a  silver  voice.  Decorated 
with  such  a  distinction,  she  forgot  about 
bleating  while  listening  to  the  music  of  her 
own  bell.  She  got  conscious  about  her  no- 
bility and  took  to  a  dignified  reserve  and 
reticence. 

JUST  the  opposite  type  is  Mucki,  the  little 
proletarian  bastard.  We  got  her  for  almost 
nothing  because  she  was  said  to  be  "un- 
friendly" and  "disagreeable."  Her  char- 
acter seemed  to  be  much  like  that  of  Gussy, 
the  duck,  but  she  even  looked  disagreeable — 
lean,  untidy,  shabby,  almost  mangy.  She 
could'nt  be  bred,  she  did'nt  give  milk,  she 
was  good  for  nothing.  Just  unfriendly.  Hard 
to  say  why  we  took  her. 

But  there  is'nt  such  a  thing  as  a  repulsive 
goat,  after  all.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  build- 
ing up  Mucki's  self-respect.  As  soon  as  she 
felt  estimated  as  a  free-born  American  goat, 
appreciated  just  for  her  very  existence, 
though  being  of  no  practical  use,  she  de- 
veloped quite  a  different  temper.  She  got  fat 
and  strong,  her  hair  became  smooth  and  the 
bitter  expression  of  her  face  changed  into  a 
sort  of  shrewd  humour  and  smartness.  She 
became,  not  only  the  most  entertaining  char- 
acter but  almost  the  intellectual  leader  of 
the  whole  flock.  She's  still  barren  (maybe 
she's  got  too  much  brains  to  fall  in  love  with 
a  buck),  she  still  does'nt  pay  back  for  her 
little  grains  and  hay. 

But  some  day  you'll  find  out  that  all  these 
animals  are  paying  you  back — for  your 
work,  your  worries  and  your  expenses — with 
so  much  fun,  joy,  knowledge,  satisfaction 
as  you  hardly  could  get  out  of  any  human 
company. 

Rough  and  tough  as  it  is — that  way  of  life 
on  a  remote  backwoods  farm — it  pays  back 
(maybe  not  quite  in  the  professional  sense). 
It  makes  you  feel  sound,  free  and  cheerful. 
Your  eyelids  heavy  from  sleep,  you  may  get 
up  in  the  middle  of  a  cold  and  dark  winter 
night  to  put  some  wood  on  your  fires — and 
suddenly,  in  the  black  square  of  the  window, 
you  will  see  a  single  star,  as  big,  as  bright,  as 
sparkling  as  you  have  never  seen  one  before. 
And  you  will  stumble  back  to  your  broken 
slumber,  only  half  awake  but  with  a  feeling 
of  peace  and  promise,  as  if  you'd  have  seen 
a  sign  or  a  miracle. 

And  when  the  sun  has  risen  and  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  snow,  pale  and 
rosy  first,  get  blue  and  strong  and  dark, 
you'll  think:  Today  I'll  start  writing  again. 
If  I  would'nt  have  been  a  writer  before,  this 
place  would  make  me  to  become  one.  And 
there  is'nt  much  outdoor  work  for  the  week 
to  come— and  a  great  stillness  over  the 
woods — and  a  bunch 
of  clean  white  paper 
waiting  there  on  my 
table.  This  is  just  the 
moment  to  start  for  a 
long,  good  work  with- 
out a  stop  or  an  inter- 
ruption. 
You  just   sit  down 

and Hey?  Sakra, 

Sakra !  What's  that 
noise?  What's  going 
on  out  there?  Hell, 
blood  and  appletrees! 
The  goats  have  broken 
through  the  deer  fence, 
taking  Liesi's  corn 
away  and  bumping  her 
around  like  a  football. 
"Hurry  up, hurry  up ! " 
I  hear  my  wife  crying. 
This  will  take  me  the 
rest  of  the  day  to  re- 
pair that  fence,  and 
the  rest  of  the  week 
to  restore  Liesi's  con- 
fidence in  peace  and 
good  will  on  earth. 
You  nice,  clean,  spot- 
less white  paper  on  my 
desk.  I  won't  spoil  you 
today.  .  .  . 


BAH  a- 

tROVIH 


Busq  as  qou  maq  be 

DON'T  NEGLECT 

HOME  HEALTH 

PROTECTION! 


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P)-=kJ  "When its 
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Flowers  to  beautify  your  Victory  Cirdun  and  lux- 
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edition.  250  full-color  pictures,  2000  annuals  and 
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114 


Grandmdi  Invented  a  heavenly-fasHn^ 
recipe  you  can  secvc  as  a  pie  or  pudding/ 


"HAVE  A  IICK,  SQUIRE!  That 
luscious  flavor  comes  from 
my  Old  Fashioned  Molasses      ^    "^X 
.  .  .  the  finest,  sweetest  '  "^ 

molasses  you   ever  tasted ! 
It's  the  secret  of  all  my 
molasses  dishes,   and  you 
know  how  folks  love  "em  !" 


YOUR  OWN  FAMILY  will  rave  about  this  

molasses-lemon  treat.  Delicious  as  a  pudding         f^mimmir:f^~ 
.  .  .  heavenly  as  filling  for  pie.  But  be  sure  ^^■5^* 

to  use  Grandma's  Molasses  .  .  .  it  does  not  ^Sro^ 

contain  sulphur  dioxide.  Send  the  coupon  below 
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GRANDMA'S 

MOl*S$n-lH«ON  Pit  OR  PUDDING 

'"*'  o,   hoilinq  water 

8  tbs.  cornstarch 
1  c.  sugar 
1  tsp.  salt 
1/3  c.  cold  water 
1/2  c.  Grandma's  Molasses  ^  Jouble  boiler. 

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2  c.  boiling  water 

3  eggs,  separated 
6  tbs.  lemon  juice 
T/2  tsp.  grated  lemon  rind 

2  tbs.  butter  or  margarme 


Meringue:  Beat  ^8f  ^'^\'f  ,Stly  on  molasses-lemon  mixtu' 
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treat  soon! 


x' 


^  \ 


GMHOMll'S 

OLD  FASHIONED 

MOLASSES 


mvi  COOK  BOOK— FREE 

American    Molasses   Company,    Dept.    LHJ-I 
120  Wall  Street,  New  York  5,  N.  Y. 
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of  101  delicious  Molasses  recipes. 
(Please  print  plainly) 

Name 

Address    

City Slate 


<lll^  «ib»  -■ 


Windy  waits  for  someone  to  let  him  in  the  warm  house.  He  loves 
to  eat  popcorn  with  Sister  and  Clover   .    .    .   and  he  likes  it  stceet. 

Diary  of  Doniesticity 


HERE  is  a  strange  thing:  In  summer  I 
always  make  plans  for  those  long  winter 
nights.  I  say  blithely,  "Well,  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  I  am  going  to 
really  learn  to  knit  socks.  There  will  be  time 
then  to  reread  all  of  Shakespeare  and  the 
Elizabethan  poets."  On  a  long  winter  eve- 
ning, we  can  file  the  phonograph  records, 
straighten  the  game  cupboard  and  really 
throw  out  those  incomplete  checker  sets 
and  nibbled  game  boards.  A  thousand  small 
niggling  jobs  we  can  dash  off,  I  think,  in 
winter. 

Every  single  year  I  go  through  this  happy 
reasoning  and  every  year,  in  surprise,  I  face 
the  fact  in  January  that  those  long  winter 
evenings  are  pure  fiction.  Possibly  the 
pioneers  had  them,  but  I  doubt  it.  I  imag- 
ine that  after  a  rugged  bout  with  cooking 
and  weaving  and  scrubbing,  my  pioneer 
housekeeper  simply  heated  the  soapstone  for 
her  rope  bed  and  climbed  in  and  pulled  the 
feather  bed  around  her  ears  and  went  to 
sleep ! 

Sometimes  my  city  friends  ask  me,  with 
sympathy,  if  the  long  winter  evenings  aren't 
dreary.  No  theater,  no  concert,  no  ballet. 
What  do  we  do  with  ourselves? 

What  does  become  of  those  long  winter 
evenings?  I  often  wonder.  Because  I  find 
myself  in  January  saying  cheerfully  and 
with  hope, ' '  Now  when  the  summer  evenings 
come  and  it  stays  light  so  long,  I  can  really 
catch  up  with  all  those  odd  jobs.  I'll  just 
wait  for  summer." 

I  suspect  it  is  just  a  human  weakness  to 
look  forward  to  a  season  with  plenty  of 
leisure,  a  tranquil  space  between  regular 
jobs.  Much  the  way  we  used  to  anticipate 
nice  restful  vacations.  And  then  actually  we 
always  wore  ourselves  out  on  those  nice  rest- 
ful vacations. 

I  wish  we  had  kept  the  Indian  way  of  call- 
ing a  time  a  Moon  of  Hunting,  a  Moon  of 
Com — if  there  was  a  moon  of  corn.  I  call 
January  the  Moon  of  Stoves.  This  is  the  time 
when  it  is  pleasant  to  gather  in  the  big 
kitchen  around  the  old  black  range  and  lift 
out  the  bean  pot  from  the  comfortable  oven. 

We  have  a  fine  electric  stove  in  the  middle 
kitchen,  and  it  has  its  own  elegant  stream- 
lined personality.  It  is  a  modern  invention 
better  than  rubies  to  own.  Turning  a  switch 
and  getting  the  immaculate,  hot  cooking 
power  is  a  fine  thing.  I  say  my  best  for  it. 

But,  also,  give  me  an  old-fashioned  range. 
House  is  not  home  without  one.  The  kitchen 
is  as  warm  as  new-buttered  toast.  The 
chunky  stovewood  sends  a  good  smell  out 
when  you  lift  the  lid,  almost  like  burning 


leaves  on  an  autumn  hill.  The  soup  pot  sir 
mers  gently  in  the  back  corner.  We  eat  . 
the  table  right  near  the  stove  and  bask  in  i 
warmth. 

I  like  the  way  you  can  get  any  gradatic 
of  heat  by  just  pushing  your  pan  an  inch 
the  right  or  an  inch  to  the  left.  And  the  wj 
the  oven  cooks  so  slowly,  the  rich  meat  juic 
just  seal  themselves  in  the  roast. 

We  have  two  kitchens,  and  we  call  o; 
the  back  kitchen  and  the  other  the  midd 
kitchen.  This  often  confuses  guests.  I  sho 
from  upstairs,  "You'll  find  it  in  the  midc 
kitchen!"  and  if  they  are  not  used  to  o 
peculiar  unlogical  family  vocabulary,  tb 
may  be  found  later  in  the  taproom,  and  ri 
body  knows  why  that  room  is  called 
taproom  either! 

But  the  back  kitchen  belongs  especial 
to  the  Moon  of  Stoves.  The  popcorn  in  t 
evening!    The  stuffed  spareribs  on  a  bl 
zardy  noon!    Honey  by  the  oven  lifting 
golden  nose  to  smell  what  mamma  has  i 
side  the  stove  this  time.    Esme  climbij 
happily  into  the  oven  when  the  fire  d 
down.  I  am  sure  few  people  keep  cats  in  t 
oven,  but  Stillmeadow  has  them  there.  It  '■' 
highly  unsanitary,  and  only  people  who  a|  "' 
belong  to  Siamese  cats  could  possibly  and;  ** 
stand  this.  '  " 

Melody,  the  darling  puppy,  pokes  a  blal  '"' 
satin  head  from  under  the  range.  And  tha  ^f 
another  thing.   In  the  middle  kitchen,  thi  '* 
is  no  waste  space  under  the  electric  stove, 
has  drawers  and  warming  ovens  and  ti 
racks.  But  there  is  no  waste  space  under  t  •* 
range.     It  is,  always  packed  solidly  w' 
cockers!  They  feel,  in  January,  that  a  stc  "'' 
equipped  with  a  full  quota  of  spaniels  re3 
completes  the  furnishing. 

We  had  a  fancy  heater  in  the  back  kitcl' 
until  it  rusted  completely  out.   Every  ti 
we  lighted  a  fire,  smoke  poured  from  a  th«; 
sand  places.   So  we  retired  it.   Bob  and 
and  I  sallied  to  Waterbury  to  find  a  ran. 

It  was  a  typical  family  excursion.    I  i  ^ 
lost,  we  almost  got  arrested,  and  we  ca 
home  with  not  only  a  stove  but  a  crate 
green  grapes.  ^ 

We  went  from  store  to  store,  and,  Wal  aid 
bury  having  been  laid  out  by  some  Indian  v  isiioi 
was  no  doubt  under  the  influence  of  firewa  I; 
we  never  found  a  street  that  went  where  lie  i 
wanted  to  go.  Bob  would  drive  ma  loon 
around  the  block,  using  up  gas  in  a  horri  ntf 
way,  while  Jill  and  I  dived  from  basem  tipli, 
to  basement.  All  dealers  keep  their  stove  Half; 
the  basement.  ^is 

Finally  I  ran  ahead,  leaving  Jill  to  insp  \^ 
one  place  and  Bob  to  park.   I  had  a  k  iteoj 


To 

yi. 


ijAUii^o    nuivir-  juuiii>.'\i^ 


lia 


ilight  because  George,  the  mainstay  of 
kennel,  told  me  earnestly  I  must  look  in- 
at  the  firebrick.  As  I  loped  down  the 
vded  street,  intent  on  the  chase,  I  won- 
;d  why  everybody  seemed  to  fall  back  in 
)rise  and  then  turn  and  look  after  me. 
ds  were  craned  from  stores.  Drivers 
ed  from  passing  cars. 
must  have  aged  terribly  in  three  days,  I 
ight  sadly.  Or  maybe  it's  this  red  shirt 
used  to  be  Don's.  Maybe  they  don't  feel 
die-aged  women  should  wear  red  shirts. 
;r  about  six  blocks,  the  truth  came  to  me. 
re  I  was  dashing  down  a  blazing  hot 
it  in  dazzling  sunshine,  holding  a  mam- 
h  flashlight  in  my  lifted  right  hand.  I 
too  much  else  in  my  arms  to  hide  it,  but 
d  turn  it  backward. 

'^e  found  the  range.  Bob  parked  the  car. 
policeman  materialized  instantly.  "  It  is 
ig  to  cost  you  six  dollars  to  park  here," 
aid  happily,  getting  out  his  pad. 
was  buying  an  antique  flatiron  at  the 
nent,  and  a  loaf  of  Italian  bread  from 
next  shop,  and  I  saw  him. 
Run,  Jill,  run!"  I  screamed.  "Bob's 
sted!" 

le  ran,  carrying  a  length  of  stovepipe  in 
arms.  The  secondhand-store  man  panted 
r  her  with  the  legs  of  the  stove,  mutter- 
that  his  heart  wasn't  so  good  any  more, 
he  policeman  gave  in.  And  when  he  saw 
pieces  of  our  range  lying  on  the  walk,  he 
warmly.  "Stay  as  long  as  you  need  to," 
went  on. 

J  the  stove  came  home.  I  had  a  feeling 
it  was  happy  to  be  set  up  in  a  home 
n,  polished  and  come  to  life.  I  wondered 
t  other  home  it  had  lived  in,  how  many 
t  children  had  warmed  their  hands  by  it. 
rge  came  over  and  set  it  up,  and  Jill  got 
stove  polish,  and  I  couldn't  wait  to  stir 
)nions  and  peppers  and  olive  oil  and  get 
n  simmering  on  it. 

'^e  always  do  a  deal  of  cooking  in  the  fire- 
e,  and  we  keep  the  fireplaces  going  even 
.ugust  heat.  We  can  always  find  a  faint 
by  eight  at  night,  so  we  light  the  fire, 
the  stove  is  the  business  center  of  life 
2  days.  It  is  the  heart  of  family  living 
muary. 

like  to  get  dinner  in  the  oven  early  and 

'^■.  my  cooking  done.  A  pan  of  stuffed 

.;ribs  may  go  in  the  range  by  ten-thirty 

■  get  done  in  the  slow  heat  to  a  crispy 

[  ing  goodness.  I  broil  the  ribs  first,  after 

kling  them  with  flour,  salt  and  freshly 

nd  pepper.  Then  I  lay  one  section  flat  on 

k  in  a  roasting  pan,  and  cover  it  high, 

and  handsome  with  stuffing  made  of  one 

chopped  onion,  a  large  chopped  apple, 

)  of  bread  crumbs — or,  better  yet,  poul- 

tuffing — salt  and  pepper.   I  mix  up  the 

ng  well  first,  pack  it  tightly  as  possible, 

lay  the  top  rack  of  ribs  over,  and  tie  the 

pieces  together  with  a  clean  string.  This 

needs  to  bake  only  an  hour,  but  in  the 

it  may  bake  the  rest  of  the  morning 

o  harm  done  either.  A  pan  of  nice  light 

its  goes  in  just  in  time  to  brown  by  the 

r  hour,  and  a  green  salad  tops  off  the 


LASH  is  another  fine  dish,  cooked  on 
f  the  range.  I  brown  two  pounds  of 
led  beef.  While  it  browns,  I  drop  into  a 
i  f  boiling  salted  water  a  pound  of  string 
a  pound  of  peas,  a  bunch  of  carrots 
I  bunch  of  celery,  cut  up,  and  four 
5.  To  this  I  add  a  can  of  kidney  beans 
can  of  tomatoes,  salt  and  pepper.  The 
goes  in  and  the  pot  simmers  an  hour 
half. 

lost  all  stews  and  soups,  I  think,  are 
improved  with  baby  dumplings 
j3d  in  at  the  last.  I  use  two  cups  of 
ifted  with  four  tablespoons  of  baking 
jr  and  a  half  teaspoon  of  salt.  A  table- 
|of  shortening  and  about  two  thirds  of  a 
1  milk  are  added  to  the  dry  ingredients. 
|)  the  dumplings  in  the  soup  from  a 
1;  spoon,  cover  tightly  and  cook  five 
Is  without  lifting  the  lid.  It's  fatal 
l.umplings  to  lift  the  cover  and  peek, 
liecial  favorite  of  ours  for  a  cold  Janu- 
l?ht  is  chile  con  carne.  I  cook  three 
|h1  onions  in  two  tablespoons  of  salad 
lolive  oil  if  I  have  it).  Then  I  add  one 


and  a  half  pounds  of  ground  beef,  one 
quarter  cup  of  suet  and,  when  that  is  nicely 
brown,  a  clove  of  garlic  and  a  tablespoon  of 
chile  powder.  Now  I  stir  in  a  cup  of  hot 
water  and  cook  fifteen  minutes  and  then  add 
two  large  cans  of  kidney  beans.  Then  I  turn 
the  whole  thing  into  a  casserole  and  put  it 
in  the  oven  to  finish.  I  let  it  stay  about  half 
an  hour  in  the  oven — not  a  high  hot  oven 
either. 

To  make  chile  con  carne  a  party  dish,  I 
often  add  a  can  of  tamales  when  the  cas- 
serole goes  in  the  oven.  The  combination  of 
flavors  is  elegant. 

A  good  idea  for  a  party  for  the  young 
people  this  season  is  a  Twelfth  Night  Plun- 
der party.  The  children  are  packed  and 
ready  to  fly  off  again  to  school.  The  tree 
really  has  to  come  down,  for  it  is  shedding 
like  a  rainstorm.  This  year  we  laid  aside 
extra  small  gifts — memo  pads  and  home- 
made sweets  and  hankies — and  wrapped 
them  in  leftover  Christmas  wrappings  and 
put  them  around  the  tree.  After  the 
party  began,  the  guests  stripped  the  tree  of 
ornaments  and  we  packed  them  away  for 
next  year  and  everybody  had  a  little  gift  to 
open,  and  then  the  tree  came  down  and  the 
greens  were  burned  in  the  fireplaces.  We  had 
all  the  Christmas  candles  lighted  to  burn 
down  to  the  last  bit  of  wick,  and  we  had  a 
big  pot  of  chile  on  the  stove. 

lliVERYBODY  fixed  his  own  tray  and 
filled  his  plate  at  the  stove,  and  we  had  a 
basket  of  rye  bread,  and  a  bowl  of  green- 
tomato  dills  and  carrot  sticks  on  the  pine 
chest,  and  cider  and  coffee.  The  remains  of 
the  Christmas  fruitcakes  finished  the  plun- 
der, and  then  we  all  sat  around  the  fire  and 
sang.  I  always  sing,  too,  even  though  I  can- 
not keep  to  the  tune. 

The  spicy  scent  of  the  burning  greens  and 
the  warm  glow  of  the  red  candles  and  the 
crisp  crackle  of  popcorn — this,  too,  is  Janu- 
ary. And  the  night  outside  is  as  beautiful  as 
hope  and  faith.  The  still  and  pale  sky  and 
the  quiet  pure  snow  and  the  clean- 
bladed  air  and  the  massed  darkness  of  the 
woods  with  their  branches  sifting  pearl 
slowly  to  the  deep  snow.  All  the  quiet 
feet  of  the  little  people  of  the  woods  making 
delicate  prints — this  is  January  in  New 
England. 

Honey  and  Melody  and  Snow  and  Silver 
and  Hildegarde  sleep  close  to  the  hearth,  but 
Esme  is  inside  it,  right  up  to  the  shore  of  the 
flame.  Tigger  is  away  on  a  gentleman's  busi- 
ness, but  he  comes  in  with  his  black  satin  fur 
powdered  with  snow,  and  takes  a  snack  be- 
fore rolling  over  and  over  by  the  door  again. 
We  never  knew  where  he  got  the  idea  that 
rolling,  paws  in  mute  supplication,  would  get 
him  in  and  out  of  doors,  but  it  always  works. 
About  the  fourth  roll,  someone  gets  up  and 
says  wearily,  "Oh,  Tigger,  why  can't  you 
stay  in?" 

Sister  and  Clover  and  Windy  and  Pussy 
and  Saxon  like  popcorn  in  a  big  way.  But 
Star  is  a  chocolate  eater  and  a  luster  after 
the  ham  bone.  And  Esme  is  passionate  about 
sweet  corn.  I  never  heard  sweet  corn  advo- 
cated as  a  diet  for  Siamese  cats,  but  she  ad- 
vocates it  loudly  and  long.  Practically  no- 
body, I  should  think,  can  make  as  much 
noise  as  a  Siamese  whose  mind  is  set  on  some 
little  thing.  Esme  sounds  like  a  whole  zoo 
and  several  subway  trains  and  boogie- 
woogie  all  at  once. 

There  is  only  one  thing  to  wish  for  this 
new  year,  and  one  prayer  to  make.  God  give 
us  peace.  Peace  in  every  corner  of  the  tired 
world.  And  may  God  help  us  all,  each  and 
every  one,  to  make  peace  everlasting.  May 
no  children  ever  again  be  born  in  a  world 
where  toys  are  rationed.  And  may  no  homes 
be  broken  again,  ever  in  this  world,  as  the 
men  go  off  to  defend  their  right  to  those 
homes. 

Home  on  a  deep  winter  night,  secure  from 
the  cold,  safe  from  the  wide  storms.  Homes, 
I  know,  are  what  the  world  is  made  for.  We 
in  this  generation  are  paying  a  dear  price  for 
them,  a  dear  price.  All  these  weary  years  we 
have  paid  so  the  smoke  from  our  chimneys 
may  rise  in  the  air  of  freedom  and  liberty. 

A  new  year  of  peace  to  us  all,  and  may 
God  bless  us  and  keep  us  valiant. 


COPYRIGHT    194&.   THE  GORHAM   CO. 


'^^c^t^t  Y^e^te^. . .  C2/^^^^^ 


LAST  .YEAR,  when  we  asked  brides  to 
"share-the-silver,"  we  gave  you  our 
word  that  you  could  match-and-add 
post-war.  When  we  make  promises,  we 
keep  them.  Now  we  suggest  that  you 
plan  your  post-war  entertaining,  list 
what  place-settings  and  serving  pieces 
you  need  to  complete  your  first  mini- 
mum purchase,  and  order  yourself  a 
present  of  sterling  from  your  jeweler. 


Place-settings  of  six  pieces  average 
$23,  incl.  20%  Fed.  Tax... luncheon- 
knife  and  fork,  teaspoon,  cream  soup 
spoon,  salad  fork  and  butter  spreader. 
When  the  Government  releases  sil- 
ver for  civilian  use,  Gorliam  will  return 
full-time  to  replenishing  stocks  for 
Americans  who  like  things  sterling. 
Think  of  it!  Plenty  of  serving  pieces, 
and  no  forks  to  wash  between  courses! 


V* 


PROVIDENCE       7,      RHODE       ISLAND  (y 


Left,  to  right:  camellia,  ENCLISIT  CADROON,  lyric,  CHANTILLY,  GREENBRIER,  BUTTERCUP,  FAIRFAX 


;^s 


r*  Af 


*:-*-»5 


I 


rill' 


m\  TO  Lite  M 


'S<f'Ric/i<MdP'uM 


msmmm 


1  SHALL  first  explain  the  unusual  roof,  in  case 
you  arc  curious.  As  you  see,  the  lines  slope  down- 
ward from  the  sides  to  the  center — but  not  just 
to  be  different.  For  one  thing,  this  treatment 
does  away  with  all  gutters  and  downspouts,  which 
clog,  overflow  and  freeze,  causing  upkeep  and  con- 
cern. Here,  instead,  all  water  runs  to  the  middle 
and  is  carried  off  through  inside  drainpipes  near 
each  end  of  the  house.  Then,  too,  this  type  of 
inward-sloping  roof  is  easier  and  cheaper  to  build 
than  any  other  system — giving  greater  strength  at 
less  expense.  In  fact,  "easier"  is  the  promise  that 
houses  like  this  make  to  you  from  roof  to  founda- 
tion; and  easier,  in  this  case,  means  cheaper  as 
well.  That  promise,  of  course,  can  be  realized 
only  if  the  new  building  methods,  on  which  houses 
like  this  are  based,  become  harnessed  to  full- 
quantity  mass  production  in  both  manufacture 
and  erection;  which  in  turn  can  happen  only  if 
and  when  the  building  industry  can  count  on  con- 
sumer acceptance.  Nothing  like  this  house  is 
available  now.  But  when  the  time  comes,  houses 
will  be  easier  to  build,  because  they  can  be  put  to- 
gether with  comparatively  few  parts,  all  finished 
at  the  factory.  They  will  be  easier  to  buy,  because 
the  mass  production  of  these  parts,  and  the  fast 
simplicity  of  their  erection,  will  greatly  cut  the 
cost  of  building.  They  will  be  easier  to  own,  be- 
cause they  will  be  more  economical  to  heat;  they 
will  require  much  less  cleaning  than  you  have  been 
accustomed  to;  a  half-dozen  door  and  window 


screens  will  do,  and  there  will  be  no  storm  sash  to 
clean,  put  up,  take  down  and  store  away.  The 
planning,  as  you  will  notice,  gives  first  priority  to 
the  ease  of  child  care,  food  preparation  and  serv- 
ing. Notice,  too,  how  the  pleasure  of  family  living 
is  promoted.  For  what  is  actually  a  space  of  mod- 
erate size  has  been  so  arranged  that  it  provides 
separated  areas  for  dining,  study  and  relaxation, 
but  without  creating  a  cluster  of  little  rooms.  By 
using  glass  instead  of  small-windowed  walls  on  the 
sunny  sheltered  side,  the  whole  living  space  gets 
full  vision  to  out-of-doors;  with  abundant  indoer 
daylight,  eyestrain  is  finally  eliminated;  and 
winter  warmth  in  daytime  is  provided  free  of 
charge  by  the  sun.  And  not  only  will  glass  walls 
make  a  house  easier  to  heat  but  there  will  be  new 
types  of  heating  plants  which,  regardless  of  the 
kind  of  fue^  they  use,  will  occupy  no  more  space 
than  a  trunk  and  will  be  fully  automatic.  The 
heat  will  rise  evenly  from  the  whole  floor — sound- 
less, draftless,  dustless.  The  one-piece  combina- 
tion kitchen  units  will  come  ready  to  set  into 
place,  likewise  the  one-piece  bathrooms;  all  de- 
signed for  savings  in  manufacture  and  for  labor- 
saving  at  the  site.  Where  a  house  this  size  would 
have  been  composed  of  fifty  thousand  individual 
parts  and  pieces,  the  parts  for  one  like  this  will  be 
numbered  in  the  hundreds,  all  ready  to  fit  and 
fasten  into  place.  And  the  more  you  like  the 
houses  that  are  made  this  way,  the  sooner  you 
will  have  them. 


SCALE   MODEL   BY   DEVON   DENNETT;   SETTING   AND   PHOTOGRAPHS   BY 

Class  walls  make  possible  and  practical  such  charming  featuri 
the  indoor-outdoor  garden  shared  here  by  the  terrace  and  dii 
room;  and  in  the  plan  below  you  can  follow  the  living  convenii 
made  possible  by  the  simple  and  flexible  method  of  construct 


116 


With  great  affection,  I  said: 

"I  am  going  to  write  to  General  Electric — •" 


Few  writers  have  ever  expressed  so  sincere  a  feeling  about 
a  product  as  did  Mrs.  May  G.  Miller,  of  Bellflower,  Calif., 
in  this  letter  to  us.  She  wrote: 

"I  was  cleaning  my  refrigerator  this  morning,  and  as  I 
looked  at  it  with  great  affection,  I  said:  'Do  you  know 
what  I  am  going  to  do?  I  am  going  to  write  to  General 
Electric  and  tell  tliem  about  you.  Big  people  like  to  hear 
nice  things  as  well  as  little  people.' 

"My  G-E  Refrigerator  has  been  in  constant  use  for  going 
on  seventeen  years.  It  has  never  been  idle  one  day,  and 
has  never  had  one  thing  wrong  with  it.  It  has  in  all  that 
time  just  given  service,  service,  service.  Do  you  wonder 
that  I  feel  about  it  as  I  do?" 


This  17-year-old  G-E  Refrigerator  is  the  model  described  by  Mrs.  Miller  in  glowing  terms. 


Service — today's  yardstick  of  refrigerators 


Nothing  could  please  us  more  than  to  know  that  our  G-E 
Refrigerators  have  won  the  abiding  loyahy  of  users  like 
Mrs.  Miller. 

For  today  we  aren't  making  new  refrigerators.  And  we 
know  that  those  we  have  made  must  keep  going  ...  to  give 
the  efficient  home  refrigeration  that's  so  necessary  in  pre- 
serving wartime  food. 

This  means  that  the  single  yardstick  of  refrigerator  value 
today  is  service — care-free,  trouble-free  service.  And  we're 
very  glad  that  G-E  Refrigerators  are  measuring  up  excep- 
tionally well. 

TUNE  IN:  "The  G-E  All-Girl  Orchestra,"  Sunday,  10  p.  m., 
E.  W.  T.,  NBC — "The  World  Today"  news,  every  weekday,  6:45 
p.  m.,  E.  W.  T.,  CBS. 


JiliHtllll 


Wartime  Reminder:  Your  General  Electric  Dealer  is  as  anxious  as  we 
are  to  see  that  every  G-E  Refrigerator  keeps  giving  efficient  home 
refrigeration.  He's  doing  a  great  job  .  .  .  but  because  of  the  manpower 
shortage,  he's  under  a  serious  handicap.  So  it's  up  to  you  to  give  your 
refrigerator  the  best  of  care  at  all  times.  General  Electric  Company, 

1  Bridgeport,  Conn. 
BUY    AND     HOLD     V/AR     BONDSI      KEEP     ON     BUYING     THEM! 


Here  is  Jhe  latest  model  G-E  Kefrigerator,  shown  in  the  all-el<!<aric  kitelicn  yon'll  soon  lie  alili-  lo  hav< 

efri^erators 

A  MILLION   IN  SERVICE  TEN  YEARS  OR   LONGER 

GENERAL  M  ELECTRIC 


118 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL  January,  1945 

•     ••••••••••*••••••••• 


MY  DREAM  IS 
STILL  A  DREAM... 


ey'  dream  of  a  kitchen  beautiful  to  behold,  a  dream  to 
dazzle  friends,  a  dream  to  work  in.  Now  I'm  told  that 
dream  is  about  to  come  true." 

Right,  Mrs.  Homemaker.  Youngstown,  too,  has  been 
dreaming  ideas  that  are  nearing  reality.  Beautiful,  modern 
kitchens  at  a  low  cost,  so  low  every  home  in  America  can 
have  one  .  .  .  That's  the  Youngstown  ideal. 

In  the  enterprise  to  make  jobs  that  will  bring  sustained 
prosperity  to  our  post-war  America,  Youngstown  will  take 
a  leading  place.  Your  work  will  be  made  easier  by  a 
Youngstown  Kitchen.  Your  purchase  of  a  Youngstown 
Kitchen  will  make  work  for  a  man  who  has  been  away  .  .  . 
fighting  to  keep  America  free. 

See  how  easily  your  kitchen  can  be  changed  to 
a  room  that  is  beautifully  modern,  scientifically 
efficient.  Send  for  Youngstown's  Min-a-Kit  book 
so  that  you  can  actually  model  your  dream  kit- 
chen. The  Min-a-Kit  book  has  46  easy-to-cut- 
out  models  of  Youngstown  units  with  wall 
background  and  full  instructions  for  developing 
your  model  kitchen. 


Until  the  last  shot  is  fired 
—  buy  bonds  —  give 
blood — solvoge  fats  and 
paper — work  for  Victory. 
Then  do  your  port  to  .  .  . 


n«  US  ABuricaii¥b7 


MULLINS    MFG.  CORP.  .  Warren,  Ohio 

Porcelain  Enameled  Products 

Large  Pressed   Metal  Parts    .    .     Design   Engineering   Service 


JiUchem. 

h  Mulling 


r" 


Mullins  Manufacturing  Corporation 

Dept.  L-145,  Warren,  Ohio 

Please  send  me  Min-a-Kit  Book.   Price  10c  in  cash. 

I  plan  to  modernize  Q       I  plan  to  build  D 

Name^ 

Street 

City State 


BUDGET  DISHES 


STUFFED  CABBAIJE  KOLLS 

(Approximate  cost,  83  i'eitts  — 
serves  4—6) 

Parboil  8—10  large  outer  leaves  of  cab- 
bage five  minutes,  just  long  enough 
to  will  them.  Also  cook  '3  cup  washed 
rice  until  tender.  Drain.  Mix  V-z 
pound  ground  beef  and  Y^  pound 
ground  pork.  Season  with  J^  tea- 
spoon salt,  %  teaspoon  thyme  and  a 
dash  or  two  of  pepper.  Add  the  rice,  1 
large  onion,  minced,  and  1  beaten 
egg.  Mix  well.  Shape  into  eight  to  ten 
small  rolls.  Wrap  each  in  a  cabbage 
leaf  and  tie  securely  with  string. 
String  holds  them  together  better 
than  toothpicks.  Put  in  skillet  with  1 
cup  tomato  juice,  1  cup  water,  1  ta- 
blespoon meat  paste  or  powder  or  3 
bouillon  cubes.  Add  1  tablespoon 
shortening,  1  onion,  chopped,  2 
tablespoons  chopped  parsley  and  a 
little  salt.  Cover  and  simmer  one 
hour.  Turn  rolls  occasionally.  Taste 
sauce  for  seasoning.  Thicken  sauce 
slightly  with  a  little  flour-and-water 
paste — about  \'/i  tablespoons  flour 
blended  smooth  with  cold  water.  Re- 
move strings.  Serve  rolls  with  gravy 
jioured  over  them. 

Mt'ituvitP!  Stuffed  cabbage  rolls; 
parsley  potatoes;  glazed  carrots;  bread 
and  spread;  green  salad;  deep-dish 
cherry  pie;  beverage. 

KUSKIAN  BEEF 

i.il>l»roximate  cost,  78  cents  — 
serves  4—6) 

Cut  I'/i  pounds  thinly  sliced  round 
steak  into  half-inch-wiile  strips. 
Dredge  well  with  flour.  Brown  in  \ 
(ablespoons  hot  drippings  or  shorten- 
ing. A<1<1  3  medium-sized  onions, 
<-bopped,  to  the  pan.  Season  %vell 
with  salt  and  pepper.  Add  2'/i  cups 
«ater  and  1  teaspoon  dry  mustard. 
C«>ver  and  simmer  about  an  hour  or 
until  meat  is  tender.  Just  before  re- 
moving from  the  heat  add  1  eup  sour 
«-ream.  Rescason  to  taste.  Serve  with 
bctih^l  ii(ko<lles. 

3li'nut>ttv:  Russian  beef  with  noodles; 
red  cabbage  cooked  with  apple;  sour 
pickles;  lettuce  salad;  rye  bread  and 
spread ;  lemon  cottage-cheese  tarts;  bev- 
erage. 

CUBBIEU  OYSTEKS 

(Approximate  cost,  70  cents — serves  t) 

Drain  12  large  or  16  medium  oysters. 
Save  liquor.  Saute  1  onion,  chopped, 
in  3  tablespoons  shortening  or  salad 
<jil  until  golden.  Sprinkle  with  3  ta- 
blespoons flour  and  blend  in.  Add  1 
«-up  milk.  Cook  and  stir  luitil  thick. 
Blend  1  teaspoon  curry  powder — more 
if  you  like  it  hot — with  a  little  oyster 
liquor  to  smooth  paste  and  add  to  the 
sauce.  Season  with  '/i  teaspoon  sail 
and  some  pepper.  Lastly  add  ihc 
oysters,  drained,  and  3  hard-cooked 
eggs,  cut  into  pieces.  Simmer  over 
low  heat  Just  until  the  oysters  ciu-1. 
Be  careful  not  to  overcook,  as  the  oys- 
ters will  toughen.  As  you  simmer  the 
mixture,  add  some  of  the  «)ysl<'r 
liquor  to  bring  the  sauce  to  the  right 
<>oiisisteiicy.  Sauee  should  be  jusi 
medium  thick.  Oysters  give  off  son>c 
liquid  as  Ihcy  eook,  so  go  easy  on  ex- 
Ira  li<|uor.  Serve  on  rii-e,  noodles, 
loast  or  hot  bis<;uits. 

MvnuvtU':  Curried  oysters;  rice  ring; 
peach  chutney;  peas;  Melba  toast; 
fruit  salad;  beverage. 


YOBKNUIBE  iSAlTKAVES 

(Approximate  cost,  6"  cents — serves  6) 

Place  1  pound  link  sausages  in  an  ob- 
long casserole  or  baking  dish  that 
measures  about  seven  by  eleven  and 
one  half  inches;  or  use  a  round  ten- 
inch  skillet  that  can  go  into  the  oven. 
Cook  sausages  in  a  very  hot  oven, 
475  F.,  for  fifteen  minutes.  This  just 
starts  them  cooking  and  tries  out 
some  of  the  fat. 

While  sausages  are  cooking,  make 
up  a  recipe  of  Yorkshire  pudding. 
This  batter  is  not  hard  or  tricky  to 
make,  as  some  people  think.  Beat  2 
t^gs  very  thoroughly.  Don"t  stop  un- 
til they  are  thick  and  lemon-colored. 
Ad<l  1  cup  milk.  1  cup  flour  and  '/i  tea- 
spoon salt.  Continue  beating  with  a 
rotary  beater  for  two  minutes  more. 

IVow-  remove  sausages  from  oven, 
pour  off  all  but  an  eighth  inch  of  the 
fat  (save  for  gravy  and  fat  salvage)  and 
arrange  sausages  evenly  in  pan. 
Quickly  pour  Yorkshire-pudding  bat- 
ter around  sausages  and  return  im- 
mediately to  oven.  Bake  in  very  hot 
oven,  47.5°  F.,  for  ten  minutes,  then 
reduce  heat  to  350°  F.  and  continue 
baking  twenty-five  minutes  more. 
The  pudding  will  be  puffed  and  crisp 
and  the  sausages  brown.  Cut  into  six 
portions  and  serve  at  once  with  a 
gravy  made  from  4  tablespoons  sau- 
sage fat,  4  tablespoons  flour,  2  cups 
water  and  2  teaspoons  meat  paste  or 
powder  or  2  bouillon  cubes.  Season  to 
taste  with  salt  and  pepper. 

Mf'nuettf:  Yorkshire  sausages;  but- 
tered beets;  green  salad;  French  dress- 
ing; bread  and  spread;  baked  pears 
with  cream;  beverage. 

K4||TA1%'   HASH 

(Approximate  cost,  86  cents — serves  4) 

Saute  2  cups  finely  diced  cooked  ham 
with  1  cup  sliced  onions  in  ham  fat. 
(Fry  the  fat  cut  off  ham  at  first  to 
make  drippings.)  When  onions  are 
golden  brown  and  tender,  add  1  green 
pepper,  diced  or  cut  into  strips,  and 

2  eups  canned  whole-kernel  corn.  Sea- 
son well  with  salt  and  pepper.  Simmer 
until  ham  is  tender  and  mixture  is 
heated  through. 

Mvnuvttv:  Squaw  hash;  baked  pota- 
toes; celery;  bread-and-butter  pickles; 
green  salad,  blue-cheese  dressing;  baked 
apple  Betty;  beverage. 

KIHIVEY-BEAIV  SOUP 

(Approximate  cost,  .57  cents  — 
serves  4—6) 

Soak  2  cups  dfied  red  kidney  beans 
overnight  in  water  to  cover.  The  next 
morning  add  '/2  pound  raw  smoked 
ham,  or  a  ham  bone  if  you  happen  to 
have  one;  a  handful  of  parsley  sprigs; 

3  or  4  sticks  of  celery;  a  large  onion, 
sliced;  3  bay  leaves,  crushed;  2  tea- 
spoons thyme  and  1  teaspoon  salt. 
Simmer  about  two  hours  until  beans 
arc  well  cooked  aii<l  mushy.  Remove 
the  bam  or  bone.  Put  the  soup  mix- 
ture through  a  <'oarse  sieve.  If  there 
is  any  ham,  di<-e  it  and  add  to  soup. 
Rescason  to  taste  with  salt  and  pep- 
per. Y<ui  might  like  to  add  finely 
<*hoppcil  hard-cooked  egg — about  3 
t<»  this  quantity — and  sli<'ed  lem(»n, 
as  is  the  custom  with  black-bean 
soup. 

Mf'nuf'tif:  Kidney-bean  soup;  garlic 
bread;  stufTed-green-pepper  salad;  fruit 
compote;  beverage. 


•  •••••••••*•••••••*•  •! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


REACH  RIGHT  INTO  YOUR  PMTRY! 


All  the  work's  done!  No  scrubbing  or 
scraping.  No  cooking  or  peeling.  No  cut- 
ting or  dicing.  Del  Monte  saves  you  all  the 
work  in  serving  these  everyday,  healthful 
favorites. 

And — what  means  even  more  —  the 
Del  Monte  Brand  brings  you  Beets  and 
also  Carrots  in  a  quality  you  have  always 


wanted  but  hardly  imagined  possible. 

Take  a  look  at  those  bright,  fresh-looking 
colors!  Make  the  fork  test — see  how  firm 
yet  tender!  Then  —  taste  the  flavor  first 
garden  goodness. 

Keep  a  supply  in  your  pantry  for  instant 
main  course  variety  or  for  quick,  easy  salads. 
Good  eating  and  good  for  you! 


3eliBontel 


DICED   BEETS 


:«^**^ 


tve 


t«^" 


►<0^ 


.elf 


,   ^ 


.X^^""' 


J^-- 


'      ,     >W! 


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DICED  CARR 


-QeV 


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.XX*' 


■5,6' 


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«,!»' 


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s^^^''^^^ 


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DEL   MONTE   BEETS 

Same  fine  quality 
in  all  three  styles: 

DICED 

SLICED 

WHOLE 


DEL   MONTE    CARROTS 

A  treat  in  salads, 
main  courses,  any 
vegetable  dish. 
DICED 


For  a 

BRAND  NEW 

enjoyment  of 

BEETS  and 

CARROTS 


/. 


—be  sure  you  say 


i 


120 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


January,  1945 


MY  DOCTOR 


iW  E  •  •  • 


...  to  add  Vitamins  to  supplement 
my  family  needs.  He  advised  me 
that  millions  of  "well-fed"  people 
do  not  get  enough  vitamins  to 
keep  up  a  normal  resistance  to 
colds,  nervous  and  digestive  up- 
sets and  a  general  run-down  con- 
dition. He  also  said  it  was  a  home- 
maker's  duty  to  give  her  family 
the  vitamin  protection  they  need 
and  a  good  vitamin  capsule  or 
tablet  would  help  insure  their 
vitamin  intake. 


VITAMINS 
MULTIPLE  CAPSULES 


/  s  V. 

.  .  .  He  told  me  how  good — ho>v 
low  in  price  ONE-A-DAY  Multiple 
Vitamin  Capsules  are.   I  com- 
pared the  cost  of  one  capsule  a 
day  .  . .  and  from  now  on  One-A- 
Day  is   my  brand.   One  capsule 
each   day  gives    me   normal 
vitamin  health  insurance.  No 
mental  arithmetic  —  no  fuss 
or  worry  .  .  .  What  a  simple 
answer  to   the  vitamin 
problem. 


Guaranteed  by   "^ 
L  Good  Housekeeping  y 


5UIW'" 


jlKiHC 


lllU"" 


kleep 


'itll^^ 


Buy  '*faT  bonds  and  keep  'em 
One-A-Day  is  the  registered 
trade  mark  of  Miles  Lab- 
oratories, Inc. 


aft*  —'-^ 


ONE-A-DAY    (brand)    VITAMINS 


MEET  A  WAR  WIDOW 

(Continued  from  Page  99) 


no  one  would  suspect  they'd  been  doing  any- 
thing special.  They  had  seventeen  dollars. 
And  the  next  week  Dee  met  her  mother  in 
St.  Louis,  and  went  home  to  Staten  Island. 

Dee  got  out  to  see  Bill  once,  on  her  birth- 
day in  November.  The  rest  of  the  time 
she  went  to  Mary  Washington,  in  Fredericks- 
burg, and  learned  how  to  take  care  of  Bill, 
and  the  children  they  wanted.  And  during 
the  summer  he  managed  to  hitchhike  to 
New  York  after  R.O.T.C.  camp  ended. 
After  that  they  were  apart  for  six  months. 
Dee's  mother  knew  they  were  married.  She 
rather  suspects  Bill's  mother  knew  too.  But 
to  everyone  else.  Bill  was  Dee's  boy  friend. 
He  was  on  the  debating  team  of  the  uni- 
versity and  Dee  managed  to  hear  him  when 
the  team  was  in  Chicago  and  the  debate  was 
broadcast.  Her  father  liked  his  voice. 

In  January  of  1941  they  stopped  playing 
at  being  married.  Dee,  with  her  brand-new 
home-economics  knowledge,  went  out  to 
make  a  home  for  Bill  while  he  finished  at  the 
university.  He  had  found  one  room,  with  a 
little  porch,  six  blocks  from  the  campus,  for 
an  incredible  two  dollars  a  week.  Dee 
cooked  on  a  two-burner  electric  stove,  with 
no  heat  control  at  all.  She  took  some 
courses  that  term,  too,  and  they'd  study  to- 
gether after  dinner,  or  sit  on  the  porch  and 
pretend  it  was  a  pent- 
liouse  terrace. 

That  was  1941,  and 
Bill  graduated  that 
June.  He  was  a  cadet 
major,  and  a  lieuten- 
ant in  the  reserve. 
There  wasn't  any 
doubt  about  what  his 
immediate  future  was 
going  to  be.  They  told 
him  he  had  about  six 
weeks  before  his 
orders  would  come 
through.  So  Dee  and 
Bill  came  east  to 
Staten  Island  and  set- 
tled down  with  her 
folks.  He  got  a  tem- 
porary job  with  the 
BethlehemSteelplant 
on  the  island,  to  fill  in. 
And  all  that  summer 
the  Germans  pushed 
deeper  into  Russia, 
past  Kiev  and  Odessa 
and  almost  to  Mos- 
cow.    It    got    a   bit 

harder  to  get  gas — the  stations  closed  at  seven 
in  the  evening.  The  Balkans  were  overrun 
and  there  was  a  second  battle  going  on  in 
North  Africa.  Dee  and  Bill  were  dancing  to 
Only  Forever,  to  All  the  Things  You  Are, 
the  sweet,  sentimental  tunes  that  were  their 
favorites,  being  no  sweeter  than  their  love. 
And  the  boys  were  going.  The  Army  was  get- 
ting bigger  and  bigger,  and  a  lot  of  girls  like 
Dee,  when  it  was  late  and  there  was  no  more 
dancing — Dee,  who  was  waiting  for  Decem- 
ber now  and  Billy's  arrival — were  beginning 
to  get  used  to  the  idea  of  going  on  alone. 

JjUT  Dee  was  very  lucky.  She  says  she 
was:  "We  were  very  lucky.  We  had  so  much. 
Much  more  than  some  people  get  in  all  their 
lives."  At  any  rate.  Bill  was  sent  to  Water- 
town,  New  York,  and  was  there  for  a  whole 
year.  Dee  found  a  tremendous  seven-room 
apartment,  the  whole  first  floor  of  an  old 
mansion.  She  scoured  the  town  for  furni- 
ture— the  bed  cost  five  dollars,  and  Bill 
scraped  it  and  painted  it,  while  she  made  a 
beautiful  blue  sr.tin  cover.  Billy  was  born 
there  on  the  coldest  day  of  the  year.  Bill 
had  just  drawn  $22,000  to  pay  off  his  men 
when  Dee's  mother,  who  had  come  up  from 
New  York,  phoned  to  say  the  baby  was  on 
the  way.  Bill  paid  out  the  $22,000  in  thirty 
minutes,  and  lit  out  for  town  in  a  jeep.  His 
first  words  to  Dee  were,  "Hey,  you  know,  a 
jeep  will  go  eighty!"  Bill's  name  changed 
when  Billy  was  born— he  became  "Rook," 
so  they  wouldn't  get  mixed  up.  In  the  Army 
they  called  him  Square  John. 


"War  llerves"  Victim 

Ed  came  back  from  the  Euro- 
pean war  with  blackness  and 
bitterness  in  his  soul,  unahlo 
to  sleep  or  eat,  halin<;  crowds, 
halinp  to  hi'  alone.  His  21- 
yoar-old  wife  has  two  tots 
under  two  years.  But  she 
manages  to  put  herself  and 
them  second  as  slie  helps  Ed 
fight  the  long  way  liack  to 
the  .sweet  and  considerate  man 
he  was  Ix'fore  he  .saw  war. 
\\ atch  for  the  absorbing  story 
of  their  struggle  in 

in  IIm> 
FEBRl.%K%    .IOIHIV.4L 


His  commission  was  in  the  cav^ry,  but 
the  cavalry  didn't  seem  to  be  doing  a  great 
deal  in  this  war,  so  he  applied  for  transfer  to 
the  Air  Corps,  and  was  accepted.  Then  Dee 
began  to  move.  First  Tennessee.  Then  Santa 
Ana,  then  Tucson,  where  they  rented  a 
whole  ranch  because  they  could  get  nothing 
else.  Then  Lemoore,  California;  Stockton, 
California;  and  Albuquerque.  Dianne  was 
born  there.  Bill  was  able  to  be  with  Dee  there 
until  a  month  before  Dianne  arrived.  He 
went  to  El  Paso  then,  and  Dee  was  frantic, 
because  she  was  pretty  sure  it  was  his  last 
stop  before  he  went  overseas.  Her  mother 
came  out  to  be  with  her  again,  and  although 
Dee  had  a  pretty  bad  time  with  Dianne- 
four  transfusions — she  insisted  on  getting, 
down  to  Bill.   Her  mother  drove  her  down. 

liME  was  getting  so  short  now!  Those 
last  two  months,  after  Dianne  was  bom  and 
before  Bill  was  shipped,  she'd  wake  up  at 
night  and  lie  listening  to  Bill  breathe,  telling 
herself  that  he  was  alive — he  was  so  alive 
that  he  couldn't  ever  die.  Then  he  left  and 
she  came  home  to  her  family  with  the  babies. 
Well,  he  did  die,  at  not  quite  twenty-four. 
They'd  had  a  lot,  of  course.  They  had  the 
two  children,  first  a  boy,  then  a  girl,  and 
right  off  so  that  they  could  grow  up  with 

Dee,  and There 

it  is,  you  see.  Now 
there  are  just  the 
children  and  Dee  to 
grow  up  together.  And 
all  the  other  things. 
The  house  they  were 
going  to  build.  They 
had  a  two-family 
house  picked  out  they 
were  going  to  buy 
when  Bill  came  back. 
The  rent  from  the 
other  half  would  help 
household  expenses 
very  nicely.  And  Bill 
would  get  his  job  at 
Bethlehem  Steel  back 
and  go  to  law  school 
in  New  York  nights 
till  he  got  his  degree 
and  began  to  prac- 
tice, and  was  enor- 
mousl  y  successful  and 
they  were  rich  and 
could  build — the 
house  that  Dee  has 
all  the  plans  for  now. 
What's  the  end  of  the  story?  There  isn't 
any  end.  There  are  Dee's  plans^she's  had  a 
good  training  in  home  economics.  What  she'd 
really  like  would  be  a  job  on  a  newspaper  or 
magazine  or  in  an  advertising  office  where 
the  fashion  training  her  home-economics 
work  gave  her  would  be  useful.  She  wants 
to  work  because  she  will  need  the  money,  of 
course,  and  to  fill  her  life  too.  Luckily,  she 
need  not  worry  about  leaving  the  children 
with  strangers.  Bill,  too,  would  approve  of 
her  arrangement  to  have  her  mother  look 
after  them  while  she  works. 

Both  the  children  were  to  go  to  the  Uai- 
versity  of  Illinois — Billy  was  to  pick  out  his 
own  profession.  It  would  be  nice  if  it  were 
law,  like  his  father's — the  one  his  fatl^ 
never  had.  And  Dianne  was  to  get  married, 
be  as  happy  and  lucky  as  Dee.  WhatevK 
Dee  can  do  to  make  that  happen,  she  will  do. 
And  after  a  while,  some  of  it  will  begin  ko 
make  sense  and  be  really  important,  even 
down  in  the  hurt,  shocked  places  whe 
Bill's  constant  love  used  to  be.  Dee  is  very 
young,  and  she  has  a  lot  of  life  ahead  of  her. 
probably  a  very  full  and  interesting  Wt. 
Right  now  there  is  only  one  thing  she 
see  in  the  future  that  could  hurt  her  any 
more  than  she  has  been  hurt.  That  would  1 
a  peace  at  the  end  of  the  war  that  would  b»| 
tray  Bill's  death  and  her  loss. 

If  Bill  died  for  nothing,  if  Billy  is  going  U| 
grow  up  to  face  the  same  situation  that  to 
Bill  and  killed  him  before  he  was  twenty-| 
four— then  there  will  be  nothing  left 
Dec  to  believe  in. 

Printed  in  U.  S.  Al 


LADlBii'  HOME 


THE  M AUAZIKE  WOMEK  BELIEVE  %?i    "A    V^IETEEN  CEZVTS    ic    FEBRI  ARY.  1945 


*  <iymme  In  zJlme  IjIi in  i  i^ 


^(mt 


CONDENSED     IN       THIS      ISSUE 


.^/.7»f^Wj^  ,V.1W  SERIIL  ^^J{f.r.>MeSerLrl 


FEBRUARY,  1945 


Vol.  LXIl,  No.  2 

IVOVEL  CONDEIWSATION  COMPLETE  IIV  THIS  ISSUE         page 
A  FUGUE  IN  TIME Rumer  Codden      28 


RUMER  GODDEN  (A  Fugue  in  Time) 
writes,  "At  one  time  I  ran  and  owned  a  big 
dancing  school  in  Calcutta.  Trained  in  Lon- 
don, I, went  out  to  make  this  school  the 
pioneer  of  its  kind  in  India,  for  having 
written  and  produced  several  ballets,  I 
thought  first  to  do  this  work  seriously  — 
instead  of  writing.  England  was  my  birth- 
place, but  India  has  been  my  home  since  I 
was  six  months  old.  I  was  one  of  four  sisters 
and  we  spent  an  isolated  childhood  in  small 
Indian  towns  on  the  banks  of  the  great 
rivers  of  Eastern  Bengal  and  Assam.  How- 
ever, we  were  all  wonderfully  happy,  sailing, 
fishing  and  riding,  and  we  all  wrote  books.  I 
wrote  the  story  of  my  life  when  I  was  seven." 


ELLI  MARCUS 


MAXIM  KOPF,  who  painted  our  cover 
design,  says,  "I  never  wanted  to  be  any- 
thing but  a  painter,  an  ambition  in  which  I 
received  no  encouragement  whatever  from 
my  family.  But  my  father  finally  allowed 
me  to  enter  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  in 
Prague,  whose  entrance  examinations  1  had 
already  secretly  taken  and  passed.  During 
the  last  war  I  fought  in  a  Czech  regiment 
(with  little  enthusiasm  but  some  honor)  for 
His  Majesty's  Austro-Hungarian  Empire. 
I  got  out  of  it  more  dead  than  alive,  and  His 
Majesty's  Empire  did  not  get  out  of  it  at  all. 
But  Czechoslovakia  was  born,  so  I  went 
happily  home  to  Prague  and  became  a  citi- 
zen. Although  the  war  had  made  me  restless 
and  I  traveled  extensively,  I  might  have 
settled  down  except  for  Hitler,  who  set  me 
moving  again,  this  time  through  prisons 
and  concentration  camps.  Eventually  I 
reached  America,  and  here,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-two,  I  found  what  I  had  been  looking 
for  all  my  life.  This  land  will  one  day  create 
an  art  as  great  as  the  country  itself.  It  will 
not  be  feverish,  eccentric  and  sensational, 
but  affirmative  and  grand.  I  only  regret  I 
shall  not  live  long  enough  to  paint  all  I  want 
to  paint,  or  as  well  as   I   want   to  paint." 


E.  IVILLIAMS,  authorof  Afenu/orLoDe, 
writes,  "I  like  French  oysters,  English  fur- 
niture and  modem  American  poetry." 


FICTION 

THE  WHITE  DRESS  (First  part  of  Five) Mignon.  C.  Eberhart 

PRESCRIPTION  FOR  A  FURLOUGH  .     .     .     Robert  and  Rosemary  Cadigan 

THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE George  Loreridge 

MENU  FOR  LOVE E.  tfilliama 

SUCH  LITTLE  FAITH Bernadine  Kreis 

BUTCH's  BUSINESS William  L.  Warden 


SPECIAL  FEATURES 


IF  I  WERE  A  MAN 


Judith  Chase 


IF  I  WERE  A  WOMAN     .     . 

A  BELL  FOR  SPRINGFIELD 

THE  soldier's  WIFE Dorothy  Thompson 

ROMANTIC  PAINTING   IN   AMERICA: 

THUNDERSTORM,  N ARHAGANSKTT  BAY      .     .      Martin  Johnson  Heade 
WHAT  YOU  CAN  DO  TO  HELP  THE  RETURNING  VETERAN     Willard  Waller 

IF  YOU  ASK  ME Eleanor  Roosevelt 

THIS  CAN  BE  AMERICA:  MARY  SITS  WITH  THE  STARS.     .  Struthers  Burt 

it's  IN  THE  FAMILY Henry  Pleasants,  Jr.,  M.D.,  F.A.C. P. 

HOW  AMERICA  lives:  MEET  ED  SAVICKAS J.  C   Furnas 

COMBAT  FATIGUE Lt.  Comdr.  Leslie  B.  Hohman,  M.C.,  VSNR 


17 
20 
23 
24 
30 
39 


4 
6 
6 

22 

26 

38 

92 

121 

141 

146 


GENERAL  FEATURES 

IMPRINTS  (The  Sub-Deb) Elisabeth  Wcoduiard.  8 

OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 10 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL 15 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 15 

ASK  ANY  WOmUn Marcelene  Cox  82 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 90 

don't  LET  CHILDREN  NEEDLESSLY  SUFFER  I    Dr.  Herman  l\.  Bundesen  126 

THIS  IS  A  STUFFIT Munro  Leaf  131 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  Taber  160 

FASHIONS  A.ND  REAUTY 

FASHION  POINTS  TO  SPRING Wilhela  Cushman  32 

TAKE  THREE  AND  MAKE  A  WARDROBE      ....       Ruth  Mary  Packard  34 

THE  SUN  SHINES  EAST  .  .  .  THE  SUN  SHINES  WEST      Wilhela  Cushman  36 

GOOD  TEETH  FOR  EVERYBODY Louise  Paine  Benjamin  149 

MAKE-OVER  MAGIC Daicn  Crotvell  165 

GARDEN,  ARCHITECTURE,  INTERIOR   UECORATION 

NO  PAMPERING  FOR  THE  PRESENT    ....      The  Gardener's  Assistant  125 

GOOD  NEIGHBORS '  .     Richard  Pratt  150 

POSTWAR  ROOM  FOR  LIVING Henrietta  Murdoch  156 

FOOD  AND  HOMEMAKING 

NICE  TO  COME  HOME  TO Ann  Batchelder  40 

LINE  A  DAY Ann  Batchelder  42 

IF  WISHES  WERE  KITCHENS Judy  Barry  153 

FOOD  FOR  FIDGETY  FOLKS Louella  G.  Shouer  154 


WINS  ORDERS  FROM  HEADQUARTERS 


88, 154 


POETRY 

STRANGE  HOUSE Isabelle  Bryans  iMngfeltotv  51 

FOR    KATHARINE John  Ackerson  59 

NOT  FOR  SALE Georgie  Starbuck  Galbraith  62 

WITHOUT  MEDALS Bianca  Bradbury  69 

SONG  BEYOND  WORDS iMuise  Owen  77 

SO  MANY  THINGS Virginia  Scott  Mint  r  106 

TO  AN  ADVENTURING  CHILD Dorothy  Brown  Thom/ison  114 

TO  HAVE  MY  FREEDOM Jesse  Stuart  122 

son's  HOMECOMING Ethel  Burnett  do  f'ito  128 

COMMISERATE  BLADE Ethel  Romig  Fuller  1 35 

Cover:  Paintintf  by  Maxim  Kopf 


LADIKS'  HOME  JOl'RN.M,  (  Ih. 

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,,,.■    h.m.niis.   .\ny    rf.^pmhl.iii>  ■     i 


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ii)R  its  date. 
iTiial  fiction 
i.il   persons. 


id.' 


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otZ^feVw 


The  greatest 

star  of  the 

screen  I 


This  is  our  72nd  column !  Our  40  million 
readers  now  know  that  we  never  rave 
without  reason. 

•k       -k       -k       -k 
And,  brethren  and  sistren,  we're  raving 
about  two  new  films  coming  around 
the  mountain  of  the  New  Year. 

•      •      •      • 

First,  there  is  "Thirty  Seconds  Over 
Tokyo",  the  deeply  moving  dramatiza- 
tion of  Captain  Ted  Lawson's  true 
account  of  the  surprise  thrill  of  the 
war — the  first  bombing  of  Tokyo  by 
those  gallant  men  who  took  off  from 
Shangri-La ! 


Spencer  Tracy  turns  in  his  most  com- 
manding performance  as  Lieutenant 
Colonel  "Jimmy"  Doolittle;  handsome 
Van  Johnson  (did  you  read  Life?)  adds 
to  his  laurels  as  Lawson;  and  Robert 
("Hargrove")  Walker  is  the  dead-eye 
gunner  of  their  B-25  bomber,  "The 
Ruptured  Duck." 

■k      k      -k      k 

Lovely  Phyllis 
Thaxter  (a  new 
dream)  plays  Ellen, 
Lawson's  bride, 
warming  the  picture 
with  a  tender  ro- 
mantic note  that 
makes  "Thirty  Sec- 
onds Over  Tokyo" 
a  truly  magnificent  story  of  deep-abiding 
love  and  inspiring  courage. 

•  •      •      • 

Then,  M-G-M  has  forthcorrwng  a  gay, 
gorgeous,  grand  and  Techniglorious  film 
delight,  "Meet  Me  In  St.  Louis."  It 
takes  you  back  to  the  St.  Louis  Fair  as 
a  guest  of  the  Smiths,  a  family  that 
might  be  your  own— if  you  have  one. 

•  •  •  • 
Judy  Garland  is  the 
star— young,  viva- 
cious, golden-voiced 
Judy—as  the  girl 
just  awakening  to 
love  for  the  boy  next 
door.  And  with  her, 
as  an  impish,  devil- 
ish, utterly  lovable 
kid  sister,  is  that 
great  artist,  little 
Margaret  O'Brien. 
k  k  k 
Happy-hearted,  brimming  with  music 
and  the  joy  of  living,  "Meet  Me  In  St. 
Louis"  includes  seven  smash  songs, 
among  them  that  bell-ringing  success, 
"Clang,  Clang,  Clang,  Went  the  Trolley" 
that  you're  hearing  on  the  hit  parade. 

•  •      •      • 

When  you  "Meet  Me  In  St.  Louis"  and 
spond  "Thirty  Seconds  Over  Tokyo", 
you'll  get  a  good  idea  of  the  great  enter- 
tainment to  expect  from  M-G-M  all 
through  this  Happy  New  Year! 

•  •      •      • 

Which,  by  the  way,  we've  wished  you. 
— ^eo 

P.S. 

(Perfect  Screen-lreat) . 

William  Powell  and 
Myrna  Loy  are  back 
again  as  Nick  and 
Nora  in  a  new,  laugh- 
packed,  thrill-fraught 
adventure,  "The  Thin 
Man  Goes  Home." 


• 

• 
it 
• 

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■A- 
• 
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• 
• 

• 

• 
■A- 
■k 
•A- 
• 

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• 

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• 
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* 

• 

* 
• 

• 

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ir 
-k 
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■A- 
• 
• 


""^^'^BASY. 


does  Everi|thing 

AU  3  KINDS  OF  WARTIME  WASH ! 


DUZ  does  MORE ! 


Women  everywhere  call  DUZ  a  washday  won- 
der—it just  can't  be  beat  for  getting  clothes 
clean  and  white  easy.  But  that's  not  all.  DUZ 
is  also  safer  for  colors  than  any  other  leading 
washday  soap— safer  even  for  rayon  undies. 
DUZ  really  does  everything. 


IT'S  PROCTER  &  GAMBLE'S 
NEW  KIND  OF  SOAP 

A  liNle  DUZ  a  lot. 

Don't  waste  DUZ — it 
contains  vital  w.ir  materials. 


IP  I  WERE 

AWOMA 


UV  .IIIIMTII  4  IIASK 

JUST  how  man  would  improve  on  the 
fair  sex  if  lie  were  given  a  chance  at 
changing  genders  is  a  topic  rivaled  in 
popularity  only  by  woman's  ideas  on 
reforming  the  male. 

Here  are  the  opinions  of  a  few  well-known 
figures  who  mince  no  words  on  just  what 
antics  they'd  avoid  or  actions  they'd  adopt 
if  they  belonged  to  the  opposite  sex. 

Would  men  make  better  women  than 
women  men?  That's  for  you  to  decide  after 
reading  what  they  have  to  say. 


"1  wouldn't  wear  slacks  when  I  was  built 
for  a  bustle.  I'd  never  wear  snoods,  because 
I  hate  snoods  on  women,  and  I'd  leave  off 
those  club-footed  wedgies— they  sound  like 
breakfast  food  anyway." 

—  Iluinphrfii  itnnart. 

"1  wouldn't  try  to  live  and  function  by 
masculine  values,  as  so  many  modern  Amer- 
ican women  do."  —Iliffard  Oilt'ln. 


"1  wouldn't  allow  a  man  to  see  me  right 
after  I'd  been  to  the  hairdresser.  A  woman 
before  her  hair  is  combed  out  is  a  pretty 
grim  sight.  Those  tight,  wet.  sticky  curls 
anchored  down  with  pins  make  her  look  like 
some  mechanical  monster.  Her  head  looks 
too  small  for  her  body,  her  features  look  too 
sharp,  and  there  is  very  little  softness.  I've 
seen  women  shopping  and  lunching,  com- 
pletely oblivious  of  liow  unattractive  they 
appear  to  men.  Maybe  Ihey  don't  care.  But 
they  should.  If  I  were  a  woman  I  shouldn't 
give  a  man  a  chance  to  see  me  at  anything 
but  my  best."  — Itt-nnin  .tiftronn. 

"I  wouldn't  run  down  other  girls  that  my 
husband  or  boy  friend  admired.   Nor  would 
I  bother  people  to  try  to  get  me  nylons." 
— Arthur  William  ttrntrn. 


"I  wouldn't  carry  one  of  those  handbags 
with   built-in  lost-and-found  departments, 
landbags  is  the  cwaziest  contwaptions." 
— I.t'ir  1,4'hr. 

"I  wouldn't  think  that  tlie  only  war 
leroes  are  the  men  with  rows  of  campaign 
ribbons.  A  lot  of  fellows  who  would  like  to 
be  fighting  overseas  are  under  orders  to  do 
an  important  job  on  the  liome  front  in  the 
service  or  on  the  prochiction  lines." 

—S/Stit.  It.  »".  .larhHun. 

II.  S.  IVItiriiK-  <:or|>n. 


"  I'd  try  to  make  up  my  mind  quicker  and 
not  hold  up  the  line  at  the  ticket  window  or 
bargain  counter."  —itanaia  A.  Laird. 


"  I  wouldn't  wear  an  obviously  unbecom- 
ing hat  jMst  because  it  was  the  latest  decree 
of  fashion.  I  would  wear  smart  footgear 
without  ruining  my  metatarsals.  I  would 
keep  from  getting  fat  without  always  talk- 
ing about  it,  and  I  would  not  have  a  mag- 
pie's nest  for  a  handbag." 

—  William  Kuhv  Hfitt't. 


"I  wouldn't  ever  expose  my  ears.  I 
wouldn't  color  my  nails  dark  red.  Old  Irv 
Cobb  said,  'It  looks  as  if  they'd  been  kill- 
ing ticks.'  I  certainly  would  leave  off 
those  large  brass  octopi  they  pin  on  their 
chests.  I  wouldn't  chew  gum  anywhere. 
And  I  wouldn't  wait  until  I  was  middle- 
aged  to  recognize  that  I  was  allowing  my- 
self to  get  fat  and  ugly  and  then  in  a  panic 
try  to  reduce  the  easiest — the  dangerous 
way — with  drugs." 

— 'lann'H  M»»nta*»nn'rii  FInaa. 

"I  wouldn't  do  anybody  else's  mending." 
— ./««'#  Huinn'rnian, 

"I  would  not  foUow  my  husband  around 
the  house  with  an  ash  tray  in  one  hand  and 
a  broom  in  the  other,  waiting  for  his  cigar 
to  overflow  on  the  rug." 

— fc"#»of«»#'  IturnH. 

"I  wouldn't  complain  constantly  of  the 
difticulties  of  managing  a  household  under 
rationing  and  the  shortage  of  domestic  help. 
Most  men  appreciate  the  extra  burden  their 
wives  are  carrying  now.  But  when  visiting 
friends  or  out  for  an  evening  of  relaxation, 
some  women  seem  to  enjoy  pooling  their 
discomforts  and  difficulties  in  getting  help, 
cosmetics,  clothes  or  foods.  If  I  were  a 
woman  and  managing  a  home,  I'd  take  a  cue 
from  the  masters  in  any  field  and  make  it 
look  easy."  —Itarld  Hrat-kman. 


"I'd  never  admit  to  myself  that  man  is 
my  superior  in  anything  except  boasting  and 
killing,  and  I'd  vote  consistently  against  any 
male  candidate  for  political  office  who 
seemed  likely  to  promote  the  world's  worst 
psychosis,  warmaking.  I'd  use  lipstick  some- 
where near  the  color  of  human  lips  and  I'd 
never  use  lipstick  that  made  my  lips  taste 
like  axle  grease  when  some  man  kissed  me." 
—  William  Mnullan  ^InrHlan. 
(Coulhuicd  un  I'agf  110) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


IF!  WERE 
_AMAN 


"  I  wouldn't  take  a  woman  all  done  up  in  her 
prettiest  to  dinner  in  a  restaurant,  then  look 
too  hard  and  too  long  at  another  woman  across 
the  room."        — Mignon  O.  Kberhart. 


"I  wouldn't  have  half  a  dozen  Tom  Col- 
linses before  going  out  to  play  golf,  then  let 
profanity  substitute  for  proficiency  on  the 
golf  course."  —Lt.  Patrii'ia  llfrv, 

V.  S.  IVIariiie  Corps  Vl'omeii's  Reserve. 


"I  wouldn't  pride  myself  complacently  on 
the  accidental  fact  of  having  been  born 
male.  I'd  not  consider  ability  to  grow  chin 
whiskers  a  sign  of  superior  enlightenment. 
For  somehow  men  (and  don't  mistake  me — 
I'm  awfully  fond  of  the  dear  things)  do 
chng  like  limpets  to  that  proposition. 

"Is  the  lady  clever  enough  to  spell  out 
the  front-page  headlines?  She  thinks  'like  a 
man.'  At  bridge  does  she  remember  to  re- 
turn her  partner's  lead?  She  'plays  like  a 
man.'  She  'drives  like  a  man'  if  she  accom- 
plishes the  most  elementary  feats  of  parallel 
parking,  and  owns  a  'masculine  sense  of 
honor'  if  scandal  doesn't  interest  her  ex- 
traordinarily. Nonsense!  When  it  comes  to 
gossip,  bad  driving  or  hidebound  convictions, 
man  can  match  the  woman  every  time.  Lis- 
ten in  on  locker-room  conversations.  Watch 
the  accident  statistics.  Notice  who  it  is  that 
heads  a  Bund  or  Ku  Klux  Klan. 

"No,  if  I  belonged  to  the  gender  which 
shaves  every  morning  and  runs  political 
conventions,  I  wouldn't  brag  about  it  or 
condescend  to  the  alleged  frailer  sex.  For 
everyone  knows  it's  a  man's  world — and 
just  look  what  they've  done  to  it!" 

—PhvlliH  MrOinlvn. 


"I  wouldn't  walk  around  the  house  in  my 
shorts."  —Uarbara  Stanirni'li. 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  blandly  superior  when 
women  enter  serious  discussions  of  world 
affairs.  After  all,  it's  a  long  time  since  grand- 
mother's day  of '  seen-and-not-heard  ladies,' 
so  I  don't  know  why  modern  men  have  to 
aci  like  grandfathers." 

— Jfanvtte  MarUonald. 
(Mrs.  <Fene  Huymond.) 

"I  wouldn't  make  so  much  noise  when  I 
cough."  —Cornt'lia  Oti»  Skinner. 


"I  wouldn't  ever  tell  my  love  about  the 
girls  I  used  to  know.  Nothing  but  bloodshed 
comes  from  these  revelations.  I  wouldn't 
tell  my  girl,  'My  mother  and  I  are  great  pals 
and  you  two  girls  will  love  each  other.' 
(They  won't !)  A  girl  doesn't  want  to  marry 
a  good  son.  She  wants  to  marry  a  good  hus- 
band. I  wouldn't  give  my  woman  into  the 
keeping  of  my  best  friend  with  the  remark, 
'I  know  I  can  trust  you,  honey.'  When  a 
man  trusts  a  woman  he  takes  her  for  granted, 
and  most  normal  women  would  rather  be 
dead  than  taken  for  granted." 

—Mtetty  Smith. 


"I  wouldn't  smoke  cigars  or  ever  call  my 
wife  'the  little  woman.'" 

— 9tary  3lartin. 


"I  wouldn't  keep  harping  on  it.  I  loathe 
men  who  keep  saying,  'You'd  better  let  me 
handle  this.  I'm  a  man.'  I  wouldn't  wear  a 
hat  unless  I  looked  absolutely  sensational  m 
one.  A  man  in  a  hat  that  doesn't  fit  either 
his  head  size,  the  shape  of  his  face  or  his 
personality  is  the  most  frightening  sight  in 
the  world."  —Hanalind  UusHfll. 


"I  wouldn't  boast  about  the  companion- 
ship I  have  with  my  wife,  yet  bury  myself 
behind  the  morning  paper  every  day  at 
breakfast."  — 31  am  Urinaatanf. 

(Mrs.  .latk  Benny.) 

"I  wouldn't  complain  about  women  being 
gossips.  Gossiping  isn't  just  a  woman's 
monopoly.  Look  at  the  male  gossip  colum- 
nists and  the  masculine  maligning  that  goes 
on  in  the  barbershops.  Gossip  is  part  of 
human  nature— not  just  a  feminine  char- 
acteristic." —Itidu  Satiatt. 


"I  wouldn't  applaud  the  equality  of  the 
sexes  during  the  day  while  my  wife  holds  a 
full-time  job,  but  assume  the  privileges  of 
the  male  in  the  evening  while  my  wife  does 
the  'woman's  work'  of  preparing  dinner, 
washing  dishes  and  cleaning  the  house." 
— ,K  Snt.  Aanea  J.  Canhman, 

V.  S.  Marine  Corps  Women's  Reserve. 

(Continued  on  Page  116) 


Softer,  Smoother  Skin 


Mrs.  William  H.  Geyer,  Nutley,  N.  J. 

"My   firs*   coke   of   Comoy    leff   my   skin   so 
much  iofter,  t  wouldn't  think  of  changing," 


Tests  by  doctors  prove  Mild  Camay 


cleanses  without  irritation 

It's  exciting— to  see  the  fresh  new  bloom  of 
beauty  that  one  cake  of  Camay  brings  to 
your  skin!  So  today,  change  from  improper  care 
to  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet.  Doctors  tested 
this  mild  care  on  over  100  complexions.  And 
with  the  very  first  cake  of  Camay,  most 
complexions  simply  sparkled— looked  fresher, 
clearer,  softer!  "Camay  is  really  mild."  said  the 
doctors,  "//  cleansed  without  irritation." 


I 


7 


>v 


■te-w 


go  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet 


Take  only  a  minute,  night  and  morning 
Cream  that  mild  Camay  lather  over  your 
face— over  forehead,  nose  and  chin. 
Rinse  warm.  And  if  you  have  oily  skin, 
add  a  lively  C-O-L-D  splash! 

That's  all.  And  your  skin  is  lovelier 
with  just  one  cake  of  Camay. 


Make  your  Camay  last  and  last- 
's made  of  vital  itar  materials. 


EDITORS 


A 


>^^ 


ft 


MARY    COOKMAN 
Exi\'utiie  SilUor 


UURA   LOU    BROOKMAN 
Mananinit  Editor 


AssM-iuie  £,to.«-5:  HUGH  MAC  NAIR  KAHLER  •  JOHN  SCOTT  MABON  •  BERNAROtNE 
KIELTY  •  ANN  BATCHEIDER  •  WIIHELA  CUSHMAN  •  FRANK  EITONHEAD 
AUCE  BUNN  •  LOUISE  PAINE  BENJAMIN  .  EUZABETH  WOODWARD  •  RICHARD 
PRATT      •      HENRIETTA   MURDOCK      •      LOUELLA   G.  SHOUER      •      MARY   LEA   PAGE 

Aiiifiani  EdU,.ri:  JOHN  WERNER  •  CHARLOHE  JOHNSON  •  ROBERT  ATHERTON 
DONALD  STUART  •  EUGENIA  WHITMORE  BROWN  •  RUTH  MARY  PACKARD  •  BETTY 
HANNAH  HOFFMAN  •  DAWN  CRO  WELL  •  RUTH  MAHHEWS  •  NELL  GILES  •  NORA  OLEARY 
AUCE  CONKUNG  •  MILDRED  ARNOLD  •  JUDY  BARRY  •  NOEL  SMYTH  BUTCHER 
I 


T 


T 


% 


9 


it  Ml 
[or  Niii'iiiriii'lil 


MOST  of  us  in  America  grew  up  in  small 
towns  where  ever>body  knew  almost 
everybody  else.  From  that  svTnbolic  home 
town  to  the  modern  city  of  uprooted  and  in- 
different millions  is  a  far  cry.  a  long  jump  in 
citizensliip.  But  citizens  must  grow  with 
their  town;  if  we  are  going  to  have  any  part 
in  sliaping  new  growth,  we  must  know  at 
least  in  what  direction  we  are  heading  and 
how  far  we  have  gone. 

Our  Home  Town,  a  pocket-size  booklet 
published  by  Springfield.  Massachusetts,  is 
a  new  and  hopeful  step  in  municipal  report- 
ing, graphically  revealing  how  the  city  is 
governed  and  what  that  government  means 
to  Springfield  dwellers. 

".Are  you  a  registered  voter?" — for  in- 
stance— is  a  pointed  paragraph  on  where, 
and  why.  the  citizen  should  vote. 

In  each  of  the  articles  on  city  departments, 
expenditures  for  the  past  three  years  are 
given.  Two  full-page  charts  show  where  the 
money  came  from  and  how  it  was  used, 
making  the  relation  between  taxation  and 
services  plain. 

An  outsider  can  hardly  fail  to  be  im- 
pressed by  Springfield's  up-and-coming 
virtue,  but  not  because  it  is  extolled  in  Our 
Home  Town.  Strictly  reportonal.  and  minus 
glowing  phrases,  the  booklet  acquaints  its 
readers  admirably  with  the  ins  and  outs  of 
the  city-hall  network.  At  Your  Sers-ice,  on 
the  back  cover,  is  "a  handy  check  list  of 
often-used  city  services,"  with  telephone 
numbers. 

Springfield  citizens  have  worked  two  years 
on  the  study  that  went  into  this  report. 
Copies  are  given  free  to  any  citizen  on  re- 
quest. 

Community  surveys  have  been  made  be- 
fore, and  in  too  many  sad  cases  have  col- 
lected dust  into  oblivion.  But  any  town 
that  really  wants  to  know  itself,  and  where 
it  is  going,  can  profit  h\  Springfield's  example. 

•      •••••••• 

IF  YOl  K  COPY  IS  LATE 

Because  of  the  uncertainties  of  u-artime  trans- 
portation, many  periotlicais  will  fntjuentlv  bt- 
late  arriving  at  destination.  If  your  Joi  R.\  aL  or 
Reference  Library  order  does  not  reach  vou  on 
time,  please  do  not  write  complaining  of  delay. 
The  delay  is  caused  fc>  conditions  arising  after 
\x>ur   copy,   or   order,   has   left    Philadelphia. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WIFE 


^<^   ^ar<xt^  ^A(X*Kft^^K 


I  HAPPEN  to  be  mistress  of  ceremonies 
1)11  a  r;ulio  program  called  Listen  the 
Women,  ill  wliicii  a  panel  of  four  di.s- 
tinguisiied  wonioii  answer,  spontane- 
ously and  witiiout  previous  knowletlge, 
questions  submitte<l  by  the  public.  In  the 
nature  of  tilings,  the  larger  part  of  these 
t'onie  from  women.  The  original  idea  was 
that  they  should  i-liiefly  concern  public 
affairs,  .«>ufh  as  peace  plans,  military  serv- 
ii-e  as  a  pernianeiit  institution.  "Should 
India  be  Freed?"  and  so  on.  Of  course 
many  siu-li  questions  are  subniitteil.  But 
the  largest  category  always  has  to  deal, 
not  with  obviously  great  public  questions, 
but  with  domestic  problems;  and  it  is 
clear  that  the  c|Uestioiiers  reganl  these 
prol)lenis  of  home  life  not  only  as  private 
matters,  but  as  pressing  public  issues. 

I  take  no  part  in  tliest>  discnissioiis,  but 
merely  engineer  the  program.  Each  ques- 
tion is  discusse<l  for  only  a  few  moments, 
but  often,  after  we  are  finished,  we  all  go 
out  together  to  eoiitinue  a  conver-satioii 
over  a  L|Uestioii  .sent  in  by  some  unknown. 
And  often  I  find  myself  mulling  over  one 
for  days. 

What  do  these  women — and  sometimes 
men — ask?  They  a.sk,  for  instance,  whether 
a  daughter  .should  be  permittetl  by  her 
parents  to  marry  her  fiance,  who  is  about 
to  l>e  sent  overseas.  The  wife  of  a  man 
overseas  asks  whether  she  should  go  out 
with  other  men.  Great  concern  is  shown 
over  juvenile  tleliiu)iiency,  and  over  the 
manners  and  habits  of  the  young  who  are 
not  delinquent.  In  fact,  the  gamut  of 
questions  reveals  a  sense  of  family  in- 
security arising  cnit  of  the  war,  and  an 
apprehension  that  it  will  be  difficult,  if 
not  impossible,  to  stabilize  it  again. 

That  is  esjjecially  true  of  the  younger- 
age  groups,  of  married  women  whose 
married  life  has  been  short,  interrupted 
by  the  husbaiurs  call  to  the  armed  forces, 
ami  who  have  never  had  a  chance  to 
actiuire  the  habit  of  stability. 

The  churches,  which  usually  favor  early 
marriage,  are  greatly  perturbed  about  war 
marriages.  This  is  not  becau.se  of  the  ri.sks 
encountered  by  the  husband,  but  because 
they  have  di-scovertnl  the  demoralizing 
effect  of  an  interrupted  marriage  upon  a 
young  wife.    Her  marriage  has  ended  her 


girlhood,  and  transferred  her  from  the 
protection  of  her  parents  to  the  protection 
of  her  husband.  When  he  leaves,  she  is  a 
young  married  woman,  without  a  man. 
She  is  attractive  to  other  men  and  knows 
the  attraction  of  men.  She  may  be  deeply 
loyal  to  her  husband  in  her  heart — but  she 
is  lonely.  Also,  there  are  many  young  men 
about,  .soldiers,  cut  off  from  their  own 
homes,  but  not  yet  sent  abroad.  We  must 
understand  that  the  temptations  are 
vastly  greater  than  in  normal  life.  The 
greater  the  woman's  capacity  for  love — 
the  very  part  of  her  nature  which  makes 
her  a  loving  and  devoted  wife — the  greater 
her  temptation  in  long  periods  of  separa- 
tion and  loneliness. 

01d-fashioiie<l  moralists  shy  away  from 
the  discii.s.sion  of  such  problems.  But  it  is 
dear,  from  the  thousands  of  questions 
which  we  receive  on  the  same  themes, 
that  women  want  them  discus.sed.  and 
openly,  for  they  are  a  reality  of  life. 

\or  is  it  a  one-sided  problem,  concern- 
ing only  women.  Soldiers  also  are  lonely, 
here  and  abroad — lonely  for  more  inti- 
mate contacts  than  they  can  find  in  a  USO. 
Yet  the  war  does  not  permit  the  estab- 
lishment of  lasting  relationships.  They  are 
shifted  from  one  camp  to  another,  and 
from  one  country  to  another.  It  is  a  mat- 
ter of  "here  ttnlay  and  gone  tomorrow." 

The  whole  experience  of  our  times  is. 
therefore,  contrary  to  normal  experience, 
as  far  as  home  life  is  concerned.  All  civili- 
zations are  foundeil  on  the  unit  of  the 
family — father,  mother  and  child  or  chil- 
dren. The  Soviet  Union  had  to  recognize 
this  lifter  a  few  years  of  sexual  chaos,  and 
went  in  for  a  c)uite  puritanical  attitude 
toward  the  family  and  its  responsibilities. 
But  the  fact  that  it  is  the  l>asis  of  all  goml 
.societies  does  not  imply  that  the  family 
is  an  act  of  nature.  On  the  contrary,  it 
demands  the  sul)jection  of  many  natural 
impulses.  And  no  society,  even  in  the 
rigid  theological  states  of  early  New  Eng- 
land, ever  succeeded  in  holding  everyone 
in  happy  fidelity  within  a  family  circle. 

The  degree  of  success  depends,  not 
wholly,  but  to  a  large  degree,  on  the  nor- 
malcy of  life.  The  maintenance  of  the 
family  and  of  marital  fidelity  has,  in  most 
cases,  certain  (Continued  on  Page  78) 


#; 


r 


■^- 


^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


There's  a 


in  your  future! 


H^  It's  only  human  nature  to  be  proud 
^T  of  things  you  like.  And  when  your 
new  Ford  car  arrives — some  day  not  far 
away  —  you'll  want  the  world  to  know 
it's  yours ! 

. . .  Your  friends  will  call  it  "handsome". 
For  your  new  Ford  will  have  smart  and 
youthful  styling.  It  will  be  big,  roomy, 


sturdy— rich  appearing,  inside  and  out. 
. .  .  Natm'ally,  this  new  car  will  offer  the 
traditional  Ford  economy  and  reliability. 
And  it  will  reflect  all  the  skilled  crafts- 
manship and  experience  which  Ford  has 
gained  in  more  than  40  yeai's. 
.  .  .  Yes,  we're  sure  to  be  ready  when  the 
time  comes.    Our  production  plans  wiU 


be  all  set.  And  when  we  get  the  neces- 
sary "go-ahead",  we're  going  to  stai't 
making  "the  Ford  in  youi'  futm*e." 

FORD    MOTOR    COMPANY 


^SzfrcC 


DID  you  ever  sculp  an  angel  in  the  snow?  Then  turn 
back  to  wonder  if  it  was  really  you?  That's  checking 
your  impression  as  soon  as  you  make  it.  Finding  out 
how  people  react  to  you  isn't  so  easy  as  that  most 
days  of  the  week.  It  takes  an  accumulation  of  casual 
compliments  to  assure  you  you're  rating  plus.  Or  the 
brutal  revelations  of  a  let's-tell-each-other-for-our-own- 
good  session  to  uncover  your  hideous  faults.  But  you 
don't  have  to  be  told.  You  can  see  by  the  way  Jim's  eyes 
wander  that  what  you're  saying  is  skimmed  milk.  The 
absence  of  those  four  invitations  from  your  mail  confirms 
your  fear  that  you're  not  much  fun  at  galas.  You  can 
gather  from  the  girls'  frozen  smirks  that  they  don't  quite 
approve  of  the  way  you  act  in  public. 

Dozens  of  little  things  add  up  to  make  your  imprint. 
Which  is  encouraging.  'Cause  you  can  grapple  with  each 
one  in  turn.  Some  girls  were  just  born  with  winning  ways, 
friendly  smiles,  wit  and  wisdom.  Everybody  likes  them 
on  sight.  But  some  of  the  rest  of  us  have  to  help  heredity 
along.    And  it's  as  easy  as  this. 


S^'Cm^'pocu^ 


What  hits  people  first  about  you?  The  way  you  look, 
of  course.  A  general  idea  of  your  bulk,  color  scheme  and 
basic  behavior.  Then  they  light  on  your  details.  You 
haven't  said  a  word— but  they're  already  deciding  whether 
to  bother  to  listen.  You  can  supplement  a  good  first  im- 
pression or  correct  an  unfortunate  one  the  moment  you 
open  your  mouth.  Your  talk,  your  voice,  your  smile  and 
your  listening  ear  make  your  second  impression.  From 
there  on  what  you  laugh  at,  like  or  cordially  dislike,  the 
way  you  think  and  feel  about  things  and  people,  and 
the  way  you  behave  make  your  third-to-umpteenth  im- 
prints. Opening  the  doors  to  your  disposition  and  your 
thoughts  requires  more  than  a  lightning-quick  first  glimpse. 


So  look  yourself  squarely  in  the  eye  and  the  hair-do 
and  the  angle  of  your  backbone  and  the  way  you  act. 
No  fuzzy  reflections  allowed.  Register  your  items  clear 
and  sharp  and  get  to  work.  Give  them  a  thorough  inspec- 
tion for  flaws,  and  correct  same.  Then  add  them  up  to  a 
grand  total — and  make  it  staggering! 


Z>e^ 


A  slick  surface,  no  matter  how  scintillating,  is  not  sub- 
stantial. Be  a  bright  birdie,  chatter  like  a  chipmunk — 
but  it  isn't  enough.  You  know  girls  Hke  that.  And  they're 
popular.  But  they  dazzle  the  eyes  and  ears  like  a  flash 
bulb.  They  burn  brightly — but  they  burn  out  with  a  pop. 

You  be  the  glim  that's  not  easily  doused.  Have  some- 
thing seriously  interesting  to  offer  when  serious  big  con- 
verse is  called  for.  Be  kind  in  your  comments  and  ac- 
tions, considerate,  generous,  polite.  Be  a  bit  of  fluff,  but 
plenty  responsible  citizen.  A  girl  who  doesn't  change 
steadies  with  the  seasons.  Who  gets  along  well  with 
young  and  old  alike.  Who  is  courteous  without  being 
prissy.  Who  keeps  her  poise  in  the  pink  and  her  gray 
matter  in  gear. 

A  fancy  fagade  is  fun — and  helps  a  lot.  But  solid  sub- 
stance makes  more  friends.  How  many  times  have  you 
thought  that  some  girl  improved  a  lot  on  acquaintance? 
That  was  her  personality  improving  on  her  first  impres- 
sion.   It  was  her  make  up  triumphing  over  her  make-up. 


Al.ONE,  ALONE,  SO  ALL  ALONE? 

.\re  >i>ii  iiurHiiig  a  gulp  because  the  hoyH  (Kurt  lake  uj)  all  >oiir 
lime?  U'tniMirt  it  be  fun  if  ihc  girlw  got  logcther  in  between;' 
■Are  you  burning  wilb  pnblie  spirit  —  but  ^by  to  olTer  your  solo 
ser\ieeft?  Are  >on  full  of  steam  for  a  club  of  your  own^  Iiu\e 
a  Sub-Ueb  (;bib!  Just  write  to  Klizabetb  Wooilward,  I.aiuks" 
lloMK  JuUKNAL,  PbibuJelpbia  .'>.  Pa.,  and  I'll  send  you  a  regis- 
tration blank,  a  handbook  to  get  you  going,  and  ibe  .Sub-Ueb's 
newspaper,  THK  SCOOI',  to  keep  you  going!     Also  see  page  90. 


There's  delving  to  do  on  your  depths — and  only  you 
can  do  it.  Limit  your  reading  to  silly  stuff  and  you'll  stay 
as  shallow  as  a  piepan.  Parrot  people's  opinions  without 
serious  thought  of  your  own,  and  you'll  sound  hollow  as 
a  drum.  Be  generous  with  your  sarcasm  instead  of  your 
good  nature;  be  lazy  instead  of  on  your  toes;  carry  chips 
on  your  shoulders  instead  of  bouquets  in  your  hands;  be 
shy  and  ill  at  ease,  instead  of  sure  and  comfortable. 
Indulge  in  the  faults  of  the  folks  who  don't  appeal  to 
you.    And  see  how  deep  your  own  appeal  digs. 

V'ou  cast  a  shadow  behind  you.  It  can  be  a  radiant 
halo,  a  shapeless,  colorless  blob  of  gray  or  a  distorted 
black  monster.  Whichever — that  shadow  of  public  opin- 
ion will  run  before  you  as  your  reputation. 

You  never  know  how  far  or  how  fast  your  quicksilver 
reputation  has  traveled.  "I've  heard  about  you!"  makes 
you  hold  your  breath  and  wonder  what  and  if  it's  plus. 
If  it  is,  a  stranger's  already  presold.  If  it's  minus,  he's 
not  likely  to  give  you  much  benefit  of  many  doubts. 

You  can  hire  a  press  agent  at  so  much  an  hour  who  will 
toot  your  praises  from  the  housetops.  He  can  light  your 
name  in  neon.  He  can  build  you  up  to  be  a  legend.  But 
you  have  to  come  through  as  he's  fashioned  you.  That 
you  is  the  product  of  his  imagination.  Hewing  to  his  line 
may  require  you  to  be  actress,  chameleon,  trained  seal 
or  deaf-mute.  You  can't  relax  the  role  he's  created  for  you. 

It's  safer  and  easier  to  press-agent  yourself.  Then  the 
little  and  the  big  things  you  do  today,  the  stupid  or  the 
nice  things  you  say,  the  superior  or  the  sympathetic  at- 
titude you  take,  the  serious  or  the  trifling  things  you 
devote  your  time  to,  all  make  an  impression  behind  you 
that  runs  before  you  too.  It  can  be  very  good  or  very 
bad  news,  as  you  choose.   False  or  true.    It's  up  to  you! 


rii 


IHE  SIB-DEB 


■*» 


BY  ELIZABETH  WOIIDWIRD - 


'^ 


lei 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


_  ^  Wet  Feet? 

They,  like  cold  feet,  can  lower  body 
resistance  so  that  certain  germs  on 
mouth  and  throat  surfaces  may  invade 
the  tissue  and  complicate  the  infec- 
tion which  may  be  started  by  a  virus. 


.,  ,    \i    In  a  Draft? 

Some  people  seem  to  dare  drafts  with 
impunity,  but  many  medical  men  say 
that  for  others  they  definitely  can 
lower  body  resistance  and  help  make 
it  easier  for  you  to  catch  cold. 


^"^ 


Direct  Exposure?  n^^/ 

One  of  the  easiest  ways  of  contracting 
colds  is  to  kiss  someone  already  in- 
fected. Another  is  to  get  in  the  path 
of  a  sneeze  or  cough. 


AT  THE   FIRST   SIGN  OF  A  COLD 


AFTER 


Note  How  Listerine 
Gargle  Reduced  Germs 

Actual  tests  showed  reductions 
of  bacteria  on  mouth  and  throat 
surfaces  ranging  up  to  96.7% 
fifteen  minutes  after  the  Listerine 
Antiseptic  gargle,  and  up  to  80% 
one  hour  after  the  gargle. 


Better  Gargle   IISTEHIIIIE     AKTI  S  EPTI  C  -  Quiek! 


Prompt  antiseptic  action  may  h^lp  'nip 
trouble  in  the  bud'.  .  .  attack  threatening 
Secondary  Invaders  before  they  attack  you 

IVlany  doctors  believe  that  some  kind  of  a 
virus  often  starts  a  cold,  and  that  a  threatening 
group  of  germs  called  the  "Secondary  Invaders," 
frequently  complicates  it  and  is  responsible  for 
much  of  its  misery.  Anything  that  lowers  body 
resistance  makes  their  work  easier. 

Obyiously,  the  time  to  fight  a  cold  is  in  the 
early  stages,  and  effort  should  be  directed  against 
these"Secondary  Invaders"  before  they  penetrate 
the  tissue. 

So,  at  the  first  sign  of  a  sneeze,  chill,  cough,  or 


sniffle — when  you  feel  a  cold  coming  on — by  all 
means,  get  started  early  with  a  Listerine  Anti- 
septic gargle. 

Listerine  Antiseptic  Kills  Bacteria 

This  wonderful  germicide  reaches  way  back  on 
throat  surfaces  to  kill  millions  of  bacteria  .  .  . 
helps  guard  against  a  "mass  invasion"  of  the 
throat  tissues. 

In  repeated  tests,  bacterial  reductions  on  mouth 
and  throat  surfaces,  ranging  up  to  96.7%  fifteen 
minutes  after  the  Listerine  Antiseptic  gargle,  have 
been  noted.  And  even  an  hour  after  the  gargle, 
reductions  up  to  80%  have  been  noted. 
Fewer  colds — Tests  Showed 
Moreover,  Listerine  Antiseptic  has  backed  up  its 


laboratory  performance  with  an  impressive  record 
on  human  "guinea  pigs"  observed  in  tests  con- 
ducted over  a  period  of  twelve  years.  Please  note 
the  result: 

Those  test  subjects  who  gargled  Listerine  Anti- 
septic ticitoa  (lav  hod  fviier  colds  and  usiiallv 
had  milder  ones  than  those  who  did  not  gurgle, 
and  fewer  sore  throats. 

Take  the  word  of  outstanding  medical  men — 
a  cold  is  nothing  to  fool  with.  At  the  very  first 
symptom  take  this  sensible  precaution — the 
Listerine  Antiseptic  gargle — in  the  early  stages. 
Prompt  precautions  may  head  off  an  unpleasant 
and  miserable  siege  of  illness. 

Lambert  Pharmacal  Company,  5^  Louis,  Mo. 


10 


// 


LADIES' 

When  I  lost  my  backache,  I 
lost  my  bulges,  too..thanks 
to  my  SPENCER"    


Your  doctor  will  tell 
*«■%  m^F  you  that  there  is  a  close 

connection  between  sag-    ^.g  ^ 

ging,  bulging  abdomen 
and  tired,  aching  back.    B^B  '*' 

When  abdominal  mus- 
cles weaken  and  sag, 
the  back  muscles  con- 
tract, pulling  spine  into 
abnormal  positions  that 
cause  backache. 

Your  Spencer,  by 
supporting  your  sag- 
ging abdominal  mus- 
(;les  and  guiding  your 
body  into  restfully  erect 
\^*.-''-^^^^  posture,  permits  ab- 
domen to  regain  its 
natural  flatness ;  relieves  '"  ordinary  support 
timscular  backache  and  """^  brassiere 
nervous  fatigue. 

Your    Spencer    Support    and    Breast 

J  I^^^^H    Support    will    be    individually   designed, 

0,  ^^^^1    cut    and    made    to   meet    your   physical 

needs — and  yours  alone.  Every  Spencer 

is  guaranteed  never  to  lose  its  shape.  A 

^^^^^    sup{)ort    liial    loses    its    shape   loses    its 

p  '  '^  ^^^^H    effectiveness. 

Spencers  are  prescribed  by  doctors 
lor  ptosis  (dropped  abdominal  organs) 
as  well  as  back  pains  and  injuries;  for 
inoperable  hernia,  movable  kidney,  ma- 
ternity, after  childbirth  or  an  operation, 
j^^^^^^^^_  spinal  arthritis,  sciatica,  some  forms  of 
heart  disease,  spinal  curvature,  breast 
removal  and  other  breast  problems. 
Spencer  corsetieres  neither  diagnose  nor 
prescribe.  If  you  have  troublesome 
symptoms  see  your  doctor.  (Spencer 
Supports  designed  for  men  are  mascu- 
line in  appearance.) 

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and  Breast  Support  indi-  COrsetiere. 
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Do    You    Want   to   Make  BW    ^^^-  '^^^  TO:  ANNE  SPENCER      I    send 

Money  Helping  Women?  WaMjBM  Spencer  Inc.,  j  today 

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Spencer  Supports  if  they  are  to  HHI^BIHwl  Please  send  your  free  booklet.  I  have 

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[~^UY      U.S>     WAR      BONDS       AND       STAMPS      i^] 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Our  Readers  Write  Us . 


Homr  l^lany  Children 

Can  Yon  Afford?  ,   . 

Orono,  Maine, 

Dear  Editor:  I  have  three  children  and, 
under  present  living  costs,  my  husband 
and  I  do  not  see  how  he  could  support 
more.  But  we  want  more  children,  and  I 
think  many  other  parents  are  like  us. 
Well,  since  we  want  more  children  and 
since  more  children  are  needed  (in  order 
to  maintain  the  present  U.  S.  population, 
each  married  couple  needs  to  produce  four 
children),  we  should  be  able  to  have  them. 

As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  feel  that  I 
could  manage  to  feed  and  clothe — and 
squeeze  into  the  house ! — a  few  more  chil- 
dren if  I  could  be  sure  of  two  things  from 
the  state:  adequate  medical  care  for  their 
physical  well-being,  and  provision  for  as 
much  education  or  special  training  as  they 
wanted  or  were  fitted  for. 

Such  a  program  might  be  managed 
under  this  country's  present  economic 
setup,  with  insurance  the  keynote.  I 
think  the  Government  should  pay  insur- 
ance for  hospital,  medical  and  dental  care 
(in  lieu  of  cash  subsidy  which  unprin- 
cipled parents  might  use  for  their  own 
selfish  pleasure).  Socialized  medicine 
would  not  be  necessary  (although  it  would 
fit  in  well);  the  present  setup  would  be 
satisfactory,  with  doctors  able  to  lower 
their  bills,  since  all  bills  would  be  paid. 

Private  endowment  insurance  now  is 
u.sed  by  many  parents  for  their  children's 
college  education.  The  Government  could 
Ijay  the  premiums  for  all  children  from 
birth — and  cost  to  the  taxpayer  would  be 
less  than  an  outright  subsidy.  When  your 
child  graduated  from  high  school,  he 
could  go  to  college  if  he  were  college  ma- 
terial. The  boy  who  loafed  thro\igh  high 
school  and  had  no  desire  for  further  study 
would  not  cash  in,  nor  the  girl  who  plunged 
right  into  matrimony.  But  equal  educa- 
tional opportunity  would  be  assured. 

Until  some  form  of  subsidization  is 
forthcoming,  I  think  it  is  up  to  us  parents 
to  do  the  best  we  can  without  it.  My 
husband  and  I  have  found  that  one  way 
to  save  money  is  to  stop  paying  rent.  We 
bought  a  hou.se  that  we  love,  without  a 
cent  in  the  bank.  We  borrowed  the  down 
payment,  and  the  monthly  FHA  payments 
on  the  mortgage,  plus  the  installment  on 
the  loan  for  down  payment,  totaled  less 
than  the  rent  we  had  been  paying  for  a 
smaller,  less  satisfactory  home.  Now,  be- 
fore the  chiUlren  are  ready  for  college,  we'll 
own  our  own  home,  which  will  save  us  at 
least  $.50  a  month 

I  think  all  parents  should  carry  hospi- 
talization insurance;  it  will  help  pay  for 
l)abies  when  they  arrive  and,  if  you  insure 
your  whole  family,  you  are  safe  against 
the  unexpected  blow  that  will  plunge  you 
over  your  head  into  debt.  Our  family  of 
five  is  taken  care  of  by  $25  a  year. 

And  I  think  parents  should  remember, 
too.  that  when  you  give  your  children 
brothers  and  sisters,  you  may  not  be  able 
to  give  them  large  allowances  or  expen- 
sive clothes  or  individual  airplanes,  but 
you  are  giving  them  self-reliance  and 
thrift  and  responsibility  and  industry  and 
loyalty  and  unselfishness — and  love.  More 
good  things  than  I  can  mention.  What 
"advantages"  has  an  only  child? 

OWENITA  SANDERLIN. 

No  More  Pretty  Ladies 

St.  Paul,  Minnesota. 
Dear  Sir:  I  hesitated  a  moment  to  re- 
new my  subscription  when  I  thought  of 
two  more  years  of  those  pretty  ladies  on 
the  covers.  "Variety  is  the  spice  of  life," 
and  a  kitten  or  a  dog  or  a  bunch  of  flowers, 
not  to  mention  a  baby,  would  be  a  pleas- 
ant change.  Yours  truly. 

ELLA  WARE. 

Just   for   Reader  Ware's  sake   we  are 
publishing  a  flower  cover  this  issue. 

ED. 
IVarse  Your  Haby 

Bloomington,  Illinois. 
Dear  Editors :  The  letter  to  Doctor  Rib- 
ble  from  Mrs.  James  M.  Borjes  printed  in 
a  recent  Joitrnal  certainly  had  a  lot  of 
truth  in  it.  The  offspring  of  any  mammal, 
including  humans,  have  the  urge  to  suckle 
immediately  following  birth.  When  this 
natural  urge  is  prohibited  for  from  eight 


to  thirty-six  hours,  with  sometimes  a  bot- 
tle being  substituted  for  the  breast,  what 
else  can  be  expected  but  that  the  baby  will 
refuse  the  breast  when  finally  offered? 

One  other  thing  that  does  not  seem 
right  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  it  has  occurred 
to  many  others,  is  the  isolation  of  the  new 
mother  among  complete  strangers  during 
delivery.  The  hospitals  in  this  state  claim 
it  is  a  state  law.  If  there  is  any  tru|JBli|^^^ 
Dr.  Herman  N.  Bundesen's  article,  Th^^ 
Needless  Fear  of  Childbirth,  in  the  No- 
vember Journal,  to  which  I  certainly 
agree,  such  laws  or  rules  should  certainly 
be  changed.  The  mother-to-be  should  be 
permitted  to  have  someone  she  trusts  and 
loves  with  her. 

REGISTERED  NURSE. 

It's  Perfect  Food 

Winner,  South  Dakota. 
Dear  Editor:  On  question  of  nursing  or 
not  nursing  our  babies,  if  nurses  would 
co-operate  by  not  offering  new  babies  a 
formula,  the  babies  would  show  all  con- 
cerned that  they  know  how  to  get  milk 
from  mother.  I  know  from  experience 
that  any  normal  woman,  with  normal 
child,  can  nurse  it.  Hospitals  should  do 
tw^o  things  in  this  connection:  provide 
Doctor  Bundesen's  wonderful  booklet  on 
the  subject,  and  not  feed  the  babies  with 
artificial  food  between  times  of  taking 
them  to  the  mother.  We  are  making  a 
great  mistake  in  not  giving  babies  this  per- 
fect food  which  Nature  has  supplied  us. 
MRS.  L.  TYBUREC. 

And  Besides,  It's    Fun 

Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania. 

Dear  Editors:  Doctor  Ribble  is  right 
about  the  desirability  of  nursing  one's 
baby.  I  have  nursed  two,  and  feel  that  my 
experience  may  help  someone  else. 

I  was  determined,  from  the  day  I  knew 
a  baby  was  on  the  way,  that  I  would  do 
all  I  could  to  nurse  it:  I  watched  my  diet, 
drank  a  quart  of  milk  a  day,  did  not 
smoke  or  drink,  and  kept  regular  hours. 
I  tried  to  hold  a  careful  rein  on  my  dis- 
position, bearing  in  mind  a  certain  slogan 
about  the  quality  of  milk  from  contented 
cows.  This  whole  regimen  was  also  main- 
tained later  during  the  nursing  months. 

The  first  three  or  four  weeks  were  the 
hardest.  And  I  mean  hard.  I  wonder  if 
many  mothers  who  believe  they  cannot 
nurse  their  babies  have  merely  allowed 
themselves  to  become  discouraged  and 
upset  during  this  crucial'  period.  I  went 
through  that  dismal  feeling  each  time,  but 
the  babies  soon  became  fat,  gurgl>-,  bouncy 
kickers  who  gained  and  gained  and  gained. 
My  own  discomfort  lasted  only  about 
three  weeks. 

I'm  going  to  nurse  all  my  babies.  It's 
their  right  and  my  privilege.  And  besides, 
it's  fun.  Maternally  yours, 

MARION  WEST  STOER. 

On  tbe  Hoad  to  Mandalay 

Nutley,  New  Jersey. 

Dear  Sir :  In  tHese  days  of  paper  short- 
ages, short  tempers  and  irate  subscribers, 
I  thought  this  little  excerpt  from  a  letter 
sent  to  me  from  Colombo,  Ceylon,  might 
help  a  worn  and  weary  editor  to  feel  that 
perhaps  his  magazine  is  really  doing  some- 
thing worth  while. 

"Much  to  my  surprise  and  great  joy, 
the  January  number  of  the  Ladies'  Home 
JouRN.AL  arrived  in  March.  It  is  good  of 
you  to  send  this  so  very  welcome  gift  each 
year.  I  must  tell  you  that  after  Pamela 
and  I  have  read  it  from  cover  to  cover,  the 
magazine  is  passed  on  to  a  military  mas- 
seuse, then  to  two  other  friends  and  finally 
into  the  circulating  library  of  our  Nurses' 
Association,  through  which  it  travels  to 
fourteen  civil  hospitals  in  various  parts  of 
Ceylon."  Sincerely, 

JUDY  D.  MEAD. 

now  to  Itnn  a  House??? 

Sterling,  Kansas. 

Dear  Madam :  Are  you  now  ready  to  do 

for  hou.sewives  what  Dr.   Herman   Bun- 

desen  has  done  for  mothers?    Can  you 

(Continued  on  Page  13) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


11 


UDVloi^^AO.  CxvJL  uounX    cAaJ^  tcoiCU. 


^U-/»^ 


VCLcjL^  /5tOm- AftAAi^^^   \ ^u;>■vuLu>. 


TRUSHAY 


"BcjorcIiani"     ''^  ■ 
Lotion 


/v 


PRODUCT     OF 
BRI6TOL-MYERS 


12 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Here  at  M-G-M,  we  sincerely 


believe  NATIONAL  VELVET 


one  of  the  finest  pictures  we  have  ever 


made... 


and  weVe  been  making 


them  for  twenty  years. 


NATIONAL  VELVET 


A     CLARENCE     BROWN     Productio 

Based  on  the  Novel  "National  Velvet"  by  Enid  Bagnoid 
STARRING 


\^ 


^S 


5^ 


l05: 


0^th€^ 


W/fh  DONALD   CRISP     •     ELIZABETH   TAYLOR     •    ANNE  revere     .    ANGELA  LANSBURY     •     JACKIE  JENKINS     .     ARTHUR  TREACHER 
Directed  by  CLARENCE  BROWN    •    Produced  by  PANDRO  S.  BERMAN    •     Screen  Play  by  Theodore  Reeves  and  Helen  Deutsch     •     A  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  Picture 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


(Continued  from  Page  10) 
visualize  a  housekeeping  guide  as  simple 
and  as  specific  as  Our  Babies — you  might 
call  it  Our  Homes — with  year-round  plans 
to  cover  the  daily  housekeeping  drudgery 
as  Our  Babies  covers  infancy? 

I  shudder  to  contemplate  rearing  a 
child  without  Doctor  Bundesen's  book- 
lets. I  obtained  what  state  and  Federal 
helps  I  could  before  the  arrival  of  my 
first,  but  was  quite  lost  during  her  first  six 
weeks.  From  the  time  I  obtained  Doctor 
Bundesen's  booklets,  the  rearing  of  the 
child  was  a  pleasure,  and  when  her  sister 
arrived  thirty-three  months  later,  and  a 
brother  twenty-seven  months  after  that.  I 
brought  out  those  booklets  again.  You 
should  see  what  healthy  children  have 
grown  up  "according  to  Doctor  Bundesen." 

That's  what   we   housewives  need  for 
housekeeping  plans.  Very  truly  yours, 
MERRY  DEA. 

Women's  fVork  is  Never  Done 

Milwaukee,  Wisconsin. 

Dear  Editor:  Here  is  the  story  of  a 
woman  country  doctor  who  has  not  only 
carried  on  her  husband's  medical  practice 
during  the  three  years  that  he  has  been  in 
service,  but  has  cared  for  her  two  children 
and  bought  and  developed  an  attractive 
house  and  grounds  in  which  to  welcome 
her  husband  home. 

She  is  Dr.  Mildred  Stone,  of  Berlin, 
Wisconsin,  known  as  "Doctor  Mildred" 
to  countless  families  in  small  towns  and 
rural  districts.  She  has  averaged  between 
seventy-five  and  one  hundred  obstetrical 
cases  a  year  since  her  husband,  Capt. 
Grant  Stone,  left  (he  is  now  believed  to  be 
in  German  territory),  and  last  winter  dur- 
ing the  flu  and  pneumonia  epidemic  her 
patients  averaged  seventy  a  day. 

On  her  forty-acre  grounds  (besides  a 
lake  and  lake  cottage).  Doctor  Stone  has 
the  best  Victory  garden  in  that  section, 
and  a  flower  garden  with  prize  gladiolus 
and  roses.  She  attended  them  last  year 
with  no  help  except  that  of  her  ten- 
year-old  daughter,  Kathleen.  Her  other 
daughter,  Karen,  is  three.  The  doctor  puts 
on  overalls  far  into  the  night,  and  digs 
and  plants  by  floodlight.  The  house  is  old, 
but  she  has  managed  with  a  little  help 
here  and  there  to  get  it  remodeled, 
painted  and  papered. 

The  Doctors  Stone  have  dreamed  of 
a  "town  farm"  with  lake  since  they 
worked  their  way  through  the  University 
of  Wisconsin  medical  school  together,  and 
it  will  be  a  reality  when  the  captain  comes 


Doctor  Stone  and  her  flaiighlers. 

home.  In  the  back  yard,  fantail  pigeons 
and  Muscovy  ducks  live  in  prefabricated 
houses,  and  ducks,  Siberian  silkies  (chick- 
ens) and  others  are  raised  for  eggs  and 
meat.  There  is  a  freezing  unit  in  the  base- 
ment. Also,  the  doctor  has  put  up  untold 
numbers  of  quarts  of  vegetables,  fruits 
and  berries. 

On  top  of  her  other  duties,  Doctor 
Stone  was  health  officer  until  this  year — 
she  averages  three  hours  of  sleep  a  night. 
She  had  a  very  good  housekeeperuntilafew 
months  ago,  when  the  woman  left  town, 
and  the  doctor  appealed  to  me  to  help  her 
find  someone,  through  my  problem  column 
in  the  Milwaukee  Journal.  She  wrote  that 
it  was  increasingly  difficult  to  minister 
to  the  sick  because  her  own  three-year-old 
was  having  nightmares  when  mamma 
wentcalling  at  night.  Her  letter  got  eighty- 
five  replies,  and  she  found  a  very  good 
young  woman  to  help  her.  Sincerely, 
lONE  QUINBY   GRIGGS. 


No  Ivory  Tower! 

Santa  Monica.  California. 

Dear  Sir:  Since  the  series  first  began  I 
have  read  How  America  Lives  with  much 
interest  and  enthusiasm.  You  have  done 
a  really  excellent  job  of  reporting  upon 
American  life  as  it  is  lived  outside  of  the 
movies,  and  have  given  your  readers  a 
representative  cross  section  of  their  coun- 
try. But  there  is  one  particular  family 
setup  which  you  have  not  yet  covered — • 
the  "career  at  home  with  a  family  and  no 
help,"  which  I  for  one  would  certainly 
like  to  see  reported. 

I  write  poetry  (Ladies'  Home  Journal, 
The    Saturday   Evening    Post,    McCall's, 


.  .   .  antl  site  wants  Iwa  more. 

Good  Housekeeping,  The  New  York  Times, 
American,  Poetry  Magazine  and  others), 
do  all  the  work,  including  laundry,  of  a  five- 
room  home,  feed  (after  a  fashion)  a  de- 
fense worker  husband  whose  appetite  is  as 
large  as  his  hours  are  irregular,  and  have 
the  complete  care  of  a  three-and-a-half- 
year-old  son,  a  fifteen-months-old  daugh- 
ter, and  a  nine-year-old  dog  who  is  in  her 
second  puphood.  My  own  particular 
problems  are:  an  inadequate  rented  house 
(try  and  find  anything  else)  with  a  yard 
which  only  a  pioneer  child  would  have 
the  courage  to  play  in,  it  being  only  once 
removed  from  a  wilderness  of  rocks  and 
weeds,  and  neither  I  nor  my  husband  hav- 
ing time  to  do  anything  about  it;  a  neigh- 
borhood which,  because  it  is  on  the  very 
doorstep  of  an  aircraft  plant,  is  so  darned 
noisy  with  low-flying  planes  and  what  not 
that  only  the  most  intrepid  poet  could 
function  in  it.  If  you  could  only  find 
some  other  would-be  career  woman  with 
the  same — or  relative — problems,  I  know 
that  your  reporting  of  her  methods  could 
give  me  a  few  much-needed  pointers. 
Most  sincerely  yours, 
ELIZABETH-ELLEN  LONG. 
(Mrs.  George  F.  Tibbals.) 
P.S. :  Don't  for  a  moment  think  I  am 
discouraged !  I  fully  intend  to  Tiavc  two 
more  children  and  —  I  hope — at  least  as 
many  more  poems. 

We  Should  l.,ove 
4karselveH  l^lore— In  Print 

Kenton,  Ohio. 
Dear  Editors:  I,  for  one,  am  not  renew- 
ing my  subscription,  if  you  do  not  choose 
some  better  stories.  As  I  read  Our  Readers 
Write  Us,  I  find  very  few  letters  compli- 
menting you  on  your  stories. 

Sincerely  yours, 
MRS.  RUSSELL  NORMAN. 

►  When  we  read  letter  columns  in  other 
magazines  we  arc  always  slightly  nau- 
seated by  the  letters  the  editors  have 
printed  telling  how  wonderful  tlicir 
magazine  is.  Or,  maybe,  we  are  simply 
envious.  So  we  decided  NOT  to  print 
letters  fulsomely  praising  us.  We  re- 
ceive lots  of  letters  praising  the  Jour- 
nal, even  letters  praising  Journ.\l  sto 
ries.  If  we  printed  all  of  them,  would 
you  think  our  stories  were  better?  ED. 
(Continued  on  Page  ll'<) 


-^^-      >» 


.k 


Z\ 


■^i-i 


«S  HE  OVERSEAS'  j^.„„  ,^,,, 
be  >vaots  i»  ^  ^  ^  letter, 
talks  of   home^  Sen  .^  ^^^^ 

booUetfashjon      n^^.^^^       »e. 


\ 


a 


IS  IT  SISTER  —  wilh  a  passion 
for  trinkets'?  Your  needle  and 
some  bright  silk  scraps  will  pro- 
duce this  fat  pincushion  she'll 
adore.  Top  it  with  a  ribbon  for 
hanging  beside  her  dresser  — 
provide  hatpins  she  can  use  to 
skewer  her  favorite  bracelets, 
hair-bows  and  clips  fast  to  it  — 
and  it  will  be  co|»ied  by  all  the 
younger  smart  set! 


/J 


IS  IT  MOTHER  —  who  is  always 
wondering  where  she  left  her 
knitting'?  You'll  find  this  gay, 
capacious  bag  right  in  your  ow  n 
scrap-drawer  —  for  it  is  made 
from  bits  of  this  and  of  that, 
quilted  just  like  Grandmother 
used  to  do  her  bedcovers.  Lucky 
you,  if  there  are  enough  pieces 
of  silk  and  satin — but  cotton  is 
fine,  too!  Line  it  in  solid  color 
— and  there  you  are! 


fiul  of  course  the  Valentine  de- 
luxe for  any  and  all  w  ho  are  close 
to  your  heart  is  a  Whilnian's 
Sampler.  "Sweets  to  the  .sweet" 
was  the  vogue  even  before 
G  r  a  n  d  m  o  t  h  e  r's  day  —  and 
holds  just  as  true  now.  And  a 
Whitman's  Samjiler  says  you 
really  mean  it — for  these  fine 
chocolates  are  so  lusciously 
smooth,  so  creamy  rich,  with 
such  tempting,  nionlh-inclliug 
centers,  they're  (irsi  e!ioi<e— 
Vyienline's  Day  and  every  day. 


If  yon  cnn'i    alway»  set  yimr 
favorite     Sampler,    rcnieiiilier     it'u 

liecauac    niillioim    i>f    | ruin    of 

WhiOimit'il  Cliorolales  ore  KuiiiK  to 
■11  our  liKlalinn:  fronta. 


CHOCOLATES 


Copr.    1Mi>.    Sl>vli 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Buy  War  Bonds  and  Stamps 


\ 


Armour's  Star  Pork  Sausage 
^°m  Creole  Lima  Beans 

1/,  lb.  An^our's. St-  Pork  Sausage 

'^  Links 

2  cups  dry  lima  beans 
V,  CUP  chopped  onion 
V.c^ApedVenpepp^^^^^^^ 

2-rtrp"^^"'wpepp« 

Soak  beans  overnigb.  Drain  co;er 

^ith  >vater  and  «=°°^^7b'e  cooked 
tender.  (The  beans  may  be  ^^^ 
for  20  minutes  in  boiling  ^^^ 

allowed  to  ?^f'lX^^^„  soaked 

''  -^^r  ^  ^r/belns  arl  nearly 
overnight.)  waenj^^^^^^^^ 

^^°'"i7eftomTto7s  seasonings 
green  pepi.er,w  ^^  ^.^^.e. 

and  place  in  baKing  u  p    j^ 

,ole.^rrange  Armo- s  Sur  ^ 

Sausage  on  top,  ^°y,^'u^3n9  the  last 
hours.  Uncovering  U^ebeans_^^  ^.^^ 

15  mimites  f,Xo°n.  5-6  servings, 
allow  sausages  to  brown,  j 


So  flavory  and  good! 

Armour^s  Star  Pork  Sausage 

In  two  new  family  suppers! 


You'll  discover  there's  a  new  and  different 
touch  to  each  of  these  meals!  Just  what  every 
liomeniak<'r  is  looking  for  to  wake  up  dull 
winter  appetites. 

And  when  you  try  these  re('ij»e8,  be  sure  to 
use  Armour's  Star  I'ork  Sausage.  While  it's 
sizzling  in  the  kitchen,  even  its  wonderful  fra- 
grance adds  to  Buj>pertime  excitement.  This 
sausage  is  made  of  choice  cuts  of  pure  pork, 
blended  with  fresh-ground  imported  spices — 


the  finest  there  are!  And  it's  made  fresh  daily 
in  scores  of  Armour  Sausage  Kitchens  through- 
out the  nation,  so  you  get  it  at  its  fresh-tasting 
best. 

Besides  its  delicious  flavor,  there's  another 
reason  for  enjoying  Armour's  Star  Fork  Sau- 
sage often!  It's  mighty  nutritious — rich  in  the 
highest  quality  proteins  and  the  all-important 
B  Vitamins. 

Save  these  recipes — try  them  right  away! 


Armour's  Star  Sausage 
Pork-U-Pines 

lib.  Armour's  Star  Pork  Sausage 

V.  ..'.It  '"•"  rf  '^r"* 

•*  tbsps.  flour  1/  ,„*'      ."^ 

2  cups  milk  *  t«P-  cinnamon 

or  allspice 

Shape  .no  balls  the  size  of  golf  balh 
Brown  slowly^and  thoroughly  tun 
"•«  «ften  for  10-12  minutes  Add  i" 
cup  water  and  simmer  for  ]    h 
batl^irT^J^^^-^^^H-:": 


\. 


ARMOUR    AND    COMPAN 


1  Pound  Cello  Roll 


Listen  to  Heddo  Hopper's  Hollywood,  every  Monday 
Nighl  over  CBS.  See  Local  Papers  for  Time 

ARMOUR 

and  Company 


•  •*••*••• 

•  • 
The  American  * 

•  • 

•  Design  ^ 

for  Plenty 

•  •••••••• 


The  American  Way  provides  a  magic  fusion 
of  individual  effort  along  cooperative  lines. 
Management,  what  army  men  would  call 
the  intelligence  center  of  the  business  unit, 
works  ceaselessly  to  enable  the  individual 


worker  to  fit  into  the  cooperative  process  of 
production  and  distribution  where  he  can  be 
most  useful. 

The  stockholder,  in  making  available  his 
savings  to  provide  superior  tools  to  aid  the 
worker,  invests  on  the  average  in  American 
companies,  $6,000  to  create  work  facilities 
for  each  worker. 

Such  joining  of  men  and  machines  enables 
the  average  worker  in  this  country  to  turn 
out  more  units  per  year  than  the  worker  in 
any  other  land. 

For  example,  the  cuts  of  meats  which  feed 
American  families  wing  their  way  to  the 
butcher  shops  because  Armour  workers  have 
at  their  disposal  such  mechanisms  as  large 
circular  highspeed  knives,  electric  scribe 
saws,  the  moving  viscera  inspection  table 
designed  by  an  Armour  engineer  and  first 
installed  in  an  Armour  plant,  and  the  auto- 
matic lard  carton  filling  machine  invented 
by  Armour. 

These  are  the  typical  fruits  of  capitalism 
— of  the  competitive  society. 


No  other  country  in  the  world  has  gone  as 
far  as  ours  in  lifting  the  productivity  of  the 
human  worker  through  improving  tools. 

In  1880,  when  this  modern  power  age  was 
coming  into  being,  we  put  4/5  horsepower  of 
electrical  energy  behind  each  employed  per- 
son. By  1940,  this  was  increased  to  4J^ 
horsepower  per  gainfully  employed  person. 

What  were  the  beneficial  results  of  such 
increased  use  of  mechanical  energy  and  im- 
proved tools  ? 

In  the  sixty  year  period  the  average  pro- 
duction per  year  of  each  non-agricultural 
worker  rose  from  5  tons  in  1880  to  upwards 
of  22  tons  in  1940. 

Out  of  this  stupendous  rise  in  productivity 
came  the  upsurge  in  living  standards  of  the 
people — the  inclusion  in  the  family  budget 
of  automobiles,  refrigerators,  household  elec- 
tric appliances,  radios,  better  processed 
foods,  and  the  whole  Aladdin's  Lamp  of 
contemporary  peacetime  American  abun- 
dance. 

^-^^ 

President^   Armour   and   Company 

Eighth  of  a  series  of  statements  on  the  American  system  of 
free  enterprise  which  makes  possible  such  institutions  for 
service  as  Armour  and  Company. 


I 


Fifty  Years  Ago 
in  the  Journal 

IN  FEBRUARY,  1895,  the  entire 
U.  S.  Army  consisted  of  27,832 
men,  as  compared  with  8,000,000 
today.  President  Eliot,  of  Harvard, 
tried  to  abolish  the  "brutal  sport"  of 
college  football;  the  Chinese  fleet 
surrendered  to  Japan.  New  York 
City  already  had  skyscrapers  twenty- 
six  stories  high,  and  actors  Nigel 
Bruce  and  Louis  Calhern  were  born. 

"The  use  of  face  powders  and 
rouges  cannot  be  too  strongly  con- 
demned," says  the  JOUKI\AL  of 
February,  1895.  "They  stamp  the 
person  using  them  as  silly  and 
vulgar  in  the  eyes  of  all  refined  and 


cultured  people,  and  do  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  enhance  or  beau- 
tify." 

Anyone  want  the  recipes  for  these 
1893  tea  cakes:  Rice  Bannocks, 
Jenny  Lind  Cakes,  Thirded  Bis- 
cuit, Corn  Pone? 

"Dick:  In  offering  his  arm,  a  gentle- 
man simply  says,  'Will  you  not  take 
my  arm?'" 

Writes  Elizabeth  Robinson  Sco- 
ville,  in  a  new  column  called  Sug- 
gestions to  Mothers:  "An  excess  of 
meat  in  the  diet  js  said  to  be  con- 
ducive to,  ill-temper.  Instead  of 
giving  your  little  boy  meat  three 
times  a  day,  try  fish  for  breakfast." 

"Janey:  A  girl  of  seventeen  wears 

her  dresses    the  length    that   any 

lady  does,   while  a  girl  of  fifteen 

wears    her    dresses 

well     below     the 

ankles." 

"We  read  in  the 
newspapers  very 
alarming  tales  of 
the  prevalence  of 
the  germs  of  dis- 
ease," writes  an  agi- 
tated reader  to 
the  editor.  "I  am 
sometimes  too 
afraid  to  rest  easy  a 
moment  while  my  children  are  at 
school,  and  keep  them  at  home  as 
luch  as  I  can.  But  now  I  hear  that 
these  germs  are  often  in  our  food, 
especially  in  milk  and  butter  and 
cheese.  I  have  always  thought  milk 
very  wholesome,  but  now  I  am  fear- 
ful whenever  I  see  my  children 
drinking  it.  Can  I  do  anything  to 
make  it  safe?" 

"Inez:  The  cuckoo  clock  in  the 
cafe  of  the  Waldorf  Hotel,  New 
York  City,  is  responsible  for  the 
slang  word  'cuckoo'  which  has 
been  used  so  frequently  during 
the  past  few  months." 

"L.  A.:  It  is  claimed  that  six  drops 
of  olive  oil  poured  upon  a  pinch  of 
mustard  and  taken  internally 
upon  retiring,  tvill  prevent  snor- 
ing."   


Gossip  about  people  you 
knoiCf  editors  you  like  and 
what  goes  on  in  NeiD  York. 


AS  WE  looked  out  the  other  day 
-  from  the  Workshop  through 
one  of  the  fifteen  thousand  windows 
of  Radio  City,  we  saw  six  window 
cleaners  reclining  nonchalantly  on 
their  straps  at  various  points  on  the 
sheer  dizzy  face  of  the  RCA  Building. 
So  for  you,  after  some  phoning  on  our 
part  with  the  management,  the  men 
disappeared,  then  reappeared  in  a 
diagonal  pattern,  and  iyonaf<fS^M<irt 
was  down  on  a  terrace  with  his  cam- 
era to  get  the  picture  at  the  top  of  the 
page.  After  which  Oeorge  Erring, 
one  of  the  men,  came  up  to  discuss 
window  cleaning  with  Militretl 
ArnoU  of  the  homemaking  staff. 
No,  it  doesn't  matter  any  more  to 
George  whether  it's  the  fourth  or  the 
sixty-fourth  floor.  The  girls  up  high, 
however,  have  to  leave  their  offices, 
he  says,  when  he  climbs  out.  Just 
clear  cold  water,  George  claims,  is 
best — no  soap.  Wash  with  a  turkish 
towel,  chamois  with  the  smooth  side 
of  the  chamois,  and  polish  with  a 
hard  dry  cloth.  "Ask  him  whether  he 
likes  big  glass  better  than  small 
panes,"  requested  Mtifltartl  Pratt, 
who  gets  a  lot  of  letters  from  readers 
about  the  large  windows  in  his  mod- 
ern houses.  A  man  windo^v  cleaner 
despises  small  panes,  according  to 
George,  who  hesitates  to  make  it  any 
stronger  than  that;  for  it  seems  the 
only  small-paned  windows  in  the 
Center  are  in  the  private  offices  of 
John  Mt.  Mtoekvfellcr,  Jr.,  who 
owns  the  whole  shebang. 

If  you  want  to  know  how  things  go 
here  in  the  Workshop  some  days,  the 
other  morning  it  was  empty  barrels. 
AUee  Blinn  got  an  article  on  how  to 
make  a  root  cellar  out  of  an  empty 
barrel;  someone  sentioMlspUen/oiwIn 
a  photograph  of  an  empty  barrel  made 


Rockaby  barrel. 

into  a  very  silky  tufted  bassinet ;  a  reader 
wrote  about  a  beauty-table  barrel  chair 
to  U«nrifiia  3iurdoris,  and  a  firm 
over  on  Park  Avenue  sent  nirhard 
Pratt  a  lot  of  blueprints  showing 
how  to  make  an  empty  barrel  into 
quite  a  wonderful  doghouse,  one  of 
which  we  can  send  to  anyone  who  asks 
for  it. 


PHOTO  BY  STUART 


A  good  clean  job  that  takes  a, man  up  in  t/ie  world. 


This  is  a  man's  month  on  the  birthday 
list:  Clark  tiabUi  on  the  1st;  Ja^'k 
Benny  on  the  14th;  Jimmu  Durante 
on  the  19th,  and  on  the  23rd  bothAmban- 
saUor  Winant  and  William  Shirer. 

As  for  books,  February  offers  fine  va- 
riety. If  you  can  take  hard-boiled  real- 
ism, try  Lower  Than  the  angels,  by 
Walter  Miarig,  novel  of  life  among 
the  low-brows  in  the  delicatessen 
circles  of  Staten  Island.  .  .  .  Quite 
as  real  is  YEOMAN'S  HOSPITAL, 
Helen  Atthton's  Grand  Ilolel  lypc 
novel  about  one  <lay  in  a  busy  hos- 
pital. .  .  .  South  America  Called 
Them,  by  Wolfgang  ron  Itagen,  is 
far  more  fascinating  than  you'll  be- 
lieve— a  history  of  the  opening  up  of 
that  continent  told  through  the  lives 
of  four  outstanding  explorers.     .     .     . 

THE   Thl'ruer    Carnival    is    pure 

joy — if  joii  like  Thurber,  stories  an<l 
drawings  both.  .  .  .  AikI  FAMILY 
ON  THE  llILL.  by  Ambrune  Flarii,  is 
"nice"  Tobacco  Itoad  in  upslale  New 
York. 

Postwar  gardeners  can  have  a  scarecrow 
like  a  hawk,  thai  soars  over  the  crops,  from 
a  string,  even  in  the  softest  breeze.  And 
girls  can  have  a  mouthpiece  that  keeps 
lipstick  off  their  clothes  when  dressing. 

When  lieneriere  Tabouin,  the  fa- 
mous ■■'r<-n<'li  journalist,  lolil  us  the 
only  trouble  with  this  country  was 
that  the  men  wrote  their  love  Ictti'rs 
on  the  ty|>ewritci — that  otherwise  it 
was  wonderful  —  we  took  a  litth"  poll 
on  the  sentiment  here  in  the  oflice. 
Twiec  as  many  girls  as  <lo  don't  minil 
in  the  least  how  the  letters  are  writ- 
ten, though  the  Miinorilv  min<ls  even 
more  than  Mailanie  Taliouis.  Speak- 
ing for  tlu'  majority,  /"'lorenee  Kan 
said  she  remembers  one  that  w:is  not 
only  type<l  but  was  V-mail  to  boot  — 
the  best  love  letter  she  «'vcr  got.  .  .  . 
It's  a  good  thing  Mine.  T.  hadn't 
heard  of  the  man  who  not  only  typed 
his  love  letters  but  typed  his  name 
to  them,  and  kept  carlion  copies. 


There's  a  fashion  show  now  over  at  the 
Museum  of  Modern  Art.  Fun  is  poked, 
of  course,  at  what  women  have  worn; 
but  as  ^'ilhela  tunhman  pointed  out, 
a  lot  of  men  leave  there  feeling  self- 
conscious,  for  therfis  a  kind  of  X-ray 
diagram,  showing  a  man  fully  dressed 
for  winter.  You  can  see  twenty-four 
pockets,  sixty-four  buttons,  most  of 
either  never  used. 

Uladg  t'hrititians,  who's  got  a  hit 
here  on  her  liantis  —  I  KKMEMUEK 
Mama  —  told  Itmee  Oould  she  knows 


Mania  Mudy  does  Iter  best. 

the  day,  or  the  night,  of  the  week  by 
her  audience.  Thursday  nights  are 
best  — doesn't  know  why.  Friday 
night's  next,  Monday's  luintlescripl 
(and  easiest  to  get  tickets),  Satur- 
day night's  too  well  dined,  but 
Thursday  matinee  is  the  best  audi- 
ence of  all.  Mostly  women,  who've 
planned  ahead,  and  come  prepared  to 
appreciate  the  performance.  "I  think 
I  do  my  best  for  them,"  she  said. 
So  never  underestimate  a  Thursday 
matinee. 


{Hfl^  .  .  .  (M,  one  9*U^  ft^dtfioHiH^  t^  <(a^  o^  (/^Utontf. " 


—GEN.  DWIGHT  D.  EISENHOWER. 


15 


L\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Frbcuary.  1">4; 


FOR  LINGERIE  GLAMOUR 
WITH  COOL-WATER  M)RY  SNOW 


.  .  the  ''snowdrop     soap 
that  carries  protection 
a   step  farther 


DUNK    THEM    MERRILY 
FOR   LONGER   LIFE! 

The  oftener  the  better  is  thi 
rule  for  washin":  liagerie  v»itl 
Ivory  Snow.  After  each  vsearir 
i#  best  of  all.  Follow  testeti  dil 
rections  on  the  package.  Se< 
how  much  longer  voiir  lingeriW 
keeps  its  glamorous  'Tnew  ne»- 


Truly    today's    soap    for    today's    washing    problems! 


Today  your  iiice!?t  under-prettie*  are  made 
of  rayon.  So  carefully  guard  their  color  .  . . 
their  fabric  .  .  .  their  fit  .  .  .  with  life-pro- 
longing gentle  Ivorv  Snow  care. 

Wonderful  Ivorv  Snow  is  the  onlv  soap 
that  combines  Ivor>  -purity  with  the  granu- 
lated "snowdrop"  fonn.  It  carries  protec- 
tion a  step  farther  than  other  soaps  wliich 
are  not  Ivor\--niild. 

Ivory  Snow  is  different  from  cake  or  flake 
soap — not  only  Ivor^-pure  and  mild,  but 
granulated  for  quick  sudsing  without  hot 


w  ater  I  Even  in  axA  H-ater.  these  "snow  drop" 
granules  dissolve  completely — burst  into 
instant,  foamy  suds.  So  safe  for  colors  I  You 
can  trust  these  suds  for  your  most  prized 
dainties.  Perspiration  soil  squeezes  out  of 
them  and  thev  rinse  clear  and  clean  \*ith- 
out  the  rubbing  tliat  ruins  ravons. 


It  WASTE  NOT,  WANT  NOT.  All  ^oap  i<  made  of  vital 
war  material-.  Make  vour  Ivory  Snow  jso  farther.  If 
>our  tlealer  i<  out  of  Ivorv  Snow,  don^t  blame  him. 
We"re  inaLinic  it  as  fa--t  a*  wecan,  ami  he"ll  have  it  s4M>n. 


99  "/.oo% 
PURl 


7&  O^Sat^  T^iii^^^a^ 


COOL-W^^TER 


IVORY  SNOW 

Longer  Li/ejor  Nice  Was/iables 


\ 


\ 


1 


f 


,  ^ 


/^ 


e  im  KXr««vaus. «c if  tik*' itmt  fcnm  there  h^mre mamd  wimtddhe* 


"T'f^t-^is-f;! 


,1 


>JS:d^_^c:L^     • .      =_ 


.-Vs  ateajiS.  ibe  SHnoaL  mDisl  cmagBcal  ak*.  iaBiqe  aa 
^^j,  inariEEd  sbe  <iw«.anrii^  dicT  Bsad  cnmEL  ODdf  tlm 

iMiMMMF  IrBnpT  Igad  frwini  DB  tisc  nrrMMuMJin    oivSJiBCll  stlT* 

Toaper  wdd  of  Xev  ^  <v&  Gtf ;  mow.  wjtM  a  few  Sunars 
_MmiHuimg^  tlaeT  wece  im  tbe  tragncs.  TliEee  HmmMftiiHii 
-adessondtbof  CarouacsnalBT.  Nimr  Yovik  biad  bem  boi 

s-TTrrf  fiaZT  VOfilfi  SQUfiSBlIBBr.  uUfi  t^BJg^  wdS  (UKSTmOftl  I[lliC^  :^kT 

".ad  a  9o&c]r  Mas'.  Che  ipaBrnmc  uuHMcdl  vitfiD  a  wimspeiiiqg 

i^racc'  acaiBKEt  be.  a  *"b*^^  '*  Mwirf  ob  snroAr  anlfitcd  uIuub  a 

"^  ^.mutmlliitane:  iaa  tbc  Erastades.  ^  sf  iwiiMUurilmig  tSmm 

yj.z,  SQud  tms&ciooBQiiiBBnsiuL  A  wdrfld   jiiiiloiL  an 


Itoonoepiaeaencr.  HffatoMy.astf  manewEirtosDng 
acteinpt  to  redainEi  its  cwno. 

It  «as  aD  anapeoed  and  at  tSie  same  tmni^  ot>- 
saondr  ir^^itcsmqe;  tlipq^s:  b  «^  imansenae.  and  \&. 
jjt  had  a  cotaiD  »i*iiw  a  y  ■arrn^^  itcuieIIii  str  tfant  Xiannr 
pwHffd  inra  irotMnrt.  ber  iiand  on  tlviiajiiag  hfqjjV  die 
iiiuuma>.  <anBltM  br  an  afasDrd  r«Mnpiijkiiiii  to  uihipjjm 
Tiam  aronavL  iv-cxto'  tbt  rfa«»^  g^  back  to  ^wev 
Yarfc — gD  anrmiBene,  bui  0Ql  It  «as  exaolv  as  if  slir 
*WE  ainad  of  soDzactbing;.  As  if  somme  vaggge  and  m- 
aaaomnKabie:  oameasaiiiess.  omnca&Bed — or.  at  feast,  aa- 
tzasix  not  x^axxm^tdeeA—bad  oyaaXkBeA  thaf  iqo. 
won.  and  lti»«'rMiij>  iear. 

Fear?  But  iear  bad  to  haw  an  obiiect.  and  tine  vas 
txxneL  It  vnas  <|aitr  as  baacfcss  as  the  babs^,  Immmimj  am- 


riBST   I^KSTJ^LLME^rr   Ar  .%?(  ABS«KBI?ni    riW-TABT   MY^TfTRT 


n  Mif;\n\  f;  EHFRniRT 


18 


He  was  the  kind  of  man  who  was  noscrupnious  abont  love ...  and 

they  were  the  kind  of  women  who  would  give  everything  to  hold  him. 


H^^Tim  was  already  ahead,  and  she  was  holding  up  the 
F  other  passengers.  She  followed  Tim  as  he  bounced  down 
the  runway. 

Tim  Wales  quite  naturally  was  the  first  passenger  off 
the  plane,  although  he  had  sat  in  the  choice  single  seat 
on  the  right,  away  up  ahead.  His  promptness  in  getting 
back  to  the  door  and  out  of  the  plane  first  was  not, 
however,  because  he  was  president  of  the  Wales  Airlines 
and  the  great,  far-flung  system  of  airlines  which  spanned 
the  globe  like  silver  threads,  making  a  shining  web  over 
the  planet  with  Tim  Wales  in  its  center.  Nobody  stood 
back  for  him  in  deference;  the  plane  was  one  of  the 
regular  passenger  planes  of  the  Wales  Airlines,  but 
probably  no  one  on  it  except  Marny  and  Andre — and  of 
course  the  crew — knew  he  was  the  great  Tim  Wales. 
He  got  to  the  runway  first  merely  because  it  was  in 
Tim's  nature  to  beat  anybody  to  the  draw — whether 
it  was  a  contract  for  a  foreign  air  base  or  getting  off  a 
plane. 

And  this  time,  of  course,  Winnie,  his  daughter,  and 
Judith,  his  young  and  beautiful  second  wife,  were  wait- 
ing. Marny  knew  him  perhaps  better  than  anyone  ex- 
cept Judith  and  Winnie;  she  was  never  quite  certain  of 
what  to  expect  from  him.  Except  for  his  eyes — granite 
eyes  with  sparks  of  cold  light  in  them — he  looked  rather 
like  a  fat,  shiny,  slightly  bald  but  very  rosy  and  healthy 
child.  He  was  incredibly  energetic,  always  buoyant,  and 
coupled  swift-leaping  imagination  with  a  cold,  acute 
business  sense. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it  furiously.  Winnie 
was  standing  inside  the  gate,  waving  too,  laughing — 
and  so  exactly  like  the  first  Mrs.  Wales  that  it  was,  as 
always,  a  little  astonishing  to  sec  her.  Except,  of  course, 
she  was  young  and  attractive  with  her  neat  brown  hair 
in  a  bun  on  her  neck,  her  fresh  high  color,  her  lipsticked 
red  mouth  and  even  white  teeth,  her  tanned  bare  legs. 
She  had  slimmed  down  since  Marny  liad  last  seen  her,  in 
the  winter— just  before  Winnie  and  Judith  left  for  the 
Florida  house  and  the  stay  which  had  been  lengthened, 
by  degrees,  for  so  many  weeks.  By  nature  rather  on 
the  stocky  side,  Winnie  was  now  reasonably  slender, 
and  it  was  becoming  to  her:  her  wholesome,  laughing 
face  showed  very  attractive  lines;  her  bones  were  large 
and,  now  that  she  had  lost  some  of  the  extra  flesh  that 
had  padded  them,  were  visibly  well  shaped. 

Tim  kissed  his  daughter  enthusiastically,  and  passed 
her  on  to  Marny. 

"Darling,"  she  said,  embracing  Marny  and  wafting  a 
new  and  very  successful  perfume  around  her.  "Judith's 
in  the  car.  .  .  .  How  are  you,  father?  .  .  .  Marny, 
you  always  look  marvelous.   .   .   .  Andre " 

Andre  Durant  had  followed  Marny.  Winnie  embraced 
him  with  as  hearty  cordiality  as  she  had  Marny;  he 
kissed  her  and  pulled  her  arm  through  his.  Marny  saw 
it,  naturally;  but  rather  unnaturally  she  looked  quickly 
away.  Andre's  dark  head  bent  like  that  over  Winnie! 

But  everybody  always  kissed  everybody  else  on  arrival 
anywhere.  It  didn't  mean  anything;  and  even  if  it  did, 
it  was  nothing  to  her.  Andre  Durant  was  only  a  man 
she'd  known — because  Judith  sent  him  to  Tim  Wales 
in  New  York  with  a  letter  of  introduction— for  exactly 
a  week.  They  had  lunched,  dined,  gone  to  some  musi- 
cals, done  the  night  clubs,  danced.  Because  Tim  asked 
her  to  go  about  with  him,  because  Andre  was  a  friend 
of  Judith's,  because  Tim  wanted  him  to  enjoy  New 
York.  And  if  she  wasn't  going  to  like  it  when  she  saw 
Andre  kiss  somebody  else,  even  lightly  on  the  cheek, 
like  that,  then  she  wao  in  for  a  bad  time,  because  Andre 
would  probably  kiss  everybody  all  his  life.  Which  was 
an  irrelevant  and  silly  thought  and  liad  nothing  to  do 
with  her. 

But  she  listened  all  the  same;  he  said: 
"Winnie  dear!   It's  grand  to  see  you.   How  was  the 
tennis  match?  How  are  you?  And  how  is  Judith?" 


"Come  along,  come  along,"  fussed  Tim,  bouncing 
.ahead  again  and  through  the  building,  letting  Marny 
and  Andre  and  Winnie  follow  him  to  the  long,  shining 
car — still  luxurious,  still  chauffeur-driven  in  spite  of  the 
limitations  of  the  war — in  which  Judith  sat  waiting  for 
them. 

"Darlings,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  low  and  husky 
and  beautiful.  "How  wonderful!  .  .  .  Winnie,  did  you 
see  to  their  baggage?  .  .  .  Tim,  my  precious,  you  look 
too  marvelous.  ...  Sit  by  me,  Marny.  .  .  .  Andre, 
how  did  you  like  New  York?" 

Winnie  had  seemed  smart  and  pretty  with  her  whole- 
some, fresh  face  and  her  white  sports  dress,  pearls  at  her 
throat  and  in  her  ears,  her  new  comparative  slimness 
and  new  perfume,  until  they  saw  Judith.  And  Judith 
was  so  lovely,  so  sleek,  so  streamlined  and  smart  and 
groomed  down  to  the  last  fine  detail  that  by  comparison 
she  made  Winnie  lapse  into  the  thick,  rather  awkward 
girl  of  teen  age  that  she  had  actually  been.  Marny  got 
into  the  car  beside  Judith  and  felt  Judith's  slender,  cool 
cheek  press  her  own  in  the  only  gesture  of  affectionate 
greeting  Judith  allowed  herself — and  wondered  if  she, 
too,  beside  Judith's  perfection,  slipped  back  to  the 
gangling,  uncertain,  awkward  little-girl  state. 

But  she  liked  Judith;  everybody  liked  her.  Winnie, 
who  might  have  been  expected  to  dislike  the  beautiful 
young  woman  who  had  slipped  into  her  mother's  place, 
and  who  instead  from  the  beginning  had  loved,  mimicked, 
run  errands  for  and  had  adored  her.  Tim,  who'd  fallen 
in  love  with  her  at  what  amounted  to  first  sight.  The 
business  staff;  the  servants — trained  by  the  first  Mrs. 
Wales,  resenting  and  fearing  the  advent  of  the  new  and 
young  Mrs.  Wales,  and  then  at  once  succumbing  to  her 
beauty  and  friendliness.  And  herself,  Marny. 

When  she  first  heard  of  the  projected  marriage,  two 
years  ago,  she'd  been  skeptical— mainly  because  of 
Judith's  youth  and  Tim's  money.  She  knew  little  of 
Judith,  only  what  Tim  had  told  her:  Judith  was  young, 
she  was  a  widow,  Tim  had  met  her  during  a  trip  to 
Buenos  Aires  and  married  her  as  soon  as  she  arrived  in 
New  York.  Marny's  slight  skepticism  did  not  survive 
her  first  interview  with  Judith. 

She  looked  at  Judith  now,  as  the  porter  finished  stow- 
ing the  bags  in  the  back  and  the  big  car  moved  smoothly 
away.  Judith  looked  remarkably  well;  she  was  only 
lightly  tanned,  as  if  she  knew  that  a  certain  pallor  was 
becoming  to  her;  her  black  hair  was  done  with  a  long, 
straight  white  part  in  the  middle  and  a  kind  of  fan  on 
her  neck — so  smoothly  and  so  neatly  that  you  felt  there 
was  not  a  hair  out  of  place.  She  wore  white,  too,  simple 
and  straight,  with  a  green  belt  and  green  sandals  and 
an  emerald  Tim  had  given  her  as  an  anniversary  present 
one  time  glowing  on  her  long,  lovely  hand.  She  was 
wearing  mother-of-pearl  nail  polish,  instead  of  red  or 
pink;  there  was  no  detail  of  dress  too  small  to  engage 
Judith's  lively  and  experimental  attention. 

Tim  had  her  other  hand  in  his  own;  she  turned  to 
smile  at  him,  but  he  was  leaning  out  in  order  to  watch 
ahead  through  the  space  between  Andre  and  Winnie, 
who  sat  on  the  folding  seats,  and  drive  mentally  with 
the  chauffeur.  He  did  not  return  Judith's  smile  and,  in 
fact,  except  for  clasping  his  young  wife's  hand,  looked 
rather  preoccupied  and  grim,  with  the  lines  showing 
sharply  around  his  eyes  and  mouth  as  they  did  when 
he  was  intent  upon  some  urgent  business  problem  and 
something  he  intended  to  settle,  promptly  and  in  any 
way  he  could  employ  to  settle  it;  Tim  was  always 
within  the  law,  but  was  not  too  scrupulous  about  the 
finer  points  of  human  relationship.  Not  when  he  wanted 
his  way. 

He'd  been  like  that,  Marny  reflected  briefly,  for 
several  days;  probably  some  business  deal  was  brewing 
and  seething  in  his  active  mind,  and  he  was  simply 
not  ready  to  tell  her  about  it  yet.  It  was  always  like 
that.  Yet  he  depended  upon  her,  in  an  odd  way,  too. 


Winnie  was  talking  rapidly:  about  the  week's  tennis 
match  in  which,  it  developed  as  Andre  questioned  her, 
she  had  won  a  cup;  about  some  recent  changes  in  the 
house;  about  their  trip,  and  the  weather  in  New  York, 
and  how  nice  it  was  to  have  them  there.  Winnie  was 
always  dependable  socially;  Judith,  rarely.  Tim  peered 
ahead  at  the  traffic.  Judith  smiled  and  listened. 

They  turned  along  Biscayne  Boulevard  and  the  smell 
of  the  sea  came  through  the  open  windows  of  the  car, 
and  Winnie  said: 

"We  had  no  idea  you  were  planning  to  come,  father. 
Did  you  come  on  business  or  just  to  see  us?" 

For  an  instant,  Tim  said  nothing.  Judith's  lovely  face 
was  very  still.  Everyone,  suddenly,  in  the  car  seemed  to 
listen.  And  Winnie  turned,  surprise  in  her  candid  face, 
and  repeated  it: 

"Why  did  you  come?" 

"Wanted  to,"  said  Tim.  "Glad  to  see  me?" 

"But  of  course,"  cried  Winnie.  Judith  said  nothing. 
Winnie  chattered  on:  "Charlie  Ingram  is  here  too. 
Staying  at  his  place  on  Silver  Point.  He's  coming  to 
dinner." 

Marny  remembered  and  liked  Charlie  Ingram — a 
perennial  bachelor  of  fifty-odd,  of  vaguely  English 
background,  who  lived  on  an  inherited  income  and  flitted 
in  and  about  society  with  the  greatest  good  nature, 
kindliness  and  popularity. 

"He's  taken  up  tennis  again,"  went  on  Winnie. 
"He's  developed  a  really  good  backhand  drive.  He's 
one  of  Judith's  admirers,  this  summer."  She  laughed, 
but  admiringly,  at  Judith.  "He's  underfoot  all  the  time." 

And  Marny  thought  suddenly  and  rather  sharply: 
why  exactly  had  they  come  to  Florida? 

It  had  been  Tim's  decision,  and  a  sudden  one.  This 
was  Monday;  Sunday  about  noon  he  had  announced 
they  were  going  to  Florida,  he  and  Marny  and  Andre 
Durant,  and  that  was  all.  At  nine-thirty  Monday  they 
had  been  ushered — with  some  ceremony  and  welcome — 
into  one  of  his  own  passenger  planes.  For  Andre,  of 
course,  it  was  returning;  it  was  in  Miami  Beach  that 
he'd  met  Judith.  But  Tim  had  added  no  word  to  his 
announcement  of  the  impending  journey.  Usually  he 
explained  trips  to  Marny,  telling  her  why,  telling  her 
what  he  intended  to  accomplish,  outlining  her  own 
duties.  He'd  had  time  to  tell  her  all  that  on  the  plane, 
and  hadn't. 

She  hadn't,  however,  given  it  any  particular  thought 
until  then.  And  certainly  whatever  the  reason  was,  it 
was  a  perfectly  matter-of-fact  and  sensible  one. 

But  the  plane  trip  had  been  monotonous,  yet  tiring; 
that  and  a  sharply  unwelcome  notion  of  something 
inexorable  and  rather  frightening  in  the  steady  en- 
croachment of  the  tropical  night  both  plucked  a  little 
at  Marny's  nerves.  Unbidden  and  unexpected  and  cer- 
tainly unwelcome,  again,  another  thought  entered  her 
mind:  had  Tim  failed  to  tell  her  thTe  reason  for  their  trip 
because  it  was  a  personal  one?  Had  it  anything  to  do 
with  Judith? 

She  glanced  at  them  again:  Judith's  lovely  hand  in 
Tim's  fat,  shiny,  strong  one;  Tim's  preoccupied,  un- 
communicative face.  Had  Judith  tired  of  that  marriage  ? 

That  was  unfair;  merely  a  thought  with  no  rhyme  or 
reason  for  it.  Judith  and  Tim  were  exactly  as  they'd 
always  been — happy  and  in  love  in  spite  of  the  difference 
in  their  ages,  in  spite  of  Judith's  look  of  glamour  and 
sophistication  and  the  romantic  atmosphere  that  some- 
how surrounded  her  wherever  she  went.  And  so  far  as 
Marny  knew — and  she  would  certainly  have  known 
otherwise — there  was  no  justification  for  that  thought. 
If  Judith  had  had  lovers,  Winnie  would  have  known 
it;  Marny  would  have  known  it.  And  Tim  Wales,  with 
his  shrewdness,  his  intuition,  his  great  sensitiveness  to 
people  and  people's  feelings,  would  probably  have 
known  it  first.  (Continued  on  Page  100) 


'^ou  <xn€  (ooelict  ciach  t^ieui  ^  ^^UcCf"  TfCaxH^  U^Aed  tU  tAc  a^.  ^t€m 


ILLUSTRATKI)      BV      PHUKTT     CAKTK 


'm- 


!'»». 


liul  alio  u<is  this  tail  bcaiilv  Nora  had 
hrou^ht  along  to  iiicvt  hiiu?  Not  Jendy! 


BY  ROBERT  itmU  ROSEMmCADIGitm 


THE  lieutenant  commander  could  not  sleep.  It 
was  late  enough  and  quiet  enough.  He  was 
tired  enough,  and  the  bed  was  comfortable 
enough.  But — the  bed  was  in  the  guest  room. 

Ted  Coleman  had  to  smile  a  little,  dimly  aware 
that  ten  years  from  now,  certainly  not  before,  he  and 
Nora  would  be  making  a  hilarious  story  out  of  this 
day.  Out  there  in  the  Pacific,  he  had  carried  a  dream 
of  it  tight  within  him  for  eighteen  months.  Even 
in  the  terrible  long  days  of  work — patchwork  on 
wounded  men,  and  amputations — when  his  mind 
and  his  hands  were  intent  for  hours  at  a  time,  the 
dream  of  home  was  just  under  the  surface.  In  his 
few  hours  of  time  to  himself,  he  brought  it  out  and 
turned  it  over,  fitted  each  piece  together  and  made 
it  whole  and  clear. 

This  morning  when  the  racketing  suburban  train 
had  slowed  down  for  Brookford,  and  he  was  peering 
out  the  window  at  the  familiar  back  yards  and 
garages,  his  heart  beginning  to  jump  a  little,  the 
dream  was  coming  true.  He  swung  off  the  train, 
running  toward  Nora.  Who  was  that  beautiful  kid 
with  her?  Why,  it  was  Jendy,  and  she  was  grown 
up,  as  tall  as  Nora.  He  didn't  even  kiss  Nora  at 
first,  just  held  on  to  her,  their  cheeks  together.  When 
he  drew  back  and  looked  at  her,  he  knew  he  hadn't 
dreamed  that  beauty,  it  was  real:  the  black  cap  of 
curls,  the  deep-blue  eyes;  so  tall,  so  lovely.  And 
Jendy !  All  that  time  he  had  thought  of  her  as  a  lit- 
tle girl,  and  she  wasn't  at  all.  She  was  sixteen  now. 
He  hugged  and  kissed  her;  then  Dick  came  into  his 
arms  like  a  homing  comet  and  started  to  cry,  and 
he'd  almost  cried  himself  and  couldn't  remember 
now  what  any  of  them  had  said.  That  part  of  it  had 
been  right,  exactly  right.  Ted  knew  that  life  would 
hold  no  more  than  three  or  four  such  moments. 

But  from  that  point  on  his  dream  of  furlough 
started  to  come  unstuck,  and  the  scenes  he  had 
worked  out  for  himself  in  the  lonely  hours  on  the 
hospital  ship  had  peeled  at  the  edges  and  then  come 
apart  completely. 

Jendy  went  back  to  school  in  the  middle  "of  the 
morning.  It  seemed  to  Ted  that  she  might  have 
taken  the  day  off,  but  perhaps  hockey  practice  was 
important  to  a  junior  girl  trying  to  make  the  varsity. 
He  and  Nora  went  arm-in-arm  out  into  the  sunshine 
in  the  back  garden  to  inspect  the  October  chrysan- 
themums. They  tried  to  talk,  but  Dick  was  right 
with  them,  pushing  betv/een  them,  interrupting,  un- 
loading a  barrage  of  questions.  When  they  said  more 
than  two  sentences  to  each  other,  he  had  whined, 
"But  nobody  is  talking  to  me." 

Then  Mrs.  Garwood  phoned  and  asked  Nora  to 
market  for  her. 

"Her  baby  is  sick,  Ted,  and  she  can't  leave,"  Nora 
had  told  him.  "She  didn't  know  you  had  just  come 
home,  and  she's  been  so  kind  to  me,  taken  Dick  a  lot 
of  times.   I  wouldn't  refuse  her  for  anything." 

So  Ted  surrendered.  "Let's  go  along,  Dick,"  he 
said,  "and  while  mom  is  marketing,  I'll  buy  you  a 
present.  How  about  it?" 

"I  don't  want  mom  to  go,  just  you  and  me." 
What  kind  of  reaction  was  that? 

Finally  Ted  found  the  last  football  in  the  village, 
but  Dick  would  have  none  of  it.  He  wanted  nothing 
but  a  blue-and-white  stuffed  elephant  in  the  drug- 
store window.  Surely  at  six  Dick  was  too  big  for 
such  junk.  Ted  bought  it  reluctantly,  and  it  gave  him 
no  joy  to  see  the  excessive  pleasure  it  gave  his  son. 

Before  they  left  the  drugstore,  Dick  tugged  him 
toward  the  soda  fountain.  "Can  I  have  an  ice-cream 
cone?" 

It  was  then  that  Ted  noticed  the  spots  on  the 
boy's  face.  "Look,  Dick,"  he  said,  "your  face  is  all 
broken  out.  You've  been  eating  too  many  sweet 
things." 

"I  haven't  had  a  cone  for  a  long  time."  Again 
that  trace  of  fretful  whine. 

"Too  much  candy,  then,"  his  father  said.  "I'll 
get  you  some  chewing  gum.  That  can't  hurt  you." 


Jendy  came  bursting  in  at  about  five  o'clock,  and 
Nora  brought  a  tray  with  ginger  ale  and  cookies. 
"You  two  go  out  in  the  yard  and  stretch  out  on  the 
deck  chairs.  Fried  chicken  for  supper,  chums,  and 
that  will  keep  mamma  stove-bound  for  a  while." 

In  the  side  yard  under  the  copper  beech,  Ted 
looked  with  pleasure  at  his  lovely  colt.  She  was 
really  strikingly  like  Nora:  the  same  short  black 
curls,  witching  blue  eyes  and  long,  slender,  muscular 
legs.  Ted  had  had  a  deep  tenderness  for  Jendy  when 
she  was  a  baby,  and  she  had  responded.  He  remem- 
.  bered  how  amused  and  pleased  Nora  used  to  be,  how 
she  would  solemnly  complain  to  the  neighbors,  "You 
know,  Jendy  is  carrying  on  a  love  affair  with  my  hus- 
band right  under  my  nose." 

r>UT  his  anticipated  heart-to-heart  talk  with  Jendy 
had  too  much  brain  in  it.  She  simply  did  not  give. 
Not,  that  is,  on  the  things  that  matter  to  a  girl  six- 
teen years  old.  She  was  glib  enough  about  her 
teachers,  and  the  new  way  of  studying  history  back- 
ward instead  of  forward,  on  the  loathsomeness  of  the 
dogfish  whose  innards  she  was  "doing"  in  zoology, 
and  on  the  keenness  of  her  hockey  coach. 

"But  tell  me,"  said  Ted,  "what  lucky  lad  squires 
you  to  cotillion?" 

"Oh,  dancing  school!"  Jendy  brought  it  out  with 
contempt.  "Helen  and  I  usually  go  together.  It's 
more  fun  than  having  to  depend  on  some  dumb  boy." 

He  would  hardly  have  noticed  the  braces  on  her 
teeth  if  she  hadn't  drawn  attention  to  them  by  a 
rather  pathetic  and  unconscious  trick  of  putting  up 
her  hand  to  shield  her  mouth  when  she  laughed. 

Dinner  was  not  too  pleasant,  in  spite  of  the  festive 
fried  chicken  and  the  fact  that  he  had  dreamed  of 
these  three  faces  sitting  together  in  candlelight. 
Were  all  six-year-old  kids  itchy?  Dick  would  not 
eat,  but  he  would  squirm  and  he  would  talk. 

After  dinner  his  offer  to  tuck  Dick  in  and  tell  him 
a  story  fell  flat. 

"I  want  mom  to  do  it.  She  tells  me  all  about 
Robin  Hood,  and  I  want  to  hear  how  he  rescued 
Will  Stutly." 

"We  can  have  Robin  Hood  some  other  time,  Dick. 
I'm  sure  daddy  has  lots  of  good  stories  to  tell." 

"No,  I  want  you."  Dick  buried  his  face  in  his 
mother's  lap.  That  whine  again.  "I  don't  want  him 
to  put  me  to  bed." 

That  hurt.  Before  he  had  joined  the  service,  and 
whenever  he  was  not  at  the  hospital,  he'd  always  put 
Dick  to  bed,  always  told  him  a  story.  The  picture  of 
the  little  boy  in  blue  pajamas,  sitting  up  in  bed,  his 
mouth  open  a  little,  spellbound,  had  been  another 
of  his  sustaining  visions  in  the  long  hours  of  home- 
sickness. And  now  he  was  home,  and  his  son  whined 
for  his  mother. 

"Do  you  suppose  he's  afraid  o£  the  uniform?" 
Ted  asked  Nora  when  she  came  downstairs. 

"No,  Ted,  you  must  be  tolerant.  He's  a  little 
jealous.  It's  merely  a  slight  case  of  mother  fixation; 
and  if  that's  all  he's  got,  I'll  be  relieved.  He's  fever- 
ish, and  those  spots  on  his  face  are  suspiciously  like 
something  I've  seen  before.  Perhaps,  doctor,  you'd 
better  take  a  professional  look  at  him." 

Of  course,  chicken  pox.  And  he  had  scolded  Dick 
for  eating  too  much  sweet  stuff  and  for  toying  with 
his  dinner. 

"Let's  get  Mrs.  White  to  take  care  of  him,"  Ted 
suggested.  "He  will  be  all  right  in  a  week,  and  mean- 
while you  and  I  have  better  things  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  White  was  on  a  case.  Every  nurse  he 
had  ever  known  was  on  a  case^  That  was  that. 

Reluctantly  Jendy  went  to  bed  at  ten,  and  he  and 
Nora  were  finally  alone.  Then  with  the  couch  drawn 
up  to  the  first  fire  of  the  season,  he  could  forget  Dick 
and  his  complexes  and  chicken  pox  and  wagging 
tongue  and  jendy's  uncertainties.  Now  he  could 
concentrate  on  his  beautiful  wife.  He  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her  with  all  the  love  and  hun- 
ger that  were  in  him,  kissed  her  cheeks,  her  lips 
and  her  eyes.  Then  he  (Continued  on  Page  79) 


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ILLUSTRATED     BY     WALTER     BAUMHOPEI 


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BY  GEORGE  LUVERIUGE 


rr  WAS  no  single,  outrageous  act  by  her 
husband  that  led  Mrs.  Sadie  Lucas  to  do 
what  she  did.  It  was,  rather,  a  long  ac- 
cumulation of  trifles,  as  it  often  is  in 
such  cases. 

The  Lucases  had  been  married  for  thirty 
years,  and  in  that  time,  as  was  natural,  cer- 
tain disagreements  and  disputes  had  arisen 
and  had  been  settled  and  forgotten,  or 
nearly  forgotten.  Once,  for  example,  Joe 
had  dropped  his  dirty  overalls  on  the  parlor 
carpet,  while  he  read  the  evening  paper,  in- 
tending to  pick  them  up  when  he  was  fin- 
ished, but  his  wife  had  ordered  him  to  pick 
them  up  right  away,  before  the  carpet  was 
ruined.  Joe  was  not  one  to  be  ordered  about 
by  any  woman,  and  Sadie  was  not  one  to 
pick  up  after  any  man,  so  the  overalls  lay 
there  two  weeks,  and  might  be  there  yet  if 
Joe  had  not  stumbled  over  them  in  the  dark 
and  cut  his  chin  on  the  radiator.  Then  his 
wife  picked  them  up,  feeling  that  he  had  had 
his  lesson. 

Another  time  he  refused  to  buy  a  piano  for 
Ella,  their  daughter.  But  a  week  later  he 
bought  a  power  saw  for  his  woodworking 
shop  in  the  cellar.  Then  an  advertisement 
appeared  in  the  classified  section  of  the 
morning  World.  It  read: 

Power  Saw— New  condition. 
Cheap.  Box  416. 

The  day  after  that,  Joe  came  home  and 
found  a  secondhand  piano  in  the  parlor. 
He  never  did  find  the  power  saw. 

But  all  that  was  while  Ella  was  still  a  little 
girl.  Now  she  was  grown  up  and  married, 
and  Sadie  and  Joe  lived  by  themselves  in  the 
five-room  bungalow  on  Governor  Street 
that  they  would  own  in  a  few  years,  if  Joe's 
job  in  the  city  water  department  held  out — 
'  and  there  was  no  reason  that  it  shouldn't. 

Joe  was  fifty-five  and  Sadie  was  fifty. 
They  looked  somewhat  alike,  as  though  they 
had  been  models  for  a  couple  of  quaint  fig- 
ures to  stand,  say,  on  either  end  of  a  man- 
tel— both  short,  both  round,  both  short- 
sighted, both  stooped  a  bit.  They  coasted 
slowly  and  evenly  along  the  declivity  on  the 
other  side  of  the  middle  of  life,  and  they 
might  have  gone  on  that  way  to  the  end, 
without  hitting  more  than  a  slight  bump  here 
and  there,  if  Joe  had  not  insisted  on  sleeping 
while  he  coasted. 

When  he  was  about  fifty,  he  fell  into  the 
habit  of  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  parlor  after 
supper  for  a  nap.  At  nine  o'clock  he  got  up 
and  went  to  bed.  The  only  variation  in  this 
routine  occurred  Sundays,  when  he  slept  late 
in  the  morning,  napped  all  afternoon  and, 
before  going  to  bed,  listened  to  a  few  radio 
programs  that  Sadie  disliked. 

As  LONG  as  Ella  was  unmarried  and  living 
at  home,  Sadie  didn't  mind.  She  and  Ella 
had  always  been  as  close  as  button  and  but- 
tonhole. They  made  dresses  together,  went 
to  church  and  the  movies  together,  sat  and 
talked  together,  or  just  sat  together  and  said 
nothing,  and  were  content.  Then  overnight, 
as  it  seemed,  Ella  married  and  moved  a  thou- 
sand miles  away. 

For  days  Sadie  sat  around  the  house  try- 
ing to  get  used  to  the  fact  that  Ella  was 
twenty-four  years  of  age  and  was  gone  for 
good,  barring  divorce  or  something  of  that 
sort.  Sadie  tried  to  talk  to  Joe  about  it  eve- 
nings, but  he  only  said,  "Of  course.  Why 
not?  You  got  married,  didn't  you?"  Then 
he  fell  dead  on  the  sofa,  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses, and  began  to  snore,  and  Sadie  just  sat 
there. 

The  first  Christmas  after  Ella  was  married 
was  the  worst  time  of  all  for  Sadie.  While  she 
and  Joe  were  eating  supper  in  the  kitchen 
the  week  before  Christmas,  she  said,  "Shall 
we  have  a  tree  this  year?  " 

"Tree?  Whatcha  mean?" 

"Christmas  tree,  of  course,"  Sadie  said. 


"Suitchaself,"  he  told  her,  chewing  loudly. 

She  bought  a  tree,  even  though  Ella 
wasn't  coming  home  at  all  for  the  holiday. 
It  was  a  smaller  tree  than  usual,  only  about 
five  feet  tall.  Sadie  carried  it  home  herself 
from  the  grocer's.  She  fetched  the  wooden 
stand  and  the  boxes  of  ornaments  from  the 
cellar,  set  up  the  tree,  draped  a  white  sheet 
around  the  bottom  of  it,  and  spent  the  after- 
noon putting  on  the  lights,  the  glass  balls 
and  the  tinsel.  She  had  no  heart  for  it,  but 
it  made  the  time  go  by. 

She  got  through  Christmas  Day  tolerably 
well.  She  left  the  tree  up  all  the  next  week, 
with  the  unwrapped  presents  under  it.  There 
was  something  nice  about  a  Christmas  tree, 
the  way  it  stayed  so  green,  the  way  the  tinsel 
glittered  and  the  bubbles  of  colored  glass 
grew  from  it,  the  way  it  reached  back  into 
childhood  and,  like  an  immense  and  magic 
candle,  lighted  up  faces  that  had  changed, 
vanished,  been  forgotten.  Even  when  she 
had  removed  the  presents  from  around  the 
tree,  she  couldn't  bring  herself  to  strip  off 
the  decorations.  They  looked  so  pretty  and 
lively. 

When  Joe  caoie  home  at  night  he  said, 
"What  you  going  to  do?  Save  it  for  next 
Christmas?" 

But  she  replied,  "There's  no  hurry.  It's 
not  in  your  way." 

Later  in  the  week  Willie  Fergus,  the  boy 
next  door,  knocked  on  the  kitchen  door  and 
asked  her  whether  he  could  have  the  Christ- 
mas tree,  because  the  boys  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  gathering  trees  for  a  bonfire. 

"Don't  you  think  that's  dangerous?"  she 
asked. 

"No,  ma'am.  We'll  have  a  swell  fire.  We'll 
be  careful." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  Willie,  but  we  haven't 
taken  our  tree  down  yet." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  disappointed. 

She  gave  him  an  apple  and  he  thanked  her 
and  went  off. 

From  her  kitchen  window,  she  saw  the 
kids  dragging  trees  into  the  lot  a  block  away. 
They  built  up  a  stack  of  them  about  ten  feet 
high.  Sadie  was  nervous.  Suddenly  a  flame 
appeared  against  the  green  of  the  trees.  It 
soared  to  the  top  and  leaped  off  into  the  sky. 
The  boys  yelled  and  danced.  They  ran  up 
close  to  the  fire  and  curved  away.  They  pre- 
tended to  push  one  another  into  it.  One  boy 
grabbed  another's  cap  and  flung  it  into  the 
fire.  A  great  tower  of  flame  and  smoke  crack- 
led out  of  the  field,  as  though  the  earth  had 
opened  above  the  fiery  pit. 

Then  Sadie  heard  the  clang  of  fire  engines. 
The  boys  ran.  The  red  trucks  pulled  into  the 
lot  with  their  sirens  dying  away,  and  the 
firemen  quickly  washed  down  the  flames. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  firemen  were  gone 
again.  The  boys  came  back.  They  kicked  the 
charred,  wet  skeletons  of  the  Christmas  trees 
around.  Then  they  went  off  to  some  other 
deviltry. 

All  in  all,  Sadie  thought,  she  had  rather  en- 
joyed it.  Then  she  sighed,  and  she  said  to 
herself  that  it  was  time  she  took  down  her 
own  tree.  She  harvested  the  ornaments  and 
packed  them  for  another  year.  The  Christ- 
mas tree  stood  there  naked,  still  green,  on  its 
unpainted  wooden  base. 

That  night  she  told  Joe  he  could  toss  the 
Christmas  tree  into  the  back  yard  for  the 
rubbish  collector,  and  he  said  he  would  after 
supper.  After  supper  he  said  he  thought  he 
would  have  a  nap  first. 

"But  it'll  only  take  you  a  minute." 

"  It  won't  take  me  no  longer  after  I  have 
a  nap,  will  it?  "  he  said  testily.  He  lay  down 
and  folded  his  hands  over  his  belly  and  was 
asleep  in  an  instant. 

When  he  got  up  from  his  nap,  Sadie  was  in 
the  cellar  tending  to  the  furnace  fire.  Joe 
went  to  bed  without  taking  the  tree  down. 
She  was  sharp  to  him  about  it. 

(Continued  on  Page  137) 


ran  MIGUT  CilLL  JOE  THE  PER- 
KEI'T  IIIISBMn.  IIE  LIKED  WHIT 
MmkEII.  IIE  liKOLGIIT  HOME 
niS  PAY.  IIE  DIDS'T  TALK  BIf K. 


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rr  WAS  eleven-twenty  p.m.  and  the  two  girls  stood 
under  the  blazing  lights  in  the  great  belly  of  Grand 
Central  Station.  Leaving  New  York,  Penny  felt  like 
a  soldier  leaving  the  front  lines. 
"  Run  along,  Norma,"  she  said  to  the  girl  who  stood  be- 
side her.  "It's  stupid  for  you  to  wait  here." 

Penny  gazed  at  the  stream  of  people  who  flowed  end- 
lessly to  the  lower  levels  of  the  vast  station  and  the 
even  lower  subways.  These  people  were  the  city's  resi- 
dents. They  moved  with  the  precision  of  straight  lines. 
New  York  didn't  seem  to  get  any  of  them  down.  Penny 
reflected.  She  glanced  again  at  her  friend.  New  York 
didn't  get  Norma  down  either. 

Norma  stood  there  bareheaded  and  smoothly  blond. 
A  small  jeweled  vanity  rested  in  the  palm  of  her  hand; 
furs  richly  hid  her  evening  dress.  "What  do  you  think 
Addison  will  be  doing  while  you're  away  on  your  noble 
experiment?"  Norma  asked  quietly. 

Penny  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it.  "Please  run  along 
now.  You're  already  late." 

"To  deliberately  put  on  the  hair  shirt,"  Norma  said, 
"when  you  might  have  had  a  mink  instead." 

Penny  was  unable  to  explain  her  urge  to  go,  even  to 
herself.  It  was  as  if  she  housed  within  her  a  second 
self,  a  self  propelled  by  reasons  without  words. 

"Stations  are  grim,"  Norma  said. 

"We  used  to  call  them  depots,  remember."  Penny 
recalled  that  little  yellow  station  in  Arkansas  that  had 
once  looked  to  her  and  Norma  like  the  gates  to  paradise. 
Gates  through  which  one  could  pass— to  New  York. 

"Everything  evolves,  you  know,  and  so  will  Addi- 
son," Norma  said  glumly. 

"Addison  probably  thinks  I  need  a  psychiatrist," 
Penny  said  carelessly,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  familiar 
•honey-colored  marble  staircase  that  led  up  to  the  street. 
That  staircase  was  surely  the  best-known  staircase  in 
the  world.  How  many  millions  of  young  girls  had 
trudged  up  that  staircase  weighted  with  battered  suit- 
cases, eager  for  their  first  glimpse  of  New  York.  And 
how  many  disappointed  Cinderellas  had  walked  down 
that  staircase  again! 

Hastily  Penny  reminded  herself  that  she  was  leav- 
ing of  her  own  choice.  She  had  found  Addison,  who, 
though  fortyish,  was  tolerably  handsome,  tolerably  rich, 
and  in  his  way  tolerably  devoted  to  her. 

"You'd  think  I  was  pulling  up  stakes  for  good  and 
all,"  Penny  said. 

"If  you  have  to  do  war  work,  you  could  do  it  here 
just  as  well  as  in  San  Francisco,"  Norma  said.  As  if  with 
sudden  inspiration,  she  went  on:  "Addison  would  buy 
you  War  Bonds.  That's  helping  the  war,  too,  isn't  it?" 


Norma  stood  there,  distinctly  a  New  Yorker,  Penny 
thought.  Yet  how  many  million  girls  had  come  to  New 
York  and  remained  year  after  year,  hating  the  city, 
hating  their  lives  in  it,  yet  stubbornly  remaining  be- 
cause they  were  ashamed  to  leave.  This  was  the  New 
York  myth.  The  myth  that  all  life  was  centered  here; 
that  New  York  was  the  front  lines;  that  to  go  to  any 
other  city  was  retreat. 

"  I  don't  want  to  lecture  you,  pet,"  Norma  said,  "but 
you'd  think  you  were  married  and  set.  You'd  thirJc  you 
didn't  know  how  scarce  men  like  Addison  are." 

Five  years  ago  Penny  and  Norma  had  arrived  in  this 
same  overpowering  station,  trudged  up  those  beckoning 
marble  stairs.  Ostensibly  they  had  come  to  New  York 
to  work.  The  compelling  reason  was  the  same  as  Cin- 
derella's—to find  the  man. 

Their  life  was  a  long  tiptoeing  of  experimental  liv- 
ing— of  changing  jobs  and  neighborhoods.  They  moved 
from  Greenwich  Village  up  the  Avenue.  They  shifted 
from  manikins  in  a  large  department  store  to  a  small 
exclusive  uptown  shop.  They  took  a  turn  in  an  antique 
shop  and  a  season  understudying  on  Broadway.  But 
always  the  job  was  secondary.  The  real  career  was  know- 
ing men.  It  was  a  curriculum  that  began  with  dark 
tearoom  dinners  in  Greenwich  Village,  on  to  the  Italian 
tables  d'hote,  then  graduating  to  the  East  Side  restau- 
rants where  the  maitre  d'hotel  knew  one  by  name. 
Penny  and  Norma  were  among  the  girls  about  town 
who  rarely  spend  an  evening  at  home.  They  had  two 
distinctions.  They  had  beauty.  They  were  always  in 
the  company  of  well-known  men  about  town. 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  leaving  Edward,"  Norma  said. 
"And  Edward's  older  than  Addison  and  less  likely  to 
evolve." 

"Edward  will  be  furious  if  you  keep  him  waiting  any 
longer.  Please  go  on  to  your  party,"  Penny  urged. 

When  Norma  finally  consented  and  Penny  found  her- 
self standing  there  alone,  the  whole  aspect  of  her  de- 
parture seemed  a  nightmare.  Midnight.  Waiting  for  a 
train  to  take  her  three  thousand  miles  to  San  Francisco. 
There  she  would  find  a  job,  preferably  in  a  shipyard. 
And  all  for  no  rational  reason  at  all!  What  was  the 
matter  with  her? 

Norma  was  going  up  that  yellow  marble  staircase — 
back  in  the  swim,  so  to  speak.  It  seemed  to  Penny  then 
that  just  by  that  mere  staircase  you  were  either  in  or  out 
of  New  York.  I  f  she  chose,  she  herself  might  this  moment 
mount  those  stairs  again  and  within  the  space  of  a  few 
blocks  find  hersel  f  among  friends  at  a  party ,  be  welcomed, 
begin  to  laugh  at  herself,  throw  off  all  this  stupid  gravity. 
Then  the  black  gate  to  the  trains  opened,  and  Penny 


joined  the  stream  passing  through  it  obediently.  Once 
having  passed  through  that  gate,  it  was  inevitable:  yoif 
were  definitely  out  of  New  York. 

When  the  train  began  to  move  softly  as  if  on  velvet 
tracks,  she  began  slowly  to  undress. 

For  about  a  year  now  she  had  been  thinking  that  she 
was  passing  her  life  sitting  at  tables— leaning  her  elbows 
on  white  tablecloths.  The  constant  frenzy  to  arrive  on 
time.  Breathless  at  luncheon.  Eager  at  five  o'clock. 
Sparkling  at  later  hours;  her  eyes,  as  everyone's,  flicker- 
ing constantly  to  the  door  to  see  if  a  new  arrival  might 
be  an  acquaintance. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  whole  areas  of  her  person  were 
left  in  a  dark  closet.  Especially  with  Addison,  who  was 
always  jovial.  And  never  more  jovial  than  when  he  was 
feeling  exhausted.  With  Addison  exhaustion,  fatigue 
were  things  to  keep  well  hidden.  His  was  the  world  of 
smart  talk,  double  talk,  the  world  of  women  always  on 
parade.  The  well-being  always  on  top.  He  and  his 
friends,  most  of  them  eminently  successful  men,  intelli- 
gent. Yet  they  spent  their  evenings  leaning  on  tables 
exchanging  the  glazed  glances  of  the  homeless.  The 
rootless,  gathered  under  the  night-club  lights,  confident 
they  were  postgraduates  in  sophistication. 

Penny  had  learned  to  postpone  Addison  if  she  were 
in  an  unhappy  mood.  It  was  all  right  to  look  somber,  a 
Dark  Lady  of  the  Sonnets,  as  Addison  termed  it,  for  that 
was  her  style  and  he  liked  it.  But  he  was  an  addict  of  cheer 
and  wit,  and  he  liked  the  paradox  of  an  interesting  pallor 
coupled  with  bright  small  talk.  Just  so,  he  liked  the 
last  frivolity  in  hats  laughing  on  her  dark,  smooth  hair. 

Sometimes,  in  the  glitter  of  the  shops,  Penny  felt  a 
longing  for  a  gingham  dress  and  the  simplicity  of  soap. 
Speaking  of  this  to  Addison,  she  used  her  gayest  voice: 
"The  Arkansas  coming  out." 

"Better  have  a  blood  count,"  said  Addison. 

Penny  turned  on  the  small  blue  night  light  over  her 
berth  and  looked  at  her  watch.  Well,  she  thought, 
they'll  all  be  at  the  Stork  by  now,  playing  gin  rummy  and 
watching  the  door.  Edward  just  enduring  it,  and  Norma, 
eyes  alert,  sitting  at  the  table  like  an  executive  at  her  desk. 

All  that  had  been  eleven  months  ago.  Eleven  months. 

Telegrams  occasionally  from  Norma:  "What  are  you 
trying  to  prove?   It  sounds  so  grim." 

Or  brief,  matter-of-fact  letters  from  Addison  ending, 
"Don't  you  think  it's  been  long  enough  for  your  noble 
experiment?" 

Penny  stood  at  the  high,  half-sized  window  of  the 
blueprint  shack,  looking  out  at  the  shipyard.  Four 
o'clock.  The  fog  (Continued  on  Page  84) 


i      WHEM  A  filRL  WMTS  LOVE,  HOTHiaiG  ELSE  WILL  DO 

^        T7 


<    ^ 


IVilUam  was  not  a  man  to  [feed  a 
Cirl  flattery.  "You  ean't  poNsibly 
be  as  pretty  as  that,"  lie  said. 


1^  :|^— 

4riiiiiiii 

mm 


.!>&:ii 


MEN  say  they  believe  that  women  take 
everything  personally.  That  is  just  what 
women  should  do  with  the  veteran  prob- 
lem. The  woman's  task  is  to  help  her  own 
man  when  he  needs  it,  to  treat  him  as  a  human 
being  who  is  like  nobody  else  in  the  world.  The 
personal  sideof  reconstruction  is  woman's  work. 

Naturally,  there  must  be  large-scale  plans 
for  dealing  with  the  masses  of  men  who  come 
home  from  the  wars.  The  Federal  Government 
must  assume  the  financial  responsibility  for 
the  retraining  and  rehabilitation  of  the  mil- 
lions. Industry  must  somehow  be  managed  in 
order  to  furnish  jobs.  Communities  must  plan 
for  the  return  of  that  one  tenth  of  their  popu- 
lation which  the  other  nine  tenths  have  used 
to  fight  a  war.  But  after  all  this  is  done,  every 
soldier's  family  must  somehow  see  him  through, 
help  him  to  make  up  his  mind  about  his  future 
plans,  to  form  new  habits  of  civilian  living,  to 
nerve  himself  for  the  push  and  shove  of  com- 
petition, and  to  forget  his  bad  dreams  and  bat- 
tle horrors.  That  is  where  the  women  come  in. 

There  are  no  hard-and-fast  rules  in  such 
matters.  An  old  story  of  a  Chinese  wheel- 
wright illustrates  this  point.  One  day  this 
workman,  inclined  to  impudence,  interrupted 
a  mandarin  at  his  studies  with  a  question: 

"Sir,   what    is   the   mandarin    doing?" 

"I  am  reading  the  books  wherein        ...  ,, 
is  contained  the  wisdom  of  the  ages," 
the  mandarin  told  the  wheelwright. 


"Then  the  mandarin  is  wasting  his  time!" 

"Very  good,"  said  the  mandarin.  "Either 
you  will  prove  that  statement  or  you  will  lose 
your  head." 

"Easily,  sir,"  replied  the  wheelwright.  " Now 
as  a  master  wheelwright  I  can  tell  my  son 
that  if  he  shaves  the  spokes  too  much  they 
will  be  too  loose,  and  the  wheel  will  be  spoiled, 
and  that  if  he  does  not  shave  them  enough 
they  will  be  too  tight,  and  the  wheel  will  be 
spoiled.  But  I  cannot  tell  him  how  much  is 
too  much  and  how  little  is  too  little.  That  he 
can  learn  only  from  experience." 

So  we  must  proceed  in  our  relations  with 
the  returning  serviceman.  We  can  state  no 
rules,  only  a  general  principle,  which  is  that 
understanding  will  help,  as  it  does  with  all 
human  problems.  The  understanding  of  which 
I  speak  is  not  bookish  or  scholarly.  It  is  the 
kind  of  wisdom  one  gains  in  human  affairs  by 
being  able  to  imagine  how  it  feels  to  be  some- 
body else.  It  is  judgment — sympathy.  It  is 
the  woman's  job  to  help  her  veteran  by  giving 
him  this  kind  of  understanding,  and  she  is 
pre-eminently  equipped  to  give  it. 

THE   MOTHER 

A  mother  whom  I  know  has  a  son  who  went 
away  three  years  ago  at  the  age  of  eighteen. 
Soon  he  will  return — safe  and  sound,  we 
*;j^hope — aged  twenty-one  or  somewhat  more. 

^When  her  son  comes  home,  that  mother 


BY  IVILIJKD  WilLLGR 


,wm\ci  to  hernia  d  (mkjii  mh  k  iiflite  A\tA 


must  make  an  effort  to  understand  him.  She 
will  need  to  realize<hat  her  son,  who  went  away 
a  boy,  comes  back  as  a  man  grown.  She  must 
know  that  she  can  no  longer  regulate  his  hours 
or  control  his  associations,  and  that  she  must 
give  him  a  grownup's  latitude  in  deciding  what 
is  fitting  and  what  is  not.  She  must  grant  him 
an  adult's  privacy,  actual  and  spiritual.  She 
must  respect  and  cultivate  his  sense  of  independ- 
ence, even  though  he  may  be  economically  de- 
pendent upon  his  family  for  some  years  to  come. 

In  a  sense,  these  are  normal  problems  faced 
by  all  mothers.  There  comes  a  time  when  the 
fledgling  must  learn  to  fly,  and  his  mother  must 
not  prevent  him — must,  in  fact,  push  him  out 
of  the  nest  if  that  proves  necessary.  This  is  a 
difficult  crisis  at  all  times,  but  especially  so  in 
time  of  war.  This  particular  mother  has  not 
seen  her  son  grow  up;  this  particular  son  has 
aged  rapidly  and  in  an  abnormal  manner. 

And  this  mother  and  this  son  have  other 
problems  over  and  above  the  normal  problems 
of  emancipation.  The  son  has  had  an  experience 
which  has  somehow  changed  him,  an  experience 
beyond  the  ken  of  his  mother  and  all  others  who 
have  stayed  at  home.  Every  soldier  has  been 
affected  by  his  experience;  all  will  be,  to  some 
extent,  maladjusted  in  civilian  society.  At  the 
very  least,  every  soldier  has  left  his  home  not 
knowing  that  he  would  ever  return,  and  taken 
leave  of  his  family  and  friends  with  no  certainty 
of  ever  seeing  them  again.   Perhaps  the  soldier 


4 


has  faced  death  and  learned  to  master  fear,  horror 
and  guilt.  He  has  been  used  as  a  means  of  war, 
has  been  sharpened  into  an  instrument  of  death. 

The  man  who  has  been  in  a  war,  be  he  eight- 
een years  of  age  or  sixty,  has  shared  in  the 
fierce  loyalty  of  fighting  men.  Whatever  later 
disillusionment  may  come,  he  will  never  forget 
that  at  one  time  "his  heart  has  been  touched 
with  fire."  His  life  long  he  will  remember  this 
fellowship,  and  will  seek  a  peacetime  equivalent 
which  does  not  exist.  From  this  fellowship,  this 
solidarity,  arise  many  of  the  traits  of  the  soldier 
and  the  veteran  which  civilians  find  hardest  to 
understand.  Sometimes  it  makes  the  soldier 
feel  guilty  when  he  is  on  leave,  and  he  drinks 
or  becomes  rowdy  in  order  to  overcome  the 
feeling.  When  the  war  is  over,  the  veteran  pre- 
serves his  loyalty  to  those  who  "have  drunk 
from  the  same  canteen,"  and  often  he  prefers 
their  company  to  any  other.  Veterans'  organi- 
zations are  really  very  useful  in  giving  the 
veteran  a  sort  of  bridge  to  civilian  living.  The 
veteran's  mother  may  be  inclined  to  take  a 
jaundiced  view  of  such  associations,  but  she 
will  be  wrong.  It  is  normal  and  healthful  for  ex- 
soldiers  to  stick  together  for  a  while  after  a  war. 

In  the  Army,  the  soldier's  individual  will  does 
not  count.  An  army  is  a  machine  for  fighting,  a 
machine  which  enables  a  million  men  to  act 
with  a  single  will.  An  army  produces  its  effects 
by  annihilating  the  individual  will  of  the  soldier. 
No  one  says  "please"  or  "thank  you"  in  the 


Army.  Therefore  the  soldier,  accustomed  to  giv- 
ing and  receiving  commands,  forgets  how  to 
make  his  own  decisions  and  yet  rebels  against 
those  who  make  them  for  him;  he  carries  over 
into  civilian  life  this  need  for  an  outward  prop 
to  his  will,  this  dependence  upon  authority,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  bitterly  resents  being  or- 
dered about  after  he  has  been  released  from  the 
Army's  regimentation. 

In  the  Army,  too,  one  becomes  accustomed 
to  ordering  and  forbidding,  and  fails  to  acquire 
mastery  of  the  arts  of  persuasion  and  consent. 
The  soldier  loses  touch  with  that  civilian  world 
where  one  must  plead  and  persuade  and  permit 
others  to  argue  with  him.  But  the  veteran,  long 
repressed,  feels  an  urgent  need  to  express  his  own 
individuality,  though  he  is  probably  awkward 
in  those  unfamiliar  realms  where  everything  de- 
pends upon  consent,  and  he  may  be,  like  Welling- 
ton, "defective  in  the  minor  art  of  persuasion." 

With  the  annihilation  of  will  goes  boredom, 
which  in  war  attains  its  highest  point.  It  has 
been  said  that  war  is  boredom  organized,  that 
war  is  simply  long  periods  of  boredom  relieved 
by  acute  periods  of  fear.  The  veteran  is  a  man 
who  has  known  the  crushing  weight  of  ennui 
for  what  seemed  to  him  like  a  very  long  period 
of  time.  And  he  has  also  lived  a  long  time  with 
the  knowledge  that  tomorrow  he  may  die.  Small 
wonder  that  he  demands  amusement  in  postwar 
years,  and  often  cultivates  the  cruder,  coarser 
forms  of  recreation.  (Continued  on  Page  92) 

11 

PHOTO    BY    EWING    GALLOWAY,  N.  Y. 


N 


\ 


*»«*». 


■"^ 


XV 


4  » 


....  two,  three  or  four  simultaneous  melodies  which 
are  <ronstaiilly  on  the  move,  caeh  going  its  own  independ- 
«'nt  way.  For  this  reason  the  underlying  harmony  is  often 
hard  lo  decipher,  heing  veiled  by  a  maze  of  passing  notes 
aM<l  suspensions.  .  .  .  Often  chords  are  incomplete;  only 
I  wo  tones  are  sounded  so  that  one's  imagination  has  to 
(ill  in  the  missing  third  tone.  (A  passage  describing  Bach's 
fugues,  written  by  Lawrence  Abbott.) 

THE  house,  it  seems,  is  more  important  than  the  charac- 
ters. For  almost  a  hundred  years,  for  ninety-nine  years, 
it  had  sheltered  the  family,  but  the  lease  was  up.  "And 
the  owners  are  not  prepared  to  renew,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby,  putting  his  brief  case  on  the  table. 

Rolls  Dane — old  Gen.  Sir  Roland  Ironmonger  Dane, 
K.C.B.,  D.S.O.— looked  at  young  Mr.  Willoughby  with  dis- 
like. "Not  renew!"  he  said. 

A  lease  of  this  sort,  a  ninety-nine  years'  tenancy,  was  a 
most  unsatisfactory  sort  of  lease,  explained  Mr.  Willoughby. 
The  tenant  was  always  the  loser;  all  assets  accrued  to  the 
owner,  who  in  this  case  was  not  prepared  to  renew. 

"You  need  not  say  that  again,"  said  Rolls. 

Leases  run  for  ninety-nine  years;  no  more.  Was  that  be- 
cause, after  a  hundred  years,  some  change  takes  place?  A 
hundred  years.  A  century.  Rolls  remembered  the  turn  of 
the  century.  '  Before  you  were  born,'  Rolls  could  have  said  to 
young  Mr.  Willoughby,  whom  he  disliked.  "Will  they  sell?" 
he  asked  abruptly. 

"You  wouldn't  want  to  buy  just  now?"  said  young  Mr. 
Willoughby,  of  Willoughby,  Paxton,  Low  and  Willoughby, 
who  had  been  solicitors  to  the  family  for  the  lifetime  of  the 
firm.  "Besides,  I  hear  it  is  to  be  pulled  down." 

'  But  they  can't  pull  down  my  house ! '  cried  Rolls,  but  he 
cried  it  silently  because  he  was  perfectly  sensible  of  the  fact 
that  they  could,  and  that  it  was  not  his  house.  He  was  sensi- 
ble and  at  the  same  time  he  was  outraged.  He  said  in  a  voice 
that  was  muffled,  for  all  its  calm,  "I  don't  want  the  family 
to  go  out  of  the  house." 

The  only  remaining  family  was  Rolls  himself,  but  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby could  hardly  point  that  out.  "We  could  try  for  a 
lease  of  occupation,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "But  I  am  afraid 
it  would  not  be  for  long — say  six  months  or  a  year." 

Six  months.  A  year.  Ninety-nine  years.  '  It  is  all  compara- 
tive,' said  Rolls,  sitting  heavily  in  his  chair.  "How  long  have 
we  got?"  he  asked. 

"The  lease  runs  out  on  the  fifteenth  of  December  of  this 
year,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 

There  is  in  London  a  Wiltshire  Square,  a  Wiltshire  Cres- 
cent and  a  Wiltshire  Road,  Wiltshire  Gardens  and  Wiltshire 
Place.  The  house  is  No.  99  Wiltshire  Place. 

77ii.s  isa  ctmilensatitm  to  27  MiW  tv€>rds  itf  the  full-length  novelaoon 
to  he  piihlishctl  hy  Little^  Hroivn  &  Company ,  under  the  titlot 
Take  Three  Teiisen — A  Fugue  in  Time. 


""I  Nhull   miirry  >'»!■  ivhoa  I  coni»  back."   .  . 


"And  if  I 


i 


i^-tt. 


The  street  door  Is  still  open  and  the  Place,  as  It  shows  beyond  Its  arf b,  pale,  lighted  by  the  lamps,  is  Imprinted  on  Rollo's  mind  forever. 


. 


In  the  house,  where  the  old  man  sat,  the  past  is  present. 

All  the  houses  in  the  Place  are  built  alike.  They  are  joined 
in  pairs  through  their  dining  and  drawing  room  walls  and 
separated  by  area  paths  that  lead  down  steps  between  walls 
to  their  back  doors. 

The  kitchens  are  in  the  basement — and  all  along  the  Place 
the  curtains  are  uniformly,  meticulously  drawn  to  a  distance 
of  three  feet  and  a  table  of  plants  put  between  them.  The 
kitchen  windows  at  No.  99  are  shaded  by  creepers  that  give 
a  green  reflection  to  the  metal  dish  covers  in  summer,  and 
dark  shadows  to  the  room  in  winter.  The  kitchen,  and  its 
range  and  boiler  with  its  cumbrous  thick-painted  pipes,  is  the 
core  of  the  house;  the  burning  of  the  fire,  the  boiling  of  the 
water  keep  a  warmth  and  continuity  that  are  like  breathing. 
The  kitchen  has  a  warm,  pungent  smell,  flavored  with  cinders 
and  onions  and  nutmeg  and  starch  and  warm  linen  and  gin- 
ger and  coffee. 

Outside  the  kitchen,  in  the  passage  that  leads  to  the  cel- 
lars, the  scullery  and  the  butler's  pantry,  is  a  row  of  bells, 
each  numbered  for  the  rooms  upstairs.  Three  generations  of 
butlers  have  answered  those  bells. 

Proutie  was  in  the  house  still.  He  came  down  in  the  raw 
foggy  morning  to  unlock  the  doors  and  let  the  cat  out  and  let 
Mrs.  Crabbe,  the  charwoman,  in. 

Stairs  go  up,  oilclothed,  brass-bound,  steep,  to  the  ground 
floor  that,  like  most  London  ground  floors,  is  raised  up  from 
the  street  and  from  the  garden.  The  stairs  are  so  designed 
that  it  is  nearly  impossible  to  carry  heavy  trays  from  the 
basement  up  them,  but  heavy  trays  are  carried  up  them  sev- 
eral times  a  day. 

The  ground  floor  is  a  different  world.  The  basement  stairs 
are  hidden  by  cream-painted  banisters  and  a  mahogany 
handrail  that  rises  with  serpentine  twists  up  the  well  of  the 
stairs.  The  carpet  is  trodden  nearly  threadbare  in  places;  the 
brass  rods  that  fasten  it  are  thinned  and  fine  with  polishing. 
There  is  no  need  to  polish  the  handrail;  the  hands  do  that, 
though  the  children  leave  marks  that  are  sticky:  Roly  sticks  a 
lump  of  toffee  under  the  rail  in  the  crack  where  it  meets  the 
banister;  Lark  finds  it  and  recognizes  it  as  toffee  eight  years 
later — very  faintly  it  s^ill  tastes  like  toffee.  The  hall 
and  the  stair  paper  is  blu#(l' satin  paper  that  the  Eye  buys  in 
ambitious  extravagance;  like  most  of  his  investments,  the 
paper  turns  out  well :  in  its  hundred  years  it  has  only  faded 
and  soiled  to  a  pleasant  Wedgwood  blue.  The  Danes  are  good 
at  making  investments,  careers  and  money;  they  are  faithful 
lovers,  but  keep  their  heads  in  love:  Selina  keeps  hers  so  well 
that  she  never  falls  in  love. 

There  are  three  doors  on  the  ground  floor,  doors  with  white 
handles  and  white  china  door  plates,  embossed  with  gold 
forget-me-nots  and  roses.  They  lead  to  the  dining  room,  the 
drawing  room  and  the  study. 

The  curtains  in  the  study  are  drawn  back,  the  light  is  bleak 
but  clear.  The  study  is  an  uninviting  room,  with  something 


ambitious  in  the  importance  of  the  desk  put  halfway  across 
it,  and  the  green  walls,  the  maroon  carpet,  the  black  sheep- 
skin rugs,  the  bookcases  full  of  heavy  ornamental  books. 
There  is  a  safe,  a  bust  of  Claudius  Caesar  crowned  with  laurel, 
and  a  picture. 

It  is  light  enough  to  see  the  picture.  It  is  of  a  young  woman 
and  a  group  of  children,  a  large  group  of  children:  Mrs.  Gri- 
selda  Dane,  wife  of  John  Ironmonger  Dane,  Esq.,  and  their 
children:  Pelham,  John  Robert,  Lionel,  James,  Selwyn,  Selina, 
Frederick,  Elizabeth  and  Rollo.  1861.  Visitors  are  always 
surprised  to  see,  on  looking  into  the  picture,  that  Frederick, 
Elizabeth  and  Rollo  are  all  of  the  same  size.  There  is  an  ex- 
planation for  that :  the  first  two  are  twins,  Rollo  is  painted  in 
the  picture  afterward. 

The  sizes  are  recorded  and  the  names  repeated  in  penciled 
handwriting,  still  faintly  to  be  read,  on  the  wall  by  the  dining- 
room  door:  there  the  height  of  every  child  at  two  and  five 
and  ten  years  old  is  recorded.  Rollo  is  the  tallest  of  the 
boys,  Pelham  the  shortest;  the  twins  are  not  recorded  after 
five  years  old;  and  in  the  corner,  by  the  lacquer  cabinet, 
is  another  height  marked  by  a  crooked  line  and  a  name  in 
big  round  writing:  Lark.  There  is  no  Lark  in  the  picture. 
There  is  not,  anywhere  in  the  house,  a  picture  of  Lark. 

Though  it  is  painted  with  deliberate  stillness,  styled,  the 
picture  seems  alive  in  the  room.  Rolls,  last  night,  was  looking 
at  the  picture,  looking  at  Griselda's  eyes;  at  the  well-set-up, 
sturdy  little  boys;  at  his  own  head  as  it  was  when  he  was 
Roly  with  his  hair  cut  round  in  a  pudding-basin  shape.  He 
looked  at  himself  and  he  asked  a  question.  There  was  nothing 
in  that:  when  he  is  that  little  boy  he  perpetually  asks  ques- 
tions; later  he  ceased  to  question  and  to  wonder. 

'Why?'  asked  Rolls.  'Because  I  knew  everything?  Was 
always  right?  Hadn't  the  wit  to  be  uncertain?'  Now,  once 
again,  he  tingled  with  questioning  as  had  that  eager  little 
boy.  Can  one  remember  before  one  is  born?  No,  manifestly 
not.  'But,'  said  Rolls,  looking  at  the  picture,  'but  I  do  re- 
member, and  I  experience  what  happens;  not  only  what  hap- 
pens when  I  was  not  there,  but  what  was  not  there  at  all. 
What  did  not  happen.  What  only  might  have  been.  .  .  . 
Might  have  been.'  At  the  very  words  this  new,  revivifying 
warmth  crept  into  his  veins  again.  He  could  not  repress  it. 
He  had  to  let  it  come.  'The  house  is  a  repository  of  secrets,' 
he  excused  himself.  'Then  can't  mine  repose  here  too?' 

He  went  upstairs.  He  had  meant  to  go  to  bed,  but  he 
picked  up  the  book  with  the  poem,  and  the  words  Love  is 
most  nearly  itself  when  here  and  now  cease  to  mailer  seemed  to 
rise  to  meet  him  from  the  print. 

Upstairs,  on  the  first-floor  landing,  is  the  room  that  be- 
longs to  Griselda,  Rolls'  mother.  Griselda  is  spoiled;  it  is  a 
beautiful  room  with  a  Morris  paper  and  Morris  curtains  and 
colors  of  blue  and  peacock  blue  and  brown  and  wallflower 
brown.  Next  to  it,  now  inhabited  by  Rolls  himself,  is  the 
Eye's,  his  father's,  dressing  (Continued  on  Page  44) 

29 


n 


IS 


iMBl!  IfSIlf 


n 


•    •    • 


numm 


J   I  DDL  IJ 
•     •     • 


ILLUSTRATED      BT     WALTER      BIGGS 


here  ^vhen  yon  come  back?"  asks  Lark. 


J^  a  JJi^  f^^  *^  ^^  ^ 


ylAVtj^ 


/ 


ILLUSTRATED     BY      ANDREW      LOOMIS 


MRS.  ALLEN  turned  from  the  window  with  a 
sigh,  her  eyes  resting  on  her  husband,  lying 
asleep — quietly  asleep,  with  arms  out- 
stretched like  a  child.  Like  their  child.  So 
like  Dan.  "Tom,"  she  called  softly,  "Tom,  honey, 
time  for  breakfast!"  She  saw  the  new  lines  in 
his  face  and  the  grayness  of  his  skin.  And  she 
longed  to  comfort  him,  but  their  fear  lay  like  a 
still  thing  between  them. 

Another  sigh  heaved  in  her  chest  and  was  gone. 
Everything  brought  back  the  remembering. 
Missing  in  action — Dan — missing  in  action! 
She  couldn't  escape  those  words,  try  as  she  might. 
They  were  there — in  the  house,  in  the  garden,  in 
her  thoughts  and  in  her  heart. 

Tom  opened  his  eyes  and  glanced  at  the  clock. 
He  smiled  sleepily  and  then  stretched  his  long 
body,  animal-fashion.  "Golly,  you're  dressed  al- 
ready. I  thought  we'd  loll  around  all  day.  Going 
somewhere — Sara  ? ' ' 

New  and  terrible  was  the  way  he  carefully 
avoided  calling  her  "mom."  Tom  had  called  her 
"mom"  from  the  moment  Danny  was  born 
twenty-three  years  ago — until  the  message:  "Lt. 
Daniel  Allen,  missing  in  action."  .  .  .  There 
Ikey  are  again,  she  thought  wildly,  those  words! 
She  bit  into  her  lip. 

"I'm  due  at  the  hospital,"  she  said.  "Shall  we 
have  breakfast  together,  or  would  you  rather 
stay  in  bed  awhile?" 

"Breakfast  with  you,"  he  said,  yawning,  "and 
a  full  day  of  nothing.  I  can't  enjoy  a  vacation  if  I 
sleep.  I  want  to  feel  idle." 

Sara  Allen  tied  a  starched  apron  over  her  sim- 
ple navy  dress,  and  stepped  quickly  past  Danny's 
room  and  down  the  stairs. 

Later,  when  Tom  whistled  his  way  into  the 
breakfast  nook,  the  combined  aroma  of  coffee, 
toast  and  crisping  bacon  was  there  to  strengthen 
his  appetite.  He  looked  around  the  gleaming 
kitchen,  fashioned  after  the  many  they'd  lived 
with  in  France  when  he  was  a  European  corre- 
spondent and  Danny  a  little  shaver. 

He  blinked  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  nostalgic 
pictures.  It  won't  do,  he  thought,  it  won't  help. 
With  a  fierce  concentration  he  turned  to  watch 
his  wife  moving  about,  efficient  and  graceful  in 
her  preparations.  She  was  small  and  trim  as  al- 
ways, with  the  same  soft  chestnut  hair;  the  same 
sweet,  intelligent  face;  only  the  humorous  twinkle 
in  her  eyes  was  gone,  snuffed  out  too  suddenly 
by^ 

"You  know,  Sara,"  he  said,  "you're  very 
pretty." 

"You  usually  say  that  in  the  kitchen,"  she 
teased.  "I  don't  think  I  like  it.  It  deflates  my 
ego.  Which  of  our  French  kettles  do  I  most  re- 
mind you  of?" 

"You  ended  a  sentence  with  a  preposition.  Tsk, 
tsk."  He  laughed.  "The  wife  of  an  editor  should 
be  more  careful.   Dan  was  so  careless  too " 


Startled,  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
both  struck  numb  by  the  automatic  use  of  the 
word  "was." 

"So  you  do  think  he's "  Sara  Allen  could 

feel  the  coldness  of  the  table  under  her  clenched 
fingers,  the  breath  squeezing  in  and  out  between 
her  teeth. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  dully.  "It's  not  know- 
ing anything  that  makes  it  so  hard ! "  He  jumped 
up  and  paced  the  floor.  "But,  Sara,  what's  hap- 
pened to  us?  Since  the  telegram,  we  haven't  men- 
tioned it  until  this  moment.  Just  as  though  it 
never  came.  Just  as  though  we  were  strangers. 
That's  the  part  I  can't  stand!"  She  could  see 
the  muscles  along  his  jaw  line  tighten.  "It's 
been  two  weeks,  and  you've  put  on  a  beautiful 
act,"  he  continued.  "But  remember  me?  I'm 
the  man  who  loves  you."  He  stopped  his  pacing 
and  lit  a  cigarette  with  unsteady  hands.  "We've 
always  shared  bad  breaks  before;  why  can't  we 
share  this  one?" 

1  GUESS  because  I'm  afraid  to  show  you  just 
how  I  do  feel,"  she  said  slowly.  She  stood  erect, 
facing  him.  "You  see,  Tom,  I  have  nothing  to  give 
you.  I'm  not  brave.  I'm  not  even  trying  to  be 
brave.  Do  you  know  what  I  picture?  Horror — 
all  horror."  She  spoke  more  quickly  and  grief 
shrilled  in  her  voice.  "Don't  you  realize  that 
Danny  may  be  lost  and  alone  in  that  Godfor- 
saken country?"  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  fear. 
"Can't  you  see  him  too?  Sick  or  wounded — just 
going  on  and  on  because  there  is  nothing  left 
to  do." 

Helplessly,  Tom  stood  there.  The  laconic  de- 
scription was  worse  to  bear  than  any  detailed  pic- 
ture. So  much  was  left  unsaid. 

"Or  maybe,"  she  went  on,  her  lips  trembling  in 
the  teUing,  "he's  in  a  prison;  maybe  at  the  mercy 
of  the  Japs  who  took  those  other  pilots! "  There 
was  a  long  silence.  Then  she  shut  her  eyes  and 
whispered,  "Or  maybe  he's  dead."  She  sank  into 
a  chair,  tearless  and  spent.  "I  just  can't  talk 
about  it,  even  to  you." 

Tom  went  over  and  gathered  her  in  his  arms. 
"But  you  did  talk,  dear,  and  it's  easier  already, 
isn't  it?" 

"Tom,  I  haven't  any  faith,"  she  told  him. 
"I'm  ashamed,  but  I  haven't  any  faith  at  all.  I 
try  to  think  of  all  the  other  mothers— oh,  it's  no 
use.  .  .  .  Why  did  it  have  to  be  owr  boy?"  she 
cried.    "Why?" 

"Somehow,  we'll  find  a  way  to  live  with  this," 
he  said  huskily.  "We  must.  There  might  be 
months  of  waiting  ahead."  He  tilted  her  head  to 
look  deeply  into  her  eyes.  "We'll  muddle  through— 
but  don't  leave  me  out  again,  please! "  Tenderly 
his  lips  brushed  across  her  forehead  as  she  nodded. 
"0-o-h,  smell  that  bacon,"  he  said.  "Lucky  I  like 
it  shiny  and  black,  Mrs.  Allen!" 

And  as  so  often  happens  in  life,  the  moment 
of  exposed  pain  passed  iiito  the  routine  of  living. 


It  was  an  hour  later  when  Sara  Allen  reached 
the  hospital.  Doctor  Griffin  came  along  the  cor- 
ridor and  waved  a  friendly  hand  in  greeting. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mrs.  Allen,"  he  called.  "I 
want  to  see  you."  He  was  a  tired  man  with  gray 
hair  receding  from  a  fine,  high  forehead  and 
fatigue  etched  in  his  face.  "Sleeping  tablets  help 
any?"  he  asked,  kind  eyes  studying  her  intently. 

"Frankly — no,  doctor.  Nothing  helps,"  she 
said  tonelessly. 

He  patted  her  shoulder.  "I'd  like  to  ask  a 
favor.  Would  you  mind  going  up  to  Maternity 
for  a  few  days?  I've  a  case  that  needs  watching. 
We're  dreadfully  shorthanded  there,  and  you're 
one  of  our  best  nurses'  aides."  He  bent  over  and 
whispered,  "Rumor  has  it  that  you  are  the  best." 

"Thanks,  doctor,  I'd  love  it,"  she  assured  him. 
"That's  one  floor  that  keeps  you  hopping." 

"  I  knew  we  could  depend  on  you,  Mrs.  Allen. 
Report  there  as  soon  as  possible."  There  was  a 
flash  of  his  warm  smile  before  he  vanished  into 
the  elevator. 

She  rather  liked  the  idea  of  helping  in  Ma- 
ternity. Usually  a  gay  floor,  alive  with  relaxed 
motherhood,  formulas  and  the  sweet,  poignant 
cry  of  newborns.  Mrs.  Allen  changed  into  her 
uniform  and  entered  the  Maternity  Pavilion. 

In  passing  the  waiting  room,  she  caught  sight  of 
a  small  figure  sitting  on  a  chair's  edge,  sturdy  little 
legs  hanging  halfway  to  the  floor.  Automatically 
she  stopped  to  see  who  was  with  the  child.  He 
was  quite  alone,  looking  very  tiny  but  very  deter- 
mined. He  stared  at  her,  his  brown  eyes  somber. 

"H'ya,  Where's  your  mummy?"  asked  Mrs. 
Allen.  It  was  a  strict  rule  that  no  visitors  under 
fourteen  were  allowed  in  the  hospital. 

"She  went  in  there."  He  pointed  a  grimy, 
square  finger  vaguely. 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  not  seeing  at  all. 
"Where's  your  daddy?" 

"Oh,  daddy's  in  the  war.  My  daddy  is  a  cap- 
tain." The  big  round  eyes  gleamed  with  pride. 

Mrs.  Allen  knew  that  bluntly  asking  his  name 
wouldn't  do;  children  resent  that  question  from 
strangers.  So  she  said  instead,  "I  had  a  little 
boy.  He  grew  up  and  is  a  pilot  now." 

"I  d-don't  think  I'll  be  a  pilot.  I  hate  car- 
rots." 

"My  boy's  name  is  Lieutenant  Daniel  Allen. 
But  we  call  him  'Danny,'"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  sit- 
ting in  a  chair  opposite  the  little  fellow. 

"My  daddy  is  Captain  Rob  Michaels.  He's 
bigger'n  your  boy.  He  has  two  bars." 

Mrs.  Allen  smiled  and  leaned  forward  in  a  very 
confidential  way — the  secret  way  children  love. 
"Say,  down  that  hall  there's  a  kitchen.  And  in 
that  kitchen  there's  a  box  of  cookies  and  other 
things.  I  could  bring  you  some." 

"You  could?"  His  interest  flickered. 

"Sure."  She  jumped  up,  resisting  the  desire  to 
hug  him,  smudged  face        (Continued  on  Page  162) 


trimmed  "^ 


FASHION  POUTS  TO  SPRING 


s 


Norfolk -jacket  suit  in  royal-blue  shantung   with  gold  but- 
tons by  Rose  Barrack ;  Edward  Paine'' s  white  pique  turban. 


pring,  '45,  will  be  a  headstrong  season.  Fashion  is  in  a  mood  to  exaggerate,  to  be  decorative  and  elegant, 
and  not  always  practical.  Most  women  will  adore  the  new  dressed-up  look — but  you'll  soon  discover  the 
temptation  to  overdress,  and  the  challenge  to  keep  your  own  identity  in  the  strong  winds  of  change.  We 
report  as  hew  and  equally  beautiful:  the  pale  beige  woolen  suit  with  a  black  satin  sash,  definitely  for  very 
special  occasions,  not  for  a  one-suit  wardrobe;  AND  the  gray  flannel  with  a  bolero-length  cape  which  can 
well  become  your  new  basic,  with  changes  of  blouse  and  gloves.  Slim  lines  and  wartime  L85  limitations 
on  yardage  are  still  with  us.  But  designers  have  magically  achieved  a  new  feeling  of  bulkiness  and  ease 
with  capes  and  capelets,  full  sleeves,  skirts  and  tunics  with  soft  fullness,  coats  with  a  voluminous 
look — balanced  by  bulky  turbans,  big  berets,  wide  sailors.  You'll  see  many  of  these  fashions  in  exag- 
gerated versions,  but  your  own  sense  of  proportion  will  tell  you  what  is  becoming.  Shopping  this  spring 
calls  for  a  cool  head,  the  constant  question:  Is  this  right  for  me?        BY   WILIIKI.A  < UKHMAIV 

la»hiuti  Editor  of  t he  Journal 


^'""'«;&1°>':"/-,," 


Casual  coat  of  many  purposes  has  a  new  silhouette  uith  a  swing-bacit  fiare. 
Tew  seven-eighths  length;  big  pale  beige  Breton   sailor  bv  Lilly  Dache. 


fie  wardrobe:   checked  wool   cape-and-skirt  with   a 
crepe    dress;    Lilly    Dache^s  felt    hat    with    quill. 


Newest  ensemble  is  a  soft  tunic  coat  lined  with  print  to 
match  a  dress,  by  Adele  Simpson,  with  John  Frederics'  beret. 


Coat  ill  the  news:  wide,  rounded  shoulders,  full 
sleeves,  belted  waistline,  George  CarmeVs  design. 


34 


TMETHREE.ilNAKEil  WARDROBE 


I 


BY  RUTH  MARY  PACKARD 


sing  Hollywood  Patterns,  you  become  producer  of  your  own  wardrobe.  It's  something  like 
producing  a  play.  First  you  parade  your  old  favorites — coats,  suits  and  dresses  from  last  year — 
and  decide  which  ones  are  good  enough  to  remain  in  the  new  production  and  what  parts  they 
will  take.  Then  you  fill  in  with  new  stars.  Three  additions  will  provide  the  news,  the  glamour 
and  the  balance  that  any  wardrobe  needs.  For  your  prima  donna:  a  checked  surah  suit,  slim 
and  elegant;  or  the  bright  young  bolero  suit  with  the  sash  blouse.  Either  of  these  will  be  well 
supported  by  the  slim,  wrapped  coat  and  an  afternoon  dress  in  black  crepe  or  print.  Another 
adaptable  threesome  would  be  the  wool  suit  with  a  tied  waistline,  the  jacket  dress  and  sheer- 
wool  peplum  dress.    Make  your  own  combinations.    The  result  will  be  a  successful  wardrobe. 

Buy  Hollywood  Patterns  at  the  store  which  sells  them  in  your  city.  Or  order  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  from 
Hollywood  Pattern  Service,  Putnam  Avenue,  Greenwich,  Conn.,  or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario,  Canada. 


\ 


Slim,  wrapped 
coat.  No.  1517; 
make  it  in  bright 
shade  lined  with 
black, brown,navy. 

\ 


• 


Dress  with  the  new  longer  pep^ 
lum;  in  sheer  wool  or  crepe.  1465 


Hollywood  pattern  1519,  a  simple  suit  that  lends  itself  well  to  this 
dressy  rayon-surah  version ;  John  Frederics'  high-crowned  straw  hat. 


Buttons  like  jewelry,  designed  by 
Peter  Mitchell;  brilliant  colors. 


Two-piece  sleeivless  dress 
with  a  jacket,  1519.  Sa 
pattern    as    surah    suit. 


This  spring's  bolero  suit,  pattern  1521,  to 
make  in  aralac-and -rayon  fabric,  with  a 
printed  sash   blouse.     Koret's  satin   hag. 


Your  simple,  many-purpose   v 
daytime  suit  with  a  tied  belt;        c\ 
wool,  faced  with  pique,  1518.  *~^ 


Your  sleeveless  afternoon  or  dinner 
dress  with  bow  neckline.  1500. 
Braagaard's    sailor.    Koret's    bag. 


One-piece    afternoon    dress    with    the      Same  pattern  aHil^eklid^<e^^^<^^,jgan 
new  draped   hipline  and  how,  1508.      have  three-quarter  sleeves  r  in  print. 

For  ulfaer  views.  8IZ<>n  and  Driocs  for  these  Hollvn-ood  PaKerns.  see  nntfe  A4. 


THES^iSHllSMST.. 


■■PO*^"  .     .  i„  (lie  W<'"'*<'' 


:,:,is.:t"S"'='" - 


c^H— "'"S: 


Superbly  simple  cardigan  suit  and  blouse  by  Rose 

D /, .       r,./...      l(V^«7«f  iVc'    rttnt'.lrl nitiu'd    s.(lih)r. 


The  sMess  print  for  summer  afternoons  is  a  very  elegant       Seashore  or  country  cotton :  hare  back  with  a  blacks 
i'tVTress,  in  pure  silk  with   matching  fan  and  gloves.       and  a  tied  bolero  jacket;  matclnng  bags  are  faslno 


37 


THE  SHI  SHIIES  WEST 


s 


Fashion  Editor  of  the  Journal 


omewhere  in  America  the  sun  is  always  shining.  East  Coast, 
West  Coast,  Gulf  of  Mexico — somewhere  there  is  summertime  all  the 
year  round.  Every  year  American  designers  bring  out  collections  of 
clothes  to  be  worn  in  the  South  in  the  winter  sun — and  always  these 
clothes  are  prophetic  of  summer  fashions  to  come. 

This  year  there  is  a  new  formality  in  sun  fashions,  running  parallel 
to  winter  and  spring  town  clothes.  A  beige  linen-weave  pajama  is 
trimmed  with  gold  sequins  and  worn  with  flowers  in  its  belt;  a  bril- 
liant orange-plaid  cotton  beach  dress  has  a  bustle  silhouette  that 
might  be  seen  in  a  black  taffeta  dance  dress;  a  black-and-white 
printed -crepe  evening  gown  is  elegant  and  sophisticated  in  feeling. 

Other  fashion  forecasters  are:  the  superbrief,  two-piece  bathing 
suit  with  shortest -ever  shorts  and  bra  tied  with  a  narrow  halter;  the 
slim,  straight  cardigan  suit  in  bright  sheer  wool  with  a  jeweled 
blouse;  the  bare-back  dress  with  a  tied  bolero  jacket;  the  Chinese- 
neckline  suit  with  a  short  straight  jacket. 

Colors  are  vivid  pinks,  turquoise  blues,  orange  reds,  black  with 
chalk  white.  New  American  linens  and  all  linen -weaves  are  impor- 
tant. Afternoon  and  evening  prints  are  matched  with  printed  gloves 
and  fans;  dramatic  clogs  with  five-inch  heels  are  favorites  on  board- 
walks and  beaches;  picture  hats  of  the  year  are  wide-brimmed  sailors 
with  big  exotic  flowers.  These  are  your  sun-drenched  fashions — your 
preview  of  summer  fashion  trends. 


>•«¥»-. 


^ 


Southern    nights   or  summer   nights:   dramatic   hlack-and-ivhite  printed  ravon 
crepe  dinner  dress,   designed  hv   Rose   Barrack  .   .   .  and  voull  carry  a  fan. 


The  newest  beacli  dress  has  a  hustle  bow  and  hack  full- 


• r^,?„.'J 


u:  ^    /\...l. 


Brief  and  beautiful  swim   suit  in    South    Sea   coral-red 


Black-and-white,  bright  as  sun  and  sh< 


/.^w..-. 


38 


■^  Wliat  do  you  do  when  you're  talking  to 
someone  whose  name  you  have  forgotten? 

I  try  to  find  out  from  the  conversation  what  he 
or  she  is  interested  in,  and  sooner  or  later  that  sug- 
gests who  the  person  is.  If  I  cannot  find  out  and  I  am 
not  sure  of  finding  out  afterward,  I  usually  end  by 
frankly  saying,  "My  memory  has  grown  poorer  with 
age  and  I  remember  your  face  very  well,  but  I  just 
cannot  recall  your  name." 

^|r  //«n'  cHti  I  convince  my  mother  that  twelve 
years  old  is  not  too  young  to  have  dates? 

I  doubt  very  much  if  you  can.  I  have  a  feeling 
that  only  a  very  unwise  mother  would  consider  that 
a  girl  of  twelve  should  have  dates.  You  are  still  a  child 
and  should  have  a  good  time  as  a  child  and  stop  think- 
ing or  wishing  that  you  could  grow  up  before  your 
time.  You  will  have  a  much  better  time  in  the  future 
if  you  do  not  try  to  grow  up  too  quickly. 

^^  What  <lo  yoti  consider  the  characteristics 
of  intellectual  maturity? 

It  seems  to  me  that  intellectual  maturity  requires 
a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  the  world  is  full  of 
things  which  no  one  human  being  can  possibly  know 
all  about.  The  intellectually  mature  are  usually 
anxious  to  learn  and  they  know  that  not  all  wisdom 
is  attained  in  university  degrees. 

1^^ More  ami  more  women  seem  to  be  taking 
up  ihe  hahil  iff  Ininilshaking  from  nten.  Do 
you  shake  haruts  trilh  holh  men  and  women 
itpoit  being  inlr<tdue4'd  or  upon  leaving? 

I  certainly  do.  It  has  never  occurred  to  me  not 
to  do  so.  I  was  taught  as  a  child  that  handshaking 
was  an  expression  of  friendliness,  and  I  do  not  think 
of  necessity  it  has  to  be  limited  to  men. 

^^  /  think  il  is  a  crime  tlie  way  girls  go  hare- 
legged  and  hareheiided  in  the  wintertime  these 
flays.  Here  in  \\  isrtmsin  <i  doctor  says  that 
y<tung  people  <-an  catch  rheumatic  fever  that 
umy.  U  hat  »lo  you  think  couUl  be  dotie  to 
change  t  h  is  fad? 

I  think  the  use  of  the  word  "crime"  is  a  little 
extreme.  I  do  not  happen  to  think  that  bare  legs  are 
very  pretty,  but  I  doubt  if  it  follows  that  all  these 
young  iieople  who  go  barelegged  and  bareheaded 
acquire  rheumatic  fever  or  commit  a  crime 

I  went  without  a  hat  in  the  country  most  of  the 
time  until  I  was  completely  grown  up,  and  even  now, 
winter  or  summer,  I  rarely  wear  a  hat  or  cover  my 
head  in  the  country.  It  has  been  pretty  much  the 
habit  to  let  little  children  go  barelegged  even  in  cold 
weather.  Probably  the  only  reason  it  has  become  a 
fad  of  late  for  older  young  people  is  the  shortage  of 
stockings,  so  that  I  doubt  whether  we  need  worry 
about  this  continuing  when  it  becomes  easy  to  get 
stockings  again. 


CARTOON  BY  SH1-:RMUN1).   KICPKINTKP  COl'RTKSY  THE  NEW  YORKER 


February,  1945 


BY  GLEMOR  ROOSEVELT 


^^r  Wip  have  been  told  by  a  servicenuin  that  he 
teas  cluirgedfor  coffee  and  doughnuts  served  by 
the  Red  Cross  on  the  fighting  front.  Is  this 
trite? 

The  Red  Cross  makes  no  charge  for  anything 
which  it  brings  to  the  boys  on  the  fighting  fronts  in 
clubmobiles. 

Where  there  are  established  clubs  back  of  the 
fighting  lines— such,  for  instance,  as  we  have  in 
London  and  various  other  large  cities— a  charge  is 
made  for  rooms  and  for  food.  It  is  kept  very  low,  but 
the  Army  prefers  that  this  should  be  done,  and  so  do 
most  of  the  men,  as  they  like  to  feel  that  they  are 
paying  their  way  and  not  receiving  charity  when  they 
are  on  furlough  and  having  a  good  time. 

^' 

^^^loui  can  you  consider  your  husband  s 
'Tfi/f"  of  the  Hyde  Park  estate  to  the  Govern- 
men  t  as  a  real  gift  when  you  and  your  children 
can  occupy  it  tax-free  with  upkeep  paid  by  the 
Government? 

You  apparently  have  not  understood  the  terms 
of  the  gift.  The  President  reserved  the  right  to  live  in 
Hyde  Park  as  long  as  he  wished,  and  if  either  I  or  the 
children  wish  to  live  there,  we  may  do  so,  but  as  long 
as  we  enjoy  this  privilege  we  must  pay  taxes  in  full  to 
the  Government,  and  the  upkeep  on  the  place,  as  well 
as  all  the  running  expenses. 


tf'hy  do  M'«»  hear  nothing  of  the  Arthurtlale 
iTimsing  Project,  on  which  so  much  money  was 
spent?    ffas  it  not  a  success  financially? 

You  probably  made  no  inquiry  about  the  Arthur- 
dale  project.  There  was  nothing  hidden  on  this 
typical  type  of  housing  program  which  was  under- 
taken at  that  period.  The  houses  are  all  in  the  process 
of  being  sold  to  the  occupants  if  they  wish  to  buy,  or 
to  other  people  as  soon  as  they  can  be  liquidated. 

I  do  not  think  there  ever  was  any  intention  that 
they  should  be  financially  successful,  since  they  were 
one  of  the  many  experiments  inaugurated  to  relieve 
distress  and  to  prevent  the  Government's  having  to 
support  a  number  of  people  in  prisons,  hospitals,  in- 
sane asylums  and  tuberculosis  institutions,  as  well  as 
through  direct  relief.  Some  of  them,  of  course,  cannot 
hope  to  be  financially  solvent,  but  you  can  never 
evaluate  the  actual  profits  and  losses  of  any  under- 
taking which  has  as  its  objective  the  salvation  of 
people  from  complete  despair. 


My  husband  is  training  in  the  infantry. 
He  tells  me  that  tlie  men  are  required  to  buy 
their  own  soap,  cleanser,  brooms  and  mops  to 
clean  their  barracks.  Aren't  these  men  paid  lit- 
tle enough  without  having  to  pay  for  these 
items? 

The  Army  does  not  require  enlisted  men  to  buy 
their  own  soap,  cleanser,  brooms,  mops  to  clean  their 
barracks.  It  is  possible  that  there  have  been  instances 
in  which  enlisted  men  "chipped  in"  to  buy  additional 
supplies  of  this  nature  to  supplement  the  "  Govern- 
ment Issue"  supplies  which  are  furnished  by  the 
Army,  but  such  a  procedure  would  be  on  a  voluntary 
basis,  with  no  Army  sponsorship.  Adequate  supplies 
for  cleaning  barracks  are  furnished  by  the  Army  on 
the  basis  of  experience  showing  how  much  of  such 
supplies  are  required. 


How  can  the  Army  change  the  classifica- 
tion of  men  drafted  for  limited  service  to  gen- 
eral service  and  overseas  duty  when  the  original 
physical  defects  exist?  The  soldier  I  am  think- 
ing of  is  my  husband,  who  has  one  eye. 

After  induction,  the  Army  does  not  use  the  term 
or  classify  men  as  "limited  service."  A  more  accurate 
description  of  those  men  who  are  not  physically  fit 
for  general  service  would  be  that  they  are  "limited 
assignment,"  meaning  that  the  possibilities  of  their 
assignments  are  limited  by  certain  physical  incapa- 
bilities, and  they  cannot  be  used  from  the  viewpoint 
of  their  physical  condition  for  all  types  of  general 
service. 

Under  current  regulations,  the  test  as  to  whether 
or  not  an  enlisted  man  is  physically  qualified  for 
overseas  assignment  is:  "Can  he  perform  his  military 
occupational  specialty  in  his  current  assignment  satis- 
factorily under  field  conditions?"  This,  of  course,  is 
also  dependent  upon  the  fact  that  the  unit  commander 
desires  to  take  this  man  with  him  overseas,  knowing 
his  physical  defects.  There  are  certain  exceptions  to 
this  rule,  such  as  a  man  with  an  enucleated  eye,  in 
which  case  overseas  assignment  is  prohibited. 


What  happens  to  packages  sent  overseas 
when  the  soldier  dies  before  they  arrive?  Can't 
they  be  given  to  some  other  soldier  and  not  take 
up  shipping  space  coming  back? 

Packages  sent  overseas  which  arrive  after  the 
death  of  a  soldier  are  returned  to  the  sender.  They 
cannot  be  given  to  some  other  soldier,  inasmuch  as 
they  are  the  property  of  the  sender  and  the  intended 
recipient,  and  are  not  the  property  of  the  Army. 


W^  Isit 


Is  it  true  that  Army  nurses  who  have  been 
Jap  prisoners  are  being  returned  to  the  U,  S, 
and  tliat  they  have  had  their  arms  and  legs  cut 
off,  their  tongues  cut  out,  and  are  pregnant 
from  Jap  soldiers? 

The  Army  Nurse  Corps  says  they  have  no  in- 
formation to  substantiate  the  correctness  of  such  a 
statement.  They  have  had  no  prisoners  returned  from 
the  Philippines,  but  they  have  had  a  record  and  a 
report  from  a  young  civilian  nurse  who  was  returned 
and  who  had  been  interned  in  the  camp  with  the 
Army  nurses.  She  worked  right  with  the  nurses  and 
said  that  there  were  no  atrocities  committed  on  the 
Army  nurses. 


Is  it  true  that  Nazis  in  internment  camps 
here  insist  upon  many  ^^rights"  not  to  be  found 
in  the  Geneva  Convention?  Isn't  it  true  that 
at  the  detention  station  on  Ellis  Island  the 
Nazis  objected  to  being  waited  on  by  American 
Negroes  and  the  Negroes  were  removed? 

It  is  true  that  some  Nazi  prisoners  of  war  demand 
privileges  and  special  courtesies  not  to  be  found  in  the 
Geneva  Convention.  Because  these  privileges  and 
special  courtesies  are  not  in  the  Geneva  Convention 
they  are  not  rights  and  the  War  Department,  there- 
fore, does  not  grant  them.  The  War  Department 
adheres  strictly  to  the  provisions  of  the  Geneva  Con- 
vention and  does  not  go  beyond  these  provisions  in 
its  treatment  of  Nazi  prisoners  of  war. 

There  is  no  detention  station  on  Ellis  Island  for 
prisoners  of  war,  nor  is  there  any  other  prisoner-of- 
war  facility  on  Ellis  Island.  There  has  not  been  a 
prisoner-of-war  facility  on   Ellis  Island  in  this  war. 


We  civilians  don't  care  if  we  can't  get  but- 
ter as  long  as  our  boys  overseas  do.  But  is  it 
true  that  our  boys  in  France  are  getting  a  butter 
substitute  while  we  are  sending  real  butter  to 
the  Soviet  Union? 

The  Army  does  not  send  butter  substitutes  to 
its  troops  overseas.  Troops  in  some  areas,  particularly 
in  the  tropics,  receive  a  canned  butter  to  which  cer- 
tain ingredients  have  been  added  in  order  to  make  it 
stable  under  extreme  climatic  conditions.  Under  the 
Foreign  Economic  Administration  a  moderate  quan- 
tity of  butter  is  sent  to  the  Soviet  Union  and  larger 
quantities  of  butter  substitute  are  sent. 

Letters  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  c/o  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal.  No  letters  for  this  page  sent  to  the 
White  House  will  be  answered.  It  should  be  understood  that 
Mrs.  Roosevelt's  answers  reflect  only  her  own  opinions,  and 
are  not  necessarily  the  opinions  either  of  the  Administration 
or  of  the  Editors  of  Ihe  Journal. 


''Now  this  little  .scurf  is  just  to  give 


IITOBODY  would  ever  have  accused  Butch  of 
■  knowing  the  score.  A  collie,  intelligence  behind 
1  those  liquid  eyes,  might  have  known.  A  Ger- 
i-l  man  shepherd,  although  he  was  plotting  a 
treacherous  snap  or  an  unexpected  charge,  might 
have  recognized  a  crisis  when  he  saw  it.  Even  a 
cuddly  spaniel  might  have  barked  because  he  knew 
he  had  a  part  in  it.  But  Butch?  You  had  only  to 
look  at  that  great  dewlap  already  hanging  like  the 
chin  of  an  aging  trencherman.  You  needed  only  a 
glance  at  those  enormous  feet,  at  the  jaw  which 
stuck  out  and  the  nose  mashed  in,  at  the  useless 
tail  stub  which  could  not  wag  without  taking  most 
of  the  unsteady  rear  end  of  the  dog  with  it. 

Butch  had  no  idea  of  crises,  of  unco-operative 
landladies,  of  apartment  rules  or  of  jobs  which 
should  have  been  given  up  long  ago.  All  in  the 
world  Butch  knew  was  that  there  had  been  too 
many  pups  in  the  kennel  and  that  doing  a  running 
slide  across  a  polished  hardwood  floor— throw  rugs 
sliding  gleefully  ahead — was  more  fun  than  any- 
thing he  had  ever  discovered  before.  Others  might 
have  been  painfully  conscious  that  there  were 


scratches  where  there  had  been  no  scratches  before, 
abjectly  ashamed  of  the  puddle  where  no  puddle 
should  be.   But  not  Butch. 

The  one  in  high  heels  spoke  first.  There  was  a 
strangled  sound  to  her  voice.  "He  looks,"  she  said, 
"exactly  like  a  pig." 

The  one  in  sneakers—already  familiar  from  all 
the  time  he  had  spent  hanging  over  the  kennel  fence, 
looking  first  at  one,  then  another,  going  away, 
coming  back  again,  permitting  his  finger  to  be 
chewed  some,  scratching  ears,  making  longing  and 
unintelligible  sounds— the  one  in  sneakers  said, 
"Yeah,  I  guess  he  does.  Like  a  fat  pig."  The  one 
in  sneakers  scratched  a  match  on  the  seat  of  his 
trousers  and  exhaled  smoke  through  his  nostrils, 
like  a  double-barreled  teakettle. 

High  heels  said,  "George,  look  at  that  floor!" 

Sneakers  said,  "Uh-huh.  Puddles.  He  was  in 
the  kitchen,  but  I  guess  the  iceman  let  him  out." 


Heels  said, 
rugs  again." 

Sneakers  said,  "Huh?  No.  No,  she  wouldn't 
like  it.  She'd  be  unpleased." 

"Mrs.  Duryee  will  have  a  fit,"  Heels  said. 

Sneakers  said,  "Uh-huh"  again.  But  he  said 
there  were  good  lines.  You  could  see  them  in  the 
lower  jaw.  Maybe  Mrs.  Duryee  wouldn't  find 
out  for  a  while. 

There  just  weren't  any  otlier  apartments.  Heels 
said.  Sneakers  nodded.  Heels  said  maybe  her 
brother  would  take  him  out  on  the  ranch.  Sneakers 
blew  more  smoke  and  looked  unhappy. 

There  was  some  more  talk.  Sncaker-lalk  about 
well,  it  wasn't  a  very  good  apartment,  anyhow ;  talk 
about  hang  that  lousy  oOice  job  anyway,  because 
you  couldn't  do  any  of  the  things  you  wanted  to  do. 
Sneakers  scuffed  some  and  looked  younger  and 
stubborn.  Sneakers  said  you  couldn't  judge  a  pup 
so  young.  "You  just  ouglit  to  see  the  old  fellow." 
Sneakers  said.  "He'd  break  your  heart  just  to  look 
at  him.  Must  have  weighed  fifty  pounds,  all  in  the 
shoulders,  and  not  (Coiiiimtcd  on  I'uKf  127 


^madetute.  ^e  could  eoe*i  ei/t^Mle 
t^fUM^  €i -fecUMUtf  tc^  cutd  feeC 


39 


ILLUSTRATED      BY      ANnKKW      LOOMIS 


Our  Tommy  likes 
steak  anil  roast  beef 
too.  He  thinks  the 
Navy  fares  pretty 
well  for  meat,  but 
they  tlon' t  run 
much  to  curried 
shrimps!  Though 
he^s  a  radio  techni- 
cian 2/c,  he  makes 
first-class   biscuits. 


WELL,  no  one  can  claim — if  anyone  ever  dreamed 
of  doing  it — that  our  fighting  forces  lack  definite 
ideas  about  eating.  And  they  don't  go  all  out,  as 
one  militant  unit,  for  steak  and  roast  beef,  either. 
Still,  these  two  old  stand-bys  get  a  pretty  big  hand.  Get 
one  from  me,  too,  when  I  manage  to  get  into  their 
neighborhood. 

You'll  be  aurpriged.  I'd  bet  that  when  you  find 
out  some  of  the  things  "our  boys,"  as  we  call  them, 
like — you'll  be  surprised.  Take  tapioca  cream,  for  in- 
stance. If  you  think  of  that  as  something  to  put  over 
on  a  six-year-old  at  her  birthday  party,  it  isn't.  Not 
any  more.  Why,  we've  got  a  U.  S.  Navy  man  right  now 
on  a  baby  flat-top  who  dotes  on  it,  and  I  guess  tkal  will 
revise  any  ideas  you  had  that  tapioca  isn't  he-man's 
food.  It's  real  comforting,  isn't  it,  to  know  that  along 
with  apple  pie  and  ice  cream,  tapioca  has  made  the 
Army — or,  rather,  the  Navy?  And  that  an  officer  out 
there  at  sea  somewhere  dreams  of  great  gobs  of  this 
dessert,  and  of  the  day  he'll  return  to  find  it  cooling  in 
the  kitchen  and  a  free  hand  is  all  he  needs ! 

Other  eye  openers  in  atore.  And  what  do  you 
think  of  shrimp  cocktail?  No  ladies'  luncheon  this, 
where  they  pick  at  their  food  and  count  the  calories. 
Three  out  of  eight  of  our  picked  crew  wetit  for  shrimp 
cocktail.  Curried  shrimp  (plenty  hot)  got  a  break  too. 
It  seems  that  the  armed  forces  don't  get  around  to 

PHOTO  BY  STUART-FOWLER 


■  K 

'C^ 

il-i 

Vci 

■IN 

^1  f 

1 '"'' 

If,'" 

1 
■    - 

■id 

J 

shrimp  to  any  extent,  and  I  can  just  imagine  a  man  in 
some  far-off  post  thinking  of  when  he  gets  home  and  can 
lay  his  hand  on  cans  and  jars  of  shrimp— not  to  mention 
the  fresh  little  rascals,  and  more  of  them.  Nostalgic 
but  nice. 

ina  ma  heart  good.  You  Can  imagine  that  in  the 
midst  of  steaks  and  roasts — and  shrimp — how  it  must 
have  made  my  heart  beat  a  little  faster  when  I  saw 
Lobster.  Yes  indeed,  one  brave  lad  came  right  out  for 
Lobster  Newburg,  and  of  course  I  felt  pretty  good,  for 
there's  a  dish.  And  someday  I  shall  tell  you  more  about 
it.  Maybe  I  have  already,  six  or  eight  times,  but  I've 
got  some  bright  new  ideas  and  am  dying  to  spill  the 
beans,  as  they  say. 

And  speaking  of  beans,  the  dear  familiars  got  no 
votes  in  this  symposium.  One  boy  felt  that  beans  ought 
to  show  up  oftener  on  Army  tables.  But  he  asked  for 
broiled  chicken.  And  I'm  sure  he'll  get  it. 

Some  thintts  you  look  for.  There  are  certain  things 
you  expect  when  men  select  a  meal.  The  funny  thing  is 
that,  except  for  the  dieting  ladies,  women  like  the  same 
dishes.  I'm  thinking  of  French-fried  potatoes,  the  same 
in  onions.  Salads  run  true  to  form,  and  ice  cream  never 
fails. 

Chocolate  cake  is  another  first  favorite.  And  how 
about  corn  on  the  cob  and  hot  rolls  and  coffee?  These 
all  come  into  the  servicemen's  longings,  and  they'll  have 
them  all — when  they  come  home. 

i  muHtn't  forget  or  neyleet.  One  thing  I  mustn't 
forget  to  speak  of  in  this  brief  review  of  what  some,  at 
least,  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors  are  dreaming  of.  And,  by 
the  way,  I  think  this  is  as  good  a  time  as  any  to  tell  you 
that  our  little  cross  section  of  armed  men  sort  of  belongs 
to  the  Journal — well,  anyway,  by  marriage.  For  they 
are  husbands  and  brothers  of  some  of  our  girls.  That 
makes  them  related,  doesn't  it?  To  the  rest  of  us,  I 
mean?  I  think  it  does.  But  that  is  how  we  found  them 
and  learned  so  much  about  them. 

Xoir  to  our  menu.  First  I  must  tell  you  that  this 
meal  of  ours  is  a  composite,  made  up  of  dishes  taken 
from  the  favorite  meals  of  our  eight  men.  With  votes 
for  shrimp  cocktail  coming  in  like  a  R~se-lt 
landslide  in  Maine  and  Vermont,  we  naturally 
started  out  with         (Continued  on  Page  99) 


A', 


1  Night  Unto  Night,  the  story  of  an 
enigma,  and  that  one  is  death.  The  first 
part  of  the  book  deals  with  a  situation 
such  as  I,  at  least,  have  never  come  across. 
The  rest  is  a  philosopiiical  novel  of  the  first 
class.  Philip  Wylie  wrote  it. 

2  At  Plymouth,  when  they  celebrate 
Forefati)ers'  Day,  as  they  are  wont  to  do, 
they  have  succotash.  And  it  is  done  with 
corned  beef  and  other  strange  tilings- 
strange  for  succotash.  But  it's  a  noble  dish. 

•I  With  a  roast  duck,  serve  baked  stuffed 
oranges  in  sirup.  I  lave  baking-powder  bis- 
cuit made  with  orange  juice  and  grated 
rind.  These  are  good  ideas. 

■^  Advice  In  brides,  spinster  division:  Don't 
let  them  fool  you  on  sweetbread  salad. 
Might  as  well  put  them  in  a  roly-poly. 
They  are  not  for  either. 

a  Something  pretty  special  with  roast 
lamb:  artichoke  bottoms  saute— covered 
with  hollandaise  sauce.  Or,  better,  with 
choi^ped  mint  and  lemon. 

(»  And  that  brings  us,  as  the  orators  say, 
to  the  point,  or  points,  of  a  crown  roast  of 
lamb.  F'illing  the  center  of  said  roast  is  the 
trick.  By  tiie  way,  put  a  cube  of  salt  pork  on 
the  ends  of  the  ribs. 

7  Well,  take  some  asparagus  tips,  a  can 
or  two  cups  of  peas,  a  nice  lot  of  small 
white  onions  and  as  many  mushrooms, 
tossed  in  butter,  as  you  have  about.  Sea- 
son. Fill  your  roast,  pipe  with  mashed* 
potato.  Garnish  with—  so  you  had  parsley 
in  mind,  eh?  Forget  it  and  go  along  with 
lemon  quarters  and  mint  or  cress. 

H  Ever  have  any  truck  with  buckwheat? 
Ever  smell  it  as  you  drive  around  the  bend 
or  see  it  waving  its  lovely  bonnets  in  the 
full  sweet  sun  of  August?  If  you  have,  you 
are  experienced  in  as  subtle  an  experience 
as  you  come  across  in  this  world. 

♦>  Maple  sirup  is  a  natural  for  buckwheat 
cakes.  We  all  know  that.  But,  if  you  have 
a  chance,  try  buckwheat  honey.  Bee-and- 
buckwheat  collaboration. 

10  Is  there  any  controversy  about  lemon 
juice  improving  applesauce  as  well  as 
apple  pie?  And  how  about  a  little  grated 
rind  in  the  sauce  and  the  pie?  Probably 
been  doing  it  all  your  lives. 

11  More  advice  to  brides — beefsteak  dept.: 
Keep  away  from  fancy  sauces  on  steak. 
Stick  to  salt,  pepper  and  butter.  With 
French  fried  onions  and  mushrooms? 
Sure,  I  approve.  But  they  aren't  sauces. 


12  An  omelet  to  remember  has  hot  black 
cherries  folded  in.  The  sauce — the  cherry 
juice  heated  and  thickened  a  little  with 
arrowroot  or  cornstarch  thoroughly  cooked. 
Pour  over  the  omelet.  This  is  a  dessert. 

IJl  Old  of  an  almanac,  where  tnnch  good  is 
found:  Baste  a  johnnycake,  after  it  starts 
to  brown,  with  melted  butter  or  margarine. 
The  hoecake  is  done  that  way,  on  the 
shovel  or  in  the  oven. 

I  1  That  reminds  me  of  smothered  chicken. 
I  don't  know  just  why.  Split  young 
chickens  and  lay  them  in  a  pan.  Dust  with 
salt  and  pepi)erand  dot  all  over  with  butter 
or  margarine.  Bake,  basting  often  with  the 
above,  liberallycombined  with  orange  juice. 
Glazed  sweet  potatoes  go  well  with  this. 


h 


ItKi^llNl^il  KIV4  K 

TIktc  \»;is  a  lime  a  wliil)-  ago — 
llo«    loiiK  ;iK<>  I  will  not  Ifll  — 

Vi  Ik'ii  hit'u  lli<- >viii(laii<l  tilrw  the  snow, 
PtI   lisU'ii  for  lh<-  poslman'.s  bell. 

Then  pink  and  «liil«-  lli«-  Icllors  eatnc. 

.\nori\  moll?-'/     Will.  ;is  lo  iiaine. 
t)  Nalniliiir.  iirr  llu-ri-  loihiN 

<Mli<'f  twirls  who  t'vfl   t\\v  *-aiiH'? 

-{'•'Or  ilo  lhc>    now   »'\|m<I  a  rinf; 
or  rnhics — 

or  sonic;  other  tliin;^! 


o^ooooooooooo     qoo   c^ 


O     C>      c»    o    o 


1*»  Tip  for  teas:  Split  yesterday's  baking- 
powder  biscuits  or  English  muffins.  Spread 
with  equal  parts  of  butter  or  margarine, 
brown  sugar  and  chopped  walnuts.  Pop  in 
the  oven  to  brown.  This  is  good  on  toast 
too. 

16  From  an  old  cookbook : ' '  Noodles  should 
be  rolled  as  thin  as  may  be,  cut  in  strips 
and  hung  on  a  chair  or  sofa  back  to  dry. 
Take  care  the  cat  is  excluded  from  the 
room  meanwhile."  Just  to  make  the  cat 
jealous,  I  suppose. 

IT  Custard  pie  is  a  divine-dish.  Two  and 
a  half  cups  of  rich  milk,  four  beaten  eggs, 
a  little  salt  and  half  a  cup  of  maple  sirup 
will  make  a  custard.  Bake  in  a  deep  shell, 
slow  oven,  until  a  silver  knife  comes  out 
clean.  Sprinkle  with  nutmeg.  Serve  cold. 

OOOOOooO 


Q/nriy 


IS  What  about  the  old-fashioned  floating 
island  we  used  to  have  for  supper,  in  a 
silver  or  crystal  bowl?  A  rich  smooth 
custard,  suitably  flavored,  a  meringue  like 
a  ruching  on  the  bosom,  and  home-made 
jelly— ruby,  garnet,  royal  purple — over  all. 
You  ought  to  see  what  they  claim  is  float- 
ing island  around  here. 

19  News.  Biscuit  File  No.  21 A :  A  wafer 
that's  pretzel  on  one  side  and  a  saltine  on 
the  other.  Beats  the  Dutch  what  they 
dream  up. 

20  Two-chapter  receipt — if  you  don't 
mind.  Half  a  pound  of  blanched  almonds 
are  chopped  very  fine  (or  ground  up)  with 
the  white  meat  of  a  large  steamed  chicken. 
Put  in  a  saucepan  with  a  cup  of  cream  and 
season  highly.  That's  that  part. 

21  Part,  or  Chapter,  II:  Now  add  three 
cups  of  real  honest  chicken  stock.  Taste 
and  add  a  very  little  curry  and  salt  and 
pepper  if  need  be.  Cook  in  a  double  boiler 
for  an  hour.  Serve  in  a  tureen  with  fried 
croutons.   End  of  receipt. 

'  22  Appetizer  note:  A  little  curry  blended 
to  a  paste  with  cream,  a  little  grated  onion, 
salt  and  pepper — add  to  cream  cheese 
spread  on  crackers. 

2*1  Supper  suggestion:  Waffles,  pork  sau- 
sages and  applesauce  or  chopped  apple 


browned  in  sausage  fat. 


2  1  I  was  going  to  head  this  one  "simple 
and  simply  delicious."  Excuse  it,  please. 
Anyway,  beat  up  a  glass  of  raspberry  and 
one  of  currant  jelly,  with  two  stiffly  beaten 
egg  whites.  Add  half  a  cup  of  powdered 
sugar  to  the  whites.  Chill.  Serve  in  sher- 
bet glasses  with  soft  custard. 

2<"»  When  they're  baked,  filled  with 
creamed  spinach,  covered  with  buttered 
crumbs  and  browned,  little  acorn  squashes 
put  something  over  on  Dad. 

26  More  news,  and  for  epicures  too:  Sweet 
pickled  pineapple  for  ham — the  eliTsive, 
the  coveted  ham.  Spiced  kumquats— won- 
derful in  fruit  salad  and  with  chicken. 

27  Are  you  doing  right  by  oysters?  It's 
February,  you  know.  Choose  the  finest 
oysters  and  put  them  in  a  casserole.  Sea- 
son with  salt,  pepper  and  butter.  Set  in  a 
pan  of  hot  water,  cover  and  steam.  Serve 
with  tartar  sauce  and  hard  rolls. 

211  This  I  read  somewhere:  "If  your  hus- 
band's night  shirt  is  smoothed  in  front, 
who  is  to  know  whether  the  back  has  been 
ironed  or  not?"  Well,  I  really  couldn't  say. 

OoOCOCjOOOOOOoOCOOOqOoO 


'yp^Mm^m/JftrMM/^r^^ip^'p^MM^^ 


L.\DIES'  HOME  JUL  K.N  AL 


.  .  .  with  pride  in  my  fluffy  biscuits  and  deep- 
dish  apple  pie.  That's  why  I  serve  Campbell's 
Vegetable  Soup,  too  —  because  it's  the  kind  that 
always  brings  a  smile  from  Harry  (he's  my  hus- 
band)—and  gets  him  fondly  saying,  "Thank  my 
lucky  stars  I  married  a  gal  who's  got  a  knowing 
hand  in  the  kitchen." 

And  let  me  tell  you,  when  this  war  is  a  thing 
of  the  past,  and  I  can  spend  eight  beautiful 
hours  a  day  in  my  own  kitchen  if  I  want  to, 
Campbell's  are  still  making  the  vegetable  soup 
at  our  house  !  It's  every  bit  as  good  as  the  finest 
my  mother  ever  made  !  Matter  of  fact,  the  joke's 
on  me  —  for  when  I  told  Mother  so  she  said, 
"Goodness,  you've  eaten  Campbell's  Vegetable. 
Soup  all  your  life!" 


VEGETABLE  SOUP 


look  for  Ihe  Red-and-While 


5^1.tf 


Rich  Stock  simmered  from  fine  beef  and  15  different  kinds  of  luscious 
larden  vegetables,  fixed  as  fussily  and  cooked  as  carefully  as  you 
vould  do,  in  your  own  kitchen  —  that's  what  makes  Campbell's 
/egetable  Soup  rate  high  with  home  cooks  everywhere! 


44 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Wliat's  this  new  word 


Medical  science  is  full  of  strange  and 
unusual  words. 

One  of  the  most  exciting  is  "chemo- 
therapyl'  As  it  may  mean  a  lot  to  you— 
you  might  like  to  know  more  about  it. 

1 .  Many  of  our  badly  wounded  soldiers, 
sailors,  and  marines  owe  their  lives  to 
new  drugs. ..sulfa  and  penicillin. ..which 
have  had  spectacular  success  against 
perils  like  gangrene,  terrible  burns,  and 
blood  poisoning.  Chemotherapy- which 
takes  advantage  of  the  effects  of  chem- 
ical action  upon  body  tissues  and  invad- 
ing bacteria— is  ages  old  in  theory.  But 
its  modern,  most  effective  practice  be- 
gan soon  after  1900  with  the  discovery 
of  salvarsan. 


diseases  including  the  common  forms 
of  pneumonia,  have  met  a  powerful 
adversary. 


2.  For  the  20  years  after  that,  research 
brought  no  striking  discoveries.  Then  a 
strange  chain  of  events  revealed  that  a 
patented  dye  possessed  a  life-saving 
element.  And  so,  the  sulfonamide  drugs 
were  made  available  to  the  world.  In 
the  less  than  ten  years  they  have  been 
in  common  use,  they  have  saved  count- 
less lives.  Some  forms  of  meningitis, 
streptococcic  infections,  and  other  dread 


3.  You  know  the  dramatic  story  of  the 
next  discovery,  penicillin.  Although  not 
strictly  a  chemical,  it  attacks  some  of 
the  same  germs  as  the  sulfa  drugs— and 
others  against  which  these  drugs  have 
little  or  no  success.  But  the  search  for 
other  "specific"  chemicals  is  far  fiom 
over.  Medical  scientists  constantly  seek 
to  improve  existing  ones  and  find  new 
germ-fighting  elements.  There  must  be 
long  and  careful  experiments  for  each 
discovery,  for  sometimes  the  "germ- 
poison"  is  poisonous  to  the  human 
body,  too. 

4.  But  chemotherapy  is  no  cure-all. 
Because  it  does  so  much  to  reduce  the 
deadliness  of  some  of  our  worst  dis- 
eases, some  people  may  expect  it  to 
perform  miracles.  It  must  always  be  re- 
membered that  these  chemicals  should 
not  be  used  without  sound  medical  ad- 
vice, otherwise  there  may  be  detrimen- 
tal results.  But  chemotherapy,  rightly 
used,  is  a  tremendous  gift  of  medical 
science  to  our  civilization. 


Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 


(A    MUTUAL   COMPANY) 


Frederick  H.  Ecker 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD 


Leroy  A.  Lincoln 
PRESIDENT 


A  FUGUE  IN  TIME 

(Continued  from  Page  29) 


1  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 

COPYRIGHT    1943  —  METROPOLITAN 


IFE   INSURANCE  OM 


room.  It  communicates  with  Griselda's  by 
an  inner  door:  Griselda  is  spoiled,  but  she  is 
always  under  the  Eye. 

Next  again,  past  the  bathroom,  is  the 
room  that  is  Selina's — Rolls'  eldest  sister. 
Her  room  is  like  her:  it  is  white,  it  is  blue,  it 
is  prim;  it  is  full  of  a  clutter  of  things,  but 
the  effect  is  chilly  and  strangely  empty. 

On  the  second-floor  back  are  the  nurseries. 
The  nursery  furniture  is  still  there.  Empty 
nurseries  should  be  forlorn;  these  are  not. 
They  have  a  definite  sense  of  an  inner 
cheerful  life  of  their  own. 

The  night  nursery  has  been  converted  into 
a  bedroom.  The  old  nursery  furniture  is 
there — the  white-painted  chest  of  drawers; 
the  white-painted  bed,  only  wide  enough  to 
hold  a  very  slender  person.  There  are  rugs 
put  down  on  the  carpet,  newer  rugs,  and  the 
dressing  table  has  been  looped  into  skirts, 
white  muslin  ones  tied  with  ribbons  that  are 
faded  and  frayed.  There  are  still  brushes  on 
the  dressing  table,  and  a  pincushion  and  a 
little  china  tray  of  pins.  There  is  a  bookshelf 
and  two  rows  of  books.  On  the  shelf  there 
is  also  a  writing  case  and,  if  it  were  opened, 
there  is  still  a  piece  of  blotting  paper  that 
bears  the  upside-down  imprint  of  a  letter. 
It  begins:  Dear  Pelham,  As  I  have  decided 
it  is  belter  for  me  to 
go  away 

Rolls  did  not  go 
into  the  room;  he 
knew  it  all  by  heart. 
He  stayed  on  the 
landing  reading 
that  poem. 

The  two  flights  of 
stairs,  one  going  up, 
the  other  going 
down,  give  on  the 
first  floor  landing 
that  is  wide  enough 
to  make  a  sitting 
room.  It  has  an 
alcove  with  a  win- 
dow that  looks 
down  on  the  Place, 
with  a  window  seat 
and  by  it  a  table  and 
chairs  and  writing 
desk.  The  sound  of 
the  traffic  in  the 
Park  Road  comes 
in,  and  when  Rolls 
had  read  the  poem 
he  sat  down  in  a 
chair  and  listened 
until  he  fell  asleep. 

"  Don't  disturb  me,"  he  was  always  saying 
these  days  to  Proutie.  'Don't  disturb  me,' 
said  the  old  man,  and  he  pushed  back  in  his 
mind  that  date  that  the  objectionable  Mr. 
Willoughby  had  mentioned:  the  fifteenth  of 
December. 

There  was  no  one  to  disturb  him.  Mrs. 
Crabbe  had  been  gone  for  hours,  and  Proutie 
was  out.  Three  nights  a  week  Proutie  was  a 
special  constable.  Now  it  was  Proutie  who 
had  the  uniform,  Proutie  whose  comings  and 
goings  must  be  obeyed. 

DUT  the  bitterness  had  gone  from  that. 
Rolls  did  not  care  now.  He  was  in  retire- 
ment, he  had  been  retired — hung,  so  the 
papers  said,  in  his  own  red  tape.  There  was 
a  portrait  of  him  jind  five  other  generals  of 
his  own  day  and  kind,  published  in  an  illus- 
trated paper  with  six  German  generals  on 
the  opposite  page.  The  comparison  was  not 
kind.  "My  photograph  was  taken  in  1911 
when  photographs  did  look  wooden.  The 
Germans  were  taken  today."  That  was  all 
Rolls  had  said  in  his  defense;  now  he  would 
not  have  said  even  that.  He  did  not  care. 
'  Don't  disturb  me,'  said  Rolls. '  I  don't  want 
to  be  disturbed.' 

He  thought  or  dreamed  that  he  was  in  the 
drawing  room.  There  is  a  smell  of  live 
flowers.  That  means  it  is  summer.  The 
crystal  in  the  chandelier  gives  out  a  chime; 
that  means  that  somebody  is  singing,  but  it 
is  not  the  somebody  that  Rolls  wanted  to 


NEXT  Mora 


hear.  Rolls  scowled  and  moved  restlessly  in 
his  chair.  Somebody  is  singing  a  hymn. 
Who  is  it?  His  mother?  No.  She  is  dead 
before  he  ever  hears  her  sing.  Selina?  It 
does  not  seem  to  be  Selina.  A  governess? 
Perhaps;  but  whoever  it  is,  she  wears  a 
flower  in  her  dress. 

"What  is  its  name?" 

'  'Fight  the  good  fight,  with  all  thy  might " 

"No,  not  the  hymn.  The  flower." 

"It  has  an  easy  and  a  difficult  name,  but  that 
is  too  hard  for  you.  I  will  tell  you  the  easy 
name." 

"No,  I  want  the  difficult  name." 

"It  is  loo  hard  for  you." 

"I  want  il.   I  want  it.   Tell  it  to  me." 

She  tells  it. 

KoLLS  could  not  remember  it.  He  could 
remember  only  the  tiny,  purple,  fragrant 
flowers  in  her  dress,  and  that  nostalgia 
stirred  in  him  again,  a  nostalgia  that  was  as 
foreign  to  him,  or  as  forgotten  as  the  creep- 
ing warmth  that  visited  his  veins.  'I  can't 
remember  the  name,  but  it  is  somewhere — 
somewhere  here  in  the  house.  .  .  .  Then 
I  delighted  in  difficult  things.  My  mind  then 
was  incandescent.'  He  is  an  incandescent 
little  boy :  Roly  remembers  easily,  but  Rolls 
had  far  too  long 
been  disciplined  and 
schooled,  and  now- 
adays his  mind  re- 
fused. 


Can  a  war  marriage  survive  the 
shock  of  home-coming?  What  hap- 
pens to  love  when 

— a  man  like  Kim  finds  that  he 
has  changed,  but  Julie  has  not? 

— a  man  like  Jack  comes  home 
and  finds  Nora  more  in  love 
with  a  baby  than  with  him? 
— a  nian  like  Bob,  who  needs 
•  to  talk,  finds  Flora  Lee,  who 
neetls  the  love  of  every  man? 

Read  this  understanding  story,  com- 
plete in  the  February  Journal,  of 
what  happens  in  ten  days  at  the  Air 
Forces  Redistribution  Center,  at 
Atlantic  City. 


BY   UOKOTHV   THOMAS 


"There  are  so 
many  flowers,"  said 
Rolls.  "I  didn't  have 
time  for  flowers,  but 
I  seem  to  have  learned 
them  lately.  Lime 
flowers;  smilax  and 
lilies  and  roses ;  Sol- 
omon's lilies;  the 
kitchen  chrysanthe- 
mums. Roses.  Did 
I  say  roses?  Yellow 
ones.  Why  can't  I 
remember    that 


"Hush,"  said  the 
voice.  "Hush.  Lis- 
ten." 

"It  wasn't  you  who 
wore  the  flowers,"  he 
persisted.    "Why 
Ivasn'l  it  you?  You 
love    them.    That   is 
what  you  said." 
"They  are  the  only  things  that  give  you  com- 
fort without  any  worry  or  pain,"  the  voice  told 
him. 

The  bitter  little  speech  hurt  Rolls.  "I  gave 
you  pain.  Lark." 

"You  gave  me  pain.  But  hush,"  said  the 
voice.   "Hush.   Listen." 

Rolls  sank  back  in  the  chair  and  his  hand, 
an  old,  swollen,  (lark-veined,  dark-freckled 
hand,  opened  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  A  feel- 
ing of  warmth,  of  indescribable  comfort 
filled  his  body.  What  was  it?  It  was  bliss, 
and  in  the  quiet,  the  lateness,  in  the  house, 
the  song  went  on. 

The  poem  lay  open  on  the  bookshelf  where 
Rolls  had  left  it  open  at  that  page: 

Home  is  where  one  starts  from.  As  we  grow 

older 
The  world  becomes  stranger,  the  pattern  more 

complicated 
Of  dead  and  living.    Not  the  intense  moment 
Isolated,  with  no  before  and  after, 
But  a  lifetime  burning  in  every  moment 
And  not  the  lifetime  of  one  man  only 
But  of  old  stones  that  cannot  be  deciphered. 
There  is  a  time  for  the  evening  under  starlight, 
A  time  for  the  evening  under  lamplight 
(The  evening  with  the  photograph  album). 
Love  is  most  nearly  itself 
When  here  and  now  cease  to  matter. 
Old  men  ought  to  be  explorers 
Here  or  there  does  not  matter 
We  must  be  still  and  still  moving 
Into  another  intensity 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


45 


AFTER 

THE  BIG 

SNOW  FIGHT 


Dry  clothes  and 
a  warming  cup  of 

HOT  B-V 

He's  had  a  swell  time  getting  soaked 
to  the  skin!  Now,  takecare  that  hegets 
some  good  hot  B-V  to  warm  him  up. 
Wilson's  B-V  is  a  healthful,  highly 
concentrated  combination  of  rich 
meat  juices  and  selected  vegetable 
flavors. 

Simply  stir  in  hot  water 


Jiodernize 

YOUR  COFFEE 

.      MAKER!    ^ 


PUtCH 


•NO  CLOTH! 

NO   PAPER! 

CAN  T   FALL   OUT! 

VIRTUALLr 

UNBREAKABLE 


The  QUALITY  Coffee  Maker 


Iro/evilleI 

AMERICA'S    MOST   POPULAR  i 

DECORATIVE    ART    POTTERY  | 

Combining     lovely     color    fones     with  = 

graceful      new     art     forms,      Roseville  = 

achieves     a     decorative     beauty     un-  = 

surpassed     for     charm     and     interest.  = 

Illustrated:   "Clematis"   vase  —  one   of  = 

48    lovely    items    in    handpalnted    Au-  = 

tumn    Brown,    Ciel    Blue,    Forest   Green  = 

...  on    display    at    department    stores  = 

and    gift  shops   everywhere.  = 


ROSEVILLE 
POTTERY.  Inc. 

Dept.  L-25 
Zanesville,  O. 


Illllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllf?^ 


For  a  further  union,  a  deeper  communion.  .  .  . 
.   ...  In  my  end  is  my  beginning.* 

And  in  the  house,  the  clocks  tick,  the 
beams  in  the  night  grow  hot,  grow  cold,  they 
creak;  a  late  train  runs;  a  late  pedestrian, 
returning,  walks  down  the  Place;  a  clinker 
drops  in  the  grate,  and  a  gleam  of  starlight, 
coming  through  the  Venetians  into  the 
drawing  room,  catches  the  little  shepherdess 
on  the  clock  as  she  lies  dreaming. 

Rolls  slept  in  his  chair. 

IMORNIING 

Before  eight  o'clock  the  house  is  given 
over  to  the  servants  and  the  children.  Again 
the  past  is  present.  Roly  is  being  coached  by 
Selina  before  he  has  his  breakfast  and  runs 
off  to  school. 

"Take  three  tenses,"  says  Selina. 

Roly  sighs. 

"Past,  present  and  future." 

"Must  I?" 

"Yes,  you  must,"  Selina  answers  him. 


Before  eight  o'clock  Proutie  came  down 
the  back  stairs  and  into  the  kitchen  and 
raked  the  fire  and  made  it  up  and  opened  the 
boiler  to  heat  the  water  for  Rolls'  bath.  Then 
he  stroked  the  cat,  opened  the  door  to  let  it 
out,  and  let  Mrs.  Crabbe  in. 

"GcK)d  morning  Mrs.  Crabbe.  A  quiet 
night,  I  am  glad  to  say." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Proutie." 

"I  am  just  taking  up  a  cup  of  tea  to  Mr. 
Rolls.   I  shall  make  one  for  us  too." 

"I  could  do  with  one,"  said  Mrs.  Crabbe. 
"It  pulls  your  body  toward  you,  don't  it?" 

Proutie  went  upstairs  with  Rolls'  tea.  He 
knocked  at  the  dressing-room  door. 

It  is  half  past  eight. 


The  Eye  and  Griselda  come  out  of  Gri- 
selda'sroom.  They  have  separated  while  they 
dressed;  now  they  go  down  to  breakfast  to- 
gether, and  the  Eye  unnecessarily  guides 
Griselda  with  his  hand  under  her  elbow. 

He  is  a  very  large,  very  well-made  young 
man  of  twenty-nine  with  a  large  clever  fore- 
head, pale  brown  hair  and  pale  blue,  shrewd, 
steady  eyes.  By  the  side  of  his  pallor, 
Griselda  glows.  Perhaps  this  is  what  first 
attracted  him  to  her,  her  warmth  and  color 
that  he  lacks.  He  knows  that  he  needs  it. 

Griselda  this  Tnorning  is  seventeen:  very 
young,  very  eager  and  singularly  unalloyed. 
She  is  tall,  but  beside  the  Eye  she  seems 
little;  her  eyes  are  dark  blue  and  her  hair  is 
chestnut,  brilliantly  rich  and  dressed  in  curls 
each  side  of  the  parting.  Griselda  is  dressed 
this  morning  in  a  blue  dress.  The  skirt  is 
fashionably  full,  the  neck  is  low  and  the 
sleeves  short;  she  wears  for  warmth  a  little 
tartan  shawl  and  she  has  a  set  of  heavy 
jewelry  in  gold  with  a  mosaic  of  blue  and 
red:  earrings,  bracelet  and  brooch. 

Breakfast  is  laid  on  the  table  in  the 
dining  room  where  the  sun  catches  the  wed- 
ding silver,  an  October  sun. 

The  Eye  pulls  out  her  chair.  "This  is  your 
place,  love." 

"Yes,  John." 

The  Eye  goes  to  his,  and  picks  up  the 
paper  that  is  lying  by  his  plate. 

Griselda  looks  at  him  and  hesitates.  "Do 
you  take  sugar,  John?" 

He  laughs  at  her  over  the  paper.  "Don't 
you  think  you  should  remember  after  all 
this  time?  A  whole  honeymoon,  Griselda?" 

But  she  is  serious.  She  flushes.  "I  was 
thinking." 

She  imagines  he  is  reading,  but  he  is 
watching  her.  He  would  like  to  know  what 
it  is  she  thinks  of.  A  woman's  thoughts  are  a 
new  idea  to  the  Eye;  he  had  not  known  they 
had  them,  not  thoughts  such  as  he  suspects 
Griselda's  to  be.  If  he  asked  her  what  she 
was  thinking  of,  he  knows,  after  six  months 
of  engagement  and  their  honeymoon,  that 
he  would  not  succeed  in  getting  an  answer. 
He  sighs. 

Now  she  turns  her  face,  that  glows  so 
vividly,  so  beautifully  with  life  that  it 
catches  his  breath,  toward  him.   "Think, 

•/■Vom  Four  Quartets,  copyright,  1943,  by  T.  S.  Eliot. 
Reprinted  by  permission  of  Harfourl,  Brace  ami  Company, 
Inc. 


\ 


1 


An  Ounce  of 
Prevention 

IS  Wbrfh  a  I^ound 
of  Cure/ 


Philip 
Morris 

ate  scientifically 
proved  far  less 
irritating  to  the 
nose  and  throat. 


When  smokers  changed 
to  Philip  Morris, 
substantially  every  case 
of  irritation  of  the  nose 
or  throat  —  due  to 
smoking  —  cleared 
up  completely  or 
definitely  improved ! 

— findings  reported  in  an 

aiilhorilalive  medical  journal. 


CAU  fO/t 


PMl/P MO/fR/S 


FA  A  F/A/£R  FIAVO/^  P£(/S 

FAR  MO/i£  p/ior£cr/o/¥ 


46 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


The  S.  O.  S.     \ 
Company.  \\lk\  \ 

Chicago.  ^»>5  \  \ 

Illinois.  II.  S.  A.    w^tvi  ' 
i.  O  S.  Mfg.  <^ 

Co.  of  Canada,        ^W^^ 
Lid..  Toronto.  '  *4^ 

Ontario  "* 


Look 
for  the 
YELLOW 
AND  RED 
package 


John!  This  is  the  first  breakfast!  No  one 
has  ever  eaten  breakfast  in  this  house  be- 
fore!" 

"Except  six  servants  for  three  weeks," 
says  the  Eye.  Occasionally  the  Eye  loves 
Griselda  more  than  he  can  bear.  Then  he 
has  to  hide  himself  and  be  brusque. 

"Have  we  really  six  servants?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  and  your  mother  chose 
them,  so  they  are  sure  to  be  paragons.  They 
are  yours  to  direct  and  command." 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  very  good  at  directing 
and  commanding,"  says  Griselda. 

The  Eye  is  reading  the  paper.  She  lifts 
the  heavy  cover  off  the  dish  that  is  em- 
bossed and  twined  with  silver  grapes.  It  is 
hard  to  believe  that  anything  so  weighty 
and  important-looking  is  hers.  Her  nose 
wrinkles  at  the  steamy  smell  that  comes  out. 

"John,  do  you  like  haddock  for  break- 
fast?" 

"No,"  says  the  Eye  immediately.  "You 
must  tell  cook." 

Griselda  hesitates  and  looks  at  him  and 
at  the  haddock.  "Have  you  seen  cook?" 

"Yes." 

"You  tell  her,"  says  Griselda. 

The  Eye  laughs  at  her,  but  there  is  no 
answering  laugh  on  her  face  or  in  her  eyes. 

"I  have  been  thinking— seriously.  This  is 
a  very  big  house  for  only  two  people." 

"There  may  not  always  be  only  two 
people,  my  little  dearest." 

She  looks  at  him  as  she  understands  his 
meaning;  the  color  in  her  cheeks  deepens, 
but  still  she  does  not  smile. 

"What  is  it,  Griselda?" 

"That— is  part  of  what  I  mean,"  says 
Griselda.  "I  know  I  shouldn't  say  things  like 
this  to  you,  John,  but  it— all  this— seems 
as  if  it  might  swallow  people's  lives." 

He  comes  round  the  table  to  her  at  once, 
dropping  his  paper  on 
tiic  fk)or.    "I  won't  let      ^^^hm^^^^h 
it  swallow  you." 

She  turns  to  him  and 
he  feels  she  is  fierce  in 
the  way  she  clings  to 
him  and  looks  at  him. 
"Promise!    Promise!" 

All  at  once,  for  some 
reason  he  prefers  not 
to  know,  he  cannot 
look  back  at  her.  He 
would  rather  not  look 
at  her  and  meet   her 

gaze.  He  holds  her  in      

his  arms  and  kisses  her      ^^^ 
and  sm(K)ths  her  hair. 

"Promise." 

"I  promise." 

Perhaps  she  feels  his  mood 
"John,  are  you  laughing?" 

"No,  I  am  not  laughing." 

"One  day,"  says  Griselda  suddenly,  "you 
won't  drop  your  paper.  You  will  go  on  read- 
ing it.  You  won't  hear." 

He  looks  at  her  gravely.  "  I  think  you  will 
have  to  trust  me,  Griselda." 

She  is  disarmed  at  once.  "Oh,  John.  I  do. 
I  do." 

"I  want  a  big  house,"  says  the  Eye.  "My 
ideas,  my  schemes  are  big.  Very  ambitious 
and  very,  very  big." 

Griselda  is  still  doubtful.  She  cannot  tell 
John— who  still,  besides  being  her  lover,  per- 
sists in  being  a  stranger — she  cannot  tell 
him  that  sometimes  since  she  was  engaged, 
since  she  was  married,  she  feels  as  if  she  had 
been  put  in  prison  with  a  life  sentence.  She 
says  involuntarily,  hastily,  "Don't  be  suc- 
cessful too  quickly,  will  you,  John?"  He 
does  not  answer  and  she  says  as  if  she  were 
discovering  something,  "Sometimes,  John, 
you  remind  me  a  little  of  my  father."  The 
Eye  laughs  again,  but  Griselda  says  thought- 
fully, "I  never  very  much  liked  my  father." 

"You  will  always  like  me,"  says  the  Eye 
quietly  and  confidently.  "Can  I  read  my 
paper  now?" 

"Of  course.  I  want  you  to,"  says  Griselda. 
"I  know  brides  are  sui^posed  to  mind  that, 
but  I  don't.  I  mean  to  read  the  paper  my- 
self every  day.  I  want  us  to  be  well  in- 
formed—about everything,  John.  I  want 
every  day  and  every  year  to  enlarge  my 
mind  and  try  and  understand  a  little  more. 


MIRACLE   WORKER 

^  W'hon  his  niolher  heats  him,  the 
^  really  .smart  younssler  of  the 
future  will  trot  to  the  drugstore 
a.HkiiiK  for  a  few  ounces  of  prolactin 
to  slip  into  her  coffee.  Prolactin  is 
a  hormone  which  regulates  the 
maternal  instinct  in  animals.  In 
experiments,  it  has  caused  roosters 
to  set   on  eggs  and  tomcats  to  give 


ilk. 


—YOUR  LIFE. 


She  asks. 


I  could  be  your  equal  in  that,  couldn't  I, 
John?  That  wouldn't  be — presumptuous?" 
She  seeks  his  face,  but  can  see  only  the  top 
of  his  well-brushed  pale-brown  head,  bent 
into  the  newspaper.  Her  eyes  widen.  Then 
they  harden.  "Of  course,"  says  Qriselda 
after  a  minute,  "to  begin  with,  there  ought 
to  be  two  papers." 

It  is  eight  o'clock.  Before  the  grownups 
are  awake,  the  children  are  out  of  bed.  They 
step  into  a  secret,  servant-ridden  world  that 
their  elders  do  not  have  a  chance  to  see. 

Roly,  jumping  down  the  stairs,  jumps 
into  Mrs.  Sampson,  sweeping  on  the  land- 
ing. "Good  morning,  Mrs.  Sampson.  How 
are  you?" 

"Poorly,  thank  you,  Master  Roly,"  says 
Mrs.  Sampson.  "Now  you  must  get  out  of 
my  way  and  get  on  yours.  It  is  time  for 
your  lessings." 
Roly  goes  slowly  toward  the  table. 
Mrs.  Sampson  stiffly  stands  up.  Then, 
with  a  sigh  of  which  she  is  not  aware,  she 
gathers  up  her  brush  and  dustpan  full  of 
carpet  fluff  and  goes  downstairs. 

'  What  a  great  deal  of  dirt  and  dust  must 
be  taken  out  of  this  house  and  put  into  the 
dustbin,'  thinks  little  Roly  at  the  table. 
"Are  we  only  dust  when  we  die?"  he  asks 
suddenly. 

"Certainly  not,"  says  Selina.  "We  are 
angels." 

Ever  since  Roly  was  born  and  Griselda 
died,  Selina  has  been  shaping  him,  patiently, 
quite  gently,   but  implacably  to  her  will. 
Selina  is  very  like  the  Eye;  she  is  a  large, 
well-made  young  woman  with  pale  coloring 
and  a   steady,   clever   face.     Roly   is  like 
Griselda,  with  her  warm  skin  and  brilliant 
eyes  and  hair,  but  he  has  not  the  straight- 
ness  of  Griselda's  nose  or  eyes.  Roly  gives  in. 
"When  I  grow  up," 
^^M^^^H^^^      says  Roly,  "I  am  go- 
ing to  be  a  tailor  like 
Mr.  Cheep." 

"You  will  go  into 
the  army  like  Uncle 
Bunny,"  says  Selina. 
Uncle  Bunny  is  Roly's 
godfather,  an  exalted 
godfather. 

"No,  I  won't,"  says 
Roly.    "Soldiers  get 
killed.  And  they  have 
to  kill  other  people." 
^^^^^^^^^^  "The  killing  is  only 

^^^^^^^^^^      a  small  part." 

' '  What  else  is  there?  " 
"Brains!  Strategy!"  cries  Selina. 
Roly  looks  at  her.  He  does  not  ask  her 
why  she  was  not  a  soldier,  because  he  knows 
that  girls  are  never  anything,  but  he  wishes 
for  a  moment  that  he  had  been  born  a  girl. 
This  is  the  last  time  he  ever  wishes  that;  he 
quickly  sets  into  the  fact  of  being  a  boy. 
There  is  very  little  that  is  feminine  in  Rollo 
or  in  Rolls.  Selina  does  with  him  all  that  she 
hopes  and  wants,  but  in  some  curious  way 
he  still  eludes  her;  he  prefers  the  Eye  to  her, 
and  yet  the  Eye  can  hardly  bear  to  notice 
him,  though  he  fulfills  punctiliously  all  that 
he  did  with  the  other  children. 

When  Roly  goes  to  school  and  is  called 
Rollo,  the  nursery  is  empty.  Empty  nur- 
series should  be  forlorn ;  these  are  not.  They 
have  a  definite  sense  of  an  inner  cheerful  life 
of  their  own. 

As  soon  as  Lark  follows  Selina  over  the 
threshold  of  the  nursery,  she  is  in  touch 
with  the  other  children.  To  begin  with, 
though  she  has  nothing  to  do  with  them,  as 
Selina  is  always  reminding  her,  she  inherits 
their  things:  she  sleeps  in  their  bed;  her 
clothes  are,  some  of  them,  their  clothes;  and 
she  eats  off  their  old  china  with  their  nursery  tal 
spoons  and  forks. 

Lark  is  a  lonely  child.  There  is  no  one  to 
notice  her  in  the  house;  the  Eye,  who 
brought  her  there,  is  too  busy  and  too  sad. 

It  begins  early  one  late  December  morning 
at  the  end  of  1879. 

Selina  is  asleep  when  Athay  wakes  her, 

knocking  at  her  door.   "Miss  Selina.  Will 

you  get  up,  miss?    The  master  has  come 

Will  you  come  down  to  the  study  at  once?" 

(Conlinucd  on  Page  48) 


'rsi 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Here's  a  Happy  Birthday  present  for 
every  baby  born  in  the  United  States 
during  1945!  A  FREE  cake  of  pure  Swan! 
Now  your  baby's  first  baths  can  be  a  joy 
with  this  mild  and  sudsy  floating  soap.  Now 
gentle  Swan  can  help  your  baby  keep  that 
gorgeous  pink  'n  white  perfection! 

Doctors  everywhere  will  tell  you  Swan's 


Baby-smooth  complexion  for 
Mama,  too!  Want  that  fresh- 

I  cheeked,   baby   look  yourself? 

I  Steal  some  of  baby's  pure,  mild 
Swan  lather  and  see  what  won- 
ders it  does  for  your  skin! 


You'll  love  the  way  Swan  "babies" 
your  hands  in  the  dishpan.  Helps 
keep  'em  smooth  and  velvety.  And, 
oh  joy  —  here's  one  mild  floating 
soap  that  really  suds  up  fast! 


Delicate  fabrics  need  baby  care ! 
Gentle  Swan  helps  dainty  lingerie  and 
baby  clothes  look  lovely,  last  and  last  I 
Get  your  free  cake  of  Swan  Soap  for 
your  new  baby— and  buy  three  more 
cakes  for  bath,  dishes,  duds! 


I 


New  York  8,  N.  Y. 
Dear  Sirs: 

Please  send  my  baby  a  cake  of  Swan  Soap 
abiolutely  FREE.  (Only  one  free  gift  to  a  baby.) 

Baby's  name 

Streef 

Cify 


_Slate- 


This  coupon  entitles  your  new  baby  to  a  FREE  cake  of  Swan 
Soap!  Paste  on  penny  post  card  and  mail  to  S>van,  Box  3, 
New  York  8,  New  York.  Offer  expires  Dec.  31,  1945. 


Baby's  dale  of  birth. 
Mother's  full  name- 
Doctor's  name 


I 


48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


^Professional  Jjjints  for 
an  amateur  curtain-washer 


[that's  you  f) 


Never  again  will  you  say:  "Oh  dear, 
it's  so  tedious  to  do  up  those  ruffled 
curtains!"  Never  again,  lady! 


1.  Before  washing— Shake  your  curtains 
gently,  to  remove  loose  dust  and  dirt.  If 
they're  cotton,  and  very  soiled,  soak  'em 
10  or  15  minutes  in  cool  water.  Wash  'em 
gently  and  quickly  in  mild  suds.  Make 
your  starch  —  and  most  important,  add 
Satina  to  make  ironing  ensicr! 


3.  Use  a  table  top,  well-padded  or  a  wide 
board  instead  of  your  regular  ironing 
board.  You'll  find  the  job  is  easier  and  the 
curtains  won't  get  as  mussed  as  they  might 
on  a  narrow  board. 


5.  Proceed  ironing  a  few  inches  along  the 
selvage  edge  as  you  go,  then  ironing  up 
and  down  toward  the  ruffle.  Avoid  stretch- 
ing. S'wonderful  how  Satina  takes  the 
tediousness  out  of  ironing! 


For  these  six  hints  will  give  you  a  fine, 
expert's  hand  with  even  the  trickiest, 
ruffled-est  curtains!  Here's  what  to  do... 


2.  Use  medium  starch— Make  basic  starch 
your  usual  way  and  add  Satina— to  prevent 
sticking  and  give  a  super-smooth  finish. 
Then  thin,  using  2  parts  warm  water  to  1 
part  basic  starch-Satina  mixture.  (Always 
use  starch  hot.  The  hotter  the  starch,  the 
better  it  penetrates  the  fabric.) 


4.  Iron  ruffles  first— Do  a  few  inches  at 
a  time,  first  finishing  the  edges,  then  nos- 
ing your  iron  into  the  gathers.  Notice  how 
Satina  prevents  the  iron  from  snagging 
and  pulling. 


6.  Whisk!  Zing!  Your  curtains  are  slick 
and  smooth  and  clover-fresh!  Satina  gives 
a  fragrant  "like-new"  finish  to  all  starched 
things  — dresses,  shirts,  linens  — for  just  a 
few  cents  a  month.  Get  some  and  see! 


SATINA 

Tune  in:  New,  comedy-mystery  thriller— 
"Two  On  a  Clue,"  every  day,  Monday 
through  Friday,  CBS. 


TU)  AUck!  .  .§0  otuiek!  .  .lJO\tk  SATINA  i/n  uoun/  /itanxjli/i 


(Continued  from  Page  46) 

"Father?"  cries  Selina.  "But  he  is  in 
Edinburgh!" 

"He  is  here.   In  the  study,  miss." 

Selina  does  not  wait  to  put  up  her  hair. 
She  comes  with  a  long  plait  hanging  down 
her  back  to  the  end  of  her  shawl.  She  has  a 
dressing  gown  of  Indian  silk. 

Athay  has  lit  the  fire,  but  it  is  still  new 
enough  to  crackle  and  flare  and  send  out  a 
cold,  blue  smoke.  The  coals  are  still  un- 
touched and  the  room  has  no  warmth  in  it. 
The  Eye  has  not  taken  off  his  traveling  coat. 
On  the  hearthrug  stands  a  little  girl,  well 
wrapped  up  and  dressed  in  mourning. 

"A   child!"    cries 

Selina  in  the  doorway.      

There  is  nothing  but 
dismay  in  her  voice. 

"Lark.thisisSelina." 

"How  do  you  do," 
says  Lark  politely.  Her 
voice  is  almost  extinct 
with  tiredness.  Lark  is 
seven  and  she  is  at  the 
moment  filled  with  one 
overwhelming  need,  a 
body  that  needs  to  be 
laid  down  somewhere 
to  sleep.  Her  longing 
flows  out  like  a  wave  to 
SeUna,  and  Hke  a  wave 
it  recoils  back  again  on  herself.  She  can  see 
at  once  there  is  no  help  for  her  in  Selina. 

"Who  is  she?"  asks  Selina. 

"Her  name  is  Lark  Ingoldsby.  Her  father 
and — mother  were  killed  in  the  Tay  Bridge 
disaster,  night  before  last." 

Selina's  quick  mind  is  caught  at  once  by 
that  infinitesimal  pause  in  his  voice  before 
"mother."  She  has  not  really  heard  the  rest. 

"  It  will  be  in  the  morning  papers.  It  was 
a  dreadful  night,"  he  goes  on  with  an  effort. 
"Violent  and  wild.  They  think — the  covered 
way  of  the  bridge  offered — too  much — resist- 
ance to  the  wind.  The  people  waiting  in  the 
station  saw — the  lighted  ti'ain  go  into  the 
bridge— then  there  was  darkness." 


WASTED  EFFORT 

^  Bi^,  smiling,  aiTable  Liza  Jane, 
^  surrounded  by  her  dusky  brood 
of  twelve,  was  being  contacted  by  a 
typical  spinster  from  the  city  so- 
cial-welfare settlement  house.  But 
Liza  ,)ane  just  kept  on  laughing. 
"No,  ma''am,  thank  you,"'  she  de- 
clared. "Ah  wouldn't  be  interested 
in  birth  controL  Maybe  hit's  all 
right  for  ladies  like  you-all,  ma'am, 
but  Ah  is  married  and  Ah  don't 
need  it!"  —DIGEST  AND  REVIEW. 


"It — it  never  came  out?" 

"It  never  came  out.  The  bridge  was  gone." 
The  Eye  turns  away  to  the  mantelpiece  and 
covers  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

Lark  hears  it  being  said  over  her  head. 
She  has  heard  it  over  and  over  agairi'in  the 
past  twenty-four  hours.  She  is  looking  at  the 
hearthrug  because  tears  have  begun  again  to 
slide  down  her  nose,  but  her  black  hair  falls 
each  side'of  her  neck  and  hides  her  face  and 
nobody  can  see. 

"Then  all  the  people,  father?" 

"No  one  was  saved."  He  takes  down  his 

hand.  "You  will  have  to  know,"  he  says  in 

a  flat,  weary  voice,  "that  her  father  and — 

mother    were    singers, 

opera   singers.     She — 

had  a  beautiful  voice. 
That  is  why  I  went 
north,  to  hear  her  sing." 

"Father!" 
"Yes,"  says  the  Eye 
without  the  least  emo- 
tion in  his  voice. ' '  They 
had  taken  an  engage- 
ment in  pantomime  in 
Stirling  for  Christmas 
week.  Dundee  the  week 
after.  I  had  business  in 
Dundee,  so  I  went  on 

by  the  morning  train 

and    took    Lark    with 

me.  Else  I  should  have  been  with  the  com- 
pany in  that  train.  And  so  would  she." 

Lark  has  ceased  to  hear  what  they  say. 
Their  voices  sound  and  resound  over  her 
head.  She  is  now  not  even  conscious  of 
being  tired. 

"I  went  down  by  chaise,  but  there  was 
nothing" — again  he  turns  away  and  Selina 
waits  and  does  not  prompt  him— "nothing 
to  be  done.  So  I  brought  Lark  here." 

"Why?" 

"  She  has  no  one.  No  relations." 

"There  is  an  orphanage  over  the  way." 

"She  is  to  live  here  always." 

Selina  does  not  answer.  She  has  grown 
very  white  and  faces  the  Eye  as  he  faces  her. 


MOTHER   OF   4   EARNS 
Sl.OOO   ON   HER   WRITING 

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sure  I  could  have  made  much  more. 
After  only  two  lessons  I  sold  a  gar- 
den series  to  Baltimore  American." 
^Gladys  Carr,  Annapolis,  Md. 

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Mrs.    J 

Miss  J 

Address    

(All  correspondence  confidential.    No  salesman  will  call 
on  you.) S5.B-80S 

Copyright  1944  Newspaper  Institute  of  America 


It  brings  a  breath 
of  the  pine  woods 


With  pine-fragrant  Sergeant's  Disinfectant, 
you'll  do  a  thorough  job  of  cleaning  all 
over  the  house. 

This  pleasant-to-use  cleaner  disinfects, 
deodorizes  and  kills  many  germs  as  it  cleans 
thoroughly.  But  it  doesn't  irritate  the  hands, 
leaves  a  fresh  pine  aroma. 

Used  in  warm  water,  Sergeant's  Disin- 
fectant makes  bathroom  fixtures,  tile,  floors 
filmless  and  sparkling.  It's  the  cleaner  for 
the  kitchen  where  sanitation  is  a  must,  and 
for  floors  and  woodwork,  too.  Pour  a  little 
full-strength  down  the  sink  drain  and  in 
the  cellar  toilet.  It's  fine  for  cleaning  the 
garbage  pail. 

To  clean  pleasantly,  get  Sergeant's  Dis- 
infectant— at  drug  or  department  stores. 


to  all  your 
cleaning  chores 


SeTqeanVs 

DISINFECTANT 


A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


49 


"Her  past  is  over,  Selina.  It  is  nothing  to 
do  with  you." 

"Is  that  all  you  can  tell  me,  father?" 

"That  is  all  I  intend  to  tell  you." 

The  clock  ticks.  A  coal  drops  in  the  grate 
where  the  fire  is  warm  now.  The  black  hil- 
locks rise  and  tumble  in  front  of  Lark. 

"Her  mother  is  dead,  Selina." 

"So  is  mine." 

At  that  moment  Lark  falls  on  the  hearth- 
rug. The  Eye  picks  her  up  and  she  lies 
across  his  arm,  her  small  white  face  drowned 
in  her  hair. 

"This  is  my  house,"  says  the  Eye  sternly 
over  Lark's  head,  "though  I  have  let  you 
give  orders  in  it.  It  is  my  house  and  I  in- 
tend to  be  obeyed.  Lark  is  to  live  here  as 
your  sister.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"You  are  to  write  and  tell  Pelham  and 
the  boys  and  Rollo." 

"Yes,  father." 

"Then  what  is  that  expression  on  your 
face?" 

"  I  was  thinking  that  sisters  are  bom,  not 
made.  I  don't  think  you  can  expect,  father, 
that  we  shall  feel  her  to  be  a  sister." 

Selina  is  quite  right. 

It  is  another  day,  five  years  later,  on  a 
June  morning.  Selina  is  giving  her  orders. 
She  is  dressed  to  go  out,  and  as  she  crosses 
the  drawing  room  to  the  desk  her  dress 
trails  fashionably  after  her  along  the  carpet; 
its  dark  green  fullness  is  looped  and  gath- 
ered behind.  Her  hat  has  a  fall  of  feathers, 
brilliant  green  and  russet,  and  her  hair  is 
dressed  high,  showing  her  ears;  it  gives  her 
a  commanding  look.  There  is  an  engagement 
pad  on  the  desk  with  spaces  closely  filled  in. 
It  is  headed  The  second  of  June,  1885.  It  is 
Selina's  thirty-fifth  birthday. 

In  the  years  since  Griselda  died,  twenty- 
two  years  ago,  there  has  hardly  been  a  blank 
hour  for  Selina.  She  has  kept  house  for  the 
Eye  since  she  was  sixteen,  and  she  is  far 
more  efficient  than  Griselda,  though  the 
house  is,  strangely,  not  so  comfortable.  The 


Eye  shuts  himself  away  in  the  study.  Pelham, 
and  Rollo  when  he  is  home  on  leave,  are 
almost  always  out. 

Beyond  the  table  Mrs.  Proutie  is  waiting. 
She  is  the  cook.  They  are  discussing  Selina's 
birthday  dinner. 

"Now  what  about  the  sweet?  I  want 
something  rather  special,"  begins  Selina. 

"What  about  a  trifle?" 

"We  always  have  a  trifle." 

"An'  why?  You  ast  for  something  special 
and  special  you  know  very  well  that  trifle  is. 
Miss  Selina.  It  is  me  grandmother's  grand- 
mother's recipe,  and  you  don't  get  a  trifle 
like  it  in  any  other  'ouse  that  I  do  know." 

"Very  well  then,"  says  Selina.  "Trifle. .  . . 
I  shall  be  out  for  lunch  and  tea.  Professor 
Freyburg  is  coming  at  five;  he  may  want  tea. 
I  shall  see  him  when  I  come  in.  I  think  that 
is  all,  Mrs.  Proutie." 

But  Mrs.  Proutie  has  something  to  say. 
"Miss  Selina,  it  is  not  my  affair,  but  'aven't 
you  any  orders  for  Miss  Lark?" 

"For  Lark?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Selina.  I  must  say  the  child 
doesn't  look  cared  for  at  all.  Agnes  'asn't 
time  to  see  her.  Besides,  it  isn't  reely  'er 
work.  She  did  ought  to  'ave  a  governess  or 
be  sent  to  school." 

"Father  won't  send  her  to  school." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  says 
Mrs.  Proutie,  "but  I  do  know  that  she  is  in 
your  charge,  and  the  way  she  looks  doesn't 
reflect  no  credit  on  you.  Miss  Selina.  She 
doesn't  look  like  a  lady's  child  at  all." 

'She  isn't  a  lady's  child,'  Selina  almost 
said,  but  she  checked  it  just  in  time.  "Send 
for  her,  then.  But  I  have  to  see  Miss  Dunn." 

Lark  appears.  She  is  looking  pale  and  her 
hair  is  unkempt  and  her  dress  is  stained  and 
rubbed  at  the  elbows.  She  certainly  does  not 
reflect,  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  Selina's 
efficient,  shining  care. 

Selina  turns  to  Lark.  "You  haven't 
brushed  your  hair." 

"No,"  Lark  agrees  politely. 

"Why  not?  You  have  a  hairbrush."  She 
does  not  wait  for  an  answer.  "Put  on  a  clean 


ENCOURAGE   HIS  TASTE! 

Clean  plates  mean  you've  done  a  good  cooking 
job.  Carry  on  by  wrapping  thosedaily/e/^-overs 
in  strong,  transparent,  pliable  WAXTEX  to 
help  retain  tastiness  and  important  food  values ! 

WAXTEX 

HEAVY   WAXED    PAPER 

Marathon  Corporation,  Menasha,  Wisconsin 


...in  the5^y& 

shaker>top 

container 


SPKINKIC  ON  SHUSH  IN  VACUUM  Oft 


no  liquids 


no 


suds 


Keep  your  rugs  and  carpets  clean  and 
colorful.  Care  for  them  as  usual,  but 
once  or  twice  a  month  sprinkle  on 
Powder-ene.  Brush  it  in.  An  hour  or 
two  later,  vacuum  it  off.  It  does  not 
cause  matting,  mildew  or  fading  — 
does  not  remove  curl  from  twist  pile. 
Does  not  leave  rings  when  you  clean 

small  areas Keep  them  clean  with 

Powder-ene.  VON  SCHRADER  MANU- 
FACTURING Co.,  Racine,  Wisconsin. 


'GuarafiAed  bjr^A 
I  Good  Hoaseke«piD{  i 

fAUNTS  J,J44,Jt»  »N0  J,J44.247  ^■"" •^'^'^^ 


a 


How  a  J^ridal    p^ouquet 
gave  me  the  right  start" 


MISS     LIL     AND     MISS     TIL     POINT    THE     WAY 


1.  Miss  Lil  and  Miss  Til  were  ooh- 
ing  and  ahing  at  the  bride— but  me  with 
my  one-track  mind— I  could  only  stare 


at  the  fresh  beauty  of  her  white  flowers. 
To  me,  it  was  just  the  end  of  another 
washday,  and  I  was  tired  and  jealous. 


2.  "So  lovely,"  sighed  Miss  Til- 
meaning  the  bride.  "So  white,"  I  said 
enviously— meaning  the  flowers.  "I  wish 
I  could  get  my  laundry  as  white  as 
those  flowers  without  all  the  tiresome 
fuss  of  an  extra  bluing  job." 


3.  "You  do  have  to  blue!"  said  Miss 
Lil.  "But  you  don't  ever  have  to  do  a 
separate  bluing  job.  Get  La  France.  It 
blues  automatically  right  with  your  reg- 
ular soap.  And  you'll  have  a  wash  every 
bit  as  white  as  that  bride's  bouquet!" 


La  France 


4.  Well,  next  washday  was  almost 
too  good  to  be  true.  I  used  La  France 
bluing  flakes  along  with  my  regular 
soap,  and  La  France  blued  while  I 
washed.  No  extra  bluing  job,  not  a 
smitch  of  extra  time  — and  now  my 
washes  are  always  lily  white,  with  not 
a  bluing  streak  or  spot  in  sight! 

I'm  going  to  send  that  bride  an  extra 
special  present!  After  all,  she  gave  me 
a  whiter,  brighter  wash  every  washday 
—even  if  she  doesn't  know  it!  (And  you 
can  have  one  too— with  La  France!) 


For  whiter,  brighter  washes 
— biues  while  you  wash. 


TUNE  IN:  "Two  On  a  Clue,"  new 
mystery-comedy,  every  day,  Mon- 
day through  Friday,  CBS. 


50 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


FOR  SMO<?-Or/^ 


Do  up  your  next  basket  of  freshly  washed  things  with  Quick 
Elastic— ^nd  out  the  difference  it  makes  in  your  starching  and 
ironing.  1.  You'll  get  smo-o-th  hot  starch — all  cooked  and 
ready  to  use  in  30  seconds.  (Follow  directions  here.)  2.  Each 
piece  you  iron  .  .  .  your  cottons,  curtains,  dresses,  shirts  .  .  . 
will  have  a  nice,  soft,  fresh-smelling  body  and  finish.  3.  Spe- 
cial ingredients  already  mixed  in  powdered  Quick  Elastic  end 
sticking,  pulling — make  your  iron  fairly  glide  along. 
Why  stick  with  the  old  kind  any  longer?  For  smo-o-th  iron- 
ings—quick starching— join  the  thousands  changing  to  this 
special  powdered  mixture.  Get  Quick  Elastic— ^har  quick 
starch — the  only  one  in  the  yellow  box.  Instantly  prepared 
.  .  .  gives  a  lovely  finish  .  .  .  wonderful  for  ironing.  Get  your 


yellow  box,  today 


QUICK 
STIRCH 


THEY  SAY: 

If^y^    A  new  user  writes:  "My   first   box 
^\z,J'     °'  Quick  Elastic  ...  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
iron  after  using  it.  No  bother  of  adding 
^(^        anything  and  my  iron  never  sticks  now." 

Says  a  California  woman:  "I  sure 
admire  the  idea  of  not  boiling  the  starch. 
I  ironed  my  first  set  of  dresses  today  and 
they  ironed  so  smooth  and  even." 

From  the  Middle  West:  "My  sons 
asked  me  to  contiime  using  Quick  Elas- 
tic because  the  shirts  had  such  a  sweet 
sniell  and  were  so  glossy  and  had  just 
the  right  stifTness." 

A  lady  writes  this:  "Everything  you 
say  about  Quii^k  Elastic  is  true.  It's 
amazing  to  be  able  to  do  away  with  the 
old  cooking  method  and  save  time  and 
energy." 

•Be  sure  to  pour  your  boiling  water  into  your 
Quick  Elastic  and  cool  water.  Do  not  pour  the 
creamed  Quick  Elastic  into  the  boiling  water. 


itrmi 


f^AHEs 


10^ 


"*0NIHC 


WHY  STICK  WITH  THE  OLD  KIND  ANY  LUNGER? 


dress.  I  won't  have  you  going  about  like 
this." 

"  I  haven't  a  clean  dress.  This  is  my  win- 
ter one.  The  other  is  too  thin." 

"You  can  put  on  a  jacket.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  today?" 

"What?"  asks  Lark  in  alarm. 

"Surely  you  must  know  what  you  have 
to  do?" 

"Oh,"  says  Lark  in  relief.  "Nothing." 

The  content  in  Lark's  voice  arrests  Selina. 
"Do  you  like  to  have  nothing  to  do  the 
whole  day?" 

"  I  do  things.  I  read — and  I  go  out  in  the 
garden." 

"But  nothing  organized?"  says  Selina. 
"You  must  have  lessons.  Don't  you  want  to 
get  on,  to  learn  lessons?  Isn't  there  anything 
you  want  to  learn?" 

"I  used  to  have  music."  Lark  does  not 
often  mention  to  Selina  what  she  used  or 
used  not  to  have.  "I  should  like  to  learn 
music  again." 

"Music  lessons  are  expensive." 

"You  have  plenty  of  money." 

Selina  looks  across  the  desk  at  Lark.  She 
sees  that  Lark  is  getting  tall  and  slim;  she 
sees  the  black  hair  complained  about  lying 
like  a  web  on  Lark's  shoulders  and  she  sees 
suddenly  that  the  pale,  serene  small  face  has 
contours  that  are  unexpectedly  beautiful. 
Lark  is  looking  down  and  her  eyelashes  are 
long  and  black  and  curling,  but  when  she 
makes  her  answers  she  lifts  her  eyes  and 
then  there  is  a  flash  of  brilliant  violet  blue. 
Selina  sees  all  at  once  that  Lark  is  an  un- 
usually beautiful  child  and  she  is  outraged. 

OHE  says  with  a  surge  of  extraordinary 
unkindness,  "You  don't  understand  your 
position,  Lark.  You  are  a  penniless  orphan. 
You  are  very  lucky  to  have  been  given  any- 
thing at  all.  Your  father  and  mother  were 
paupers." 

"They  were  not.  They  were  singers." 

"They  didn't  leave  you  a  penny.  You 
might  have  starved  but  for  father.  You  mij^ht 
have  had  to  be  in  an  orphanage,  like  little 
Harry  Proutie." 

"He  seems  to  be  quite  a  happy  child," 
says  Lark  judiciously. 

"How  dare  you!"  cries  Selina.  "He  is  not 
nearly  as  happy  and  as  lucky  as  you  ought 
to  be  without  asking  for  expensive  lessons." 

"I  didn't  ask,"  says  Lark.  "You  asked 
me.  I  will  ask  the  Eye,"  she  says  with  sud- 
den spirit. 

"You  will  call  him  Mr.  Dane."  Lark 
looks  back  steadily  and  Selina  cries,  "He 
spoils  you.  That  is  the  trouble.  He  gives 
in  to  you." 

"He  forgets  all  about  me,"  says  Lark  in  a 
low  voice. 

Slater  comes  in.  "Miss  Dunn  is  here." 

"Ask  her  to  come  in,"  says  Selina.  "Lark, 
I  haven't  time  to  go  into  all  this  now,  but 
there  will  have  to  be  an  alteration  in  your 
manners  and  behavior." 

Slater  opens  the  door  and  Miss  Dunn 
comes  in.  She  is  an  elderly,  single  woman 
who  knew  Griselda.  Selina  calls  her  an  old 
maid  and,  because  she  is  poor  and  insignifi- 
cant, she  allows  her  to  come  out  early  on 
any  parish  errand.  Today  she  has  come  about 
the  parish  magazine;  she  has  the  proofs  in 
her  bag. 

"Good  morning,  Sehna.  Good  morning. 
Lark,  dear  child." 

Selina  already  has  a  peremptory  hand  out 
for  the  proofs.  "What  is  it  you  wanted  me 
to  see?  I  have  a  meeting  at  ten." 

"They  are  not  quite  right,"  says  Miss 
Dunn  as  she  turns  over  the  proofs,  and  her 
beatific  expression  fades  and  her  face  looks 
like  a  worried,  wrinkled  walnut.  "There, 
dear,  do  you  see?  If  Hitchcock's  advertise- 
ment goes  under  Gryce's,  he  will  be  offended, 
but  Gryce  gave  twenty  pounds  to  the  organ 
fund.    Do  you  see  how  difficult  it  is?" 

"It  isn't  difficult,"  says  Selina,  taking  a 
pencil.  "Put  it  like  this,  and  this."  The 
pencil  makes  smooth  lines  and  arrows  on  the 
paper.  "That  paragraph  moved  up  here. 
Now  the  two  advertisements  are  parallel 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


51 


thoughtfully,  as  Selina  briskly  rolls  up  the 
proofs  and  gives  them  back  to  her.  "What  a 
pity  it  is,"  says  Miss  Dunn,  "that  you  can't 
do  something  big." 

"Big?"  asks  Selina  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  You  are  so  capable.  You  have  such 
a  good  brain.  You  are  young,  Selina,  but 
not  so  young:  one  day,  before  you  notice  it, 
you  will  be  old.  I  am  old.  I  have  often 
wanted — to  speak  to  you.  Oh,  my  dear,  why 
don't  you  do  something  before  it  is  too 
late?" 

Lark's  eyes,  wide  with  interest,  go  from 
one  face  to  the  other. 

"But — I  am  always  doing  things,"  cries 
Selina.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  is  what  I  mean,"  says  Miss  Dunn 
sadly.  "You  are  always  busy  doing  nothing 
at  all.   Puffs  of  empty  wind." 

Selina  is  tempted  to  laugh,  but  she  is  a 
little  angry.  "I  am  sorry,"  she  says  stiffly, 
"but  1  shall  be  late.  Miss  Dunn.  I  must  go." 

Miss  Dunn  pays  no  attention.  "That  was 
why  I  was  always  glad  to  see  your  dear 
mother,"  she  says.  "She  knew." 

"Mother?" 

"Yes.  I  loved  your  mother,"  she  says 
defiantly.  "She  was  rewarded.  She  was 
loved."  In  silence  she 


said  Rolls.  '  I  was  a  young  puppy.  I  couldn't 
feel.  I  hadn't  the  feelings,'  and  he  could  not 
believe  he  had  not  cried  out  aloud. 

"Mr.  Rolls,  sir!  I  am  sorry " 

"Blast  you,  Proutie,"  said  Rolls. 

"I  had  to  disturb  you,"  said  Proutie. 
"Miss  Dane  has  come." 

Rolls  looked  at  Proutie  under  two  horns 
of  eyebrow.  "What?" 

"She  is  Mr.  Pelham's  granddaughter,  Mr. 
Rolls." 

"That  was  a  boy,"  objected  Rolls.  "My 
nephew.   He  is  in  America." 

"Mr.  Pelham  had  a  son,"  said  Proutie 
patiently.  "This  is  that  son's  daughter." 

"Why  has  she  come  here?  What  does  she 
want?" 

OHE  wants  to  see  you.  She  is  in  uniform. 
Some  United  States  corps." 

"I  don't  like  belligerent  women,"  said 
Rolls.  "Tell  her  to  go  away.  Tell  her  I  shan't 
see  her.  Tell  her  to  go,  I  say." 

"She  is  a  relation,"  said  Proutie. 

"We  don't  want  new  relations  here.    No 

one,  no  one  on  any  pretext  is  going  to  force 

themselves  into  the  house  just  now.  Tell  her 

we  are  giving  up  the  house.  Tell  her  that  it 

is  full.  Tell  her  there 


puts  the  proofs  into 
her  big,  ridiculous 
bag  with  its  loops 
across  her  arm.  She 
bends  her  head  so 
that  the  brim  of  her 
dark  gray  bonnet 
hides  her  face.  Then 
she  raises  her  head. 
"I  didn't  intend — 
when  I  came  in — but 
you  see,  Selina,  I 
know." 

She  goes  and  the 
room  is  silent.  Then 
Lark,  in  her  deep 
interest,  asks  a  ques- 
tion. "  Is  it  so  impor- 
tant to  be  loved?" 
asks  Lark. 


•     •*•••••* 


JiMinge  ^tof 


By  Isabelle 
Uryans  L<»ii£fello%v 

We  shall  not  know  this  house  till 
we  have  known 
Within  it  how  the  four  full 
seasons  fall: 
How  the  cold  ivy  quickens  on  the 
stone; 
What  blades  break  from  the 
winter;  what  birds  call; 
How  the  gold  angles  of  the  sun  will 
change, 
Slanting  into  a  room,  now  here, 
now  there; 
What  trees  blow  full  with  summer, 
and  what  range 
Of  shadow  blurs  the  blinding 
noonday  glare. 


Proutie  turned 
away  from  the  dress- 
ing room  door.  He 
was  bewildered,  and 
then  he  saw  Rolls 
asleep  in  the  arm- 
chair across  the  land- 
ing. "Mr.  Rolls! 
Have  you  been  there 
all  night?  Oh,  Mr. 
Rolls!  That  isn't 
good  for  you.  You 
haven't  been  to  bed 
at  all." 

Rolls  opened  his 
eyes.  They  were 
heavy,  but  they  had 
a  look  of  peace,  of 
satisfaction,  until 
they  saw  Proutie 
standing  with  the 
tray.  "What  d'you  want?"  growled  Rolls. 

"You  haven't  been  to  bed,  not  all  night." 

"What  the  deuce  is  that  to  do  with  you? 
3an't  I  do  what  I  like?" 

"At  least  have  your  tea,"  said  Proutie. 
,    "Blast  you,  Proutie,"  said  Rolls,  but  he 
I'.ook  the  tray.    "Very  well.   Now  go  away. 
jO  away  and  keep  away,  d'you  hear?" 

Proutie  smiled  stiffly  and  went  down- 
stairs. Rolls  sank  back  in  the  chair.  He 
brgot  the  tea. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  front  door. 

In  the  house  there  were  Roly  and  Rollo 
is  well  as  Rolls.  Selina  tries  to  possess  Roly 
ind  fails.  Rollo  is  not  so  easily  possessed, 
hough  he  might  have  been.  'Might  have 
)een,'  said  Rolls.  It  was  odd  how  those 
vords  recurred. 

He  opened  his  eyes  because  he  thought  he 
lad  cried  out.  He  was  sure  he  had  cried  out 
loud,  but  there  was  silence.  His  eyes  were 
leavy  and  puffy  and  old,  but  the  cry  he  had 
sit  go  through  him  was  young,  and  it  was 
ar  more  fresh  and  cruel  than  when  he  had 
2lt  it  for  the  first  time.  'But  I  didn't  feel  it,' 


Here  we  must  stand  with  autumn  at 

the  sill 
To  mark  which  veins  run  scarlet 

and  which  gold. 
And  lay  the  hearth  fire  when  the 

first  blue  chill 
Creeps  down  the  valley.  We  must 

face  the  cold. 
And  feel  how  warm  the  four  stout 

walls  that  close 
Around  us  through  the  bitterness  of 

snows! 

•     ••**••*• 


IS  no  room. 

Grizel  sat  in  the 
hall  and  waited.  Oc- 
casionally she  took 
out  of  her  pocket  a 
little  case  that  held  a 
mirror  and  a  comb 
and  looked  at  herself, 
as  if  to  reassure  her- 
self that  she  was 
there,  the  same 
Grizel.  She  did  not 
normally  need  reas- 
surance. She  was 
independent,  very 
efficient  and  self- 
contained.  She  was 
successful  too.  From 
her  training  school 
she  had  been  sent 
straight  on  to  an  of- 
ficer's course,  and 
now  on  each  shoulder 
she  wore  a  gold  bar. 
Grizel's  universe  was 
usually  as  bright  and 
as  promising  as  their 
gold,  but  last  night, 
her  first  night  in  Lon- 
don, she  had  been  rat- 
tled. 'Rattled  is  a 
good  word,'  thought 
Grizel,  looking  at  the 
tips  of  her  polished 
brown  shoes. 

She  had  thought 
she  knew  what  Eng- 
land and  London 
would  be  like,  and  she 
did  not.  She  had 
thought  that  in  the 
night  there  would  be 
an  air  raid,  and  there 
was  not.  She  had  thought  she  would  experi- 
ence a  thrill,  and  perhaps  a  little  exaltation 
in  that  she  and  her  corps,  the  Americans, 
had  come  with  their  ambulances  to  help, 
and  she  had  not.  She  was  thoroughly  discon- 
certed. In  her  room  in  the  house  in  which 
she  was  billeted  was  a  case  of  stuffed  owls: 
all  night  when  she  lay  awake  wondering  for 
the  first  time  how  she.  Lieutenant  Dane,  of 
the  U.  S.  Women's  Volunteer  Ambulance 
Corps,  might  or  might  not  behave  in  a  raid— 
'and  I  am  only  human,'  thought  Grizel— all 
night  the  owls  watched  her  with  eyes  that 
she  knew  were  only  glass  and  that  looked 
sagely  human.  She  had  a  feeling,  in  her 
confusion,  that  the  owls'  eyes  were  far  more 
human  than  her  own. 

She  had  decided  in  the  morning  that  the 
cause  of  her  feeling  uncomfortable  was  not 
herself,  but  the  owls,  and,  as  she  could  not 
explain  this  to  her  commandant  as  a  plea 
for  an  exchange  of  billets,  she  decided  to 
call  on  her  Great-uncle  Rolls  in  Wiltshire 
Place  and  ask  him  to  give  her  a  room. 

'I  shall  be  comfortable  here,'  said  Grizel, 
looking  round.  '  It  seems  a  nice  house.'  She 


OXYOOLWASHES  SO  CLEAN 

your  biggest  wash  conies' 

'^HlTE  WITHOUT  BLEACHING 

Its  new'Hustle-Bubble"  Suds  1^  Out  Dirt ! 

Make  this  test  next  ■washday!  Just  use  Oxydol  instead 
of  your  present  soap.  See  if  you  aren't  delighted  the  way 
Oxydol  gets  even  your  biggest,  grimiest  wash  sparkling  white 
and  clean!  That's  because  Oxydol's  new  "Hustle-Bubble" 
suds  are  so  lively,  so  active  they  ////  dirt  out.  Sheets,  towels,  ^ 
shirts — all  your  white  things,  except  of  course  for  unusual  ^ 
stains,  come  white  without  bleaching. 

Saves  Clothes  In  Wartime!  With  Oxydol  there's  no  need 
for  hard  rubbing  or  harsh  bleaching,  so  clothes  last  longer 
in  these  wartimes.  And  Oxydol's  so  safe — safe  for  wash  colors, 
rayons  and  your  own  precious  hands.  Use  Oxydol  for  a  wash 
that's  white  without  bleaching! 


I 


P 


CD 


OXyDOL  washes 
WHITE  WirHOUr  BLEACHING 

AVOI D   SOAP  WASTE !  Soap  is  made  of  vital  war  materials,  SO  Soap  Waste  is  war 
waste.    Make  your  Oxydol  go  farther! 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  194S 


Iron  necessary  for  good  red  blood— plays  vital  role  in  body's  energy  processes 


VITAMINS 


For  full  benefits  minerals  are  needed,  too 


WELL-KNOWN  is  the  United  States  De- 
partment of  Agriculture's  discovery 
that  millions  of  persons — rich,  poor  and 
in-between — were  not  getting  eiiough 
vitamins  and  minerals  in  their  diet. 

Americans  who  think  of  dietary  sup- 
plementations in  terms  of  just  one  or  two 
vitamins  should  rememher:  Lack  of  one  ' 
vitamin  usually  means  lack  of  several. 

Secondly,  certain  vitamins  play  their 
full  role  only  in  the  presence  of  certain 
minerals  and  vice  versa.  Thus,  multi- 
vitamin fornuilas  that  also  include  com- 
monly lacking  minerals  are  totlay's  pre- 
ferred method  of  diet  supplementation. 

Unlike  so  many  vitamin  products, 
Vimms  give  you  minerals  as  well  as  vita- 
mins. For  Vimms  contain  not  only  Vita- 
mins A  and  D,  not  only  the  important  B 
Complex  Vitamins  and  costly  Vitamin 
C,  but  all  the  vitamins  Doctors  and  Gov- 
ernment experts  agree  are  essential  in 
the  diet — along  with  commonly  lacking 
minerals.  Iron,  Calcium  and  Phosphorus. 


Buoyant  health  goes  hana  m  li-m  l   \ith  sound 

bones,  teeth  and  body  tissue.  To  tliis  end, 
vitamins  and  minerals  must  work  together.  A 
leading  medical  publication  states  that  the 
presence  of  Vitamins  C  and  D  is  necessary  to 
the  body's  proper  use  of  Calcium.  Phosphorus 
is  also  needed  for  full  Calcium  assimilation. 
Vimms  contain  all  these  vitamins  and  minerals. 


No  one  tablet  or  capsule  per  day  can  give  you 
all  the  vitamins  and  all  the  minerals  in  the 
Vimms  formula  and  still  be  easily  swallowed. 
That's  why  Vimms  come  in  3  tablets  per  day. 


Three  Vimms  taken  every  day  will  raise  the  av- 
erage diet  up  to  or  above  the  Recommended 
Daily  Allowances  for  vitamins  and  minerals  as 
adopted  by  the  National  Research  Council. 


(Advertisement) 


had  no  doubt  that  she  could  be  anything 
else  but  acceptable  in  it. 

But  she  was  still  not  feeling  quite  happy; 
in  fact,  she  was  still  feeling  unhappy  and  she 
had  an  increasing  feeling  that  the  owls  were 
the  symptoms  and  not  the  cause.  She  could 
not  find  the  cause. 

Though  she  liked  its  colors  and  shape,  the 
hall  looked  gloomy  to  Grizel ;  it  looked  grimed, 
used.  She  looked  up  the  stairway  to  where 
the  well  showed  daylight  up  above.  'It  is  all 
unknown  to  me,'  thought  Grizel. 

She  waited.  Down  the  well  of  the  stairs 
came  voices  and  argument.  Her  great-uncle, 
it  seemed,  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  see  her.  She 
listened  to  the  clocks,  she  looked  at  the  hall 
and  at  the  stair  carpet.  '  I  wonder  how  many 
stair  carpets  wore  out,'  thought  Grizel,  but 
she  thought  that  the  brass  stair  rods  must 
be  the  same.  She  looked  at  the  rods  with 
respect  and  thought  how  strange  it  was  that 
small  unnoticeable  things  should  often  hold 
such  venerableness.  The  brass  rods  went  up, 
one  after  the  other,  until  they  disappeared 
from  sight.  They  shone.  'I  wonder  who 
keeps  them  clean.' 

She  stood  up  and  walked  calmly,  reso- 
lutely up  the  stairs  down  which  the  voices 
came.  i 

"You  can  tell  her  there  is  no  room," 
Rolls  was  saying.  "  I-will-not-see-her-do- 
you-hear?" 

"Good  morning.  Uncle  Rollo,"  said  Grizel. 

Rolls  stood  up  slowly  and  she  could  see 
him  against  the  light — a  huge  old  man  with 
thick  white  hair,  massive  white  eyebrows, 
crumpled  collar  and  a  tweed  coat.  He  held 
the  back  of  the  chair  he  had  been  sitting  in, 
while  he  straightened 
his  stiff  back  and  glow-  ^^^^^^^^^_ 
ered  at  her. 

She  smiled  gently 
as  she  said,  "  I  am  very 
pleased  to  see  you. 
Uncle  Rollo." 

Rolls  waited  until 
Proutie  had  gone  be- 
fore he  answered.  "In 
England  we  usually 
wait  until  we  are  asked 
before  we  walk  into  peo- 
ple's private  rooms." 

"In  America,  too," 
Grizel  agreed.  "But 
this  isn't  a  room  and  I  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
didn't  know  I  should  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
walk  straight  into  it." 

"What  is  your  name?"  ' 

"Grizel." 

"Grizel.  Short  for  Griselda?  That  is  my 
mother's  name." 

"I  am  not  Griselda.   I  am  Grizel." 

"Why  did  they  call  you  that?  After  her, 
of  course.  Daft!  She  is  herself,  not  you." 

"And  I,"  said  Grizel  pleasantly,  "am  my- 
self too." 

There  was  a  silence. 

When  Grizel  considered  it  had  gone  on 
long  enough,  she  broke  it.  "Uncle  Rollo," 
she  said,  pleasantly  still  but  firmly,  "you 
must  forgive  me  for  coming  so  early,  but  I 
have  to  report  at  nine.  We  only  arrived  last 
night." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Rolls.  "You  must  have 
been  in  a  great  hurry  to  see  me.  You  want 
something,  don't  you?  I  had  a  letter  from 
your  father,  now  I  remember  it.  He  said  you 
would  come  and  see  me  if  there  was  any- 
thing you  wanted.  What  do  you  want?" 

Grizel  only  looked  relieved.  "I  am  not 
very  interested  in  families  and  relations," 
she  said,  looking  Rolls  straight  in  the  eyes. 
"  I  would  have  come  to  see  you,  Uncle  Rollo, 
honestly  I  would.  One  day  I  would  have 
come,  but  I  have  come  now  because  I  want 
you  to  give  me  a  room  and  let  me  stay  here. 
My  billet  is  impossible.  Uncle  Rollo.  I  shall 
go  crazy  if  I  stay  there  one  more  night." 

"If  you  are  in  the  Army,"  said  Rolls  dis- 
agreeably, " — and  1  suppose  you  consider 
yourself  in  the  Army — you  take  what  billets 
you  are  given.  You  have  to  make  the  best  of 
what  you  are  given  in  the  Army." 

"Yes.  When  it  is  necessary,"  said  Grizel  in 
her  same  unmoved,  soft,  polite  voice.  "How 
many  rooms  have  you  in  the  house?" 

Rolls'  eyebrows  twitched. 


WHAT  ■<<»  MAN? 

^  When  I  consider  the  rulers,  the 
^  physicians,  the  philosophers  that 
the  world  contains,  I  am  tempted  to 
think  man  considerably  elevated  by 
his  wisdom  above  the  brutes;  hut 
when,  on  the  other  hand,  I  behold 
augurs,  interpreters  of  dreams,  and 
people  who  can  be  inflated  with 
pride  on  account  of  their  riches  or 
honors,  I  cannot  help  looking  upon 
him  as  the  most  foolish  of  all  ani- 
mals. —DIOGENES. 


"Your  man,  Proutie— that  is  his  name, 
isn't  it? — told  me  there  were  only  the  two  of 
you  in  the  house.  Only  you  and  he." 

"Did  he?  Nevertheless,  all  the  rooms  in 
this  house  belong  to  somebody  else." 

"But  they  are  empty!  Why  shouldn't  I 
come?  I  belong  to  the  family." 

"And  you  have  only  just  thought  of  that, 
haven't  you?"  said  Rolls.  "You  didn't  think 
of  it  when  you  came.  All  you  wanted  was  to 
get  out  of  an  uncomfortable  place  and  make 
yourself  comfortable.  You  didn't  for  one 
moment  think  of  the  house." 

"But — does  one  think  of  houses?" 

I  KNOW  you."  Rolls  was  angry.  "You 
will  go  all  over  it  and  poke  into  every  comer 
and  discover  and  piece  together  and  ask 
questions  and  want  answers.  I  know  you." 
"I  shall  when  I  have  time,"  answered 
Grizel,  surprised.  "  Is  there  any  reason  why 
I  shouldn't?  Has  anything  happened  here. 
Uncle  Rolls?  Anything  unusual?" 

"To  be  bom  and  to  live  and  to  die  is  quite 
usual,"  said  Rolls.  And  he  added,  "We  have 
to  leave  the  house,  in  any  case." 
"When?" 

"When?  Shortly.  It  wouldn't  be  worth 
your  coming." 

"Let  me  come,"  said  Grizel. 
"  We  don't  want  to  be  disturbed.  Do  you 
know  what  you  would  be?"  he  flung  at  her. 
"A  discord." 

"  I  shouldn't  be,"  said  Grizel  steadily.  "1 
should  complete  the  chord." 

Rolls  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then, 
"Come  here  into  the  light,"  he  said.  "  Let  me 
see  how  you  look."  Grizel  came  up  to  him. 
He  seemed  hugely  tall 
^^^^^^^^^^_      as  she  stood  beside  him. 
The  light  fell  on  her 
face.   "You  have  Pel- 
ham's   narrow   head, 
and  you  have  his  hair, 
that    mouse-brown 
stuff."    He   put   his 
hand  under  her  chin 
and  turned  her  face 
up.  And  he   added, 
"You  have  Griselda's 
eyes.     I    never    saw 
them,  but  they  are  in 
the    painting    of    her 
downstairs." 
^^^^^^^^^—  "You   have  them 

^^^^^^^^^*      too.    Uncle  Rollo,  let 
me  come." 
He  moved  away  from  her  and  went  to  the 
bookcase  near  the  wall  and  rang  the  bell.  "It 
will  be  your  own  fault  if  you  do,"  he  said. 
"Don't  complain  about  it  afterwards." 
"V.'hy  should  I  complain?" 
"There  is  very  little  room.  You  will  have 
to  fit  into  your  place.  You  can't  be  so"— he 
looked  at  her — "self-contained.  You  won't 
be  alone,  you  will  find.  You  may  even  lose 
yourself,  and  you  won't  like  that." 
"I  don't  understand,"  said  Grizel. 
"Listen,  because  I  shall  not  explain  this 
again.  There  are  these  people  in,  cormected 
with,  the  house:  first  there  is  my  father, 
your  great-grandfather,  John    Ironmonger 
Dane.    Ironmonger  is  a  family  name,  not  an 
occupation.  We  called  him  'the  Eye.' " 
"Why?" 

"My  mother  called  him  that:  'Thou  God 
seest  me.'  She  married  him  when  she  was 
seventeen.  I  have  never  been  able  to  make 
up  my  mind,"  said  Rolls,  "if  she  was  un- 
happy or  not.  I  don't  think  she  could  make 
that  out  either.  Perhaps  she  knew  how  to  be 
both.  Pelham,  your  grandfather,  was  their 
eldest  son.  There  were  four  more  brothers. 
Then  came  Selina,  my  eldest  sister.  Then 
there  were  the  twins.  Griselda  had  too  many 
children,  but  I  believe  she  set  her  heart  on 
one,  on  the  second  twin,  Elizabeth.  They 
died  of  diphtheria  when  they  were  five  years 
old.  I  was  born  two  years  later  and  Griselda 
died  when  I  was  bom.  That  is  all,  not  count- 
ing the  servants,  and  of  course  they  are  very 
important.  That  is  all  that  is  necessary  for 
you  to  know." 
"Necessary?"  asked  Grizel,  puzzled. 
"Yes.  The  Eye;  Griselda;  Pelham;  Selina; 
the  twins;  me.  That  is  all  that  it  is  necessary 
for  you  to  know." 


(Continued  on  Pate  54) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


53 


"Keep  your  eye  on  the  Intoniry  .  .  .  the  doughboy  does  lit" 


"m.m» 


Milkf   Real  milk  from  a  cowl 


a 


Yes,  it  actually  happened.  The  excited  soldier 
had  just  landed  in  the  U.  S.  A.  after  a  year  in 
the  lonely  Aleutians.  But  he  might  have  come 
from  any  other  front. 

At  Mitchel  Field,  N.  Y.,  where  thousands 
of  wounded  have  been  flown  in,  officers  re- 
port, "The  first  request  is  almost  invariably 
for  a  glass  of  fresh  milk."   . 

In  the  South  Pacific,  a  Marine  combat 
correspondent  asked  a  number  of  men  what 
they  missed  most  next  to  their  families  and 
got  answers  like  these : 

"Fresh  milk  and  the  morning  paper." 
"A  lettuce-and-tomato  sandwich,  with  cold 
fresh  milk  to  wash  it  down." 


This  GI  appetite  for  milk  has  been  officially 
encouraged  from  the  start  of  training  for  the 
sake  of  good  nutrition.  Service  menus  pro- 
vide generous  portions  of  all  dairy  products 
—  and  help  make  service  men  huskier  and 
healthier  than  ever  before  in  history. 

Fresh  fluid  milk,  of  course,  is  tough  to  ship 
to  foreign  combat  areas.  But  in  other  more 
convenient  forms,  milk,  ice  cream,  butter  and 
cheese  go  everywhere. 

So  nature's  most  nearly  perfect  food — milk 
— is  making  American  fighters  more  fit  today 
and  assuring  better  health  to  future  genera- 
tions. And  nourishing  new  foods  are  ready  in 
our  laboratories  for  the  peaceful  years  ahead. 


Dedicated  to  the  tvider  use  and  better  under- 
standing of  dairy  products  as  human  food 
.  .  .  as  a  base  for  the  development  of  new 
products  and  materials  .  .  .  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and  in   the   towns   and   cities   of  America. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS     CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


S, 


oHii 


Ga' 


v«t. 


CREOLE  MEAT  PIE 
Flaky,  tender  pie  crust  every  time  with  Crisco! 

4.b«.   CrUco      .      1  medium  onion,  died      •     '/,  gr.en  p.pp.r.  died 
4  Ibtpi.  crisco  ^^^,j  v.getabl.f 

2  cups  leflov.r  cubed  meat        2  ««•?»«= 
2cup..omo.o..,iuic.-ndpulp.lcupwa.or.lUp..-U^^^^         P 
3^  tbsp..  flour    .    Singl-cruU  recipe  Cr.»eo  Pastry 


n 

ipper,  diced      ^H 
letobles  ^P 


In  hot  Crisco,  lightly  brown  onion, 
procn  iiepper  and  meat.  Add  vege- 
tables, liquid  and  seasonings. 
Thicken  with  flour  mixed  with  a 
little  water.  Pour  into  casserole. 
Cover  with  Crisco  Pastry  cut  in 
circles.    (No   guessing   now!    Use 


Crisco  and  follow  the  new  easy 
Pastry  Method  on  the  Crisco 
label  and  you'll  get  flaky,  tender 

pie  crust  every  time!)  Bake  in  hot 
oven  (425°F.)  20  minutes,  or  till 
top  is  brown.  All  Measurements 
Level.  Serves  4-6. 


or  DlNMER  IN  A  DiSH  / 


For  tempting,   digestible  dishes— COOK   WITH 
CRISCOI  It  does  MORE  for  all  your  cooking! 

hen  you  serve  one-dish  meals,  be  sure  that  one  dish  is  a 
(•cess!  Be  choosey  about  ingredients  as  good  cooks  are. 
ortenings,  for  instance.  Good  cooks  count  on  Crisco. 
It's  true!  More  women  use  Crisco  than  any  other  vege- 
:)le  shortening.  It  has  a  cooking  secret  that  gives  you  lighter 
kes  than  the  most  expensive  shortening.  And  Crisco  makes 
ind  pies.  You  get  fhiky,  tender  cru.sts  every  time  the  Crisco 
ly.  As  for  foods  fried  light  and  crisp  in  Crisco — they're  so 
lextible  children  may  eat  'em. 

Yes,  Crisco  cooking  makes  good  eating.  Dinner  pie  or 
Ilet  supper,  you  can  count  on  pure,  all-vegetable  Crisco  to 
ike  all  your  cooking  exciting  to  eat — digestible! 


'ft'sPigestible!'' 

9  OUT  OF  10  DOCTORS 
TELl  YOU  SOI 


NEW   CRISCO    COOK    BOOK! 

Send  lOf*  in  coin  and  a  Crisco 
label  (any  size)  to  Crisco, 
Dept.  HJ,  Box  837,  Cincinnati 
1,  Ohio,  for  the  64-page  "Rec- 
ipes for  Good  Eating."  Offer 
good  in  United  StaU's,  in- 
cluding Hawaii. 


--"To":---" 

may  eat  Crisco 

•^Sliced  cooked  ham 

x«  11  2  tbsps.  Crisco  in  hot  skiUet.       ^^      .; 
MeU^tosi''         (jpmiento.  *ry  ^  ^h 

^ntbltn    Remove  to  ^T.^i^^  '"^"^ 


%^:r^ 


^0^-^r 


*"'»Ps.Cr„eo.2,i.. 

•"■" -TZZ'"."--; 

^^ell-cooked!  mlT  ""^y  ^^'  the^l^u'' 
seasonings  P  '"  '"acaroni  ^u  ^^^n 
15^°"^h  l;rv?f„  ""    '"acS^f/'^f  and 


(Continued  from  Page  52) 

Proutie  had  come  up  and  was  waiting  by 
Rolls'  .elbow.  Now  he  said,  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  Rolls,  "  Which  room  shall  I  give  Miss 
Grizel,  Mr.  Rolls?  Miss  Selina's,  or  would 
she  go  upstairs  in  the  night  nursery  like 
Miss  Lark?" 

"Lark?"  asked  Grizel.  "You  didn't  tell 
me  about  Lark.  What  a  beautiful  name! 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  her?" 

"Put  Miss  Grizel  in  Miss  Selina's  room," 
said  Rolls.  "Go  and  look  at  it  with  Proutie, 
please,  Grizel." 

"But  who  was  Lark?"  asked  Grizel. 

Her  question  was  not  answered.  Proutie 
led  the  way  toward  Selina's  room.  Rolls 
turned  to  the  window.  The  question  hung  on 
the  air.  Grizel  waited.  After  a  moment  she 
followed  Proutie  toward  the  door. 

IVOOK 

Grizel  occupied  Selina's  room.  That  ex- 
actly expressed  it.  She  could  not  feel  it  was 
her  own.  It  was  white,  it  was  prim;  it  was 
full  of  a  clutter  of  things,  but  the  effect  of  it 
was  chilly  and  strangely  empty.  Even  when 
Proutie  had  cleared  the  dressing  table  to 
make  room  for  Grizel,  when  she  had  put  her 
clothes  in  the  cupboard,  still  the  room  did 
not  belong  to  Grizel.  It  was  still  Selina's 
room. 

'  I  think  this  Selina  must  have  taken  some 
defying,'  thought  Grizel.  The  impression  of 
her  was  still  so  strong.  '  Most  houses  change,' 
she  thought.  'Most  houses  don't  keep  the 
same  inhabitants  for  generations.  The  life 
in  them  changes  and  ebbs  and  flows;  the 
rooms  change — they  are  not  usually,  for  as 
long  as  this,  one  person's 
room.'  

The  room  opened  on  the 
landing  above  the  stairs. 
The  landing  led  forward 
and  widened  intoitssitting 
room  alcove.  There  Grizel 
liked  to  sit  and  sew  and 
think.  She  preferred  sew- 
ing to  reading  because  it 
was  not  easy  to  read  there, 
she  found.  She  could  not 
concentrate ;  she  was  inter- 
rupted, though  no  one  in- 
terrupted her,  and  she 
continually  lost  her  place. 

Grizel's  unit  had  been 
posted    to    Metropolitan 
London,  and  for  the  first 
fortnight  they  had  been 
learning  it,  so  that  they  could  drive  it  at 
night  with  no  lights,  even  under  bombing. 
It  seemed  incredibly  difficult  to  Grizel.  Now 
she  had  begun  to  drive  by  night. 

She  returned  in  the  small  hours  to  the 
silent  house,  letting  herself  in  by  the  latchkey 
Rolls  had  given  her.  In  her  time  off  she  did 
not  go  out.  She  did  not  want,  she  felt,  to  see 
any  more  of  those  streets,  and  the  house 
drew  her  like  a  magnet.  She  liked  to  take 
her  sewing  to  the  landing  window  and  sit 
there  on  the  window  sill. 

Proutie  came  up  and  plugged  in  the  elec- 
tric fire.  "You  look  peaked.  Miss  Grizel,  and 
I  know  your  people  keep  their  houses  very 
warm.  There  is  a  draft  here.  Miss  Selina 
used  always  to  need  a  shawl.  Of  course  we 
didn't  have  electricity  then.  Mr.  Rolls  had 
it  put  in  with  the  heating,  even  though  he 
wasn't  here.  He  always  took  a  great  pride 
in  the  house,  though  when  he  was  in  London 
he  stayed  at  his  club.  He  kept  it  up  wonder- 
fully. It  doesn't  seem  possible.  Miss  Grizel, 
that  we  really  are  to  go." 

"Can't  anything  be  done  about  it?" 

"  Young  Mr.  Willoughby,  of  our  solicitors, 
miss,  says  they  are  trying  their  best.  They 
can  get  a  short  lease,  a  lease  of  occupation, 
but  Mr.  Rolls  won't  take  that." 

"A  lease  of  occupation,"  said  Grizel 
thoughtfully.  And  she  asked,  "So  Selina  sat 
here?"  She  was  not,  it  seemed,  to  get  away 
from  Selina. 

"Miss  Selina  liked  to  sit  at  the  table  with 
her  letters  and  accounts.  If  you  had  seen  the 
Place  then,  it  would  not  have  been  so  quiet. 
It  used  to  be  more  fashionable.  The  house 
was  like  a  hive  then.  As  I  remember  it,  it 
used  to  hum  from  top  to  bottom,  but  I  re- 


reoruary,  i\/it> 

member  thinking  that  the  further  up  the 
house  you  went,  the  quieter  it  became.  The 
kitchen  was  full;  the  family  was  not  large, 
but  there  were  always  visitors  and  guests, 
but  at  the  top  there  was  only  Miss  Lark,  and 
she  made  hardly  a  sound." 

"Proutie,  who  was  Lark?"  * 

"She  was  Mr.  Dane's  ward." 
"John  Ironmonger  Dane?" 
"Yes,  Mr.  Dane.  She  ran  away." 
"Oh,  Proutie!  Why?" 
"There  were  a  lot  of  stories." 
"Didn't  she  ever  come  back?" 
"No,"  said  Proutie.  "It  is  funny.  No  one 
ever  made  less  stir  in  a  house,  as  far  as  you 
could  see,  than  she  did,  but  nothing  was  ever 
more  felt  than  when  she  went.    She  was 
happy  in  herself,  I  think.  She  used  to  sing. 
I  suppose  we  listened  more  than  we  knew. 
I  never  knew  what  happened  to  her,  except 
for  the  bits  we  used  to  read  in  the  illustrated 
papers,    and   see   her   photographs."     He 
thought  for  a  moment  and  then  said  with  re- 
sentment in  his  voice,  "  I  used  to  ask  Miss 
Selina  for  news  of  her,  and  she  always  said, 
'None  whatever,  Proutie.   None.'   Miss  Se- 
lina didn't  like  even  to  speak  of  her.  Well, 
I  must  get  on.  You  will  be  in  to  lunch,  Miss 
Grizel?" 

JNo,  I  HAVE  to  be  down  at  two,"  said 
Grizel.  "I  can  get  lunch  in  the  canteen." 

"  I  can  manage  it  for  you  easily." 

"No,  I  will  go,  thank  you,  Proutie.  I 
don't  know  how  you  do  manage,  only  you 
in  this  great  house." 

"There  were  six  servants  living  in,"  said 

Proutie.  "Sometimes  when  I  am  working 

now  I  feel  that  I  am  not 

doing  only  what  I  am  do- 
ing, but  what  has  been 
done  before;  as  if  a  thou- 
sand hands  were  working 
there  with  mine.  I  have 
almost  run  upstairs  ex- 
pecting to  find — well,  I 
couldn't  say  quite  what, 
but  it  would  be  a  shock 
to  find  the  stillness 
empty."  And  he  said 
slowly,  "It  is  noticeable 
since  Mr.  Rolls  came  back. 
When  he  was  retired,  he 
turned  from  everyone  and 
everything,  and  hid  him- 
self here.    I  was  worried. 

You  see,  all  these  years  he 

was  so  active  and  so  im- 
portant. Miss  Grizel.  His  work  and  his  re- 
sponsibility, they  occupied  all  his  time  and 
thoughts.  He  came  back  here  with  nothing 
to  do  all  day  long  but  brood." 

"Is  he  brooding?"  asked  Grizel.  "He 
doesn't  brood." 

"No,  he  doesn't,"  said  Proutie.  "But  why 
not?  I  don't  know  what  he  is  up  to."  He 
turned  to  Grizel.  "You  don't  know  how 
glad  I  am  that  you  have  come,  miss.  We 
need  you.  The  house  needs  you." 

"Needs  me?  But  I  have  promised  not  to 
interfere." 

"You  won't  be  able  to  help  it,"  said 
Proutie.  "A  house  recognizes  its  own." 

When  he  had  gone  downstairs  Grizel  con- 
tinued to  sew.  She  had  another  three  quar- 
ters of  an  hour  "before  she  need  get  ready. 
Into  the  quietness  of  the  house  as  she  sewed 
came  the  sound  of  a  cuckoo  clock.  It  struck 
twelve  times,  and  then  sank  with  a  whir 
to  be  quiet  again. 


It  is  a  bitter,  dull  morning,  thick  with  fog 
at  twelve  o'clock  on  a  January  day.  The  fog 
has  not  lifted  for  two  days.  This  morning  it 
is  worse  than  ever.  The  air  is  raw,  and  in  the 
house  the  windows  are  tightly  sealed  and 
fires  are  lit.  Though  it  is  only  twelve  o'clock, 
Pelham  has  come  in  after  trying  since  ten  tc 
reach  the  city.  Jamieson,  the  coachman,  has 
just  been  told  to  put  the  horses  away. 

Pelham  comes  into  the  drawing  room 
where  Selina  has  rung  the  bell  for  sherry  anc 
plum  cake.  Slater  brings  it  on  a  silver  tray 
a  plate  of  cake,  dark  and  heavy  and  rich,  its 
spiced  smell  filling  the  fire- warmed  air;  thre< 
glasses  and  a  decanter  full  of  clear  gold' 
brown  wine. 


WHAT 
THEY  PRAISE 

1^  In  the  Englishman,  that 
^  he  is  the  most  chivalrous 
hiishanci ;  in  the  Spanish  man, 
that  he  is  the  most  romantic 
lover;  in  the  Russian  man, 
that  he  is  the  most  tolerant 
spouse;  in  the  Frenchman, 
that  he  is  the  most  concen- 
trated one  in  love;  in  the 
Am'erican,  that  39  per  cent  of 
the  hushands  do  the  dish- 
washing for  their  wives. 

— H.  G.  BEIGEt: 
Marriage:  Fables,  Facts  and  Figures. 


ILL,     J  V^  L.  Xlil/VX 


lodtetlu^ 


\cmoXb 


coo 


:«l 


Itl) 

'doi 


,d 


conc(cft4e<?C 


okXcyndOCo- 

Soujp 

Heinz  own  Aristocrat* 

tomatoes  Wended  with 

rich  country  cream 


"I  shall  go  upstairs,"  says  Selina,  "and 
put  on  a  jacket.  It  is  cold  this  morning,  isn't 
it?"  She  goes  out  and  Pelham  hears  her 
high,  clear  tones,  asking  Slater  in  the  hall, 
"Hasn't  Miss  Lark  come  in  yet?" 

'Lark?  Is  the  child  out  in  this?'  thinks 
Pelham,  but  concern  does  not  really  touch 
him.  Lark  is  only  a  wraith  to  Pelham,  an 
irritating  wraith  who  has  to  be  paid  for.  He 
stands  with  the  fire  warming  his  legs,  and 
looks  out  of  the  warm  gracious  room  to  the 
garden  outside.  He  sips  his  sherry  and  stands 
by  the  fire  with  its  warmth  on  his  legs  that 
are  covered  neatly  with  speckled  gray 
trousers;  he  is  a  neat,  small  man  with  neat,  • 
brown  hair  brushed  back  from  his  forehead; 
he  is  sedate  and  inclined  to  be  pompous, 
very  timid  and  careful  over  money,  but  he  is 
kind. 

The  door  opens  suddenly  and  it  is  Lark. 
She  says,  in  a  breathless  tired  voice,  "Se- 
lina, I  couldn't  get  the  silk.  I  couldn't." 
She  sees  Pelham  and  breaks  off  at  once. 

Pelham,  with  his  wineglass  in  his  hand, 
stares  at  her.  She  is  soaked.  She  has  been 
lost  in  the  fog  for  two  hours  and  she  is  white 
with  cold  and  her  eyes  are  large  with  fright. 
Her  eyes  seem  enormous  to  Pelham:  'Like 
anemones,  those  flowers  with  black  centers,' 
he  thinks  suddenly;  and  suddenly,  also,  he 
thinks  that  she  looks  like  a  nymph,  a  water 
nymph  with  her  wetness  and  her  whiteness 
and  her  hair  clinging  round  her  forehead. 
He  sees  how  tall  she  is,  how  fully  curved  in 
the  clinging  sodden  coat.  'What  curves,' 
thinks  Pelham,  'and  what  a  mouth!  It  is 
trembling  now,  but  what  a  full  red  bow.  A 
nymph?'  thinks  Pelham.  'Why,  the  child  is 
a  perfect  goddess ! ' 

"Lark!"  he  says  aloud.  "Why,  Lark!  I 
thought  you  were  still  a  little  girl." 

"Isn't  S-selina  here?"  asks  Lark,  and  he 
sees  that  she  is  shivering. 

"Come  here.  Come  to  the  fire  at  once," 
he  says. 

"I  c-can't.   I'm  s-soaking." 

"Come  along  at  once.  Takeoff  your  coat." 

"Can  I?   I  am  c-cold." 

"  Come .  Come ! "  She  is  taller  than  he  as  she 
stands  beside  him .  She  holds  outherhands  and 
he  sees  that  they  are  small  for  her  height 
and  finely  shaped,  though  they  are  red  with 
cold.  He  also  sees  that  her  coat  sleeves  are 
so  short  that  they  are  halfway  up  her  wrist. 
"Take  off  that  coat!"  he  says.  "My  dear 
child,  you  are  wringing  wet.  Where  have 
you  been?" 

"S-selina  sent  me  out  for  some  silk  she 
wanted  for  Agnes  to  finish  her  dress,  but  I 
c-couldn't  find  my  way  even  as  far  as  Oxford 
Street." 

Pelham  does  not  answer.  She  has  taken 
off  her  coat  and  her  dark  blue  cap  and  he 
sees  that  her  hair  is  still  down,  hanging  to 
her  waist,  and  that  its  darkness  looks  darker 
still  because  of  the  sparks  of  wetness  in  it; 
that  wetness  clings  to  her  lashes,  too, 
dividing  them  into  points.  '  That  is  why  her 
eyes  look  so  big,'  thinks  Pelham. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  kneel  down?"  asks 
Lark  politely.  "  It  is  warmer." 

She  kneels  down  and  Pelham  is  more  at 
ease,  less  taken  aback,  as  soon  as  he  can  look 
down  on  her  head.  "  I  am  going  to  give  you 
a  glass  of  wine,"  he  says. 

"0-oh!"  Lark's  eyes  light  up.  "But 
won't  Selina  mind?" 

"It  doesn't  matter  if  she  does,"  says 
Pelham,  and  he  pours  out  a  glass  of  sherry 
and  cuts  a  heavy  slice  of  cake  for  her. 
Then  he  sits  down,  feeling  the  fire  on  his  face. 

Lark  is  wearing  a  dress  that,  though  he 
sees  it  is  old,  has  colors  that  are  beautiful 
for  her:  it  is  a  faded  dress  of  amethyst- 
colored  velvet  that  gives  her  eyes  a  darker 
violet  blue;  it  has  a  fitting  bodice,  a  little  too 
fitting  because  it  is  growing  too  tight,  and 
Pelham  finds  his  eyes  keep  straying  to 
Lark's  breasts,  rounded  and  breathing  as  she 
leans  forward  to  warm  her  hands.  Her  skirt  is 
turned  back  to  show  an  underskirt,  a  fisher- 
girl  skirt  in  stripes  of  purple  and  black.  She 
has  black  stockings  and  black  shoes,  and  in 
the  sole  of  one  shoe,  shown  as  she  kneels, 
there  is  a  large  crack ;  Pelham  looks  at  it  and 
feels  guilty,  but  at  the  same  time  he  notices 
that  it  is  a  small  shoe. 


LIKE    SWIFT'S    PREMIUM    HAM 

Its  $UGAfi*Otl^eO 

You  never  liavc  to  call  tlie  family  twice 
when  Picm  is  the  dinner  meat.  For  I'rein 
tastes  "just  riplit"  to  wiiilor-sliarpciied  ap- 
j)etites.  •  "Just  right"  in  llavor  because 
IVein  lias  the  extra  goodness  of  the  exclu- 
sive Swift's  Prcinium  sugar-cure.  •  ".lust 
right"  in  satisfaction  because  IVem  sup- 
plies sturdy  nutrition  .  .  .  Iiigli-({ua!ity  pro- 
teins, 13  complex  vitamins,  important  min- 
erals.   Have  some  tonight. 

StV/FT  &  COMPANY:  Purveyors  of  fine  foods. 


56 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Five  little^  false  little  words: 


Don't  let  the  thermometer  trick  you  into  offending. 
Avoid  underarm  odor  with  MUM. 


It's  a  mistake  so  many  girls  make- 
thinking  tliey  don't  perspire  in  winter. 
But  how  wrong.  How  foolish! 

For  even  in  zero  weather,  there's  a  heat 
wave  under  your  arms.  And  odor  can 
form  without  any  noticeable  moisture  at 
all.  Yes,  form  and  cling  to  your  warm  win- 
ter woolens,  stealmg  away  your  charm. 

But  why  risk  this  winter  danger?  Why 
take  chances  when  it's  so  easy  to  be  sure? 
Just  remember,  your  bath  only  washes 
away  past  perspiration.  Mum  prevents 
risk  of  underarm  odor  to  come. 


So  play  safe.  After  every  bath,  and  before 
every  date,  a  half  minute  with  Mum 
means  long  hours  of  carefree  daintiness. 

["MUM'S  QUICK— Half  a  minute  with 
Mum  prevents  risk  of  underarm  odor  all 
day  or  evening. 

MUM'S  SAFE  —  Gentle  Mum  won't  irri- 
tate skin.  Dependable  Mum  won't  injure 
the  fabric  of  your  clothes,  says  American 
Institute  of  Laundering. 

MUM'S  SURE  — Mum  works  instantly. 
Keeps  you  bath-fresh  all  day  or  evening. 
Get  Mum  today. 


For  Sanitary  Wa^\ii.'\n%— Avoid  embarrassment. 
You  can  always  depend  on  Mum  for  this  impor- 
tant purpose.  lt's*gentle,  safe— sure. 


Product  of  BrislolMytrt 


Mam  fahs  ffie  Oc/or  oaf  of  Persp/raf/on 


"Are  your  feet  wet?"  he  asks  sharply 
with  concern.  "You  mustn't  get  a  cold.  You 
have  a  hole  in  your  shoe." 

She  looks  back  over  her  shoulder  at  it, 
turning  her  neck.  "Oh,  well,  they  are  old 
shoes,"  she  says  reasonably,  and  Pelham 
feels  a  deep  twinge  of  shame. 

"Does  Selina  often  send  you  out  on 
errands?" 

"Of  course."  But  she  adds  in  extreme 
fairness,  "But  quite  often  she  sends  Agnes." 

"You — and  Agnes!"  Pelham  cannot  re- 
member feeling  so  unpleasantly  and  pleas- 
antly stirred.  "When  did  you  grow  up  like 
this,  Lark?" 

"I  have  been  growing  up  steadily  all  the 
time,"  answers  Lark,  wiping  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  on  her  skirt.  She  is  losing  her  white- 
ness, and  the  heat  of  the  fire  is  giving  a  flush 
to  her  face  like  rose  on  ivory.  "Do  you  think 
I  could  have  some  more  cake,  Pelham?  It 
is  such  heavenly  cake." 

Pelham,  as  he  hands  it  to  her,  feels 
gloomy ;  his  gloom  is  compounded  of  feeling 
old  and  of  jealousy  and  of  a  sense  of  hope- 
lessness, as  if  he  were  sliding  down  some 
place  that  was  too  steep  for  him,  and  with  it 
all  a  strange  excitement.  "How  old  are  you?  " 

"I  am  seventeen,"  says  Lark,  and  she 
looks  at  him  under  her  eyelashes,  a  look  that 
is  as  mature  as  it  was  childish  when  she  asked 
him  for  more  cake.  "Seventeen  is  grown  up," 
she  says,  and  as  she  looks  at  him  Pelham's 
blood  seems  to  run  more  quickly  and 
boisterously. 

The  door  opens  again  and  Selina  comes  in. 
Her  face  hardens  and  her  eyebrows  go  up 
when  she  sees  Lark  kneeling  by  the  fire. 
Lark  makes  a  movement  to  stand  up,  but 
Pelham  puts  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and 
presses  her  down.  Her  shoulder  is  warm  and 
firm  and  smooth  under  his  hand. 

"  I  c-couldn't  get  your  silk,"  says  Lark. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  couldn't  find  the  way.  You  don't  know 
what  it  was  like,  Selina.  I  could  barely  move 
a  step  and  a  man  spoke  to  me,  followed  me. 
I  was  frightened." 


"Frightened!  A  great  girl  like  you ! " 

"Well,  a  policeman  came  and  took  me 
part  of  the  way  and  told  me  to  go  home," 
says  Lark.  "Truly,  it  was  frightening." 

"And  I  suppose  it  doesn't  matter  if  my 
dress  isn't  finished  for  tonight."        « 

Lark  is  silent.  Her  lashes  are  on  her  cheek 
as  she  looks  at  the  fire.  Pelham  is  silent,  too, 
watching,  waiting  for  them  to  lift. 

"And  may  I  not  have  a  glass  of  sherry?" 
asks  Selina.  "Lark,  you  have  taken  my 
glass." 

"There  were  three  glasses." 

"Rollo  said  he  might  drop  in  if  he  could 
find  his  way  through  this." 

"Rollo?" 

Pelham  sees  the  quick  upward  flicker  of 
Lark's  eyes,  the  flash  of  blue,  and  again  he 
has  that  unaccountable  pang.  "Rollo?"  he 
says  sourly.  "What  is  he  doing  in  town?' 

"He  said  he  had  to  fit  a  pair  of  boots." 

"Can't  he  get  boots  in  Worcestershire?" 

"Fetch  another  glass."  Selina's  voice, 
when  she  speaks  to  Lark,  is  accustomed  to 
be  peremptory.  She  does  not  realize  herself 
how  harsh  it  sounds.  "And  take  your  things," 
says  Selina.  "You  needn't  come  back  here." 

Lark  does  not  go.  She  stands  up  slowly  on 
the  hearthrug  by  Pelham  and  faces  Selina 
and  she  does  not  go. 

Selina  pours  out  another  glass  of  sherry 
and  then  she  glances  up.  She  asks,  "What 
do  you  want?" 

"I  don't  see,"  says  Lark,  "why  one  per- 
son should  have  food  like  this  and  another  in 
the  same  house  have  food  like  mine." 

"And  what  is  wrong  with  your  food?" 

"  It  is  too  young  for  me."  It  is  a  surprising 
answer  and  she  goes  on,  "I  am  not  really 
talking  about  food,  Selina,  and  neither  are 
you.  I  am  seventeen.  I  am  too  old  to  be 
shut  away  any  more.  I  should  come  out 
of  the  schoolroom  now.  Pelham  thinks  I 
should  come  out." 

"Pelham?" 

"Yes.  Pelham,"  Lark  answers  calmly. 
And  again  she  gives  Pelham  that  look,  ma- 
ture and  intimate,  from  under  her  lashes. 


DON'^ 


CUT 
CUTICLE 


Cutting  leaves  cuticle 
jagged,  may  be 
painful,  even 
dangerous 


USE 

CUTEX  OILY 
CUTICLE 
REMOVER 


It's  the  safer,  modern 
way  to  keep  cuticle 
beautifully 
smooth 


—  ggiir 


•  It's  80  easy  lo  have  lovely  smooth 
cuticle  without  painful,  dangerous 
cutting.  Cutex  Oily  Cuticle  Remover 
quickly  softens  dead  cuticle,  eo  you 
can  actually  wipe  it  off  with 
a  towel.  You'll  be  delighted 
with  the  smooth  "profes- 
sional" look  it  gives  your 
nails.  Wonderful  for  clean- 
ing under  nail  tips, 
removing  stains.  Only 
]()j;,or35^(plu820% 
Fe  d.  tax )  for  large  size. 
Get  a  bottle  today. 


CUTEX 


The  choice  of  more  women  than 
all  other  cuticle  removers  combined 


Yes!    Reborn  every  minute  of 

your  life!  . . .  Take  advantage 
of  your  hair's  continuous  rebirth. 
Keep  it  young-looking,  pliant  . . . 


— not  "abused".  One  refreshing 
Admiracion  Shampoo  treatment 
floats  away  dirt,  dandruff,  dulling 


A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


57 


Selina  sees  it,  and  bright,  quick  redness,  a 
sign  of  anger,  comes  into  her  neck  and 
cheeks. 

"Yes,"  says  Pelham.  "Yes,  I  think  she 
should  come  out." 

"Why?"  Sehna's  voice  is  cutting. 

"She  is  hardly  a  schoolgirl  any  longer." 

"No?"  asks  Selina.  "She  looks  like  one." 
Her  eyes  travel  slowly  and  scornfully  over 
Lark.  "Muddy  shoes.  That  poor  old  dress. 
Really,  Lark,  what  do  you  do  with  your 
clothes?" 

"I  never  have  new  ones,  decent  ones." 

"And  a  hole  in  your  stocking.  No,"  says 
Selina,  "I  am  afraid  I  can't  agree.  Lark  is 
hardly  ready  for  the  drawing  room.  There  is 
another  thing,"  says  Selina.  "A  thing  you 
might  have  thought  of 
for  yourself.  I  am  sure  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
I  should  have  in  your  ^^^"^^^^^^ 
place,  but  you  were  al- 
ways insensitive.  That 
isn't  your  fault,  of 
course.  It  is  your  breed- 
ing." 

"My    breeding?" 
Lark  does  not  quite  un- 
derstand.   Then  she 
asks,  "What  is  wrong      ^■■■■^^^H 
with  my  breeding?" 

"Well,"  says  Selina  with  a  little  laugh,  "it 
is  rather  delicate  to  put  into  words." 

"You  have  never  been  delicate.  Please 
say  what  you  have  to,  Selina." 

"Your  parents  were  provincial  singers. 
We  can  hardly  expect  too  much  niceness 
from  you.  You  are  their  daughter,  in  spite 
of  your  advantages  of  upbringing." 

"My  advantages  of  upbringing!" 

Pelham,  watching,  sees  Lark's  eyes  burn 
with  temper,  her  hands  clench  her  dress. 

"As  I  say,  were  you  more  sensitively  bred, 
your  one  desire,  when  you  do  leave  the 
schoolroom,  would  be  to  try  and  repay 
something  of  what  you  have  received,  not  to 
make  claims  for  more." 

"Selina,  really,  I  am  not  going  to — 
really,  I  must " 


PRACTICE 
MAKES  PERFECT 

^  We  learn  the  art  of  loving  as  we  do 
^  allotherarts, by practiceand expe- 
rience. One  must  be  a  genius  to  do 
it  well  at  first  sight.  —GELETT  BURGESS: 
The  Romance  of  the  Commonplace  (Bobbs-Merrill). 


"One  minute,  Pelham.  Hush,  please." 
Lark  holds  up  her  hand.  "  I  must  say  some- 
thing first,  something  about  these  advan- 
tages of  upbringing."  Her  voice  is  very  clear 
in  the  room  that  is  quieter  than  usual  from 
the  silence  of  the  fog.  "Of  my  upbringing 
and  my  education — only  there  wasn't  any 
education.  The  Eye  gave  you,  Selina,  re- 
sponsibility for  that.  I  can  remember  my 
mother.  She  was  a  singer.  She  sang,  as  you 
say,  Selina,  in  the  provinces,  in  little  towns, 
but  the  Eye  gave  me  her  albums  and  her 
books.  He  had  some  of  them,  and  her  press 
notices  were  in  them.  If  she  hadn't  married 
my  father,  she  might  have  been  a  great 
singer.  She  sang  in  Milan  and  Rome  and 
Paris  and  London.  I  can  remember  her.  She 
spoke  four  languages 
^^^^^^^^^^  and  sang  in  them;  she 
^^^^^^^^^^  played  three  instru- 
ments; she  painted. 
Though  she  had  none 
of  your  advantages  of 
upbringing,  Selina,  she 
did  all  these  things  and 
she  was  beautiful  and 
witty.  And  what  can  I 
do?  I  have  taught  my- 
■■■I^^H^^H  self  a  little  from  your 
old  books,  but  I  have 
not  had  a  lesson  that  had  to  be  paid  for 
since  I  came  here.  You  are  always  telling 
me,  Selina,  how  lucky  I  am  to  be  here.  Per- 
haps the  Eye  meant  it  to  be  lucky,  but  you 
haven't  made  it  so.  You  wouldn't  even 
give  me  singing  lessons.  There  is  nothing  at 
all  that  I  can  do." 

"You  are  quite  useful  in  the  house,"  says 
Selina.  "You  could  be  a  companion  or — not 
a  governess,  of  course,  but  a  children's 
maid." 

"A  children's  maid!"  It  comes  back  a 
whisper  into  the  room. 

"Yes,"  says  Selina.  She  watches  Lark's 
face  with  a  curious  satisfaction.  "You  have 
a  great  opinion  of  yourself,  haven't  you, 
Lark?" 

(Continued  on  Page  59) 


...  in  millions  of  homes,  because 
absorbent  SITROUX  TISSUES  are 
ideal  for  hankies,  removing  make- 
up and  hundreds  of  uses.  Ask  for 
"SIT-TRUE"  in  the  vanity  package! 


^w^  faced  vrf"*^^ 

,ow  moterial  shortages   ^^^  ^^.^^  ^^, 

difficulties  .  .  •  bo'  ^       ^i,h  as  many 

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S-.UOUX  r.ssues  OS  PO  ^^        ^^^  best  to 

all  others,  we  are  ^^aer 

ITROUX 

X^''  TISSUES 


"Of  course  you  know 
about  MIDOL-but 

HAVE  YOU 

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IT? 


Before  you  break  another  date  or 
lose  another  day  because  of  men- 
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Lovely  Conistance  M^Cormick 

Leading  in  California  society  are  the  Alister  McCormicks, 
whose  impressive  Spanish  house  in  Santa  Barbara  faces  the  sea  on  one 
side  and  the  mountains  on  the  other.  Mrs.  McCormick,  Constance's 
mother,  has  been  a  Pond's  devotee  since  her  teens,  and 
her  charming,  high-spirited  daughter  is  quick  to  understand  why. 
"The  very  first  time  I  tried  a  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing 

Cream,  I  knew  I  could  forget  my  make-up  problems," 
explains  Constance  enthusiastically.  "In  the  sixty  seconds  of 
Mask-time,  my  face  not  only  looked  fresher  and  softer — ilfelt 
quite  different !  Smoother  and  ready  to  take  powder  evenlyV* 


Miss  Constance  McCormick  says,  "A  1-Minute  Mask  is  ideal  make-ready  for  make-upT 

Ho'w  to     re-style**  your  compleaeion  in  one  minute 

Mask  your  whole  face — except  eyes — in  a  white  coat  of  Pond's 

Vanishing  Cream.  Leave  this  cool,  creamy  Mask  on  your  skin  for 
just  one  minute.  Its  "keratolytic"  action  goes  after  scuffy,  powder- 
catching  little  roughnesses  and  imbedded  dirt  particles. 
Loosens  and  dissolves  them!  Now  tissue  off  the  Mask. 
See  the  thrilling  results!  Your  skin  looks  definitely  fresher  and 
cleaner — even  lighter!  Now  pat  on 
your  powder.  It  slips  on  smoothly 
.  .  .  evenly  .  .  .  and  for  keeps ! 


For  quick  make-ups — You'll  want 
a  I-Minute  Mask  3  or  4  times  a 

week.  Other  times,  just  smooth  on 
a  thin,  thin  film  of  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream  and  leave  it  on.  Non-greasy 

and  very  effective  powder  base ! 


GET  THE  BIG,  LUSCIOUS  JAR! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOl  RNAL 


February,  19  l."> 


:  '»^«i!BaVf^^p'*''r'^^flSJi^^ffl^S^.^^J  '<  ■  ■i''**|ffl1^>^i!4IJ»dV  ""t^^tflfftS-  WErtjp.^,^Y«^ 


i"  i  IVhee!  Binso  &ETS  OUT  MOBE  WBT  from 
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A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


59 


(Continued  from  Page  57) 

Lark  stands  a  moment  longer.  Any  de- 
fense from  her  is  new.  She  has  not  learned 
that  she,  too,  has  power;  at  the  moment 
Selina's  is  overwhelming.  Lark  also  is  never 
to  be  good  at  fighting;  she  does  not  fight,  her 
battles  are  fought  for  her.  Pelham  will  fight 
one  for  her  in  a  minute  and  he  will  win  and 
Selina  will  not  forget  or  forgive  Lark  for 
that.  Lark  is  right;  she  does  nothing,  there 
is  nothing  at  all  that  she  can  do.  But  now 
Selina's  taunts  have  pierced  to  her.  In  spite 
of  herself,  tears  come  into  her  eyes.  In  a 
moment  she  is  blind  and  she  puts  out  her 
hand,  tries  to  say  something  more,  and 
chokes  and  runs  out  of  the  room. 

After  she  has  gone  there  is  silence  except 
for  the  noise  of  the  fire  and,  from  somewhere 
outside,  the  noise  of  a  bell  ringing  in  the  fog. 
The  clock  sounds  on  the  mantelpiece  and 
Pelham  bends  forward  and  picks  up  the 
poker  and  stirs  the  fire. 

"You  are  unkind,"  says  Pelham.  Selina 
gives  a  shrug.  "And  you  are  wrong.  She  is 
deeply  sensitive,  deeply " 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  can  see.  She  is  a  young  girl,  just 
unfolding -" 

"How  poetical  you  are,  Pelham,  dear." 

Pelham  is  not  a  poet,  but  he  knows  what  a 
poet  feels  like;  he  has  often  a  poetical  nos- 
talgia that  he  inherits.  Pelham  has  never 
given  rein  to  it;  he  is  too  timid  and  conven- 
tional to  give  full  rein  to  anything,  but  it 
stirs  him  at  moments  still.  Now  he  slowly 
reddens. 

"You  have  a  horrid  tongue,  Selina." 

Sunday  morning  in  Wiltshire  Place  is  dis- 
tinguished by  its  quiet.  The  bells  sound  a 
chorus  that  begins  before  nine  o'clock  and 
continues  until  midmorning.  Carriages  and 
cabs  driven  to  the  church  stop  at  the  west 
door  in  the  Square,  but  all  morning  a  gentle 
traffic  goes  on  between  the  houses  in  the 
Place  and  the  iron  gate  in  the  railings  oppo- 
site. In  pomp,  at  eleven  o'clock,  comes 
morning  service.  Whole  family  groups,  mar- 
shaled with  sons  and  daughters,  governesses 
and  tutors,  nurses,  go  in  at  the  church  door, 
all  in  their  best  Sunday  clothes. 

In  the  drawing  room  at  No.  99  someone  is 
practicing  her  singing.  It  is  summer  and  the 
windows  are  open  and  the  bowls  hold  yellow 
roses.  Why  do  yellow  roses  smell  more 
strongly  than  the  other  colors? 

"Ah — ahahahahahah — ak 
Ah — ahahahahahah — ah  " 

sings  the  voice.  It  changes  to  thirds: 

"Ah— ah 
Ah— ah" 

It  is  Lark.  She  is  standing  by  the  piano 
and  the  sun  on  the  carpet  reaches  to  her  feet. 
She  is  wearing  a  dress  of  thin  cream  muslin 
that  hangs  in  long,  fiuted  lines  to  the  floor; 
it  is  tied  at  the  waist  and  wrists  and  neck 
with  velvet  ribbons  of  sunflower  gold.  This 
is  one  of  the  first  dresses  that  have  ever  been 
made  new  for  Lark.  She  has  grown  so  tall 
that  she  can  no  longer  wear  Selina's  castoff 
dresses.  Her  hair  is  up,  though  she  has  not 
learned  to  cut  it  to  a  length  that  she  can 
manage  and  it  is  a  little  uncertain  and  heavy 
and  often  tumbles  down.  Though  she  is  so 
tall  and  her  figure  is  magnificently  full  and 
rounded,  she  does  not  look  quite  adult;  she 
is  not.  It  is  the  same  with  her  singing:  each 
note  is  correct,  full,  even  powerful,  but  she 
sends  them  out  into  the  air  as  if  she  were  not 
quite  sure  how  they  will  sound. 

She  stands  so  still,  so  earnestly,  that  the 
folds  of  her  dress  might  even  be  chiseled,  ex- 
cept that  they  fold  down  a  little  farther 
when  she  bends  to  strike  another  note  on  the 
piano  and  take  the  scale  up  from  it  again. 
Then,  sitting  down  at  the  piano,  looking  out 
across  the  garden,  she  begins  to  sing: 

"Oh,  Mary  go  and  call  the  cattle  home 
And  call  the  cattle  home 
And  call  the  cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee." 

The  door  opens  so  quietly  that  Lark  does 
not  hear  it  and  Rollo  stands  there  against 
the  darkness  of  the  hall. 


Lark  is  usually  only  too  much  aware  of 
Rollo  when  he  is  in  the  house.  The  house  be- 
comes different:  it  is  more  alive;  stirred; 
more  interesting.  His  step  rings  in  the  hall; 
he  laughs,  and  Lark  realizes  how  seldom  it  is 
that  she,  or  Pelham  or  Selina,  ever  laughs. 
He  has  a  way  of  calling  for  the  servants  in- 
stead of  ringing  that  sounds  cheerful  and 
that  they  like.  He  brings  in  new  elements: 
he  plays  cricket,  and  no  one  else  does;  he 
rides,  and  no  one  else  does;  he  goes  out  in  the 
evenings  and  comes  in  late — Lark  sometimes 
hears  him  come  upstairs  and  go  past  her 
door.  He  does  not  often  come  down  to 
breakfast,  but  neither  is  he  often  in  to  lunch. 
He  seems,  Lark  thinks,  to  eschew  the  house 
as  much  as  possible  while  he  is  on  leave. 

Rollo  could  have  told  her  that  the  house 
to  him  seems  gloomy  and  boring.  Selina 
spoils  him,  if  he  will  let  her  bully  him;  Pel- 
ham spoils  him  but  cannot  help  grudging  it. 
It  has  not  occurred  to  Rollo  to  notice  Lark. 

Because  of  her  old  intimacy  with  Roly, 
Lark  is  shy  of  Rollo.  She  keeps  far  out  of  his 
way,  but  she  knows  almost  as  much  about 
him  as  she  knew  about  Roly.  His  clothes, 
for  instance:  they  are  quite  different  from 
Pelham's.  Rollo  has  uniforms.  Of  course 
Pelham  cannot  be  expected  to  have  those, 
but  Rollo  has  a  cloak  lined  with  white  wa- 


c^;?«  rytal/KA 


By  John  Ackerson 

An  old  song  only.  Love,  I  sing  for 
you 
From  quiet  ruins  in  a  London  street. 
While  pulsing  manuals  of  my  heart 
now  meet 
And  mingle  with  my  voice, 

sustained  and  true; 
I  pour  out  toward  you  ail  I  have  to 
give: 
My  faith,  my  soul,  my  hope,  and 

from  the  past 
The  sturdy  memories  that  bless  and 
blast; 
Receive  me.  Sweet,  for  while  I  sing 

I  live. 
Across  the  ocean  hurling  up  red 
foam, 
I  drive  through  clouds  that  loose 

the  steel-clad  rain. 
For  moments  I  may  heal  the 
stabbing  pain. 
And  fill  with  melody  our  lonely 

room. 
From  London,  where  the  soul  of 

man  takes  wing, 
An  old  song  is  the  only  song  I  sing. 


tered  silk,  Rollo  has  gardenias  waiting  on 
his  dressing  table  and  he  chooses  one  when 
he  has  dressed.  In  the  corners  of  his  mirror 
he  puts  invitation  cards:  Lady  Emily 
Chase  .  .  .  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henniker  Grey. 
Notes  are  left  open:  Dear  Mr.  Dane:  .  .  . 
Lt.  R.  I.  Dane:  .  .  .  Dear  Rollo:  .  .  . 
Rollo  dear,  I  ivonder.  .  .  .  There  are  pro- 
grams, gilded,  with  miniature  pencils,  pale 
blue  or  pink  or  green  or  white  or  scarlet. 

There  is,  to  add  fuel  to  Lark's  secret  fire, 
much  talk  just  now  of  Rollo  in  the  house. 
She  knows  his  shortcomings  that  Selina 
takes  so  seriously  and  she  knows  his  suc- 
cesses that  Selina  takes  more  seriously  still. 
Now  he  has  been  transferred  to  the  Indian 
Army,  to  the  — th  Punjab  Cavalry. 

"Better  pay.  Better  prospects,"  says  Pel- 
ham. 

But— and  at  last  Lark,  unable  to  bear  it, 
has  to  point  out,  "But  he  will  have  to  go  to 
India!" 

This  vista,  so  appallingly  open  to  her  and 
to  which  they  seem  to  blind  themselves,  is 
now  close.  In  the  autumn  Rollo  will  sail  for 
India. 

In  spite  of  the  qualities  Lark  and  Selina 
weave  round  him,  Rollo  is  truthfully  a  pre- 
sentable but  not  extraordinary  young  man. 
He  is  very  big,  very  good-natured  and  av- 
eragely  quick-minded;  he  has  a  big,  strong. 


healthy  body,  sunburned  cheeks,  Griselda's 
chestnut  hair  and  blue  eyes  that  are  lazy 
and  even-tempered  and  easily  amused.  He 
has,  as  well,  the  Eye's  high  forehead  and 
Griselda's  straight  nose  and  something  of 
her  straight,  direct  gaze.  Rollo  is  not  quite 
so  lazy  nor  so  even  as  he  seems;  he  is  ambi- 
tious and  he  has  the  Dane  way  of  leaving 
nothing  undone  that  might  help  him  in  his 
career.  But  with  this  he  is  moody  and  seems 
to  turn  even  against  himself  as  if  he  despises 
this  ambition. 

"Why   do   you   do   it?"   asks   Pelham. 
"Don't  you  care  about  your  work?  No  one 
forced  you  to  go  into  the  army." 
"Didn't  they?" 

"You  could  have  come  into  the  business." 

"Business!    What  does  anyone  ever  get 

out  of  business  except  a  packet  of  money?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  out  of  life?" 

'Life,'  Rollo  might  have  answered  quite 

simply,  but  he  does  not.    He  feels  it,  in 

moods  that  fluctuate. 

Ihis  morning  Rollo  is  in  evening  dress 
and  a  little  disheveled ;  he  has  not  taken  off 
his  hat  and  it  is  on  not  quite  straight.  Rollo 
is  not  drunk,  he  is  only  elated.  Now  he 
stands  in  the  doorway,  Ustening  to  Lark. 
The  room  is  full  of  light  and  sun  and  flowers; 
he  blinks  a  little  in  the  light  and  listens 
quietly. 

"The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  with 
foam 
And  all  alone  went  she.  .  .  ." 

Lark  is  turned  slightly  away  from  him, 
singing  toward  the  window. 

'Lark?'  says  Rollo  to  himself  incredu- 
lously, because  he  has  not  noticed  or  thought 
about  the  little  girl  enough  to  realize  that 
one  day  she  must  grow  into  a  woman.  He 
watches  her  at  the  piano  and  he  sees  the 
line  of  her  face  turned  away  from  him,  the 
too  heavy  dark  hair,  the  sunflower  ribbons. 
He  has  in  this  moment  a  perception  of  Lark: 
if  he  had  not  come  at  this  moment,  he  sees, 
he  would  not  have  seen  her  ever  again  as  she 
is  now.  'Women  grow  in  minutes,  not  in 
years,'  thinks  Rollo.  'Yesterday  she  was  a 
child;  tomorrow  she  will  be  complete,  a 
woman.'  And  as  surely  as  Pelham  saw,  as 
Selina  all  these  years  has  seen,  Rollo,  who  is 
more  fastidious  and  discerning,  sees  that 
Lark  is  beautiful.  He  sees,  as  well,  how  much 
more  beautiful  she  will  grow  to  be  as  she 
matures.  He  does  not  think  of  nymphs  and 
goddesses;  he  thinks  of  himself.  He  is  sur- 
prised at  the  feeling  that  has  started  up  in 

mm.         "Across  the  sands  of  Dee." 

The  front  door  opens  and  shuts  with  a 
slam.  Quick  steps  cross  the  hall,  and  Selina 
brushes  past  Rollo  in  the  door. 

"Lark!"  she  calls  peremptorily.  "Have 
you  forgotten  it  is  Sunday?" 

"Sunday?"  says  Lark  vaguely.  She 
barely  hears  Selina.  She  is  looking  at  Rollo, 
and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  deepens,  pales, 
deepens  more  vividly  again.  Rollo  comes 
into  the  room. 

"Take  off  your  hat,"  says  Selina  tq  Rollo, 
and  to  Lark,  "They  could  hear  you  at  the 
end  of  the  road!" 

"I  thought  you  were  at  church,"  Lark 
says  absently.  Rollo  has  come  up  to  her, 
leaning  on  the  piano  lid. 

Selina  has  now  to  speak  to  Lark  past 
Rollo's  back,  and  he  seems  to  intercept  her 
words  so  that  they  do  not  reach  Lark.  "You 
thought  I  had  gone  to  church !  I  had,  but  I 
had  to  come  back  for  a  handkerchief.  So 
this  is  how  you  behave  as  soon  as  my  back 
is  turned!  You  were  positively  shouting. 
What  will  everyone  think?" 

"They  will  think  that  Sunday  morning  in 
Wiltshire  Place  has  lost  a  little  of  its  de- 
pression and  gloom,"  says  Rollo,  turning 
round  on  her.  He  turns  back  again  to  Lark, 
across  the  yellow  roses,  and  says  softly,  "  I 
know  now  why  they  called  you  Lark." 

She  answers  still  more  softly,  "Were  you 
there,  listening  all  the  time?" 

Selina  has  been  looking  closely  at  Rollo. 
"Rollo!  Are  you  going  out,  like  that?" 

"  I  am  not  going  out.   I  am  c-coming  in." 

"At  this  time  of  the  morning?  "  She  looks 
at  him  again  and  comes  closer  and  recoils. 


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60 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


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"Rollo!  Your  breath!  You  smell  of  wine 
and  spirits — terribly." 

"I  have  been  drinking  them,"  says  Rollo 
reasonably.- 

Selina  is  angry.  "You  should  go  to  your 
room,  not  appear  before  ladies,  before  me  or 
a  young  girl.  Take  no  notice  of  him,  Lark. 
It  is  too  much!  Rollo,  you  must  have  met 
everyone  on  their  way  to  church ! " 

"Id-did." 

"Oh,  no!  What  did  you  do?" 

"I  1-lifted  my  hat  and  said  'G-good 
night,'"  says  Rollo  gravely. 

Lark  laughs  an  infectious  rich  peal  and 
Rollo  begins  to  laugh  too. 

"This  isn't  funny,"  cried  Selina.  "It  is 
perfectly  disgusting.  What  will  people  think? 
What  will  they  say ! "  Then  Selina  thinks  of 
something  else.  Lark  sees  her  face  change, 
her  eyes  go  rapidly  over  Rollo.  A  possibility 
has  occurred  to  her.  "Well,"  she  says,  and 
now  her  voice  has  altered,  it  is  coaxing.  "Oh, 
well.  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  being  cross  with 
you,  Rollo.  But  you  must  be  punished.  You 
must  go  straight  upstairs  and  change,  and 
then  you  must  come  with  me  to  church." 

"You  will  be  very  late,"  says  Lark  idly. 
"The  bells  have  stopped." 

"  Be  quiet,"  says  Selina.  "You  will  do  that 
for  me,  won't  you,  Rollo?" 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Rollo,  please.  To  please  me!" 

"But  why  do  you  want  me.  to?" 

'Because,'  Lark  could  have  told  him,  'be- 
cause if  you  appear  in  church  with  her, 
groomed  and  respectable,  it  will  perfectly 
correct  the  scandal  of  your  appearance  in 
the  Place  this  morning.  That  is  what  Selina 
in  her  mind  is  saying,'  Lark  could  have  told 
him.  'That  is  what  is  in  her  mind.'  But  Lark 
does  not  say  anything. 

She    watches    to     see       ^^^^^^^^^h| 
what  Rollo  will  do. 

"No,  I  won't,"  says 
Rollo  again,  and  he 
says,  uncomfortably 
because  he  is  not  given 
to  explaining  himself, 
"I  don't  believe  in  it. 
I  won't  hurt  you  by 
saying  what  I  think, 
but  I  don't  believe  in  it. 
You  know  I  don't." 

Selina    brushes   his 
words  away  as  if  they       ^^^^^^^^^^ 
were  flies.   "That       ^^^^^^^^^^ 
doesn't    matter,"    she 
says.   "To  please  me,  Rollo!   Please!" 

"Oh,  very  well." 

"Dear,  dear  naughty  boy!"  says  Selina, 
delighted.  "  I  shall  go  and  tell  Proutie  to  put 
out  your  clothes  and  help  you;  but  you  must 
hurry.   Hurry!" 

She  goes  out  quickly.  Rollo  lingers.  There 
is  a  silence.  Lark  says  nothing.  She  looks  at 
her  hands  on  the  silent  piano  keys. 

"It  is  no  use  defying  Selina,"  says  Rollo 
defensively. 

"It  is  of  use,"  says  Lark.  "And  you  are 
free  of  them,"  she  points  out. 

"I  am  not.   I  can't  live  on  my  pay." 

"You  could." 

He  could.  He  knows  that.  "And  I  hate 
asking  Pelham  for  money."  He  does  not 
realize  that  he  has  said  that  aloud. 

"Then  why  do  you?" 

"Because  he  always  has  some  and  will  al- 
ways give  some  of  it  to  me,"  he  says  disarm- 

ingly,  but  she  does  not  smile.  "Once " 

says  Rollo  and  stops.  He  seems  lifted  by  a 
feeling  of  freedom,  as  if  with  Lark  freedom 
would  come.  "Once  I  asked  him  to  give  me 
five  hundred  pounds  and  let  me  go." 

"  If  I  had  money,"  says  Lark  thoughtfully, 
"I  would  give  you  five  hundred  pounds." 

"But  I  wouldn't  go  now  for  that,"  says 
Rollo,  laughing;  he  has  withdrawn.  "Do  you 
know  that  you  are  beautiful?    Beautiful?" 

"Rollo!  What  are  you  doing?  We  must 
be  quick."  Selina  sweeps  between  them  into 

the  room. 

*       *      *      * 

At  half  past  eleven  Proutie  came  upstairs 
again.  "Miss  Grizel,  I  am  sorry  to  disturb 
you,  but  a  young  officer  has  called."  He  held 
out  a  salver  with  a  card.  "Pilot  Officer 
Masterson,  miss.  He  asked  to  see  Mr.  Rolls, 


but  Mr.  Rolls  is  in  the  study  and  gave  strict 
orders  that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  It 
seems  the  gentleman  has  a  very  special 
message.  Would  you  see  him.  Miss  Grizel?" 

"Of  course,  Proutie.  Show  him  up  here." 

Proutie  went  down  and  came  up  with  a 
small,  dark-skinned  young  man  in  uniform. 
He  had  his  right  arm  in  a  sling  and  his  hand 
in  bandages.   Grizel  stood  up  to  meet  him. 

"My  great-uncle  is  busy,"  she  said.  "Can 
you  talk  to  me  instead?  I  am  Grizel  Dane." 

He  gave  her  a  quick  look  of  surprise  and 
took  her  hand.  "But  how  do  you  fit  in?  I 
haven't  heard  of  you.  You  don't  belong 
here,  do  you?" 

"But  I  do,"  said  Grizel,  surprised. 

He  gently  released  her  hand.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  be  rude.  I'm  sorry.  Can  I  ex- 
plain?" 

Come  and  sit  down,"  said  Grizel.  She 
led  the  way  to  the  window  seat,  but  he  did 
not  sit  down.  He  stood,  looking  round  him. 
Grizel  watched  him  curiously. 

"I  remember  the  geography,"  he  said, 
and  looked  at  the  doors.  "There  is  Mrs. 
Dane's,  Griselda's,  room.  That  is  the  dress- 
ing room,  and  that  room  is  Selina's." 
"Now  it  is  mine." 

"And  do  you  drive  Selina  out?  I  bet  you 
don't.  She  was  a  dragon,  wasn't  she?  And," 
he  added  gravely,  "she  was  unkind." 

"She  doesn't  worry  me,"  said  Grizel.  "I 
don't  think  I  have  much  sense  of  the  past, 
or  of  family.  I  like  people — not  ancestors." 
"Ancestors  are  people,"  he  answered,  and 
he  studied  her.  "You  are  a  Dane.  How  do 
you  manage  to  be  an  American?" 

"I  was  born  one.  My  grandfather,  Pel- 
ham  Dane,  went  to  America  in  189L" 

"And  you  have  no 
m^g^^^mg^       sense  of  the  past  ?  Then 
why  did  you  come  back 
here?" 

"What  has  that  to 
do  with  it?    I   didn't 
come  here  for  the  past. 
If    I    came    for    any- 
thing, I  suppose  it  was 
for  the  future.  The  past 
has  gone." 
"Has  it?" 
"Of  course  it  has.  It 
is  over.    .    .    .    What 
^^^^^^^^^^^       are  you  smiling  at?" 
^^^^^^^^^^"  "You." 

"At  me?" 
"Yes.  You  are  so  glib,"  he  told  her. 
"Glib?"  Grizel  could  not  say  more  for 
her  astonishment. 

"It  must  be  wonderful,"  he  said,  "to  be 
able  to  divide  everything  up  separately  and 
label  it  so  certainly  and  put  it  away  in  such 
airtight,  thoughtproof  boxes." 

"What  makes  you  think  I  have — boxes?" 
"Haven't  you?  'This  is  the  past.  I  am 
not  interested  in  the  past.  Shut  it  up,  put  it 
away.  This  is  the  future.  We  should  think  of 
that.'  What  about  the  present?  Where 
does  that  begin  and  end?  I  suppose  you 
know  that  too?" 

"You  are  very  rude,"  said  Grizel.   "I 

think " 

"You  don't,"  he  said.  "You  don't  think." 
His  face  softened  as  h^ looked  at  her.  "Prob- 
ably you  won't  think.  Try  it.  Try  think- 
ing." 

"Pilot  Officer  Masterson,  you  have  known 

me  five  minutes " 

"And  nothing  can  happen  in  five  min- 
utes?" He  stopped  and  there  was  silence. 
Then  he  came  closer  to  her  and  said,  looking 
out  over  her  head  as  she  sat  on  the  window 
seat,  "Again  I  am  sorry.  I  don't  know  how 
this  argument  began.  I  came  here  in  a  per- 
fectly normal  state  of  mind.  I  don't  usually 
beard  people  like  this." 
Grizel  did  not  speak. 
"I  am  stationed  at  Hornchurch,"  he  said, 
"and  we  have  had  a  bit  of  a  party  these 
months.  I  suppose  it  is  that  and  I  am  not 
quite  normal.  It  was  a  strain;  people  not 
coming  in  and  the  waiting  all  the  time.  Then 
I  got  my  unlucky  shot." 
"You  crashed?" 

"Yes,  off  Margate.    Slap  into  the  drink. 
Fortunately  for  me,  the  lifeboat  people  saw 
(Continued  on  Page  62) 


CAUSE  FOK  DIVORCE 

^  More  <livc»r<-fs  are  caused  by 
^  woiiieii  wlio  talk  too  niiieh  than 
by  any  otber  one  tbing.  IMen  learn, 
wbeii  I  bey  are  sniall,  not  to  say 
every  lliiiiK  tbev  tliink.  If  they  <1<>, 
somebody  kno<-ks  tbeir  bloek  off. 
I\obo<ly  knot'ks  a  little  girl's  block 
i>IT.  anil  she  says  what  slie  plea.ses 
iiiilil  sbe  is  a  garrulous  old  woman. 
—JUSTICE  OF  PEACE  CHARLES  CLAYPOOL. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


II 


iimfmiiKt,  lumMim,^  sa/s  K^k  SmUh 


"Back  in  the  days  when  this  picture  of  me  was 

taken,  I  loved  to  visit  my  delightful  Grandmother. 

"She  made  such  wonderful  treats  for  me!  All 
through  the  years  I've  remembered  the  luscious 
flavor  of  her  old-time  chocolate  pudding. 

"So  you  can  see  why  I  fairly  jumped  for  joy 
when  I  first  tasted  the  new,  quiclc-and-easy  Jell-0 
Chocolate  Pudding  —  and  found  the  selfsame  deep, 
true  chocolate  flavor  I  loved  as  a  little  girl! 

"And  no  wonder  —  because  the  flavor  used  in 
Jell-0  Chocolate  Pudding  comes  straight  from  the 
very  same  folks  who  make  famous  old-time  Walter 
Baker's  Chocolate!  And  think  of  it  — it  takes  you 
only  8  minutes  to  prepare  this  smooth,  creamy 
Jell-0  Chocolate  Pudding!  Grandma's  pudding 
took  nearly  an  hour. 

"And  don't  forget  to  try  the  two  other  made- 
with-milk,  nourishing  Jell-0  Puddings  — rich, 
brown-sugary  Butterscotch  and  delicate,  tempting 
Vanilla. 

"I'm  giving  you  three  of  my  favorite  dessert  ideas 
on  this  page— and  I'll  be  giving  you  lots  more  later  in 
magazines,  and  in  the  Kate  Smith  Hour." 

Remember— The  Kate  Smith  Hour  now  on 
Sundays.  Full  Columbia  Network.  Listen  in! 


VAHim  m  'ISpoiAn 


»"i|«MlCHi 


Products  of  General  Foods  — made  by  the  makers  of  Jell-O 


^MO  fyjlwiM  '^JiUamJmi-w^  iM^Ai' 


62 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


A  special  process  keeps  Kleenex 


Luxuriously  Soft  - 
Dependably  Stron; 


Only  Kleenex  has  the  Serv- a -Tissue  Box 
that  serves  up  just  one  double  -  tissue  at  a  time! 


yOl//i  A/OS£  KNOIVS- 
THERE'S  OA/iy  OA/E 
/<LEENEX 


In  these  days  of  shortages  we  can't 
promise  you  all  the  Kleenex  you  want, 
at  all  times.  But  we  do  promise  you 
this:  consistent  with  government  reg- 
ulations, we'll  keep  your  Kleenex  the 
finest  quality  tissue  that  can  be  made! 


There  is  only  one  KLEENEX 


♦T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pal.  Off. 


(Continued  from  Page  60) 
me  come  down.  I  was  back  at  the  airdrome 
in  a  few  hours.  All  I  got  was  this."  He 
showed  his  hand.  "Burned.  I  have  to  have 
an  operation,  but  they  say  I  shall  use  it  in  a 
fortnight." 

"Don't!"  said  Grizel,  more  sharply  than 
she  meant.  She  stood  up  beside  him.  "I  get 
horrors  over  this  war,"  said  Grizel  slowly. 
"Sometimes  I  don't  think  I  can  bear  it.  I 
don't  think  I  am  very  good  at  being  brave." 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  in  America?  Why 
are  you  here?" 

"That  is  my  business,"  said  Grizel,  and 
there  was  a  different  tone  in  her  voice,  a 
shyness. 

"It  is  your  business,"  he  answered  her. 
"Your  business.  My  business.  Everyone's 
business.  I  don't  think  anyone  is  meant  to 
escape  this  time."  And  he  added,  "  It  wasn't 
so  easy  for  me.   I  am  half  Italian." 

"That  must  have  been  hard." 

"It  continues  to  be  hard,"  he  said  lightly, 
and  Grizel  thought  that  he  spoke  particu- 
larly lightly  when  he  was  particularly  moved. 
"The  mechanics  were  easy.  I  was  in  the 
RAF  in  '36.  My  father  was  English,  you 
see.  My  childhood  was  spent  in  Italy.  I  was 
brought  up  there  by  my  uncle  because  I  was 
his  heir.  He  had  rather  large  estates.  He 
was  the  Marchese  Zacca  del  Laudi.  He  is 
dead  now." 

"Then,"  said  Grizel,  "besides  being  Pilot 
Officer  Masterson,  you  are  the  Marchese— I 
can't  remember  the  rest." 

"I  am  both  of  them,"  he  said.  "But  I  am 


He  smiled  briefly. 


Pax,  myself,  as  well 

"And  you  know 
thishouse.  When  were 
you  here?" 

"I  was  never  here." 

"  But  you  know  it ! " 

"The  Marchesa, 
my  uncle's  wife,  was 
English.  She  lived  in 
this  house  as  a  child. 
She  and  I  were  very 
dear  to  one  another. 
We  used  to  play  a 
game,  hide  and  seek 
all  over  this  house." 

"But    you " 

"Oh,  we  were  not 
here.  Neither  of  us.  I 
think  she  was  home- 
sick. She  taught  me 
the  house  from  top 
to  bottom.  I  could 
show  you  your  way 
in  it,  I  think." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  In  Italy.  I  don't  suppose  anything  would 
happen  to  her,"  he  said  again  lightly.  "She 
has  been  there  among  the  people  for  too 
long.  No,  she  will  be  down  at  Laudi  in  Tus- 
cany. That  was  the  country  home  of  ours 
that  she  loved,  and  I  left  it  to  her  to  live  in. 
She  made  a  garden  there,  a  famous  one.  I 
think  she  had  almost  forgotten  this  house 
until  lately." 

"Lately?" 

He  turned  away  from  the  window,  looking 
down  at  Grizel.  "I  haven't  seen  her  for  two 
years,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  haven't,  perhaps, 
thought  of  her  very  much,  or  felt  the  thought 
of  her,  but  lately  it  is  as  if  she  has  been 
nagging  me  to  come  here.  No,  not  nagging, 
reminding.  Don't  laugh  at  me.  She  told  me 
to  come  here  and  I  came.  .  .  .  Where  is 
General  Dane?  Where  is — Rollo?" 

"I  called  him  that,"  said  Grizel,  "and  he 
said, '  Rollo  was  my  name  when  I  was  young. 
Only  one  person  calls  me  that.'" 

"She  had  not  seen  him  for  fifty  years," 
said  Pax,  objecting. 

"But  it  might  not  have  been  your  aunt, 
the  Marchesa,  who  calls  him  that,"  said 
Grizel.  "Why  do  you  take  it  for  granted? . . . 
What  was  her  name?" 

"Her  name  is  Lark." 

FOlin  0'CI.O«^K 

It  was  four  o'clock,  and  on  the  landing 
Pax  was  having  tea  with  Grizel.  It  was  ten 
days  since  Pax  had  come  into  the  house,  ten 
days  that  had  passed  with  wings,  and  to- 
morrow was  the  eleventh  of  December,  when 


^Vello}<-  ./a/e 


Proutie  was  to  start  packing  and  Grizel  and 
Rolls  were  to  leave  the  house. 

Grizel  said  slowly,  "I  still  can't  believe 
we  are  going.  And  if  I  can't — after  being 
here  three  weeks — what  must  it  feel  like  for 
Uncle  Rolls?"  « 

It  had  turned  colder  and  already  the  after- 
noon was  growing  dusk;  outside  the  window 
the  light  was  gray,  and  presently,  in  the  twi- 
light, it  began  to  snow.  Grizel  turned  her 
head  and  watched  the  flakes  coming  down. 

She  was  confused  and  she  was  frightened. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  being  anything 
but  clear  and  firm,  and  secure.  That  first 
night  in  London  she  had  confessed  to  being 
rattled,  but  it  was  more  even  than  that.  She 
had  been  shaken  and  continued  to  be  shaken. 
Why?  She  glanced  across  at  Pax  and  away 
again.  She  refused  to  think  of  him. 

In  spite  of  that  firm  refusal,  she  found  she 
was  looking  at  Pax  again.  The  landing,  in 
the  increasing  dusk,  was  lit  by  the  glow  of 
Proutie's  electric  fire;  the  glow  spread  over 
the  carpet,  was  thrown  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
white  tablecloth,  onto  the  chairs,  and  up  the 
blue  of  Pax's  trousers  to  his  knees;  it  was 
reflected  in  the  tea  things. 

On  the  evening  of  that  first  day  Pax  had 
written  Grizel  a  long  apology.  '  You  needn't 
have  answered  it,'  she  told  herself.  'If  you 
wanted  to  be  quit  of  him,  that  was  a  crazy 
thing  to  do.  And  you  went  and  had  lunch 
with  him  next  day  and  then  you  went  and 
saw  him  in  hospital.' 

Pax  was  talking.  "And  so  they  built  me 
two  fingers,"  he  was  saying,  "out  of  a  little 
piece  of  my  thigh. 
McCullough  says 
they  will  look  quite 
normal  when  it  has 
all  grown  in.  The  man 
in  the  next  bed  to  me 
had  new  lids  to  his 
eyes.  They  graft  the 
skin  on.  Sometimes 
you  give  yours  for 
someone  else." 

"If  I  had  to  be 
done,"  said  Grizel,  "  I 
should  prefer  it  to  be 
my  own  thigh." 

Pax  laughed.  "Oh, 
Grizel!"  he  said, 
"What  a  funny  lit- 
tle self-contained 
creature  you  are." 

"  I  was,"  said  Grizel 
slowly.  And  she  said, 
before  she  could  check 
herself,  "  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  I  contained  anything  else  but  self." 
Pax  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  she  stood 
up  and  pushed  back  her  chair  and  went  to 
the  window.  He  did  not  move.  He  asked  gen- 
tly from  the  firelight,  "What  is  wrong, 
Grizel?" 

She  said  after  a  moment,  "Pax,  when  you 
told  me  that  they  said  they  thought  you 
would  be  all  right,  you  meant  all  right  for 
flying,  didn't  you?" 
"Yes." 

"I  have  seen  planes  all  my  life,"  said 
Grizel  to  the  snow.  "Seen  them  and  traveled 
in  them.   I  remember  in  New  York,  looking 
up  from  our  balc6ny  at  night  and  seeing 
them  go  over  with  their  lights.   On. a  clear 
night  it  looked  as  if  the  stars  were  loose. 
But  of  course  you  don't  have  lights." 
"No,  we  don't  have  any  lights." 
"Are  you  ever  frightened.  Pax?" 
"I  hope  my  particular  fright  won't  hap- 
pen to  me,"  he  said.  "Possibly  it  may  not. 
Probably  it  will.    One  day  I  may  be  sent 
out  over  Italy." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that."  Grizel  turned 
round  to  him. 

"I  have,"  said  Pax,  and  he  went  on 
steadily,  "I  have  thought  of  Italy  more 
lately;  almost  continually.  I  wonder  if  it  is 
that  that  has  brought  Lark  so  vividly  to  my 
mind." 

'Don't  talk  about  Lark  now,'  Grizel 
wanted    to    say    jealously,    'when    you — 

when  I ' 

"Laudi  and  Lark,"  he  went  on.  "I  don't 
think  I  have  ever  thought  of  them  as  vividly 
and  realistically  as  I  do  now.    It  is  so  vivid 


e 


By  Ipeoritie  Slarbuck  Ipalbraith 

He  oflfered  love.   I  questioned 

The  quality  and  cost 
As  though  the  gift  were 
merchandise. 

And  thuswise,  love  was  lost. 

For  while  I  took  its  measure 
And  asked  if  it  would  wear. 

He  tossed  it  to  a  pretty  wench 
Who  passed  us  in  the  square. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


63 


THINGS  YOU 
CAN  MAKE 


U^Ih^^u4UI0S^ 


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that  I  have  wondered  if  anything  could  have 
happened.  We  arranged,  if  anything  did, 
that  I  could  be  reached  through  Switzerland 
where  my  cousin,  Arno,  is  working  in  the  Red 
Cross.  I  think  of  her  so  much,"  said  Pax. 
"Before,  I  thought  of  her  as  a  child  thinks  of 
a  grown-up  person,  as  we  are  apt  to  think  of 
people  we  have  known  all  our  life;  now  I 
think  of  her  as  a  man  of  a  woman." 

Grizel  had  another  pang  of  jealousy  and 
this  time  it  was  so  sharp  that  it  hurt  her, 
and  then  Pax  said: 

"I  think  of  her,  and  the  thought  is  bound 
up  in  you." 

"In  me?" 

"Yes.  You,"  said  Pax,  looking  at  his 
hands. 

"Pax" — Grizel  had  turned  back  quickly 
to  the  window,  but  she  did  not  see  the  snow 
now;  her  eyes  were  fixed,  deep  with  thought — 
"Pax,  after  the  flying,  after  the  excitement 
and  the  power,  does  an5^hing  seem  real  or 
desirable  any  more  to  you?" 

She  did  not  have  to  wait  for  his  answer. 
It  was  immediate  and  quite  certain.  "Real? 
Desirable?"  said  Pax.  "The  earth?  I  think 
it  is."  He  gave  the  four  little  words  their  full 
exact  weight.  "More  than  ever,"  said  Pax, 
"do  I  realize  and  desire."  And  then  he  said, 
"Grizel " 

The  dressing-room  door  opened  and  Rolls 
came  out,  his  coat  changed,  a  fresh  hand- 
kerchief in  his  pocket.  He  looked  perfectly 
cheerful  and  unperturbed. 

"Here  is  Uncle  Rolls,"  said  Grizel  quickly. 
"We  must  ask  him  to  have  some  tea.  It  is 
our  last  day  here,  you  know,  and  he  must 
feel  it  terribly." 

"He  doesn't  look  very  dist'urbed,"  said 
Pax. 

"Well,  he  ought  to  be,"  snapped  Grizel, 
and  she  called,  "Uncle  Rolls,  come  and  have 
some  tea.  You  remember  Pax,  Pilot  Officer 
Masterson?  He  came  to  see  us  because  of 
Lark." 

"Lark?" 

She  thought  a  beam  of  light,  a  spark  quiv- 
ered in  his  eyes,  and  she  went  on  insistently, 
"The  Marchesa  Zacca  del  Laudi.  Pax  is  her 
nephew  and  he  is  the  Marchese  now.  You 
remember  him.  Uncle  Rolls." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Rolls, considering  her. 
"But  why  are  you  so  excited?" 

"Have  you  done  your  packing?"  asked 
Grizel,  leading  him  to  the  table. 

"No,"  said  Rolls  shortly. 

Grizel  poured  out  his  tea  and  filled  Pax's 
cup.  "Pax,"  she  said,  "you  talk  so  much 
about  her,  tell  me  what  she  is  like." 

There  was  something  intrusive  and 
clamorous  in  her  words.  Pax  looked  across 
at  Rolls  and  Rolls  looked  at  Pax.  There  was 
a  sympathy  between  them  from  which 
Grizel  was  shut  out. 

"Tell  her,"  said  Rolls. 

"You  would  think  she  was  a  very  tall  old 
lady,"  said  Pax  to  Grizel,  watching  her 
gently.  He  put  out  a  hand  and  pulled  her 
down  in  her  chair.  "Sit  still,  Grizel.  She  is 
tall  and — upright;  yes,  that  is  the  word  for 
her.  Though  she  is  old,  her  figure  is  young, 
but  her  left  hand  has  a  perpetual  little  shake. 
She  is  vain  and  she  tries  to  hide  it  by  using  a 
stick,  a  carved  ebony  stick,  and  she  always 
holds  it  in  that  hand." 

Rolls  smiled.  Grizel,  watching  him  mi- 
nutely, saw  that  smile. 

"Her  hair  is  white  and  she  wears  it  high 
with  combs.  And  she  wears  earrings.  She 
has  exquisite  filigree  ones  and  they  empha- 
size her  eyes  and  the  bones  of  her  face.  I 
told  you  she  was  vain." 

Grizel  saw  Rolls,  still  with  that  smile,  nod 
his  head. 

"Her  eyes  are  startling,"  said  Pax.  "They 
always  were?"  he  asked  Rolls. 

"They  were  startling,  memorable  eyes," 
said  Rolls. 

"I  think  they  are  even  more  noticeable 
now  that  her  hair  is  white,"  said  Pax." They 
are  beautiful  eyes.  They  are  blue;  not  true 
blue  like  yours,  but  half  violet." 

"Are  mine  true  blue?"  asked  Grizel,  but 
Pax  was  still  telling  of  Lark. 

"She  is  quite  all  right,  quite  safe.  She  is 
down  at  Laudi.  She  would  have  Ranulph 
with  her.   Ranulph  is  our  St.  Bernard  dog. 


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girl.  Bathe  every  day  with 
Cashmere  Bouquet  .  .  .  and  be 
always  dainty,  desirable, 
utterly  feminine. 


^**    \oueli 
^o^^^ 


% 


3  CAKES  FOR  27^ 


^'^mK^  ^^"^""^  '^^^ 


ADORIVS   YOUR  .SKIN  WITH 


64 


She  will  see  hardly  anyone  but  Leonarda, 
her  old  maid,  and  Battiste  Volpi.  Battiste 
Volpi  is  the  head  gardener  and  he  is  devoted 
to  her.  She  liked  to  be  there  alone  in  the 
garden.  Of  course,  I  haven't  seen  her  for 
two  years." 

"I  don't  need  to  see  her,"  said  Rolls,  and 
it  sounded  to  Grizel  as  if  he  crowed  over  Pax, 
and,  looking  at  him.  she  thought  suddenly  of 
the  first  day  when  he  had  turned  up  her  chin 
to  see  her  face.  'Uncle  Rolls,  you  are 
jealous!'  she  said  to  herself  and  he  looked 
up  and  met  her  look.  "Why  don't  you  have 
a  romance  of  your  own?"  he  suggested 
kindly. 

Grizel  was  immediately  confused  and  half 
angry.  "I  am — busy,"  she  said  gruffly. 

"You  must  be,"  said  Rolls  gravely.  "She 
is  the  youngest  officer  in  the  whole  corps," 
he  told  Pax  and  his  voice  was  half  derisive 
and  half  proud.  "In  my  day  you  worked  ten 
years  and  not  ten  minutes  before  you  got 
promotion,  but — well,  I  expect  they  are 
proud  of  you,"  he  bantered  Grizel. 

"They  are  not,"  cried  Grizel  hotly. 

"What?   Don't  they  like  you,  hey?" 

"They  call  me  the  'great  Dane,'"  said 
Grizel. 

"So  they  did  me,"  said  Rolls,  chuckling. 

"Pax,  you  ought  to  go,"  said  Grizel. 
"Your  appointment  is  at  five." 

"Yes,  I  shall  have  to,"  said  Pax,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "  I  have  to  see  my  beauty  doc- 
tor, sir,  and  get  to  Wimpole  Street."  He 
looked  at  Grizel.  "Come  with  me?" 

"No,"  said  Grizel. 

"Yes,"  said  Pax,  getting  up. 

She  hesitated  and  then  stood  up  too. 
Rolls'  eyes  were  surveying  them  both.  His 
eyes,  she  thought,  looked  extraordinarily 
tired. 

"Proutie  says  you  have  been  sitting  up 
all  night,"  she  said.  "You  shouldn't  do  it. 
Uncle  Rolls." 

His  eyes  at  once  lost  their  dreaminess; 
they  glared.  "There  is  one  rule  in  this  house, 
Grizel,  and  you  are  going  to  keep  it;  or  even 
for  this  remaining  night  you  can  go.  I  don't 
wish  to  be  disturbed,  and  I  shall  not  be 
disturbed.  Do  you  understand?  You  can 
sleep  at  the  hotel." 

"This  is  my  night  off,"  said  Grizel,  look- 
ing straight  back  at  him.  "But  I  shan't 
sleep  at  the  hotel." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  best,"  said  Pax,  "if  you 
came  out  dancing  with  me?" 

"No,"  said  Grizel. 

"Yes,"  said  Pax. 


February,  194 

Rolls  smiled.  "I  think  that  is  a  goo 
idea.  It  will  get  you  out  of  the  way.  Bu 
won't  you  come  and  dine  here  with  v 
first?"  he  asked  Pax.  "It  is  the  last  time 
can  ask  you.  Dine  with  me,  but  Sfter  dinne 
you  must  go  out  together  and  leave  me  i 
peace." 

"  I  shall  come  back  after  the  doctor,"  sai 
Pax.  "Thank  you,  sir.  .  .  .  Come  alonj 
Grizel."  He  took  her  elbow  to  turn  her  t 
the  stairs. 

"Don't  pull  me  about.  I  can  go  alone, 
snapped  Grizel,  but  Pax  took  no  notice.  H 
led  her  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"Get  your  coat,"  he  said.  "Be  quick. 
And  Grizel  went  quietly  into  Selina's  roorr 

KoLLS  watched  them;  he  watched  Grizc 
come  out  with  her  coat  and  stand  waitin 
for  Pax.  Together  they  ran  down  the  stair; 
Rolls  crossed  the  landing  and  went  to  th 
window  and  watched  them  go  away  dow: 
the  Place. 

"Rollo?"   It  was  a  whisper. 

"Lark?  We  have  been  talking  of  you."  H 
plunged  into  his  objections.  "  You  like  the 
boy.  don't  you.''" 

"And  what  about  your  little  minx,  Grizel? 
said  the  cool,  musical  voice  that  always  seeme 
for  Rolls  to  make  everything  clear.  "  You  lik 
her  too." 

"I  didn't  at  first.  I  do  now.  She  seem 
necessary,"  said  Rolls. 

"She  is  necessary,"  said  the  Marchesa  re 
gretfully. 

"  You  don't  like  her,  Lark?" 

"She  is  a  cold  little  fish.  I  hope  she  doesn 
hurt  my  Pax.  She  is  a  Dane.  Her  head  i 
stronger  than  her  heart." 

"She  is  learning,"  said  Rolls.  "She  is 
pretty  thing.   That  makes  it  easy  for  me  t\ 
like  her." 

"She  isn't  half  as  pretty  as  I  was  at  her  agt 
I  was  a  beauty.  You  slundd  have  seen  me  m_ 
first  winter  in  Rome." 

"I  saw  you,"  said  Rolls.  "Lark,  those  twc 
this  afternoon " 

"Don't  envy  them,"  said  the  Marchesa 
"  We  mustn't  envy  them.   It  isn't  safe." 

"But  they  still  have  their  chance.  We  migh 
have  been  so  happy." 

"Hush,"  said  the  Marchesa,  "What  is  th 
use  of  disturbing  it?    We  are  happy  now.' 

"All  the  same,  I  wish,  I  wish  it  were  yoi 
who  were  dining  with  me  tonight,  really,  actu 
ally,  and  not  those  two."  There  was  resent 
ment  in  the  way  he  continually  said  "  Thos 
two."  (Continued  on  Page  66) 


Ka4*k  and  OiImt  Vi4'i«'N,  >iix«>!«  and  I'riccK  of  Hollywood  I'altorni 

on  I'aifes  34  and  ;I5 


146.5.  Two-pieoe  ilrcHs.    12  t<»  20.   25r. 
1519.  Two-piece    dress    and    jai-ket.    12    to 

20.   25c. 
1517.  <:oat."Sew-Simple"  design.  12  to  44. 

25c. 


Buy  Hollywood 
Patterns  at  the 
store  which  sells 
them  in  your 
city.  Or  order 
them  by  mail, 
post  age  prepaid , 
from  Hollywood 
Pattern  Service, 
Putnam  Avenue, 
Greenwich,  Con- 
necticut;  or  2 
Duke  Street ,  To- 
ronto, Ontario, 
Canada. 


1500.   One-piece  dress.     12  to  20.    25c. 

151«.  Two-piece  suit.    12  to  20.    25c. 

1.521.   Two-piece     suit     and    blouse.    12    to 

20.    25c. 
1508.  One-piece  dress.    14  to  42.    15c. 


IMO  13VU  ir>llt  1518  1521  1521 


ISUB 


1508 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


to  a  memLer  of  tlie 

Rojal  Canadian  Air  Force 


HER  RING — an  upraised  center  dia- 
mond flanked  by  smaller  diamonds  on 
intricate  design  in  gold. 


FRANCES  KING,  of  Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y., 
of  the  old  Hudson  River  family — another 
lovely  Pond''s  bride-to-be.  Her  engagement 
to  H.  Paul  Richards,  of  the  R.C.A.F.,  ivas 
announced  by  her  mother,  last  May. 

Pretty  as  a  picture,  with  shining  brown  eyes, 
lovely  dark  hair,  and  a  complexion  so  petal-c/ear — 
you'd  think  Frances'  beauty  was  just  happenstance. 

But  Frances  herself  says  very  positively,  she 
keeps  it  that  way  with  her  faithful  Pond's  devotions. 

"Skin  needs  regular  care,"  she  declares 
my  daily  Pond's  Cold-Creamings.  They  make  my 
skin  feel  glorious.  It  looks  fresher,  too." 

HOW  FRANCES  BEAUTY-CARES  FOR 
HER  FACE  WITH  PO.ND'S 

First — she  smooths  snowy  Pond's  Cold  Cream  all 
over  face  and  throat,  pats  it  with  brisk  finger  tips 
to  help  soften  and  release  dirt  and  make-up.  Tissues 
off  well. 

Next — she  rinses  with  more  luscious-soft  Pond's, 
plying  her  white-tipped  fingers  in  little  spiral  whirls 
around  her  nose,  mouth,  cheeks,  forehead.  Tissues 
off  again.  "This  double-creaming  is  important,'^ 
Frances  says,  "makes  skin  extra  clean,  extra  soft. 
Feels  heavenly!" 

Use  Pond's  Frances'  way — every  morning,  every 
night.  Daytime,  too,  for  clean-ups.  You'll  find  it's 
no  accident  engaged  girls  like  Frances,  noted 
society  beauties,  love  this  soft-smooth  beauty  care. 

Get  yourself  a  big  jar  of  Pond's  Cold  Cream  today. 
You'll  like  being  able  to  dip  the  fingers  of  both  your 
hands  in  the  luxurious,  big  jar. 


SHE'S  A  DARLING!  Frances  is  petite,  with  wistful 
Cold  Cream,"  she  says.  "It's  such  a  grand  cream 


brown  eyes  an( 
lor  giving  that 


1  skin  so  b;il>y-soft! 
beyond-a-Juubt  cle 


"I  keep  it  n 
anncss  and 


c  with  Pond's 
sparkle." 


^^(^ 


V  TS  FURLOUGHS  Paul  and  Frances  are  inseparable. 
'  ;  he  is  away  she  serves,  too — in  the  Red  Cross,  at  the 
i'   for  One"  canteen,  and  at  the  Halloran  Hospital. 


TODAY — more  women  use  Pond's  than  any  other 
face  cream  at  any  price.  Ask  for  this  delightful 
cream  at  your  favorite  beauty  counter. 


MRS.  VICTOR  DU  PONT,  IH. 
LADY  BRIGID  KING-TENISON 
MRS.  GERALDINE  SI'RECKELS 
MRS.   CHARLES  MORGAN,  JR. 
MRS.  JAMES  J.  CABOT 


66 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  I'J 


/^^...^rf"' 


...byCHERAMY 


This  is  your  perfume.  A  joyous 
fragrance,  light  as  your  heart  on  ; 
gala  night,  and  fun  to  wearl  A 
perfume  that  stirs  the  mind  like 
the  rhythm  of  a  dance  . . .  and, 
like  music,  1-i-n-g-e-r-s  on. 


Perfume,  6.50;  3.50;  debutante  size,   1.10. 
Dusting  Powder,  1.00. 
Toilet  Water,  1.75.     Talcum  Powder,  50c. 
(Plus  tax) 


-^^^^^-  ^_ V 


(Continued  from  Page  64) 

"My  boy?  Your  girl?  Don't  be  angry  with 
Ihem.  They  continue  us  and  so  they  are  us. 
Rolls.  I  shall  be  dining  with  you  tonight.  This 
is  an  occasion.  And  I  shall  sing  for  you." 

As  Rolls  stood  there  by  the  landing  win- 
dow, from  far  down  below  in  the  house  there 
seemed  to  come  the  sound  of  singing. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  now  on  the  landing. 
The  glow  from  the  electric  fire  fell  softly  on 
the  carpet  and  it  made  a  smaller  circumfer- 
ence in  the  increasing  darkness.  The  house, 
outside  that  small  circle,  was  in  less  than 
twilight:  half  light.  Rolls  stared  at  the 
gathering  darkness;  at  the  glow  of  the  fire, 
at  the  dusk  of  the  Place  outside  the  window, 
where  the  snowflakes  showed  themselves 
white  for  a  moment  as  they  fell.  He  opened 
the  window  as  Grizel  came  upstairs.  He 
could  not  see  more  than  her  figure  and  the 
oval  of  her  face. 

"Look,  Grizel,"  he  said  as  she  came  up  to 
him. 

"What  are  you  doing.  Uncle  Rolls?"  Her 
voice  sounded  muffled. 

"Looking  for  the  lamplighter,"  said  Rolls 
and  then  chuckled  as  he  drew  back  his  hand 
and  sleeve.   "But  look,  Grizel.  Real  snow." 

Now  it  was  evening.  In  every  window  of 
every  house  the  curtains  and  blinds  were 
drawn  more  meticulously  than  any  parlor- 
maid ever  draws  them;  they  were  drawn  to 
the  cracks,  sealing  them.  On  the  pavement 
the  street  lamps  were  in  darkness  and  a  car 
coming  along  the  Place  had  its  lights  hooded, 
deflected  down  on  the  road.  Evensong  was 
going  on  in  the  church,  but  it  had  no  bell  to 
make  it  known.  No  bells,  no  lights;  only  a 
hush  and  darkness. 

The  post  came.  The  big  double  knock 
sounded  through  the  house  and  Proutie 
came  upstairs  to  collect  the  letters.  There 
was  an  air-mail  letter  for  Grizel  from  New 
York  with  gay  blue-and-red  edges.  There 


was  one  letter  for  Rolls;  on  the  flap  of  tl 

envelope  was  printed  a  firm's  name,   W 

loughby,  Paxton,  Low  and  Willoughby. 

Proutie  took  it  up  to  Rolls  in  his  dressii 

room.  "The  post,  Mr.  Rolls." 

"Go  away,"  said  Rolls.  "Leave  me  alone 

Proutie  put  the  letter  on  the  table  ai_ 

went  away. 

*       *       *       * 

Years  before  there  is  another  letter, 
letter  written  by  Rolls  in  answer  to  many 
Selina's.  She  reads  it  in  her  room,  sitting 
the  blue-and-white  armchair  on  which  tl 
afternoon,  dressing  to  have  tea  with  Vi 
Grizel  tossed  down  her  pajamas  and  left 
pair  of  swansdown  slippers  that  she  call 
"scuffs." 

Selina,  as  a  girl,  has  a  swansdown  mu 
dyed  violet  with  a  rose  in  it,  but  she  keeps 
tidily  in  tissue  paper  in  the  cupboard, 
does  not  throw  her  things  about  or  lea 
them  on  the  floor.  As  she  reads  Rolls'  lett 
Selina  is  not  a  girl ;  she  is  an  elderly  womc 
You  ask  me,  Selina,  why  I  don't  come  hot 
That  is  a  question  that  is  rather  difficult 
ansiver.  I  seem  to  have  a  distaste  for  the  hou 

'And  for  me,'  thinks  Selina,  staring  stif 
over  the  muslin  blind.  A  distaste.  There 
nothing  dramatic  in  the  word  that  Rolls  1 
chosen,  but  it  is  deadening  to  Selina. 

That  is  the  truth.  Whether  it  is  the  wh 
truth  I  can't  tell.  I  should  like  to  see  you.  C 
you  lunch  with  me?  I  shall  be  sailing  sot 
time  next  month. 

'  Lunch  with  me !  My  Rollo ! '  says  Seli 
and  her  hand,  holding  the  letter,  is  cold. 

Now  Selina  goes  to  the  window.  £ 
looks  down  on  the  garden.  It  is  autumn  c 
the  leaves  have  been  raked  into  a  pile 
tomorrow  or  the  next  day  there  will  b' 
bonfire.  In  the  bed  are  a  few  Michaeh 
daisies.  Selina  has  seen  it  so  every  year 
fifty-eight  years;  she  has  seen  the  gart' 
more  than  twenty  thousand  times,  but 
never  remembers  seeing  it  as  quiet 
empty  as  it  is  now.  Suddenly  she  seems 
see  the  little  comic  figure  in  a  dowdy  bon 
of  Miss  Dunn. 


HAND  KNIT 


<;^B.S  NOTHING  r.HER 

"  knit  of  famous 

Everything  yo«  "-.     loveliness 
Fleisher'sYarnskeepeUslo^^^    ^^^ 

longer... -ear^\^«"J,,Uons  for 
iiy  yarns  can.  insi 

stunninghandkmtsa       ^^^^25^ 
At  better  stores  every 


FIEISHERS  YARNS,  INC. 

32  Mercer  St.,  New  York  13.  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  Hand  Knit  Glamour  Instruc- 
tion Book,  Vol.  21.  Enclosed  is  25f. 

Name 

Address 

City 


.Zone State- 


For  over  50  years 
ABSORBINE  Jr. 
has  been  relieving 
sore  muscles 


-ffi^ 


A  bottle  of  Absorbine  Jr.  is 
"must"  for  the  complete  mec 
cine  cabinet  because  thert 
nothing  quite  like  it  to  relie 
muscles  sore  from  too  mui 
exercise.  You  just  rub  it 
well,  a  few  drops  at  a  tine 
Soon  those  aching  musci 
"glow"  —  feel  eased  and  r 
laxed  again.  You  can  g 
Absorbine  Jr.  at  all  drugston 
$1.25  a  bottle. 

W.  F.  Young,  Inc.,  Springfield,  Ma 

ABSORBINE  Jr. 


A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


67 


"What  is  there  to  show  for  it? "  says  Miss 
Dunn.  "When  you  are  old  and  perhaps  left 
alone.  You  haven't  been  anywhere,  done 
anything  and  there  is  no  time  left."  And  it 
was  Miss  Dunn  who  said  of  Griselda,  "She 
had  her  reward.  She  was  loved." 

"Is  it  so  important  to  be  loved?"  asked 
Lark. 

Lark !  It  was  all  because  of  Lark,  thinks 
Selina,  as  she  has  thought  so  often.  Lark 
went  and  Pelham  went  and  Rollo  never 
came  back.  What  weapon  had  Selina  against 
Lark?  And  yet  Lark  had  no  weapons;  she 
was  defenseless.  Lark  had  nothing  at  all. 

Still  Selina  thinks  of  Lark.  Lark,  she  re- 
members, is  now  only  thirty-six.  Lark  has 
been  in  London  that  summer.  Among  the 
visitors     the     beautiful 

young  Marchesa  Zacca      ^^^^g^^MBaa 
del  Laudi  in  a  toque  of 
Parma   violets.     .     .     . 
I   saw   the   attractive 
Marchesa   Zacca   del 

Laudi .  .  .  

wearing  the  del  Laudi 
emeralds.  .  .  .  The 
Marchesa  Zacca  del 
Laudi  in  gray  lace  was 
in  the  Royal  box.  .  .  . 
The  Marchese  and  his 
beautiful  English  wife  — 
of  Miss  Lark?"  It  is 
that. 

"None  whatever,  Proutie,"  Selina  an- 
swers. 

"You  have  always  hated  me,"  says  Lark. 

'I  have  always  hated  you,'  Selina  agrees. 
'I  always  wanted  you  out  of  the  house.  I 
thought  you  were  gone,  that  I  had  dismissed 
you,  from  my  thoughts  and  from  the  house,' 
but  after  Lark  has  gone  her  presence  grows 
stronger.  '  Pelham  felt  your  power  that  last 
summer,  and  Rollo.  Nothing  ever  really 
happened  between  them,'  argues  Selina, 
looking  at  the  daisies.  'Nothing  happened. 
It  only  might  have  been.  It  was  slight.  It 
was  impermanent.    Lark  ran  away;  Rollo 


LIFE 

^L  Life  is  a  flame  that  is  always 
^  burning  itself  out,  but  it  catches 
fire  again  every  time  a  child  is  born. 

—  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW: 

Quoted  in  The  Speaker's  Desk  Book,  Edited 

by  Martha  Lupton.  (Maxwell  Droke.) 


—  "Have  you  news 
Proutie  who  asks 


went  out  to  Afghanistan  with  Fitzgerald;     Slater.   I  shall  give  you  that  note." 


Lark  married  the  Marchese:  it  was  made 
impermanent.' 

It  is  an  evening  in  November,  1890,  and 
Rollo  has  been  to  a  levee.  He  comes  in 
afterward  to  surprise  the  family,  but  the 
family  is  out. 

Slater,  eying  his  magnificence,  says  they 
will  not  be  long.  "There  is  a  dinner  tonight," 
says  Slater.  "  It  is  Miss  Lark's  birthday,  Mr. 
Rollo." 

"Lark's  birthday?"  asks  Rollo,  and  for  a 
moment  he  is  silent.  Then  he  asks,  "How 
old  is  she,  Slater?" 

"She  is  eighteen,  Mr.  Rollo.    A  lovely 
young  lady,  if  I  may  say  so.   She  came  out 
this  spring.    She  has  been  much  admired." 
"Has   she?"    says 
mmmmgggg^l^^       Rollo,    and    more 
thoughtfully,  "Has 
she?"    This  is  discon- 
certing.  Admirers. 
That,  of  course,  rouses 
Rollo  and  pricks  him. 
It  really  is  very  incon- 
venient of  Lark  to  have 
grown  up  just  now.  He 
is  filled  with  a  burning 
desire  to  see  her  and  to 
know   who   those   ad- 
mirers are.  "I  suppose  she  goes  to  dances. 
Slater?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Rollo.  They  are  going  on  to 
a  dance  tonight.  In  Orme  Square.  Mrs. 
Kingdon  Charles." 

"We  had  children's  parties  there.  Will 
you  have  a  note  sent  round  for  me.  Slater?  I 
should  like  to  go  too.  Who  is  dining  here? " 
"Dinner  is  for  ten.  There  are  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Cresswell.  Sir  Arthur  and 
Lady  Bartram.  Major  Allison  and  an  ItaUan 
gentleman,  the  Marchese  Zacca  del  Laudi." 
"Zacca  del  Laudi?"  says  Rollo  in  sur- 
prise, and  whistles. 

"He  very  often  comes  these  days,"  says 
Slater  with  pride  and  with  meaning. 

"The  devil  he  does,"  says  Rollo.  "Wait, 


^W^S^ 


BONITA  GRANWllE 

t°  o  girl's  „T  I     '"'Portant 

-.very  man  end  woman." 


New 
Cream  Deodorant 

Safely  helps 

Stop  Perspiration 

1,  Does  not  irritate  skin.  Does  not  rot 
dresses  or  men's  shirts. 

2.  Prevents  under-arm  odor.  Helps  stop 
perspiration  safely. 

3.i  A   pure,    white,    antiseptic,    stainless 

vanishing  cream. 
4a  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 

after  shaving. 
5.  Awarded  Approval  Seal  of  American 

Institute  of  Laundering  as  harmless  to 

fabric.  Use  Arrid  regularly. 

0  7    Plus  tax    Also  59^  jars 

'  Guaranteed  by 
L  Good  Housekeeping  y 


ARRID 

THE    LARGEST    SELLING    DEODORANT 


Smoothing,  Softening 

forD/u|(5Wu 


Mrs.  Alexander  Williams  Biddle  says  . .  . 
"Pond's  Dry  Skin  Cream  is  so  softening 
to  taut,  flaky  skin" 

•  It's  SO  persuasive — the  way 
lanolin-soothing  Pond's  Dry  Skin 
Cream  helps  soften  away  that 
tense  dry-skin  feeling.  Smooth 
its  creamy-richness  over  face, 
throat — hands,  too.  Leave  5  to  15 
minutes,  or  overnight.  Watch  it 
help  charm  dry  skin  to  o  prettier 
softness  again.  You'll  love  it. 
At  beauty  counters  everywhere  — 
90(f,  49^,  28if,  lOjt  (plus  tax) 

3  Special  Features 

Lanolin — very  like  oil  of  skin 

Homogenized — to  soak  in  better 

Special  Emuliifier — extra  softening  aid 


Pond  s  Ai^Crea  m 


A  woman  doctor  perfected  the  Meds  insorber  —  approved 
the  size  and  shape,  the  use  of  soft  r-eal  COTTON  for 
comfort,  and  the  addition  of  the  SAFETY-WELL  for 
extra  protection.  Let  "next 
time"  be  a  "Meds  time"  and 
see  how  much  more  comfort- 
able you  can  be ! 


Soft  real  COTTON 
for  extra  comfort 

Exclusive  "SAFETY-WELL" 
for  extra  security 

Disposable  APPLICATORS 
for  daintiness 


Meds'  exclusive  "SAFETY- WELL" 
absorbs  so   much   wore,  so   much 
faster!  Extra  protection   for  you! 
f  *  *  * 

Meds'  fine  soft  COTTON  can 
absorb  up  to  three  times  its  own 
weight  in  moisture!  The  scien- 
tifically-shaped insorber  expands 
gently  and  com fortabl y  —  adapting 
itself  to  individual  requirements. 


Because  of  these  dainty,  carefully  designed  applicators,  Meds  insorbers  are  easy-to-use! 


/\/ew  Short-cut  IVf 
to  make  Presf 


NOW  ITS  SO  £/ISy  TO  GIVE 


YOUR  MEN  FOLKS  ALL  THE  PIES 
THEV  \NIKHX-SfiyS  AUNT  JENNY 


Make  Pastry  Mix  for  6 
weeks'  pies  in  6  minutes! 

jy'EEP  this  handy  Spry  Pastry  Mix  on 
-'^  pantry  shelf  ready  fur  instant  use. 
You  can  make  oven-fresh  pies  any  time 
by  just  addinp;  water  to  Spry  Mix  and 
rolling  out.  What  grand  piecrust  it  gives 
you!  Tenderer,  flaky,  delicate-tasting, 
digestible.  Like  Spry  itself,  the  Pastry 
Mix  keeps  fresh  without  refrigeration. 

Mix  7  cups  sifted  ALL-PtiRPOSK  FLOUR 
and  1  tablespoon  salt.  Divide  1  pound 
{214  cups)  Hi'HY  into  two  equal  parts. 
STEPl  for  Tendcrncss^eut  in  first  half 
of  Spry  until  as?  line  us  meal.  So  quick! 


STEP  2  for  Flakiness — cut  in  remaining 
Spry  until  size  of  large  peas.  Makes  lOJ^ 
cups  Spry  Pastry  Mix.  So  easy! 

Store  in  any  container  with  a  tight-fit- 
ting cover.  Make  a  batch  today!  To  make 
a  2-crust  pie  or  12  tart  shells,  use  3  cups 
Spry  Pastry  Mix.  Add  5  tablespoons 
water  and  mix  to  a  dough.  To  make  a 
1 -crust  pie,  use  1  ^  cups  Spry  Pastry  Mix 
and  3  tablespoons  water. 

Change  to  Spry  for  all  your  baking  and 
frying.  New  Spry,  with  its  quick  blend- 
ability  saves  you  work — makes  possible 
lighter,  more  delicious  cakes  that  stay 
fresh  longer.  Foods  fried  the  Spry  way 
are  so  digestible! 


VAIBNTINB  CHIFFON  PIE 


Delicious  and  bo  pretty!  To  make  pie 
shell  and  heart — add  4  table.spoona 
water  to  2  cups  Spry  Pastry  Mix  and 
mix  to  douijh.  HoU  out  ?4  of  dough  for 
shell ;  roll  reiimiuder  and  cut  out  heart. 
Prick.  It's  ready  to  bake  in  a  jiffy  .  .  . 
What  a  saviiiR  of  time  and  work.  Rake 
in  very  hot  oven  (450°  F.)  till  brown — 
shell  10  mituites;  lieart  5  minutes.  Fill- 
ing:  Heat  3  cups  thick  sweetened  ap- 
plesauce; pour  over  1  pkg.  raspberry- 
flnvoied  gelatin.  Stir  till  thoroughly 
dissolved.  Chill  till  slightly  thickened. 
Pour  into  Spry  shell.  Chill  till  firm. 
Top  with  pastry  heart.  Garni.sh  with 
cream  cheese  blended  with  cream. 
You'll  win  praises  galore. 


ITS  SO  EASY  TO  BE  A 

BETTER  COOK 

WITH   NEW 
EAS/-MIX  SPRY 


Make  your  usual  cherry  filling 
if  you  can  get  sour  cherries — or 
make  this  tangy  raisin  pie  and 
cut  a  sprig  of  cherries  in  top 
crust,  putting  maraschino  cher- 
ries in  holes  as  shown.  Raisin 
filling:  Combine  1 V^  cups  seeded 
raisins,  1 '  i  cups  water,  juice  of 
}/2  orange;  simmer  till  raisins  are  tender. 
Mix  '  2  cup  sugar,  1  tablespoon  flour,  J^ 
teaspoon  salt;  add  to  raisins.  Remove 
from  fire  and  add  1  tablespoon  lemon 
juice  and  1  teaspoon  grated  orange  rind. 
Cool.  Use  Pastry  Mix  for  2-crust  pie. 
Bake  in  hot  oven  (425°  F.)  50-60  min- 
utes. See  what  mouth-melting  pastry 
you  get  .  .  .  Spry  Pastry  Mix  actually 
gives  tenderer  piecrust. 

Notice  the  delicate  flavor  of  Spry  Pie- 
crust. No  off  flavor  when  you  use  pure, 
all -vegetable  Spry.  It  gives  you  such 
digestible  pastry. 


SAVORY  MEAT  PIE 


■«f>W 


p 


•"/ 


1" 


Exciting  way  to  fix  point-free  utility  meat  .  .  .  Cut  1 
pound  utility  steak  in  1-inch  pieces.  Roll  in  a  mixture 
of  i4  cup  flour;  2  teaspoons  salt;  ^  teaspoon  each  of 
pepper,  allspice,  ginger;  J^  teaspoon  paprika.  Brown 
in  14  cup  hot  Spry.  Add  1  cup  onions  and  3?^  cups 
boiling  water;  simmer  until  meat  is  tender  (about  2 
hours).  Add  i;;^  cups  diced  raw  potatoes;  cook  till 
tender.  Pour  boiling  hot  into  casserole.  Top  wdth 
pastry  made  with  Spry  Pastry  Mix.  Bake  in  very  hot 
oven  (450°  F.)  25  minutes.  Do  all  your  baking  and 
frying  with  Spry — for  such  tempting,  digestible  meals. 


68 


When  he  has  written  it,  he  draws  circles 
and  faces  on  the  blotting  paper.  Rollo  can 
see,  with  the  dazzling  clarity  which  all  the 
Danes  possess  when  assessing  money  or  posi- 
tion, the  exact  difference  between  himself 
and  the  Marchese.  That  the  Marchese  is  a 
funny  little  man  does  not  occur  to  him;  if 
it  did,  it  would  hardly  seem  to  affect  the 
position.  'But  how  did  she  meet  him?' 
thinks  Rollo.  'Pelham  or  Selina  must  have 
been  wangling  some  good  invitations.'  To 
him  there  does  not  appear  to  be  anything 
reprehensible  in  this;  wangling,  and  using 
friends,  or  making  friends  to  use  them  is 
merely  sensible  to  Rollo.  Was  not  his  own 
godfather.  Uncle  Bunny,  chosen  to  be  of  use 
to  him,  and  is  he  not  being  of  extreme  use? 

He  tries  to  remember  Lark  exactly  and 
finds  he  cannot.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one 
afterward  can  remember  Lark  that  summer. 
The  reason  is  that  she  is  never  the  same. 
There  is  no  idea  or  mood  that  lasts  for  more 
than  a  day.  Meanwhile,  she  behaves  with  a 
gaiety  that  is  attractive  and  that  has  a  spice 
of  wantonness  in  it.  "That  little  Ingoldsby 
girl  is  a  flirt,"  say  the  mothers  disapprov- 
ingly, and  they  could  shake  Edith  or  Mary 
or  Dorothy,  sitting  there,  while  that  httle 
nobody  walks  away  with  anyone  shfe  chooses 
on  the  floor.   Of  course.  Lark  really  should 

not  be  at  these  dances,  but  that  Pelham 

"Pelham,"  says  Selina  bitterly,  "Pelham  is 
bewitched." 

r  EKHAPS  he  is.  Afterward,  he  finds  he 
cannot  remember  Lark  then  either.  Was  she 
serious  or  gay?  He  knows  that  she  was  gay, 
but  the  remembrance  is  oddly  one  of  seri- 
ousness. Nor  can  he  remember  her  face. 
Her  dresses,  yes;  her  voice,  her  hand  with  his 
birthday  bracelet  on  its  wrist;  but  he  cannot 
remember  her  face.  She  kisses  Pelham  good 
night  and  he  horribly  resents  that  sleepy, 
trusting  childish  kiss,  but  he  can  never  bring 
himself  to  stop  it;  he  remembers  all  day  the 
scent  of  her  skin,  the  brushing  of  her  hair 
against  his  and  the  light,  unnoticing  touch 
of  her  lips.  Pelham  is  a  mild  little  man,  but 
he  could  sometimes  hurt  Lark  physically  for 
the  way  in  which  she  kisses  him  good  night. 

Lark  wears  a  pale  green  dress;  a  white  one; 
white  taffeta  with  a  chenille  fringe;  she  has  a 
cream  tulle  dress  with  ribbons  of  petunia  and 
black.  She  has  fans:  she  leaves  one  on  the 
halltable;it  is  white,  of  ostrich  feathers,  with 
an  ivory  handle.  How  does  Lark  come  to 
have  such  a  beautiful  fan?  Pelham  gives  it 
to  her.    Pelham  is  bewitched. 

"You  are  ridiculously  extravagant  over 
Lark,"  says  Selina. 

Flowers  come  for  Lark  on  ball  nights. 
Flowers  arrive  in  long  white  cardboard  boxes 
with  a  card,  and  always,  lately,  there  is  a 
card  with  a  small  gold  coat  of  arms.  Proutie 
takes  them  up  to  her.  "Solomon's  lilies," 
says  Proutie  gravely,  as  he  hands  them  to 
her  at  her  door.  Proutie  is  fond  of  Lark,  but 
if  he,  too,  were  asked  exactly  what  she  looked 
like  then,  he,  too,  would  not  be  able  to  say. 

Now,  as  Slater  takes  Rollo's  note.  Lark 
herself,  with  Pelham,  comes  into  the  drawing 
room.  She  stops  just  inside  the  door,  looking 
at  Rollo,  and  Rollo,  at  the  writing  table, 
looks  back  at  her.  Slowly,  still  looking,  he 
stands  up.  Neither  of  them  notices  Pelham 
as  he  comes  past  Lark  into  the  room. 

"Good  Lord!"  says  Pelham,  as  he  sees 
Rollo.  "Good  Lord!" 

Rollo  does  not  notice  him.  He  looks  at 
Lark.  She  is  wearing  a  long,  dark  green  coat 
and  the  ermine  cap  and  stole  and  muff  that 
arrived  for  her  that  morning. 

"Ermine,"  says  Selina  reverently  as  she 
turns  back  the  tissue  paper.  "Ermine ! "  She 
picks  up  the  card  that  has  again  the  small 
gold  coat  of  arms.  "The  Marchese!  But 
you  can't  accept  this  from  him,  Lark." 

"Why  not?"  asks  Lark. 

"No  lady  could." 

"I  am  not  a  lady,"  says  Lark  serenely. 
"You  must  remember  how  ill-bred  I  am, 
Selina.  You  are  always  reminding  me  of  that. 
And  if  someone  nice— and  he  is  nice,  poor 
little  man,"  says  Lark  with  her  eyes  gentle, 
"if  it  makes  him  happy  to  give  me  things, 
why  shouldn't  I  accept  them?" 

"But  you  should  take  him  seriously.  He 
is  serious." 


February,  1945 


CHICKEN^WAFFLES 


There's  a  netv  angle  to 

making  this  old  favorite.  Instead 
of  measuring  and  messin'  around, 
try  DUFF'S  Waffle  Mix.  Complete! 
Fully-prepared.  Makes  8  waffles! 


^REMEMBER  ME? 


I'm    'THE   CHORE    GIRL"— the 
handy,  knitted,  copper  pot-clean- 
ing   ball.     I'll    be    back   when   copper's 
available.    Watch  for  me! 
WtTAt  TEXTIlt  CMPOMTION,  Orong»,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 


For  fCffchen  Sorcery/ 

Just  add  a  few  drops  of  A«l  Sauce  to 
such  v/artimetamiliarsaa  hash,  stew, fish 
cakes,  chicken  croquettes,  baked  beans, 
gravy,  and  watcli  your  man  start  sniff- 
Inft,  the  moment  he  enters  the  door. 
NOT    RATIONED 


The  DASH  that 

makes  the  DISH 


A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


69 


"  I  know  he  is,  and  I  am  sorry,"  says  Lark 
and  then  she  laughs.  "But  I  could  put  him 
in  my  pocket." 

Now  the  fur  looks  brilliant  against  Lark's 
skin  and  hair  and  happy  eyes;  she  does  not 
attempt  to  hide  the  happiness.  It  is  there 
as  she  sees  Rollo. 

"Is  this  new?"  asks  Pelham,  walking 
round  Rollo.  "I  have  never  seen  it  before." 

Rollo  is  in  full  dress:  high  black  boots, 
white  breeches,  dark  green  tunic,  frogged 
with  black,  and  a  crimson  sash.  He  looks 
immensely  tall,  a  huge  young  man. 

"Hullo,  Rollo,"  Lark  says  as  she  comes  to 
join  them. 

He  does  not  answer.  He  is  perfectly  still. 
Then,  "  I  have  been  to  a  levee,"  he  says  sud- 
denly, transferring  his  attention  to  Pelham. 

"A  levee?  Well,  really,  Rollo,  my  boy, 
that  new  dress  is  magnificent.  Look  at  the 
sash.  Lark!"  He  becomes  aware  that  he 
is  talking  into  a  silence.  Lark  and  Rollo  in 
the  same  instant  hear  that  too. 

"Was  the  Queen  there?"  asks  Lark. 

"It  is  much  colder,"  begins  Rollo.  He 
breaks  off,  and  Lark  asks  again: 

"Was  the  Queen  there?" 

"No,  only  the  Prince  of  Wales.  The  Queen 
is  at  Osborne." 

"Yes,  of  course.  The  Marchese  told  me." 

Pelham  looks  from 


one  of  them  to  the 
other.  "Lark,  it  is 
time  you  were  getting 
dressed,"  he  says 
slowly. 

"  Why  wasn't  I  told 
about  thisbirthday?" 
asks  Rollo. 

"We  didn't  think 
you  would  be  inter- 
ested." 

"You  were  wrong," 
says  Rollo,  his  eyes 
on  Lark.  "  I  ha ve  j  ust 
written  to  Mrs. 
Charles  to  ask  if  I 
can  join  you  tonight, " 

"Oh-h-h!"  That 
escapes  from  Lark's 
lips  and  there  is  no 
mistaking  it.  It  is  a 
sigh  of  bliss. 

Pelham  objects.  He 
has  to  object  or  stifle. 
"Is  that  very  polite 
to  Mrs.  Charles?"  he 
asks.  "At  the  last 
moment?" 

"Oh,  Pelham, 
dear!"  says  Lark. 
"  Don't  be  so  stuffy." 

Stuffy.  The  word 
rings  on  the  air  and 
Pelham  reddens  to 
the  tips  of  his  ears. 
"Well,  at  any  rate 


As  she  looks,  she  sees  that  he  is  freckled 
lightly  along  his  cheekbones  and  down  his 
nose,  and  that  seems  to  make  him  more  real 
too.   She  is  delighted,  lifted  again  on  wings. 

"So  you  will  live  in  Italy,  and  spend  your 
time  eating  macaroni  and  going  to  the 
opera." 

"I  shall  if  I  want  to." 

"I  shouldn't.  Lark,"  says  Rollo,  coming 
close  to  her.  "They  eat  Larks  in  Italy." 

"I — must  go  and  get  dressed." 

"What  are  you  going  to  wear?  Wear 
white." 

"It  is  white;  white  tulle  with  knots  of 
black  velvet  and  white  marguerites  with 
black  centers.  It  is  French.  So  lovely, 
Rollo!" 

"Did  Pelham  give  you  that  too?" 

"Poor  Pelham  has  to  give  me  everything." 

Ihat  should  come  as  a  warning  to  Rollo, 
though  he  has  a  surge  of  desire  to  oust 
Pelham.  "Well,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a 
birthday  present,  too,  do  you  hear?  And  it 
will  make  Pelham  open  his  eyes." 

Lark  works  on  extravagance  like  yeast  on 
dough,  but  now  she  says,  "No,  Rollo.  Don't, 
please.   I  don't  want  anything  at  all." 

"Want  it  or  not,"  says  Rollo,  "you  are 

going  to  have  it  because  I  want  to  give  it  to 

you.  And  no  one  is  go- 


•     •••••••• 


Wtt/toal  tylCeefaL 


By  Bianca  Bradbury 

What  did  you  do  in  the  great  war, 

mother? 
Not  very  much.   Just  cooking  and 

cleaning. 
I  spoiled  and  scolded  you  and  your 

brother, 
And  tried  to  say  what  it  was 

meaning, 
Our  window  star  that  shone  to  greet 
The  other  stars  along  our  street. 
I  wrote  the  letters,  and  never  a 

word, 
But  oh,  such  sleek  and  lovely  lies 
For  a  tired  and  homesick  soldier's 

eyes. 
Wounds?   Yes,  maybe,  maybe  so. 
But  little  ones  that  didn't  show. 
Medals?   No,  no  medals,  son. 
Now  wouldn't  that  be  quite  absurd 
For  staying  home,  just  listening 

for 
The  sound  of  a  hand  upon  the  door? 


ing  to  give  you  a  bet- 
ter one.  Not  even 
your  Marchese." 

'Oh!'  thinks  Lark 
with  a  pang.  'Er- 
mine !  And  Selina  will 
tell  him.  I  know  she 
will.'  She  shuts  her 
eyes  because  she  is 
too  happy  to  keep 
them  open  any  longer. 
'  Keep  calm,'  says 
Lark.  'Help  me  to 
keep  calm,'  she  prays. 
'  Help  me  to  keep  my 
face,  and  my  head. 
This  comes  to  every- 
one. I  must  remem- 
ber that.  It  is  a  com- 
mon experience. 
Everyone  falls  in 
love.'  She  opens  her 
eyes  and  smiles  daz- 
zlingly  at  Rollo. 


•     •••••••• 


he  says,  "it  is  time  for 


you  to  dress." 

"I  shall  have  to  come  as  I  am,"  says 
Rollo. 

"That  won't  matter,"  says  Pelham,  who 
is  always  fair.  "There  will  be  plenty  of  full 

dress  there.  Lark,  dear "  He  is  at  the 

door. 

"You  go,"  says  Lark. 

Neither  she  nor  Rollo  notices  when  he 
goes. 

"Did  Pelham  give  you  a  birthday  pres- 
ent?" 

This."  She  shows  her  bracelet,  a  little 
chain  locked  with  a  heart  of  sapphires  and 
small  rose  diamonds. 

"Oh,  ho!"  says  Rollo.  "How  poetical! 
Quite  expensive,  too — for  Pelham.  He  was 
done,  though.  The  stones  are  poor." 

"How  can  you  be  so  horrid!" 

"He  is  no  judge  of  a  stone,  old  Pelham," 
says  Rollo.  "And  the  Marchese?  What  did 
he  send?" 

Lark  slowly  blushes.  Suddenly  and  sharply 
she  regrets  the  ermine.  She  recognizes  that 
this  large  young  man,  whom  she  has  ideal- 
ized into  a  cardboard  hero,  possesses  a  very 
real  power  to  make  her  behave.  She  thinks 
back  over  her  behavior  that  summer  and 
her  blush  grows  deeper. 

"Look  at  me.  Lark." 


Grizel  was  crying 
on  the  landing.  Rolls, 
as  he  came  out, 
changed,  from  the 
dressing  room,  heard 
her  and  went  to  her 
where  she  stood. 

"Why  are  you  cry- 
ing, Grizel?" 
He  put  his  arm  round  her  and,  as  he 
touched  her,  emotion  surged  up  in  her  and 
she  sobbed  out,  "I  love  Pax." 

Rolls'  voice  was  calm.  "  Is  that  something 
to  cry  for?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  sobbed  Grizel  fiercely.  "Now 
I  won't  know  a  minute's  peace,  night  or 
day." 

"Don't  be  so  old  for  your  age,"  said  Rolls. 
"You  shouldn't  want  peace  yet." 

"But  I  do!  I  have  always  wanted  to  be 
peaceful  and  tidy  and  settled.  And  if  I  love 
Pax,  I  can't  be  any  of  those  things.  I  can't 
arrange  anything!" 

"No,  you  can't  arrange  it,"  agreed  Rolls. 

"This  hideous,  hideous  war!" 

"But  that  isn't  the  war.  That  is  life,  my 

dear  child— not  the  war.  You  can't  arrange 

life.   It  doesn't  let  you.  I  tried,"  said  Rolls. 

"I  failed." 

Grizel  did  not  answer.  At  this  moment  she 
was  interested  solely  in  herself  and  Pax.  "I 
was  horrid  to  Pax  just  now,"  she  cried. 

"  I  expect  you  were.  I  told  you  you  were  a 
shrew.  You  are  Selina's  niece,  you  know." 

"Don't  keep  talking  about  old  people — 
old  people  who  are  dead  and  gone  and  useless 
now.  This  is  Pax  and  me!" 

"Must  you  cry  again?"  said  Rolls  testily. 
"I  cheated  myself  of  love.  I  was  a  fool. 
Don't  you  be  a  fool.  Be  young!  Be  ardent! 
And  don't  cry!" 


\\\\s  fime-saver 


^^mh 


Hearty  and  nutritious,  it's  a  fine  dinner  dish 


Paii-fry  Swift's  Brook- 
field  Sausage;  while  it 
is  cooking,  pour  some 
drippings  in  another 
|iaii  and  fry  cornmeal 
mush.  (Make  mush  in 
morning  ornight  before 
and  keep  in  refrigera- 
tor.) Serve  with  green 
beans  and  carrots. 

A  Martha  Logan  recipe 


There's  a  big  dilTcrencc  in  pork  saiisiificsas  yon'Ilappiooiatewlieii 
you  taste  Swift's  Brookfield  brand.  All  PURE  PORK,  Swift's  Itrook- 
field  is  seasoned  to  bring  out  the  good  pork  flavor.  So  DELICATE, 
yet  ZESTY  •  .  .  here's  the  perfect  seasoning  blend.  Ask  yom-  dealer 
soon  for  this  finer  sausage,  in  the  package  with  red-plaid  ends. 
A  HIGH-QUALITY  PROTEIN  food,  it's  grand  for  speedy  dinners. 

Swift's  Brookfield 

Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS 

lllllllllllll  illllllllllllllll 


70 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


QmamfiQmim  iJ/owdmy 
a^  y^kcUlon  i/jimiclecl 

MlT-OR-MISS  mixing  of  face  pow- 
ders is  like  hit-or-miss  blending 
of  anything  else  .  .  .  o  failure 
nine-tenths  of  the  time.  Don't 
trust  YOUR  good  looks  to  any 
such  guesswork  when  you  can 
have  the  color  blended  scien- 
tifically by  Elizabeth  Arden 
herself.  Their  subtly  modulated 
shades  are  accomplished  by 
exact  formulas,  guarded  by  instru- 
ments of  hair-breadth  delicacy, 
blended  with  the  utmost  skill,  in  a 
laboratory  of  the  most  modern 
equipment.  They  are  reduced 
to  incredible  delicacy  of  texture 
by  being  forced  at  tremendous 
pressure  through  silken  mesh  fine 
as  butterfly  wings.  There  is  n'o 
guesswork  about  Elizabeth  Arden 
Powders.  There  are  many  glorious 
shades  to  complement  the  skin 
...among  them  the  one  YOUR  skin 
needs  for  beauty.  Used  alone, 
or  with  the  famed  Two  Powder 
Technique,  these  inimitable 
powders  will  open  up  to  you  a 
whole  world  of  loveliness. 


ILLUSION  POWDER,  1.75  and  3.00 
CAMEO   POWDER,  1.75  and  3.00 

(prices  plus  laxes) 


Far  above  the  house,  into  the  quiet  night, 
came  the  sound  of  an  airplane.  There  was  no 
alert.  No  gunfire.  It  was  a  plane  flying 
alone.  It  made  a  loud  droning  that  filled 
their  ears. 

"You  see "  said  Grizel. 

"Well?" 

"I  can't  endure  it,"  said  Grizel  loudly. 
"Maybe  other  people  can,  but  I  can't.  It  is 
no  use.  Uncle  Rolls.  I  have  quite  decided. 
I  am  not  going  to  marry  Pax." 

IVICiHT 

It  is  night.  There  is  a  moon,  and  because 
there  is  no  reflected  dome  of  light  over  the 
city,  the  moonlight  marks  it  very  plainly. 
It  shows,  like  a  map,  roofs  arid  domes  and 
spires  and  the  open  spaces  of  parks,  and  the 
gleam  of  the  Thames  and  lines  of  bridges 
over  it.  The  moonlight  exposes  the  whole 
city  to  the  sky. 

Along  the  walls  and  up  the  stairs  of  No.  99 
Wiltshire  Place  are  gilt  sconces  for  candles. 
Selina  kept  them  when  she  put  in  gaslight, 
because  to  remove  them  meant  ruining  the 
paper.  They  have  survived  and  now  candles 
were  burning  in  them,  candles  in  threes, 
knots  of  lambent  yellow  flames  up  the  stair- 
case wall,  along  the  hall  and  landing,  and  in 
the  drawing  room. 

"And  so  I  was  born  here,  nearly  eighty 
years  ago,"  Rolls  was  telling  Pax  and  Grizel 
as  he  went  before  them  down  the  stairs.  He 
looked  at  (kizel  and  hoped  that  she  would 
marry  this  slim,  dark,  somehow  notable 
young  man.  In  spite  of  her  protests,  he 
thought  that  she  would.  "Grizel,"  he  said. 

She  stopped  and  he  thought  how  much  he 
liked  her  face  with  its  clear  skin  and  straight 
small  nose,  the  pretty  mouth,  the  direct  blue 
eyes  and  well-brushed,  fine,  brown  hair. 
"Yes,  Uncle  Rolls?" 

But  he  said  nothing  to  her  after  all. 
'What  is  the  use?'  he  said  to  himself.  'Why 
worry?  Tomorrow  we  must  go.' 

"  I  had  the  whole  house  very  nearly  right," 
said  Pax  in  that  moment.  "But  now  it  is  all 
crystallized  in  my  mind.  Thank  you  for 
taking  us  over  it."  He  looked  round  as  they 
came  into  the  drawing  room.  "There  is  a 
crystal  quality  about  the  house  this  evening. 
As  if  this  were  the  moment— no,"  he  cor- 
rected himself,  "as  if  all  the  moments  were 
crystallized  in  this." 

"How  could  they  be? "  said  Grizel  crossly. 

"Stop  wrangling,"  said  Rolls,  and  he  went 
on,  speaking  to  (Grizel.  "Wait  here— I  have 
something  I  want  to  give  you,  for  our  last 
night.  It  is  in  the  safe  upstairs.  I  shall  be  a 
few  minutes." 

When  he  had  gone,  Grizel  moved  away 
from  Pax  to  the  fire  and  stood  with  her  back 
to   him,  warming    her  hands. 

"You  have  been  delightfully 
cross  all  evening,"  said   Pax. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  away." 

"Why?" 

"You  know  why.  Do  we 
have  to  start  arguing  all  over 
again?" 

"I  am  afraid  we  do." 

"You  have  turned  me  into  a 
worse  coward  than  I  used  to 
be."  Her  voice  was  shaking. 
"I  tell  you  I  can't  bear  it!  I 
don't  want  to  be  attached  or 
concerned  or  intimate." 

"Selfish  little  beast." 

"Yes,  I  am  selfish.  I  want  to 
be.  I  want  to  be  like  those 
people  who  come  through  a 
war  without  a  scratch." 

"No  one  comes  through  a 
war  without  a  scratch,  not  this 
war,  anyway.  You  can't,  so  why 
go  to  all  this  trouble  to  try?". 

"Ever  since  I  arrived,  ever 
since  I  came  to  this  house, 
everything  has  made  one  long 
attack  on  me." 

"Well,  why  should  you  es- 
cape?" asked  Pax  unsympa- 
thetically.  And  he  said  seri- 
ously, his  eyes  bright,  "No  one 
is  going  to  escape  this  time." 

"Judgment  Day?"  asked 
Grizel  flippantly. 

"If  you  like." 


"I  do  nothing  but  cry,"  said  Grizel  an- 
grily. "Why?  There  is  nothing  to  cry 
about."  She  squeezed  her  handkerchief  be- 
tween her  hands.  "  Why?  Look  at  me  now. 
I  am  starting  again."  She  bit  her  lips,  but 
the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  "I  am  a 
mediocre  person,"  she  said  angrily.  "  I  didn't 
ask  for  heroics.  I  only  want  to  be  comfort- 
able and  enjoy  myself." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  here?  This  is  a 
country  fighting  for  its  life.  Didn't  you  ex- 
pect it  to  be  heroic  and  uncomfortable?" 

"I  expected  it  to  be  exciting,"  said  Grizel 
defiantly  through  her  tears. 

"No,  my  darling,"  said  Pax.  "You  are 
not  as  young  as  that."  He  came  to  her  and 
put  his  arm  round  her.  "Why  not  be  truth- 
ful, Grizel?  You  love  me  and  I  love  you. 
That  is  the  truth,  isn't  it?" 

Grizel  nodded  dumbly  and  her  tears 
dropped  onto  his  hand. 

"And  there  is  nothing  we  can  do  to  stop 
it,  is  there?  However  much  we  try?" 

"Nothing  we  can  do,"  said  Grizel. 

"Kiss  me,"  said  Pax. 

She  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  "Oh,  Pax,  I  love  you.  I  love  you 
so  much,  but  it  is  silly,  stupid  to  be  vulner- 
able and  hopeful  now.  Talk  to  me,  Pax. 
Help  me.  Comfort  me." 

"Things  are  serious  just  now,"  said  Pax 
with  his  cheek  against  hers.  "You  have  to 
treat  them  seriously,  but  it  is  of  no  use  to  be 
afraid.  I  should  be  afraid  if  it  made  us  any 
safer,  but  it  doesn't.  You  have  to  think,  I 
think,  that  anything  we  do  in  any  time,  the 
smallest  thing,  like  ordering  the  paper  to 
come  every  day  or  promising  to  go  out  to 
dinner  next  Wednesday,  or  getting  a  new 
tube  of  toothpaste— particularly  the  large 
size  that  lasts  twice  as  long — is  an  act  of 
faith.  It  is  an  act  of  faith  to  think  or  hope 
or  plan,  but  I  intend  to  go  on  doing  it. 
There  are  dozens  of  things  I  want.  I  intend 
to  go  on  as  if  I  shall  get  them  all." 

"What  are  they.  Pax?  What  do  you 
want?" 

"  You  first.  I  want  to  be  married  at  once. 
Then  I  want  a  child.   Immediately." 

"Are  you— so  fond  of  children?" 

"Only  of  my  own.  Yes.  I  want  a  child. 
I  want  to  make  quite  sure  of  that  while  I  am 
here  on  earth." 

"Don't,  Pax." 

"It  is  only  an  act  of  faith.  And  whether 
it  is  a  boy  or  a  girl,  I  want  us  to  call  it 
Verity." 

"Verity,"  said  Grizel,  sounding  it  and 
testing  it.  She  liked  it.  "But  he  won't  live 
here  in  this  house,"  she  said  regretfully. 

"Then  in  a  house  like  it,"  answered  Pax, 
"if  he  can't  live  here.  But  you  never  know, 


'Wliy  dun  t  yaxi  jiisl  lei  your 
wife  take  care  of  the  baby?" 


Grizel.  I  feel  he  will  live  here.  Here  and  at 
Laudi.  That  would  be  a  link." 

"All  the  new  children  ought  to  be  links," 
said  Grizel.  "He  would  link  us  all  up.  Link 
Lark  and  Rolls  again  through  you  an^  me. 
Shall  we  tell  Rolls?" 

"No,"  said  Pax  slowly.  "  I  don't  think  so." 

The  door  opened  and  Rolls  came  back  into 
the  room.  He  had  a  small  leather  case  in  his 
hand.  "I  wanted  to  give  you  this,  Grizel," 
he  said,  "tonight." 

Grizel  looked  at  his  face.  He  seemed  rapt, 
away  from  them,  so  that  he  did  not  really 
notice  them.  He  did  not  see  that  they  stood 
in  front  of  him,  hand  in  hand.  Or  if  he  did,  it 
seemed  to  him  so  natural,  as  it  seemed  to  her 
now,  that  it  called  for  no  remark. 

"Tonight  is  important,"  said  Grizel  slowly. 

"Tonight  is  our  last  night,  and  you  and 
Pax  dined  with  me,"  said  Rolls.  "Isn't  that 
enough?" 

"It  is  enough,"  said  Grizel  judiciously. 
"But  it  isn't  all." 

From  the  front  door  a  bell  rang  through 
the  house.  "Proutie  is  out  on  duty  tonight," 
said  Rolls,  moving  toward  the  door. 

"Wait.  I  will  go."  Grizel  ran  past  him. 
They  heard  her  open  the  door  and  heard 
voices  and  then  she  came  slowly  back  along 
the  hall.  "It  is  a  telegram  for  Pax." 

"For  me?  But  nobody  knows  I  am  here." 

"Somebody  does,"  said  Grizel,  holding  it 
out  to  him. 

Pax  took  it  and  opened  it.  He  read  it  with 
his  back  to  them  in  silence,  and  when  at  last 
he  spoke  he  looked  at  Rolls.  "It  has  come 
through  Switzerland.  From  Geneva.  It  is 
from  my  cousin.   I— am  sorry,  sir." 

"Lark?"  asked  Rolls. 

Pax  nodded.  For  a  moment  he  could  not 
speak  and  he  bent  and  stirred  the  fire.  Pres- 
ently he  stood  up  again.  "She  died  last 
month.  Before  I  came  here,  she  was  dead." 
Then  he  turned  back  to  Rolls.  "You  know," 
he  said.  "You  knew." 

"I  didn't  know,"  Rolls  answered.  "1 
guessed."  He  took  Pax  gently  by  the  shoul- 
der and  turned  him  from  the  fire.  "  I  think," 
he  said,  "this  is  the  time  that  you  and  Grizel 
should  go  out  dancing." 

"Dancing.  Now?"  asked  Grizel. 
"Yes." 

"No,  Uncle  Rolls." 

"Yes.  Quite  apart  from  any  other  reason, 
I  want  you  to  leave  me,  please.  Pax  wants 
you,  Grizel.  Wait,  though.  There  is  some- 
thing else.  Two  other  things.  I  found  this 
when  I  went  upstairs."  He  showed  them  a 
letter.  "I  had  forgotten  to  open  it,  but  I 
answered  it  at  once.  It  will  concern  you,  not 
myself."  He  gave  the  letter  to  Pax,  not  to 
Grizel.  "He  will  be  the  head  of 
the  house,  I  hope,"  he  said. 
"You  won't  let  her  rule,  will 
^^__^  you,  Pax?  .  .  .  Willoughby  is 

p^         my  solicitor." 
-^  Grizel  read  the  letter  over 

Pax's    shoulder:  after  a 

-...^  great  deal  of  correspondence  and 

several  interviews  .  .  .  the  own- 
ers ..  .  changes  of  circumstances 
and  present  conditions  .  .  .  the 
difficulty  of  getting  materials  and 
labor  .  .  .  am  delighted  to  be 
^^^N.^  able   to   inform  you  .    .    .    the 

i  \o^         house  is  now  for  sale,  subject  to 

the  .   .  .   if  you 

"For  sale!  We  can  buy  it," 
cried  Grizel.  "Oh,  Uncle  Rolls! 
Will  you?" 

" I  have,"  said  Rolls.  "This 
is  the  answer  and  the  check  is 
in  it.  You  can  post  it  on  your 
way  tonight.  In  return,  you 
can  leave  me  that."  Gently  he 
took  the  telegram  from  Pax's 
hand  and  put  it  in  his  waist- 
coat pocket.  "The  house,"  he 
said,  "is  to  belong  to  you." 

"Why,  Uncle  Rolls!  To  us 
and  you.  Ours,"  said  Grizel. 
"Forever." 

"  It  is  only  a  lease  of  occu- 
pation, mind,"  said  Rolls. 

"But   you   said— you   have 
bought  it.  Uncle  Rolls." 
{Continued  on  Page  72) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


"Not  only  (|uiek-6ut  wondefful  f 

Neiv^widns  Doivn']||||iX-£|sy  cokes 


^"'^      "Seating  cut  in  half! 

"No  creaming !" 
"Fewer  dishes  to  wash!" 

"Richer  taste!" 
Keeps  fresh  longferl" 


Preparations:  Have  shortening  at  room  tempera- 
ture. Grease  two  deep  8-inch  layer  pans,  line  bottoms 
with  waxed  paper,  grease  again.  Start  oven  for  mod- 
erate heat  (375°  F.).  Sift  flour  once  before  measuring. 
Measure  into  sifter: 
2  cups  sifted  Swans  Down 
Cake  Flour 


»t>. 


2  teaspoons  Calumet 

Baking  Powder 
h  teaspoon  salt 
154  cups  sugar 

Measure  into  bowl: 

H  cup  vegetable 
shortening 


Measure  into  cup: 

^  cup  milk 

1  teaspoon  vanilla 

Have  ready: 

2  eggs,  unbeaten 

l^i  tablespoons  molasses 
H  teaspoon  cinnamon 
H  teaspoon  cloves 
Jg  teaspoon  nutmeg 

{^All  measurements  are  level.') 


Now  the  "Mix-Easy"  Part!  (Mix  by  hand  or  with 
electric  mixer  on  low  speed.)  Stir  shortening  just  to 
soften.  Sift  in  dry  ingredients.  Add  H  of  liquid  and  the 
eggs.  Mix  until  all  flour  is  dampened;  then  beat  1  min- 
ute. Add  remaining  liquid,  blend,  and  beat  2  minutes 
longer.  (Count  only  actual  beating  tiine.  Or  count  beat- 
ing strokes.  Allow  at  least  100  full  strokes  per  minute. 
Scrape  bowl  and  beater  or  spoon  often  while  mixing.) 
Turn  H  of  batter  into  one  layer  pan.  To  remaining  h 
of  batter,  add  molasses  and  spices,  mixing  only  enough 
to  blend;  turn  into  layer  pan. 

Baking ;  Bake  in  moderate  oven  (375°  F.)  25  minutes, 
or  until  done.  Spread  Raisin  Filling  between  layers 
and  Lemon  Icing  on  top  of  cake. 

RAISIN   FILLING 

Mix  together  1  tablespoon  cornstarch,  H  cup  sugar, 
dash  of  salt,  J^  cup  raisins,  finely  chopped,  1  teaspoon 
lemon  juice,  and  \  teaspoon  grated  lemon  rind.  Add  H 
cup  water  and  mix  well.  Cook  gently  3  to  5  minutes, 
or  until  thick  and  clear;  stir  constantly.  Add  1  tea- 
spoon butter  and  blend. 

LEMON   ICING 

Cream  together  H  teaspoon  grated  lemon  rind  and  1 
tablespoon  butter.  Measure  1  cup  sifted  confectioners' 
sugar.  Add  part  of  sugar  gradually  to  butter,  blending 
well.  Add  dash  of  salt.  Add  remaining  sugar,  alternate- 
ly with  2  teaspoons  lemon  juice  and  1  teaspoon  water, 
until  right  consistency  to  spread;  beat  until  smooth. 


CZF 


HEARD  THE  TALK  going  around  about  the 
new  Swans  Down  "Mix-Easy"  cakes? 

Would  you  believe  it . . .  these  new  quick  cakes, 
with  no  creaming,  with  beating  time  cut  in 
half,  are  as  soft  and  tender  and  even-grained 
as  any  cakes  you  ever  saw! 

And  that's  not  all !  Swans  Down ' '  Mix  -Easy  " 
cakes  taste  richer . . .  keep  fresh  longer. 


Try  this  Swans  Down  "Mix-Easy"  Ribbon 
Cake. .  .isn't  it  a  beauty?  You'Uhave  the  thrill 
of  your  cakemaking  life  when  you  frost  it... 
cut  it . . .  serve  it . . .  taste  it. 

Swans  Down  guarantees  it'll  be  a  success... 
but  not  with  any  other  flour!  Double  the  cost 
of  your  cake  back  if  you  aren't  pleased  pink 
with  it— when  you  use  Swans  Down! 


'INw 


■^  ^i 


iii 


<*^i- 


\,V^ 


X 


fUNE  IN:  Kate  Smith  Speaks— CBS  Network 


zmm 

OOUi 


=«5 


Guarantee— Double  the  cost  of  all  in- 
gredients back,  if  you  don't  think  your 
Swans  Down  "Mix-Easy"  Cake  is  better 
than  any  similar  cake  you've  baked  with 
any  other  flour  ! . . .  Swans  Down  itself  has 


not  changed  -  you  can  still  use  all  your  old 
favorite  recipes.  Swans  Down  has  made 
supremely  fine  cakes  for  50  years.  And  today 
more  women  choose  Swans  Down  tlian  all 
other  packaged  cake  flours  put  together. 


Watch  for  New  "Mix-Easy"  Recipe.s 
in  your  Swans  Down  box! 

New  "Mix-Easy"  recipes ...  developed 
and  tested  in  Swans  Down  kitchens  at 
General  Foods . . .  are  constantly  appear- 
ing in  Swans  Down  packages. 


^^m  Bake  c  better  cqke  mthSwnnsOown 


74 


LADIP,S'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


To  keep  your  skin  constantly 
fresher,  lovelier  .  .  .  wooed 
from  distressing  "wayward" 
periods  of  dryness  or  shine... 
give  it  daily  care  with  these 
two  unique  creams  .  .  . 


HLRE  is  care  so  kind... so  sooth- 

SKIN       CR  E  A  M   .  .  .  CLE  A  NSI  N  G       CREAM 

ing  and  smoothing... it  seems  a 

caress  to  your  skin!  The  care  offered  by  PhiUips'  Milk  of  Magnesia 
Creams... a  care  that  does  so  much  to  guard  your  skin's  fresh 
beauty  against  wayward  tendencies  which  lead  to  imperfection. 
In  both  these  creams— Phillips'  Skin  Cream  and  Phillips'  Cleans- 
ing Cream— true  Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  lends  its  helpful, 
gentle  hand  to  keeping  your  beauty  bright.  In  addition,  both 
contain  smoothing,  softening  oils  .  .  .  cholesterol,  too,  pro\  ided 
to  guard  your  skin's  moisture.  Call  it  care — call  it  caress — but 
daily,  call  on  Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  Creams  for  help. 


PHILLIPS'  MILK  OF  MAGNESIA  SKIN  CREAM  — 
SoftenSy  neutralizes  any  excess  acid  accumulations 
often  found  in  external  pore  openings;  helps  your 
skin  stay  smoothly  supple.  Doubles  in  duty  as  a  night 
cream  and  satin-smooth  base  for  powder.  60i,  plus  tax. 

PHILLIPS'  MILK  OF  MAGNESIA  CLEANSING  CREAM— 
Feel  its  richness — see  how  cleanly  it  tissues  off, 
removing  mahe-upf  surface  dirt  and  accumulations 
from  outer  pore  openings.  ThaCs  why  it  leaves 
your  skm  feeling  sparklingly  fresh!  60i,  plus    tax. 


(Continued  from  Page  73) 
hurts  herself.  "  I  think  of  it,  and  you,  and  of 
myself.  It  will  be  exciting  for  you,  of  course. 
Think  of  all  the  things  you  will  see:  wild 
animals  and  queer  flowers;  queer  religions; 
the  Taj  Mahal  and  Fatephur  Sikri  and  the 
Ganges  and  crocodiles.  I  can  see  you,  RoUo, 
on  a  pony  under  a  palm.  You  have  been 
playing  polo,  I  expect.  I  see  a  minaret,  and 
a  peacock."  And  she  catches  her  breath  as 
she  says,  "Of  course  India  is  very  gay." 

"Need  you  say  that?"  he  says  angrily. 
"Need  you  tease  me  now?" 

"  What  else  can  I  do?  "  She  stands  up  and 
comes  so  close  to  him  by  the  fire  that  her 
eyes  are  on  a  level  with  his  face,  and  he  can 
smell  the  scent  on  her  skin  and  on  her  hair 
and  the  firelight  on  her  dress.  Her  eyes  are 
dark  with  feeling,  her  lips  have  stopped 
laughing  and  he  can  see  her  throat  move  as 
if  words  welled  up  in  it,  but  she  does  not 
speak.  He  does  not  speak  either,  but  he  puts 
out  his  hand  as  if  he  would  take  hers.  "Don't 
touch  me,"  whispers  Lark.  "Please,  Rollo, 
please  don't  touch  me." 

He  says  with  a  helpless  groan,  "Oh,  Lark! 
Oh,  Lark!   What  can  we  do?" 

She  turns  her  head  and  he  bends  his  and 
before  they  know  what  they  are  doing  they 
have  kissed.  Lark  gives  a  little  sob  and  tries 
to  take  her  lips  away,  but  Rollo  holds  her 
to  him. 

"I  love  you,  Lark.  I  love  you,"  he  says 
with  his  lips  against  hers.  "  How  much  I  love 
you,  Lark." 

When  he  lifts  his  head,  Lark  stands 
against  him  unutterably  happy,  even  though 
in  her  happiness  there  is  a  quality  of  sur- 
prise.  She  leans 
against  him,  feeling  his  ■HHHm^^H 
arms  round  her,  and 
she  looks  down  into 
the  fire  and  round  the 
room.  The  room  is  still 
the  same. 

She  murmurs,  "  I 
can't  believe  it  is  true. 
Is  it  true?" 

"It  is  true,"  says 
Rollo. 

"We  shall  have  six 
children  and  a  million 
pounds  a  year,"  Lark 
says. 

"What  did  you  say, 
Lark?" 

"Nothing."  She  _^^^^^^^^^ 
shuts  her  eyes.  "  I  was  ^^^^^^^^^^" 
thinking." 

He  looks  down,  watching  her  lashes 
against  her  cheek.  "What  are  you  thinking 
of?" 

"Of  us,  of  course." 

"How  we  shall  always  be  in  love?" 

"How  we  shall  always  be  in  love." 

"Even  when  we  are  old?" 

"Even  when  we  are  old." 

The  door  opens  and  Selina  comes  in. 
Rollo  and  Lark  cannot  help  it;  they  spring 
apart  like  guilty  children. 

OELINA  has  come  in  full  of  triumph;  her 
face  is  lit  by  it.  Her  dress  of  black  gauze 
over  taffeta  rustles  importantly  and  the 
candles  pick  up  the  fire  of  her  rubies.  She 
rustles  in  full  of  triumph  and  stops  as  she 
sees  Lark  in  Rollo's  arms.  Her  face  hardens 
into  an  icy  coldness.  For  a  minute  she 
stands  petrified  and  then,  on  a  wave  of 
angry  disgust,  she  comes  forward.  Lark, 
after  she  has  sprung  away,  goes  back  to 
Rollo  and  puts  her  hand  into  his.  Rollo 
moves  closer  to  Lark  and  puts  his  shoulder 
behind  hers  and  bends  his  cheek  quietly, 
privately,  to  feel  her  hair.  Violent  words 
seethe  up  in  Selina,  but  by  an  extraordinary 
effort  she  does  not  say  them ;  she  says  noth- 
ing at  all,  but  turns  from  the  sight  of  them  to 
take  off  her  gloves  beside  the  piano. 

"Well,"  says  Rollo  like  a  dangerous  bull. 

"Well,  Rollo,  I  congratulate  you,"  says 
Selina  lightly. 

"Congratulate  me?"  Lark  and  Rollo 
stare  at  her. 

"Yes.  It  is  all  settled." 

"What— is  all  settled?"  But  Rollo 
knows.  A  dual  set  of  feelings  rise  up  in  him: 
excitement  and  a  gratified  pleasure;  and 


with  them,  a  defiant  obstinacy  against  Se- 
lina and  them  all. 

"My  dear  boy!  Uncle  Bunny  saw  Lord 
Fitzgerald  last  night.  He  will  be  taking  you 
to  call  there  tomorrow  at  eleven,  but  that  is 
only  a  formality.  It  is  settled  and  it»will  be 
confirmed.  I  must  say  you  are  very  lucky, 
Rollo.  Uncle  Bunny  is  so  delighted." 

"What  is  it  you  have  accepted  for 
Rollo?"  That  is  from  Lark. 

Selina  says  coldly,  "Rollo  is  to  be  on  the 
staff  of  Lord  Fitzgerald,  who  has  been  lent  to 
Afghanistan  on  a  special  mission.  It  is  a 
wonderful  opportunity  for  Rollo.  They  sail 
on  the  Hindustan  next  week." 

"Next  week!" 

"It  is  dreadfully  soon,  of  course,"  say 
Selina's  lips.  'Not  a  moment  too  soon,'  say 
her  eyes,  jealous  quick  eyes. 

"Lark  and  I  love  one  another,"  Rollo  says 
defiantly.  "We  are  going  to  be  married." 

OELINA  is  not  often  wise  in  her  dealings 
with  Rollo,  but  now  she  is  instilled  with  an 
insidious  serpentine  wisdom.  "You  can  be 
married,  of  course,"  she  says.  "You  can 
wait  five  years." 

"Five  years!"  Lark  seems  powerless  to 
do  anything  but  repeat  Selina's  words. 

"The  appointment  under  the  Afghan  gov- 
ernment is  for  five  years,"  says  Selina.  She 
sees  Lark's  eyes,  startled  and  frightened. 

"I   can't  wait  five  years,"   says  Lark. 

"Selina  knows  I  can't." 

"I  refuse  to  go,"  says  Rollo. 

Selina  curbs  herself.  "You  can  refuse,  of 

course,  but  if  you  did  that  at  the  eleventh 

hour,  it  would  rather  reflect  on  you,  wouldn't 

it?   Uncle  Bunny,  for 

{^■^mmBIIHB       instance,  wouldn't  be 

pleased.   You  have  to 

remember,  too,  that  it 

is  more  than  just  an 

appointment.    You 

will — if,  of  course,  you 

go — be   working   with 

a    great    man.     Lord 

Fitzgerald   is   a   great 

soldier.    You   will  get 

your    majority    too. 

Think  of  it— a  major 

at  twenty-seven!" 

Rollo   looks   at   her 
and    he    cannot    help 
smiling.  Lark  sees  that 
smile.  She  says: 
^^^^^^^           "The  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington was  a  colonel 
at  twenty- four." 
Rollo's  smile  fades.  He  looks  hostile. 
"If  Rollo  plays  his  cards  well "  Se- 
lina says,  but  Lark  interrupts: 

"I  thought  he  was  a  soldier,  not  a  card 
player." 

"You  are  being  very  silly,"  says  Rollo 
sharply. 

"Of  course,  if  you  refuse  to  go,  you  can  be 
married,"  says  Selina,  "but  what  will  you 
live  on?  You  can't  live  on  your  pay.  A  cap- 
tain's pay  isn't  a  great  deal,  you  know,  and 
you  are  only  just  a  captain.  After  five  years 
things  should  be  very  different." 
Rollo  is  perfectly  still  behind  Lark. 
"She  knows  that  I  can't  wait  five  years," 
says  Lark.  "That  is  why  she  suggests  it. 
She  knows  I  can't."  And  she  cries  in  des- 
peration, "She  hates  me,  and  Pelham  is  in 
love  with  me,  and  it  is  intolerable  for  me 
here!  I  can't  wait,  Rollo.  Don't  listen  to 
her!  She  means  to  spoil  it.  Let  us  marry 
and  be  together  and  manage  our  lives  for 
ourselves.  I  am  not  afraid.  Rollo,  listen. 
Listen  to  me ! " 

"I  think  Rollo  would  regret  it,"  says 
Selina. 

It  is  Selina's  calmness  and  her  understate- 
ment that  win  Rollo.  It  has  the  effect  of 
sounding  wise  and  Lark's  vivid,  eager  speech 
sounds  improbable.  And  she  gives  herself 
away  to  him  over  and  over  again  and  he 
knows,  or  he  thinks  he  knows,  that  he  is  safe 
in  arming  himself  against  her  for  the  present. 
'She  will  wait,'  thinks  Rollo,  and  aloud  he 
says: 

"Lark,  dearest,  I  love  you " 

Lark  looks  into  his  face.  "Second-best 
love,"  says  Lark  slowly,  drawing  herself 
away. 


STORK  TRITH 

^  The  best  Polish  story  concerns 
^  three  soldiers  who  were  praQlic- 
ing  their  English.  They  were  dis- 
cussing the  wife  of  a  colleague  who 
was  unhappy  because  she  was  child- 
less. 

"She  is  unbearable,"  said  one. 

"No,  that  is  the  wrong  word.  She 
is  inconceivable,"  the  second  cor- 
rected. 

"No,  no.  You  too  are  wrong," 
said  the  third.  "What  you  mean  to 
say  is  that  she  is  impregnable." 

BERNARD  NEWMAN:  One  AAan'$  Year. 
(Victor  Gollancz,  Ltd.) 


LADIES'  HOME  lOlJKNM, 


75 


^pw^ 


^(/C0<^ 


in  EVERGLAZE' 
FINISHED 
COTTONS 

You  will  glow  with  pride — 

yourfriends  will  admire — when 

you  wear  lustrous  "Everglaze" 

Finished  Cottons — the 

magic  fabrics  that  resist 

soil  and  stay  flower-fresh 

,^  J     through   repeated   wash- 

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*Reg.U.S.Pat.Off. 


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n  Doilies,  No.  217   (crochet) 

Name   

Address City. . . . 


"It  has  to  be  second,"  says  Rollo  with  a 
curious  honesty.  "But  I  love  you.  Lark.  You 
must  trust  me." 

She  cries,  "How  can  I?  I  know  that  look, 
that  Dane  look  in  your  eyes." 

"I  shall  marry  you  when  I  come  back," 
he  tells  her. 

"Will  you?"  asks  Lark  with  an  edge  to 
her  voice.  "And  if  I  am  not  here  when  you 
come  back?" 

"You  are  making  things  impossible  for 
me,"  says  Rollo  angrily.  "Don't  you  see,  I 
have  to  go." 

"If  you  have  to,  you  have  to.  It  is  for 
you  to  decide." 

"Lark,  promise  me  you  will  wait." 

"I  haven't  decided,  I  haven't  decided," 
says  Lark  in  a  faraway  little  voice,  proud 
and  jerky  and  broken.  "I  haven't  decided 
yet  what  I  shall  do." 

"Lark.  Listen " 

"  It  is  no  use  to  listen,"  says  Lark  proudly, 
"I  have  heard." 

"Will  you  be  reasonable?" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  reason.  It  is  feel- 
ing," says  Lark.  "I  can't  help  it,  can  I,  if 
you  have  more  reason  than  I  have,  and  I 
have  more  feeling  than  you?" 

"It  is  impossible  to  talk  to  you." 

"Why  talk,  then?  It  is  settled.  You  have 
settled  it,  completely,  haven't  you?  Why  go 
on  making  excuses?" 

"I  am  not  making  excuses!" 

Hollo  spins  round  furiously  to  the  mantel- 
piece. Lark  is  still,  withdrawn  from  him  to 
the  other  side  of  the  fire,  drawing  a  circle  in 
the  hearthrug  with  the  toe  of  her  white 
slipper,  holding  the  mantelpiece  with  one 
hand,  the  other  caught  in  the  loop  of  his 
pearls,  twisting  them  in  her  fingers. 
.  "You  will  break  them,"  says  Rollo  sud- 
denly. 

Lark  lifts  both  her  hands  and  undoes  the 
clasp  and  drops  the  necklace  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"Lark,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  haven't  decided.  But  I  don't  think  I 
shall  wait  for  you,  Rollo." 

"Lark,  you  are  angry  now." 

"No,  I  am  not  angry,"  says  Lark,  and 
then  the  unreality  in  her  voice  breaks  and 
she  comes  back  to  the  real  moment  and  she 
cries,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  "But 
don't  you  see,  we  shall  be  lost!  Lost!" 


"But  I  didn't  cry  for  you,  Rolls,"  said  the 
Marchesa.  "Griselda's  tears  are  in  this  house, 
and  Grizel's,  but  not  mine.  I  didn't  cry  for 
you.  I  wouldn't.  I  have  always  refused  to  be 
unhappy." 

"  Unhappy?  Happy?  I  don't  know,"  said 
Rolls. 

The  gunfire  was  getting  nearer.  Now  the 
house  shook.  He  listened  to  the  guns. 

"But  we  didn't  live — not  as  we  might  have 
done.  That  was  my  fault." 

"Mine,  too,"  said  the  Marchesa.  "/  ivas 
proud." 

"  We  deserve  to  end,"  said  Rolls. 

"  There  are  Pax  and  Grizel,"  she  reminded 
him.  "  We  are  not  alone." 

Rolls  moved  his  chair  farther  away  from 
the  window.  The  glass  rattled  now  to  the 
guns.  The  candles  were  getting  low.  One  of 
them  began  to  gutter. 

"Were  you  afraid  to  die?"  he  asked  the 
Marchesa.  "  Were  you  prepared?" 

"We  are  always  prepared  more  or  less," 
said  the  Marchesa  judiciously.  "Death  cotnes 
every  tninute.  Guido  took  a  long  time  dying 
and  they  were  always  exhorting  him  to  prepare 
for  death,  but  in  the  end  he  was  much  as  usual. 
Your  death  is  a  part  of  your  life,"  said  the 
Marchesa  to  Rolls. 

He  went  to  the  shelf  of  little  books  over 
the  writing  table— Griselda's  books,  Selina's 
books— and  took  down  a  prayer  book  so 
much  used  that  it  fell  apart  in  his  hand.  He 
turned  the  flimsy  pages  over  until  he  came 
to  Page  192:  The  Order  of  the  Burial  of  the 
(Continued  on  Page  77) 


If  you  are  PAST  40 
...Stop  trying  to  fool  your  eyes ! 


Find  out  about  Univis 

2-Way*  Lenses...the  modern  kind  of  bifocals 

If  you  are  past  40,  and  can't  see  objects  clearly  at  normal  reading 
range— place  the  care  of  your  eyes  in  competent  hands.  Profit  by 
the  scientific  services  and  technical  skill  of  the  Ophthalmologist, 
Optometrist  and  Optician.  Ask  about  the  modern  kind  of  bi- 
focals called  UNIVIS.  Learn  how  the  straight-top  segment  fea- 
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help  for  close-up  seeing,  your  eye  consultant  may  decide  you 
should  have  these  more  efficient  UNIVIS  lenses  that  give  you 
3  great  comfort  features. 

LEARN  ABOUT  3  GREAT  COMFORTS  OF 
UNIVIS  STRAIGHT-TOP  SEGMENT  LENSES 

1 .  Checks  embarrassing  head  tilting. 

2.  Makes  it  simple  and  easy  to  shift  from  far  to 
near  vision,  without  conscious  effort. 

3.  Checks  "bifocal  flutter"  ...  no  long  exasper- 
ating break-in  period. 

UNIVIS  .  .  .  The  Lens  with  the  Straight-Top 
Reading  Segment 

UNIVIS  2-Way  lenses  are  made  of  the  finest  ophthalmic  glass.  They  have 
straight-top  reading  segments.  Their  manufacture  is  to  exacting  standards 
of  precision— there  is  no  finer  lens! 


Univis 


HAVE  YOUR  EYES 

EXAMINED 

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^is/tc^  fii^0^?t^-e^ 


©THE    UNIVrS    lENS    COMPANY,    DAYTON    1,    OHIO 


FINEST  QUALITY  2-WAY 
AND  3-WAY  LENSES 


...AND  PRECISION 
OPTICAL  ELEMENTS 


^V)RLINGA«£- 

PUELIC, LIBRARY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


¥>. 


February,  1945 


w,      %»» 


'■  I 


% 


*rt#*^' 


,:J^'' 


i 


In  a  minute  the  tuo  will  be  as  sniny  as  you,  darlina ! 


^^ 


You'd  better  hurry — or  I'll  have  this  tub 
all  shined  up  and  beautiful  l)efore  you're 
even  dry.  See... I'm  half  through  already!" 
Yes!  Bon  Ami  does  make  quick  work  of 
bathtub  ''rings''  and  dirt.  But  what  makes 
it  really  different  from  ordinary  cleansers 
is  that  its  safe  as  well  as  speedy! 

You  see,  Bon  Ami  doesn't  depend  on 

"THEY'RE  MADE  TO  DO  DIFFERENT  JOBS!" 

For  quick,  everyday  cleaning  in  bathroom  and 
kitchen  —  use  Bon  Ami  Ponder.  For  windows,  mir- 
rors, painted  woodwork,  use  Bon  Ami  Cake.  They're 
both  indispensable! 


coarse,  scratchy  grit  for  its  quick  cleansing. 
Instead  of  marring  or  dulling  the  lustre  of 
fine  porcelain,  Bon  Ami  actually  polishes 
as  it  cleans  .  .  .  leaves  bathtubs  and  sinks 
smooth  and  sparkling. 

Use  Bon  Ami  Regularly!  Especially  to- 
day — when  it's  more  important  than  ever 
to  save  both  your  time  and  your  equipment. 


Bon  Ami 


♦^ 


vet/' 


Copr.  1944.  The  Bod  Ami  Co. 


^^ 


A  Fugue  in  Time 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


77 


(Continued  from  Page  75) 
Dead.  'If  I  am  found  reading  this,'  said 
Rolls,  'how  suitable  that  will  be!' 

Man  that  is  born  of  woman  hath  bid  a  short 
time  to  live.  .  .  .  He  cometh  up  and  is  cut 
doivn  like  a  flower.  He  fleeth  as  it  were  a 
shadoiv  and  never  continueth  in  one  stay. 

Rolls  was  not  a  poet,  but  he  knew  what  it 
feels  like  to  be  a  poet,  and  in  this  critical 
suspense — the  noise  outside  was  hideous — 
he  could  be  stirred  to  pleasure. 

In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death.  .  .  . 
Well,  that  was  commonly  known;  the  Mar- 
chesa.  Lark,  had  pointed  that  out  just  now; 
but  there  was  a  line  later  that  arrested  him, 
and  for  a  moment,  grimly.  'We  shall  be 
lost!  Lost.'  Lark's  cry  rang  in  his  ear.  The 
bitter  pangs  of  eternal  death,  read  Rolls;  and 
then  into  his  mind  came  the  thought  of 
Grizel. 

He  thought  how  much  he  liked  her  face 
with  its  clear  skin  and  straight  small  nose 
and  pretty  mouth,  the  direct  blue  eyes  and 
well-brushed  fine  brown  hair.  .  .  .  "We 
thought  it  was  going  to  end,  after  tonight. 
And  it  isn't.  It  is  going  to  live,"  said  Grizel. 
"Do  you  subscribe  to  that?"  asked  Rolls 
of  Pax.   .  .   .   "Yes,  I  do,"  said  Pax. 

Ashes  to  ashes  and 


the  gunfire  that  followed  it  seemed  to  crack 
in  his  ears,  and  there  was  a  deafening  shock 
and  the  house  shook  again,  the  glass  rattled 
loudly  and  Rolls  covered  his  eyes.  Then  came 
a  lull  and  he  could  hear  his  own  breathing. 
He  uncovered  his  eyes,  and  now  in  front  of 
him  he  could  see  a  glare  behind  the  roofs  and 
chimneys  opposite.  'Near,' said  Rolls.  'Ed- 
ward's Square,  I  should  think.  I  hope 
Proutie  is  all  right.' 

Ihere  is  something  that  no  one  knows  in 
the  house  except  Rolls  himself  and  Proutie. 
It  is  so  long  ago  that  Rolls  did  not  know  if 
Proutie  remembered  it,  but  Proutie  did 
remember.       *       *       *       * 

It  is  Rollo's  last  night  before  he  leaves  for 
India  and  Afghanistan,  with  old  Fitzgerald. 
He  is  miserable  and  sulky  and,  when  at  last 
the  interminable  evening  is  over  and  he  goes 
up  to  bed,  he  cannot  go  to  bed.  He  comes 
downstairs  again  and  flings  the  front  door 
open  and  stands  on  the  steps,  and  presently 
he  goes  outside  and  spends  an  hour  walking, 
walking,  up  and  down.  It  is  a  cold  night  and 
he  has  no  coat,  but  he  does  not  notice  that 
except  for  a  slight  extra  unconscious  misery 
that    comes     from 


ona 


dust  to  dust.  Rolls  read 
calmly.  He  was  calm 
now.  .  .  .  "Are  we 
dust  when  we  die?" 
asksRoly.  .  .  .  Rolls 
read  to  the  end  of 
the  service,  quite 
calm,  quite  undis- 
turbed. 

The  heading  on  the 
opposite  page  caught 
his  eye.  The  Thanks- 
giving— of  Women 
after  Childbirth.  He 
remembered  now  that 
one  followed  after 
the  other.  Children 
and  the  fruit  of  the 
womb  are  an  heritage 
and  a  gift.  .  .  . 
Like  as  arrows  in  the 
hand  of  a  giant,  even 
so  are  the  young  chil- 
dren   

'Arrows,'  thought 
Rolls,  and  he  went  to 
the  windows,  the 
French  doors,  and, 
holding  the  book  still 
carefully,  without  dis- 
turbing the  folds  of 
the  curtains,  slipped 
between  them  and 
the  glass  to  look  out. 
The  raid  was  draw- 
ing nearer;  the  sky 
was  not  dark,  but  ^^^^^^^^^^ 

radiant  with   moon-  ^^^^^^^^^^ 

light  and  the  crossed 

patterns  and  beams  of  searchlights,  moving, 
crossing,  fixing;  the  air  was  a  heavy  pan- 
demonium of  sound. 

Close  to  him  the  windows  shook  and  the 
floor  under  his  feet  shook,  too,  as  if  train 
after  train  were  running  underneath.  'But 
the  trains  are  stopped,'  thought  Rolls  help- 
lessly. He  was  frightened,  though  he  still 
possessed  that  undisturbed  deep  inner 
calm. 

Well,  I  have  shot  my  bolt  now,'  thought 
Rolls  as  the  noise  unfolded  itself  across  the 
sky  and  seemed  to  gather  and  thunder  over 
'his  head.  'I  am  ready.  I  was  born  almost 
eighty  years  ago.'  And  he  wondered  why  he 
had  been  afraid.  'Your  death  is  a  part  of 
lyour  life.'  Heads  and  tails  on  a  coin  that  you 
^in  every  day;  any  day;  not  only  this  day. 
'To  be  born  and  to  live  and  to  die  is  quite 
lUsual.   Perfectly  fair.' 

He  steadied  himself  by  the  window  and 
watched  the  searchlights  that  hid  the  stars 
jcompletely  by  their  near  brightness.  The 
whole  sky  and  the  city  were  fraught  with 
death  and  life. 

An  airplane  swooped  down  closer,  so  close 
that  it  sonneted  as  if  it  swooped  down  across 
the  garden.  Rolls  could  not  see  it,  only  hear, 
in  the  lit  darkness,  that  deafening  swoop; 


'cijond 


BY   LOUISE   OWEN 

Not  held  between  the  govers  of  a 

book 
Shall  be  my  truest  and  most  living 

verse: 
No  silver  pennies  in  a  silver  purse. 
Nor  rainbow  fish  upon  a  barbed 

hook. 
But  they  shall  run  on  free  and 

unbound  feet. 
Those  poems,  live  as  laughter,  free 

as  rain; 
The  ripple  of  the  wind  in  each 

refrain — 
The  richness  of  the  blood  in  every 

beat. 

Not  drawn  in  cool  and  lucid  black 
and  white. 

But  in  the  colors  of  the  very  heart; 

Of  sun;  and  open  flowers;  and  deep- 
sea  waters; 

Truer  than  words  can  say,  than  pen 
•  can  write, 

Are  these,  my  dearest  works  of 
more-than-art — 

Tall  sons  like  sonnets,  lovely  lyric 
daughters. 


being  chilled.  The 
fronts  of  the  houses 
are  bland  and  indif- 
ferent, all  with  dark 
windows,  and  an 
overmastering  desire 
comes  to  Rollo  to  see 
if  Her  window  is 
dark ;  if  She  can  sleep. 
He  goes  down  by  the 
area  steps  into  the 
garden. 

There  is  no  glsam 
of  light.  Rollo  goes 
back  into  the  Flace. 
'If  she  can  sleep, 
then  I  can  too' — but 
he  begins  to  walk  up 
and  down  again. 

Now    Lark,    Rollo 

supposes,    is    asleep. 

How  can  she  sleep? 

'I  have  avoided  her, 

of   course,   but  then 

she  also  has  avoided 

me.  We  have  avoided 

one  another,  but  how 

can  she  sleep?  Surely 

she  doesn't  mean  to 

end  it  there?  Surely, 

we  must  at  least  be 

going  to  say  good-by. 

We  haven't  arranged 

anything, 'cries  Rollo. 

'There  is  so  much  to 

arrange.'    His  guard 

^^^^^^^^^^         falls  down  and,  with  it, 

^^^^^^^^^^        his    prudence    and 

his  fears. '  Good  God !' 

says  Rollo.  'What  a  fool  I  have  been ! '    He 

comes  bounding  up  the  steps  just  in  time  to 

prevent    Proutie    from    bolting    the    door. 

Proutie  is  in  a  brown  dressing  gown. 

"Proutie!   Not  in  bed?" 

"I  had  a  feeling  about  the  door,"  says 

Proutie.  "I  thought  maybe  I  hadn't  put  the 

chain  up,  so  I  came  down  and  found  the 

door  wide  open." 

"I  did  that,  not  you,"  says  Rollo. 
"Proutie,  you  are  going  to  do  something 
for  me." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Rollo.  Anything." 
"Go  up  to  the  nursery  and  wake  Miss 
Lark.    Go  very  quietly  and  wake  her  and 
ask  her  to  come  down.  Tell  her  it  is  impor- 
tant and  urgent.  And  Proutie " 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"It  is  important  and  urgent,"  Rollo 
repeats. 

Proutie  goes  and  Rollo  waits  in  the  hall. 
The  candles  have  burned  down.  There  is 
only  one  left  on  the  stairs  and  it  burns  low, 
shedding  light  only  around  itself.  A  stair 
creaks,  but  it  is  not  Proutie  coming  down. 
What  an  age,  an  age  is  Proutie.  Rollo 
strains  and  cannot  hear  a  sound. 

He  walks  to  the  drawing-room  door;  back 
again;  close  to  the  clock;  he  looks  up  the 
stairs:  there  is  not  a  sound.  The  street  door 


"How  about  bridge  this  afternoon?"  I 
said  to  my  friend  Betsy,  deep  in  the  dish- 
pan  at  the  moment.  "Goodness,  Susan, 
I'm  too  busy,"  says  she,  "besides  I  look 
like  last  year's  dishrag.  Did  you  ever  see 
a  worse  case  of  dishpan  hands  ?  " 


"Never,"  said  I,  "and  no  wonder,  using 
that  strong  soap.  Why  don't  you  change 
to  Lux?"  "Because  I  stay  up  nights 
watching  pennies,  darling."  "I  bet  you 
don't  know  how  thrifty  Lux  is,"  said  I. 


So  we  made  a  bet.  She  kept  track  of  how 
long  her  soap  lasted — I  kept  track  of  Lux. 
Lux  won,  hands  down!  Ounce  for  ounce. 
Lux  does  up  to  twice  as  many  dishes  as 
ten  other  leading  soaps  tested  ! 


78 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


CoDyrlKht.  194S,  br 
Ourothy  Gmy,  Ltd. 


■-;>*»(  «»^  CV 


J.he  most  conscientious  dirt  and  make-up  remov- 
er .. .  ■wonderful,  super-softening  Dorothy  Gray 
Dry-Skin  Cleanser  !  Contains  the  very  finest  oils 
obtainable... helps  replace  soft  freshness  where 
there  was  a  dry,  drawn  look.  Jar,  $1,  plus  tax. 


ICREAM  683) 


FROM  THE 
FIFTH  AVENUE 


SALON  OF 


Q>, 


eiouttt  LAUui 


AND  AT  THE 

BEST    COSMETIC 

COUNTERS 


is  still  open  and  the  Place,  as  it  shows  be- 
yond its  arch,  pale,  lighted  by  the  lamps,  is 
imprinted  on  Rollo's  mind  forever.  Proutie 
comes  running  down  the  stairs. 

"Where  is  she?  Proutie,  won't  she 
come?" 

"Miss  Lark  is  not  in  her  room,"  says 
Proutie.  "Her  bed  hasn't  been  slept  in. 
There  is  a  note  for  Mr.  Pelham,  Mr.  RoUo. 
She  is  gone!"  ^       ^      ^      ^ 

"It  is  so  peaceful  to  talk  to  you  now,"  said 
the  Marchesa.  "  Those  questions  and  actions 
were  like  thorns  and  wounds  in  our  minds 
You  hurt  me,  so  I  hurt  you.  But  that  is  all 
over.  It  is  so  peaceful  to  talk  to  you  now,"  she 
repeats. 

"I  love  you.  Lark.  I  love  you.  How  much  I 
love  you.  Lark!" 

The  candles  are  burning  quietly  along  the 
walls;  they  shine  on  the  picture  frames,  on 
the  gilding  of  the  chairs  exactly  as  they  did 
before;  they  are  reflected  quietly  in  the  pol- 
ished piano  lid,  in  the  tables,  in  the  mirror; 
the  shepherdess  on  the  clock  is  still  dream- 
ing and  the  hands  of  the  clock  have  only  im- 
perceptibly moved. 

"Then?"  says  Lark  wonderingly.  "Then? 
And  now?" 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?"  Rolls  asks  her. 

"Of  us,  of  course." 

"How  we  shall  always  be  in  love?" 

"How  we  shall  always  be  in  love." 

"Even  when  we  are  old?" 

"Even  when  we  are  old." 

There  was  a  shock  of  impact  and  noise 
and  the  glass  of  the  window  was  blown  in, 
straight  in  Rolls'  face.  The  drawing-room 
wall  sagged  inward,  covering  him  as  he  fell. 
The  balcony  and  steps  rose  up  and  tore 
away  into  the  garden  in  an  uprising  of 
bricks  and  earth.  The  house  shuddered  to 
its  foundations.  The  bomb  had  fallen  on  the 
garden  wall  between  the  lines  of  houses.  The 


house  on  either  side  of  it  seemed  to  sway 
apart,  but  it  was  the  house  in  Wiltshire 
Crescent  that  fell,  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 
No.  99  still  stood.  ^ 

Presently  the  all-clear  sounded.  In  this 
hour  the  outside  sounds  had  lessened  and 
the  din  of  the  guns  died  down.  The  search- 
lights had  ceased  to  play  over  the  sky  and 
the  stars  showed.  The  garden  was  full  of 
rubble  and  broken  glass  and  dirt.  The  steps 
lay  at  an  angle.  The  creepers,  torn  loose, 
swayed  and  stirred.  There  was  a  dead 
silence. 

But  the  house  was  not  silent;  nor  was  it 
dead. 

"We  thought  it  was  going  to  end  tonight, 
but  it  isn't.   It  is  going  to  live." 
"They  eat  Larks  in  Italy." 
"Is  it  so  important  to  be  loved?" 
"I  should  prefer  it  to  be  my  own  thigh." 
"We  are  having  a  lovely  party." 
"A  lease  of  occupation." 
"When  did  you  grow  up  like  this?" 
"Why  not  be  truthful,  Grizel?" 
"Do  not  disturb  me.   I  don't  want  to  be 
disturbed." 

" as  your  sister.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Real  snow,  Grizel." 

"Heliotrope,  and  they  call  it  cherry  pie." 

And  the  house  continues  in  its  tickings, 
its  rustlings,  its  creakings;  the  ashes  will  fall 
in  its  grates,  its  doorbells  ring;  trains  will 
pass  under  it  and  their  sounds  vibrate;  foot- 
steps will  run  up  the  stairs,  along  passages; 
the  piano  will  be  played  and  books  taken 
down  from  the  shelf;  brushes  will  be  lifted 
up  and  laid  down  again  on  the  dressing 
table;  the  medicine  bottle  will  be  shaken 
and  flowers  arranged  in  a  vase;  children  will 
play  and  mice  will  run  in  the  wainscot  and 
the  family  will  set  traps  for  them. 

"In  me  you  exist,"  says  the  house. 

(THE  END) 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WIFE 

(Continued  from  Page  6) 


requirements.  Individuals  with  strong  char- 
acters can  solve  almost  any  domestic  prob- 
lem, even  under  the  most  abnormal  condi- 
tions. But  in  statistics  it  is  different.  They 
show  that  marital  fidelity  depends  on  the 
continual  cohabitation  of  husband  and  wife. 
It  is  recognized  in  the  divorce  laws  of  most 
states,  which  will  dissolve  a  marriage  in  case 
of  prolonged  desertion. 

So  there  is  no  blinking  the  fact  that  a  seri- 
ous result  of  war  is  to  put  the  family  off  its 
axis.  This  is  one  of  the  terrible  costs  we  pay 
for  war;  and  individually,  it  belongs  to  the 
risks  of  war.  And  about  all  that  can  be  done 
about  it  now  is  to  prepare  the  minds  of  our 
young  women  for  what  they  are  up  against 
in  war  marriages.  Certainly  no  one  can  give 
advice  in  so  private  a  matter  to  any  individ- 
ual ;  but  the  young  woman  who  knows  what 
she  is  up  against,  faces  it  clearly,  and  asks 
herself  whether  she  has  the  character  to 
carry  through  her  marriage  vows  even  under 
such  abnormal  conditions,  is  certainly  better 
fortified  than  the  lighthearted  girl  who 
doesn't  think  before  she  leaps. 

But  one  day  the  war  will  be  over,  and  our 
men  will  be  back,  and  the  question  then  will 
be  of  readaptation  and  re-education  of  de- 
concentrated  people.  For  marriage  is  a 
concentration — of  two  people  on  each  other 
and  on  their  children.  Again,  in  thousands  of 
cases,  marriages  will  be  resumed  with  an  en- 
hanced appreciation  and  an  enhanced  con- 
centration. But  for  the  majority  a  habit  will 
have  to  be  formed,  after  the  normal  time  for 
fixing  it  has  been  passed.  It  will  be  a  miracle 
if  we  can  avoid  the  kind  of  libertinism  and 
excess  that  followed  the  last  war,  not  only 
here  but  everywhere. 

And  here  again  it  will  be  wise  to  foresee 
the  situation.  Last  time  we  were  not  pre- 
pared for  it.  This  time  we  can  at  least  antici- 
pate it. 

The  psychoanalysts  have  correctly  dis- 
covered that  nothing  can  be  overcome  in  the 


personality  until  it  has  been  made  conscious. 
Every  person  has  a  desire  for  happiness. 
The  psychotic  personality  follows  his  in- 
stincts blindly,  grasps  after  every  passing 
whim  that  promises  some  moment  of  happi- 
ness, and  ends  up  with  a  wrecked  life.  The 
healthy  personality  directs  his  life  to  a  goal, 
and  selects  those  experiences  which  reason 
tells  him — or  her — will  bring  it  nearer.  One 
great  love  in  any  person's  life,  even  if  it  is 
accompanied  by  pain  and  hardships,  is  worth 
a  dozen  or  more  fleeting  relationships.  And 
this  simple  truth  must  be  explained  over  and 
over  to  the  inexperienced  young,  by  their 
parents,  by  their  teachers,  and  even  by  radio 
commentators  and  journalists. 

The  young  wife  must  understand,  in  ad- 
vance, that  her  returning  husband  may  be 
nervous,  irritable,  restless  and  "lost."  If  she 
anticipates  this,  she  can  help  him.  If  she 
waits  until  it  happens,  she  will  probably 
blow  up.  She  must  know  that  if  in  his  ab- 
sence her  own  life  has  been  as  unsteady  and 
adventurous  as  war  is,  in  its  very  nature, 
there  is  no  hope  for  the  future  of  her  mar- 
riage when  he  returns.  For  in  every  fam- 
ily somebody  has  to  be  a  steadying  influ- 
ence, and  in  the  war  marriage  it  must  be  the 
wife. 

The  young  war  wife  is  invested  with  a 
social  dignity  and  a  public  mission,  if  she 
cares  to  assume  it:  namely,  to  be  a  supporter 
and  preserver  of  American  civilization.  She 
must  live  for  what  her  man  is  fighting  for, 
and  not  betray  him,  his  cause,  her  country 
and  herself.  He  endures  terrible  hardships 
and  undergoes  unaccustomed  disciplines 
for  his  country.  She  can  share  his  endur- 
ance and  his  disciplines.  The  young  woman 
who  sees  herself  as  part  of  a  community, 
with  a  duty  toward  it  and  a  standard  to 
uphold  in  its  behalf,  will  find  it  easier,  much 
easier,  to  meet  her  problems,  for  she  can  to 
some  extent  depersonalize  and  sublimate 
them. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOUR.NAL 


79 


CHEST  COLD  MISERY 

RELIEVED  BY 

MOIST  HEAT  OF 


SIMPLE 
CHEST  COLO 
SORE  THROAT 
BRONCHIAL 

IRRITATION 
SIMPLE 

SPRAIN,  BRUISE 
SORE  MUSCLES 
CHARLEY  HORSE 


The  moist  heat  of  an 
ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  relieves 
cough,  tightness  of 
chest  muscle  sore- 
ness due  to  chest 
cold,  bronchial  irri- 
tation and  simple 
sore  throat. 


Apply  that  ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  just  hot  enough  to  be 
comfortable — then  feel  the  moist 
heat  go  right  to  work  on  that 
cough,  tightness  of  chest  muscle 
soreness.  Does  good,  feels  good 
for  several  hours. 
The  moist  heat  of  an  ANTIPHLO- 
GISTINE poultice  also  relieves 
pain  .  .  .  reduces  swelling,  limbers 
up  stiff  aching  muscles  due  to 
a  simple  sprain,  bruise,  charley 
horse,  similar  injury  or  condition. 

Get  ANTIPHLOGISTINE  (Aunty 
Flo)  in  tube  or  can  at  any  drug 
store  NOW. 

Antipklogistine 

jckage  with  the  Or 


The  White  Package  with  the  Orange  Band 


Jistioe 


Onsigfit/yHlMiO^T 

FACE . . .  LIPS . . .  ARMS . . .  LEGS 


beat'3funiiu!e«ec.veea;yway 
...pamless..nexpens>ve^\°^i„FREE 

Hair  Problem    »"Vc   i  aNZETTE 


High  School  Course 

at  Home 


f  Finish  in  2  Years 

Go  as  rapidly  as  your  time  and  abilities  permit.  Equivalent  to  resi- 
dent school  work  — prepares  for  entrance  to  college.  Standard  H.S. 
ts  supplied.  Diploma  awarded.  Credit  for  H.S.  subjects  already 
npleled.  Single  subjects  if  desired.  Free  Bulletin  on  request. 
I  American  School,  Dpt.  H224.  Drexel  at  58th,  Chicago  37 


YES,  you  can  get  relief  instantly!  Grateful 
thousands  know  how  Blue-Jay  Corn  Plas- 
ters at  once  end  torturing  shoe  pressure — 
how  the  soft  dura-felt  pad  gives  surer  pro- 
tection than  less  efficient  ways — won't 
skid,  won't  rub  off.  They  know,  too,  how 
Blue-Jay's  gentle  medication  acts  to  loos- 
en the  corn's  hard 
"core" — you  simply 
lift  it  out. 

SO,  why  suffer?  Try 
Blue- Jay  today.  Buy 
it  at  drug  or  toilet 
goods  counters.  Don't 
accept  a  substitute. 
A  Product  of 


BAUER  &  BLACK 


BLUE 

JAY 

Corn  Plasters 


Diviiion  of  The  Kendall  Company 


Chicago  16 


PRESCRIPTION  FOR 
A  FURLOIGH 

(Continued  from  Page  21) 

cupped  her  face  in  his  hands  and  looked  at 
her. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "you're  burning  up. 
Have  you  got  a  fever  too?" 

Nora  laughed  and  kissed  him  again.  "I 
have  a  fever  for  you,"  she  said.  "It's  been 
coming  on  for  a  year  and  a  half."  But  a 
moment  later  she  looked  at  the  fire  and 
shook  her  head.  "You  may  be  right,"  she 
said.  "The  andirons  are  beginning  to  jitter- 
bug." 

The  thermometer  showed  an  unmistakable 
hundred  and  three  degrees,  and  Nora,  al- 
ternately weeping  and  cursing  fate,  un- 
dressed and  found  the  telltale  watery  pocks 
on  her  shoulder. 

"At  my  age!  It  might  at  least  have  been 
something  dignified,  like  a  broken  arm.  On 
this  day  of  all  days  in  my  life — chicken  pox." 

So  here  he  was — just  as  he  had  been  every 
night  for  the  past  year  and  a  half — sitting  in 
bed,  smoking  his  pipe,  thinking  about  his 
family.  The  only  difference  between  then 
and  now  was  the  difference  between  the 
cramped  officers'  quarters  on  the  Anthony 
Paule  and  the  spacious  guest  room  at  home. 
For  all  practical  purposes,  Ted  thought,  that 
was  no  difference  at  all. 

That  had  been  Monday,  and  in  the  week 
that  followed  Ted  found  the  grim  realities  of 
war  supplanted  by  the  grim  monotonies  of 
home.  As  chief  medical  officer  on  the  hospi- 
tal ship,  he  had  moved  surely  and  swiftly 
through  one  emergency  case  after  another. 
As  chief  nurse  and  errand  boy  at  home,  he 


REAL  JOY 

Such   happiness   I've   never  known, 
Today  has  been  Red  Letter: 

A  friend   showed   me    her   new    fall 
hat 
And  I  liked  niy  own  much  better. 

— EVELYNE  LOVE  COOPER:  Quoted  in 

The  Speaker's  Desk  Book.    Edited  by 

Martha  Lupton.  (Moxwell  Droke,  Publisher.) 


seemed  to  be  bogged  down  with  two  light 
cases  of  chicken  pox. 

Nora  ran  high  temperatures,  had  only 
isolated  spots,  felt  rotten  and  asked  for 
nothing.  Dick  had  practically  no  tempera- 
ture at  all,  blossomed  with  a  nasty,  ubiqui- 
tous rash,  felt  fine  and  demanded  every- 
thing. For  him  Ted  fetched  and  carried 
every  five  minutes:  a  glass  of  ginger  ale,  a 
wood-burning  set,  a  building  set,  a  glass  of 
ginger  ale,  plastic  clay,  toy  soldiers,  a  color- 
ing book  and  another  glass  of  ginger  ale. 
Dick  more  than  welcomed  his  father's 
stories  now,  and  Ted  gained  some  satisfac- 
tion from  the  thought  that,  as  in  the  old 
days,  his  son  valued  his  originals  more 
highly  than  the  classics  prescribed  by  the 
mothers'  club. 

On  Wednesday  night  he  got  Dick  ready 
for  bed  and  was  about  to  swing  him  in  when 
the  little  boy  clutched  his  arm.  "I  haven't 
said  my  prayers.  I  know  the  grown-up  one 
now." 

"Do  you?  What's  that?" 

"You  get  down  on  your  knees,  you  know. 
It's  more  rerevant." 

"Reverent,  Dick." 

"That's  what  I  said."  He  flopped  down, 
carefully  fitted  his  palms  together  and  be- 
gan: "'Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven.'" 
He  paused  and  Ted  was  about  to  prompt 
him  when  he  went  on,  his  head  still  bowed: 
"Daddy,  I  didn't  think  about  you  much 
when  you  were  gone." 

"Didn't  you?" 

"No.  'Hallowed  be  Thy  name.  Thy  king- 
dom come.'  You  know  why?" 

"No,  tell  me." 

"Because"— Dick  pressed  his  face  into 
the  bed— "when  I  thought  about  you  I 
missed  you  so  much,  so  I  tried  not  to.  'Thy 
will  be  done,  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven.' 
And  I  hope  you  didn't  think  much  about  me 
either,  so  you  wouldn't  miss  me  so  much. 
'Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,  and  for- 


Be     Lovely     to     Love 


You'll  never  worry  about  staying 
sweet  and  dainty  if  you  use 

Fresh 


the  cream  deodorant  that  stops 
perspiration  worries  completely, 
It's  gentle,  stays  creamy  and 
smooth  .  .  .50^,  25^,  10^ 


80 


LADIES"  HOME  JOURNAL 


Fehruar\,  191,1 


4 ^ 


111  Drcainfloner   JVatural 

The  growing  vogue  for  rosr-lintcil  powders  finds  ;i  lovely  sponsor 
in  Lady  Staiilev  of  Alderlev. 

She  chooses  the  soft,  soft  rose  of  Dreamflower  "Natural'  to 
give  her  fragile  blonde  corni)lexion  the  clear,  fresh  translucent 
look  so  perfect  for  her  coloring.  "Il's  the  softest,  most  flattering 
'natural'  I've  found — exquisite  shell-pink,  with  just  a  touch  ot 
cream,"  she  says.  "And  Dreamflower  texture  is  so  fine  and  clinging!" 

If  your  skin  is  blonde,  try  Lady  Stanley's  delicate,  rose-tinted 
favorite — Pond's  Dreamflower  "Natural."  You'll  love  the  hea\- 
enly  way  the  color  blends  with  your  skin  . .  .  gives  it  the  petal-solt 
appeal  of  a  sweetheart  rose! 

Nen  PoiMl»"LIFS"sIiaaeI  A  4^.  %ii' »^\\  P"..a8  Dreamflcmer  Powder 

,  ■     -^     Xv\^"^  ^^^\  NATURAL— soft  sliMl-pink 

A'':s'\'ii\VS0^''  ■     '  ?\  %t''-  KACIIEL— rreamy  ivory 

......  J^.j  KOSK  CRKAM— delicale  [M-arh 

^    '       ^  BKCNETIE— rosy  iK-ige 

^■^^J}/  "AKK   KACHEL— rich,  goldrn 

40e,  2.'>t,  10c  (plu!<  lax) 


Now — ux  breatli-takiiij; 
shades.  Trv  liriphi  new 
liEAV  BAIT— rich, 
round  crimson-red  I 


.^^ 


49t.  10* 
(plus  lax) 


give  US  our  trespasses  .  .  .'"  He  finished 
the  prayer,  and  it  gave  Ted  time  to  swallow- 
hard  before  he  picked  him  up,  whacked  him 
on  the  bottom,  kissed  the  back  of  his  neck 
and  tucked  him  in. 

Nevertheless,  whenever  Ted  and  Nora 
were  together,  Dick  continued  to  show  his 
curious  resentment.  Alone  with  either  of 
them,  he  was  sweet  and  at  ease,  but  with 
both  of  them  together  he  was  querulous  and 
jittery. 

Jendy's  before-school  and  after-hockey 
services  were  indispensable.  Cheerfully  she 
tidied  the  whole  house,  prepared  dinner  and 
attacked  the  day's  accumulation  of  dishes. 
Fortunately.  Mrs.  Garwood  did  the  market- 
ing for  them  now,  but  it  was  Ted  who 
struggled  with  the  short  orders  that  passed 
for  lunch.  As  he  went  about  the  house  he 
lined  up  several  postwar  projects.  He  would 
get  rid  of  that  capricious,  ornery  bucket-a- 
day  hot-water  fire  and  replace  it  with  an 
automatic  gas  heater,  trade  in  the  refrigera- 
tor for  a  new  one  with  at  least  five  more 
cubic  feet  and  a  filing  system,  get  an  electric 
juicer,  install  a  laundry  chute,  and  extra 
telephones  all  over  the  house — and  while  he 
was  at  it,  build  an  escalator. 

At  night  he  stood  by  with  a  towel  while 
Jendy  washed  the  dishes.  She  knew  his  low 
taste  in  songs  and  gleefully  taught  him  all 
the  words  to  Frankie  and  Johnny. 

He  loved  to  look  at  Jendy.  She  didn't  yet 
have  the  breath-taking  quality  of  Nora's 
beauty,  but  she  was  handsome,  and  she 
carried  her  height  with  no  apology,  as 
straight  as  an  exclamation  point.  Her  self- 
consciousness  about  her  braces  was  rather 
painful.  When  her  hand  flew  up  to  cover  her 
mouth,  several  times  he  resisted  the  impulse 
to  say  sharply,  "Don't  do  that ! "  But  Jendy 
was  good  fun,  and  he  en- 
joyed the  evenings  in  the       

kitchen  with  her. 

She  came  home  jubilant 
on  Thursday.  Ted  caught 
the  shining  announcement 
in  her  eyes  that  something 
special  had  happened.  He 
did  not  probe,  but  waited, 
and  he  smiled  at  the  speed 
and  ease  with  which  she 

speared    the    roast    from       

the  oven. 

After  dinner,  when  they  were  working  to- 
gether, he  asked  her,  "How  did  things  go 
today?" 

"  Pretty  good.    I  had  a  good  day,  today." 

"Something  nice  happen?" 

"Uh-huh,  two  things.  Liza"— the  keen 
hockey  coach  —"told  me  Fm  to  start  at  left 
wing  against  lirinton  tomorrow." 

"That's  wonderful."  Ted  was  really 
proud.  "So  that's  why  you're  so  happy?" 

Jendy  emptied  the  dishpan  and  vigorously 
scrubbed  the  sink.  She  looked  out  the 
kitchen  window  when  she  answered.  "That's 
what  I  have  wanted  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world." 

"Golly,"  said  Ted.  He  remembered  two 
weary  winters  of  bench  sitting  before  he  had 
finally  made  his  high-school  basketball 
team.  "What  was  the  other  thing?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  really,  except  that  I 
was  elected  chairman  of  the  B  Bounce." 

"The  B  Bounce?" 

Sure.  That's  our  name  for  the  class 
dance.  You  see,  everyone  was  tired  of  calling 
it  the  Junior  Prom.  At  school  they  letter  the 
classes  instead  of  numbering  them.  Ours  is 
the  B  class,  so  we  decided  to  call  it  the 
B  Bounce.   Isn't  that  neat?" 

Ted  laughed.  "Being  chairman  of  the 
dance  committee— that's  quite  an  honor,  but 
more  of  a  responsibility,  eh?  When  is  this 
dance?" 

"Two  weeks  from  tomorrow.  We're  going 
to  have  a  five-piece  orchestra,  the  Regal  Es- 
quires. There  are  lots  of  things  to  do  — 
tickets,  publicity,  refreshments,  decorations 
and  stuff.  But  as  far  as  the  honor  goes,  the 
girls  simply  slipped  one  over  on  the  boys. 
You  see,  I  was  the  only  girl  nominated,  and 
the  other  girls  made  sure  there  were  three 
boys  up  for  it,  so  the  boys  would  split  their 
vote.  The  girls  were  solid  for  me,  so  that's 
how  it  happened." 


"The  League  of  Women  Voters,  hey? 
Well,  you  and  mother  will  have  to  go  to 
town  on  Saturday  and  pick  out  a  new  eve- 
ning dress.  Something  slinky  and  strap- 
less?" 

"No,"  said  Jendy,  "not  for  me." 

"Why  not?" 

She  walked  over  to  the  closet  and  took  off 
her  apron,  her  back  toward  him.  "I  prob- 
ably won't  be  invited,"  she  said.  She  turned, 
her  face  flushed,  and  her  hand  stole  up  to 
shield  her  teeth  as  she  tried  to  smile. 

Ted  walked  over  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"What  is  it,  baby;  do  those  braces  get  in 
your  way?" 


"I 


4  MIIITESV 

^k  (loiirlfsy  is  lli<-  <|uulit> 
^  lliul  k«'«-|>H  a  woman  smil- 
ing wlifii  a  <l<-|>arliim  iiiiK'sl 
.stanii.s  al  llioopni  screen  aixi 
It-Is  (he  flies  in. 

—  ANON:   Quoted    In  The   Speaker's   Desk 

Book.    Edited  by  Martho  Lupton. 

(Moxwell  Droke,  Publisher.) 


Ihat  did  it.     She  wept  like  a  child, 
hate  them,  oh,  I  hate  them  so." 

"Jendy,  punkin,  let's  get  rid  of  them.  Fll 
talk  to  Doctor  Snyder  and  see  if  you  aren't 
ready  for  removable  ones  you  could  wear 
just  at  night." 

"Mother  asked  him  about  it.   He  said  he 
could  do  it  only  it  would  be  expensive.   But 
I   keep  thinking  about  that  crack  in  the 
knock-and-compliment  book." 
"What  was  that?" 

"Buddy  Weaver — he  comes  to  about  my 
shoulder — wrote  that  I  was  a  chicken-wired 
bean  pole." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Ted.  "To  my  rov- 
ing eye  you're  better  than  Rita  Hayworth, 
but  I  suppose  you  care  more  about  the 
opinion  of  some  illiterate  fullback  than  that 
of  your  aged  father.  All  right,  punkin,  we'll 
change  those  braces  if  it  costs  a  hundred, 
and  we'll  send  you  to  that  dance  looking  like 
a  million.  We'll  splurge  on  a  dress  that'll 
knock  their  eyes  out — the  blind  buffoons!" 
Nora  was  on  her  feet  again  by  Friday,  a 
little  wobbly  but  strong  enough  to  resume 
control    of    the    kitchen. 

Dicky    was    allowed   the 

run  of  the  house  and  spent 
some  time  at  his  work- 
bench making  an  airplane 
that  turned  out  to  be  a 
raft.  At  four  o'clock  Ted' 
took  them  in  the  car  to 
the  end  of  the  hockey 
field,  where  they  watched 
the  last  half  of  the  game. 

Leaving  them  in  the  car, 

he  went  up  to  the  players' 
bench  at  midfield  and  learned  that  Brook- 
ford  was  well  out  in  front  with  a  three- 
point  lead.  Time  after  time  he  saw  Jendy 
streak  down  the  side  lines  to  break  up 
play,  then  turn  and  skillfully  take  the  ball 
back  toward  the  Brinton  goal.  Seeing  her 
natural  grace  and  confidence  on  the  field,  he 
became  more  than  ever  determined  that  she 
should  hold  her  own  on  the  dance  floor. 

After  the  game  he  met  Liza,  tall,  fine^ 
looking.  She  pumped  his  hand  with  rea 
pleasure.  "Fm  thrilled  with  the  way  Jend^ 
plays,"  she  told  him.  "I  don't  dare  let  he 
know  how  good  she  really  is.  She's  a  granc 
girl.  Doctor  Coleman." 

With  all  four  of  them  again  at  the  tabl 
that  night,  dinner  was  a  celebration.  And  ii 
the  next  week  the  shadow  of  his  dream  o 
home  became  form  and  substance.  For  Did 
he  made  a  bow"  and  six  arrows  and  taugh 
him  how  to  shoot  them.  With  a  piece  of  left 
over  linoleum  and  a  couple  of  small  block? 
he  made  a  quiver;  from  Jendy's  discardet 
hockey  stick  he  fashioned  a  stalwart  sword 
Armed  with  these  weapons,  Dick,  stil 
property-bound,  strutted  around  the  gardei 
looking  behind  every  bush  for  the  Sheriff  o 
Nottingham. 

With  the  aid  of  a  miracle  lotion  that  Tet 
had  had  prepared  at  the  drugstore,  Nora' 
spots  were  vanquished,  and  by  the  end  o 
the  week  she  was  lovely  again,  her  skin  cleai 
a  little  pale,  luminous.  They  had  the  Noi 
tons  and  the  Wilsons  for  dinner  on  Thursda 
night  and  went  to  two  parties  on  the  wee 
end.  One  of  these  was  given  in  Ted's  hone 
by  Bob  Gibbs,  his  former  chief  at  the  mc 
ternity  hospital,  a  bachelor  who  prided  hin 
self  on  his  lobster  dinners. 

"I've  been  wondering  when  you  were  con" 
ing  down  to  see  us  at  the  hospital,"  said  Bol: 
"I  should  think  you'd  be  afraid  of  gettin 
rusty.  Drop  in  next  week  and  perhaps  w 
can  arrange  triplets  for  you." 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


81 


.'n|.j  I'm  not  living 


Many  things  seem  to  have  been 
more  cumbersome  in  the  days 
of  our  grandmothers — and  even 
in  the  time  of  some  of  our 
mothers.  Women's  shoes  were 
usually  heavier,  their  clothes 
were  bulkier  and  there  were  more  sup- 
ports, harnesses  and  contraptions  than 
in  1945  .  .  .  We  feel  credit  should  go  to 
Tampax  for  its  share  in  the  streamlining 
of  its  millions  of  users  on  "those  days  of 
the  month"  because  this  form  of  month- 
ly protection  discards  the  belts,  pins 
j  and  external  pads  completely. 
Perfected  by  a  doctor  to  be  worn 
\  internally — that  really  explains 
I  Tampax  ...  It  is  modern,  hygi- 
enic, comfortable.  Made  of  pure 
surgical  cotton,  it  absorbs  internally. 
One-time-use  applicators  make  insertion 
quick  and  dainty.  No  chafing,  no  odor. 
Easy  disposal.  Cannot  bulge  or  make  a 
line  under  slacks  or  .dresses.  May  be  worn 
in  shower  or  tub  or  while  in  swimming. 
Tampax  comes  in  3  absorbencies  for 
varying  individual  needs — Regular, 
Super,  Junior.  A  whole  month's  supply 
will  go  into  your  purse.  Economy  box 
contains  4  months'  supply  (average). 
Ask  at  drug  stores,  notion  counters.  Tam- 
pax Incorporated,  Palmer,  Mass. 


NO  BELTS 
NO  PINS 
NO  PADS 
NO  odor' 


3  Absorbencies 

REGULAR 
SUPER       JUNIOR 


..tOMiPHaiti^ 


»-  Guaranteed  by  ■'■' 
Good  Housekeeping 


Accepted  for  Adver- 
tising by  the  Jou  ma  I 
of  the  American 
Medical  Association 


'AMPAX  INCORPORATED  LHJ-2S-H 

'aimer,  Mass. 

Please  send  me  in  plain  wrapper  a  trial  package  of 
Tampax.  1  enclose  \0i  (stamps  or  silver)  to  cover  cost 
>f  mailing.  Size  is  checked  below. 


)  REGULAR 


(      )  SUPER 


(      )  JUNIOR 


}ame_ 


^ 


Idress. 


•ity_ 


.State. 


"O.K.,"  said  Ted.  "I'll  show  you  I  can 
still  give  pointers  to  the  rest  of  you  storks." 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  these  men  again,  to 
hear  the  talk  of  birth  and  not  of  death. 

Doctor  Snyder  promised  to  make  a  new 
brace  for  Jendy  and  removed  the  old  one. 
Nora  and  a  beaming  Jendy  went  shopping 
and  came  home  with  a  dress.  It  was  a  deep, 
geranium  red,  perfectly  plain,  full-skirted, 
with  a  square  neck.  Jendy  modeled  it  for 
Ted,  and  her  face  was  shining  when  he 
looked  at  it  critically  and  then  remarked : 

"Looks  exactly  right  to  the  old  man." 

"Isn't  it  perfect  for  her?"  asked  Nora. 
"Oh,  Jendy,  can  I  borrow  it  once  in  a 
while?" 

There  was  only  one  thing  needed — a  date 
for  the  dance.  The  days  passed  and  Jendy 
talked  less  and  less  about  the  tickets  and  the 
refreshments  and  her  correspondence  with 
the  Regal  Esquires. 

Nora  was  worried.  "Ted,  I  think  my 
heart  will  break  in  two  pieces  if  she  has  to 
stay  home.  After  all  the  work  she's  done  and 
that  beautiful  new  dress  to  wear." 

Ted,  too,  felt  a  deep  and  impotent  anger 
in  himself.  His  words  were  calmer  than  his 
tone.  "You  wait;  she's  the  kind  of  girl 
they'll  stand  in  line  for  four  years  from 
now." 

Nora  answered  practically,  "Small  com- 
fort when  this  dance  is  four  days  away." 

But  after  dinner  that  night  the  telephone 
rang,  and  Jendy  answered.  They  heard  her 
say,  "I'd  love  to  go  with  you.  Buddy,"  and 
they  each  silently  shook  hands  with  them- 
selves like  winning  prize  fighters,  across  the 
living  room.  They  hastily  composed  their 
faces  before  Jendy  came  back.  "Well,"  she 
said,  "that's  that." 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  have  any  trouble," 
said  Ted.  "Who  is  Buddy?" 

"Buddy  Weaver.  He's  very  popular,  I 
guess." 

"Isn't  he  the  boy  who  wrote  them  senti- 
ments?" 

"Yes.  But  he's  all  right." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Ted.  "He's  an  ad- 
mission ticket,  and  once  there  you'll  be  the 
belle  of  the  bounce." 

Ihe  next  morning  Ted  went  in  town  to  his 
old  hospital  and  found  Bob  Gibbs  looking 
fagged  and  harassed.  "I've  been  up  all 
night,  Ted,"  he  said.  "We've  had  twenty- 
two  babies  in  this  hospital  in  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  they  phoned  from  emergency' 
that  a  new  case  has  just  been  admitted  to 
the  wards.  Wouldn't  like  to  have  a  busman's 
holiday,  would  you?" 

"Sure,"  said  Ted.  And  he  did. 

At  noon,  when  the  new  baby  boy,  weigh- 
ing in  at  eight  pounds,  ten  ounces,  had  been 
safely  and  uneventfully  checked  into  the 
nursery,  Ted  and  Bob  went  across  the  street 
for  lunch. 

"This  is  the  stuff,"  said  Ted.  "When  all 
your  work  on  the  ship  has  been  repairing, 
you  get  a  bang  out  of  starting  in  a  new 
human  being,  perfect,  free  from  any  sort  of 
injury." 

They  were  lingering  over  their  coffee  when 
Ted  saw  the  tall,  red-haired,  blue-eyed 
ensign  moving  toward  their  table.  He  recog- 
nized him  immediately. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Tony." 

' '  Hello,  commander.  Didn't  know  whether 
you'd  remember  me,  sir." 

Ted  was  pleased  to  feel  nothing  missing  in 
the  firmness  of  the  boy's  handshake.  "This 
is  Doctor  Gibbs,  Tony.  Bob,  this  is  Ensign 
Sanders.  Tony  picked  up  the  Navy  Cross 
and  a  compound  fracture  of  the  right  arm  off 
Kwajalein." 

"Doctor  Coleman  fix  you  up  all  right?" 
Bob  asked. 

"Certainly  did,  sir."  He  smiled  at  Ted. 
"When  I  got  to  the  medical  center,  thtN 
couldn't  say  enough  for  the  job  you  had 
done.  I've  been  at  the  convalescent  center 
here  and  came  in  this  morning  to  face  the 
board.  They  gave  me  a  clear  bill  for  full 
duty." 

"Congratulations,"  said  Ted.  "How 
about  coming  out  to  Brookford  and  having 
dinner  with  us  tonight?" 

"Gosh,  there's  nothing  I'd  rather  do,  sir, 
but  I  can't  make  it  tonight." 


82 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


"How  about  Friday  at  seven?" 
"Fine.  Thank  you,  sir." 

And  so  when  Ted  suggested  to  Jendy  at 
breakfast  on  Friday  that  she  dress  for  the 
dance  before  dinner  instead  of  after,  she 
made  no  protest.  As  for  Dick,  he  was  agog 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  a  real  Navy  flier. 

Nora  was  a  httle  nettled.  "After  all,  Dick, 
he's  only  an  ensign,  and  daddy  is  a  lieutenant 
commander." 

"You  mean  he  has  to  do  whatever  daddy 
says?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ted.  "When  I  tell  him  to 
take  a  nap,  he  has  to  do  it." 

"Even  if  he  wants  to  sit  up  and  play?" 

"That's  right." 

"Well,  maybe,"  said  Dick.  "But  you 
can't  fly  a  Hellcat." 

"O.K."  Ted  laughed.  "He  can  be  your 
hero  tonight.  Tomorrow  is  my  turn." 

When  the  doorbell  rang  at  seven,  Dick  ran 
to  the  door  and  opened  it.  then  stood  at 
rigid  attention,  his  right  hand  grooving  his 
forehead  in  a  violent  salute. 

"At  ease,  bos'n,"  said  Tony.  "Why  don't 
you  pipe  me  over  the  side?  "  Then,  when  he 
saw  the  boy's  delighted  grin  he  went  on 
gravely,  "May  I  assist  you  topside,  sir?" 
He  picked  him  up  and  swung  him  high  above 
his  head.  "Golly,  you're  even  heavier  than 
my  kid  brother."  He  put  him  down  and 
saluted  Ted  smartly.  "Good  evening,  com- 
mander.   Ensign  Sanders  reporting." 

"Hello,  Tony.  It's  good  to  have  you 
here."  Ted  looked  around  for  Nora  and 
Jendy.  "  I  guess  the  girls  are  upstairs.  This 
is  a  big  night  for  my  daughter.  She's  going 
to  a  dance  at  the  high  school.  Would  you 
like  a  cold  drink,  ensign?" 

"I'll  keep  you  company,"  said  Tony  as 
they  moved  into  the  living  room. 

Ten  minutes  passed  before  Nora  came 
down.  She  was  mad,  fighting  mad,  and  Ted 
recognized  the  signs — her  lips  tight  to- 
gether, her  blue  eyes  snapping.  She  greeted 


Tony  distractedly  and  murmured  something 
about  dinner  having  to  be  a  little  late. 

"  Is  something  wrong  with  the  new  dress?" 
Ted  asked.  « 

"Jendy's  crying,"  said  Dick. 

Nora  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Now, 
Dicky,  we'll  just  keep  quiet  about  that." 

"She's  crying  because  that  Buddy  boy 
told  everyone  the  teacher  was  making  him 
take  her  to  the  dance  because  she'd  done  so 
much  work." 

"Dick,  be  still,  you  hear  me?" 

"You  know  it's  true.  I  heard  her  telling 
you  all  about  it." 

"Well,  now  we  know.  I  persuaded  her  to 
go  anyway.  I  told  her  she'd  have  a  good 
time  in  spite  of  the  wretched  boy." 

Jendy  came  down  slowly,  her  head  high, 
almost  regal  in  the  geranium  dress,  and 
when  she  smiled  at  Tony,  Ted  walked  over 
and  proudly  took  her  arm. 

Tony  dropped  his  gay  and  carefree  man- 
ner; throughout  dinner  he  seemed  thought- 
ful and  not  quite  so  young  himself.  When 
Nora  mentioned  that  Jendy  planned  to  go  to 
Mount  Hoi  yoke,  he  became  animated  and 
boyish  again. 

"That's  swell!"  he  said.  "I  had  a  year  at 
Amherst.  Used  to  go  skating  at  Mount 
Hoi  yoke  sometimes.  There's  a  place  between 
Mount  Hoi  yoke  and  Amherst  where  we'd 
take  our  dates  and  dance,  called  The  Notch, 
sort  of  a  juke-box  place,  wonderful  ham- 
burgers. When  this  thing  is  over,  I'm  going 
back  there  and  finish  college.  I'm  really 
homesick  for  those  hills." 

"I  guess  it'll  be  about  two  years  before 
Jendy  gets  there,"  said  Ted. 

"I'll  be  there,"  said  Tony.  "Tell  you 
what,  Jen" — no  one  had  ever  called  her 
that — "let's  make  a  date  for  the  Junior 
Prom  in  1947.   O.K.?" 

"O.K."  Jendy  laughed  and  looked  at  her 
plate,  but  Nora  looked  at  Tony  as  if  she 
wanted  to  kiss  him. 

(Contitiued  on  Page  84) 


•   •••••••••••••••••••• 


/4^  ;4*ttf  7Va^K€ut 

RV  M.\itrEi.EXR  ro.x 


1IKE  banyan  trees,  many  parents  want 
J  to  keep  their  young  always  attached, 
denying  them  the  glorious  privilege  of  put- 
ting down  shoots  by  themselves. 

A  child  can  never  be  better  than  what  his 
parents  think  of  him. 

Portrait:  Wac  doing  her  work  with  en- 
thusiastic himpetus. 

In  these  days  of  making  our  clothes  do, 
the  average  women's  club  resembles  a  gar- 
den of  stolid  perennials  instead  of  bright  an- 
nuals. 

To  some  people,  a  little  noise  made  by 
children  grates  on  the  ears  like  stepping  on 
grains  of  sugar. 

Not  all  children's  misbehavior  should  be 
punished  with  the  same  punishment;  our 
courts  have  different  penalties  for  different 
offenses. 

Some  women  clean  house  like  a  small  boy 
taking  the  works  out  of  a  clock. 

It  would  be  quite  a  shock  to  have  the 
daughters  arrive  from  school  some  afternoon 
with  a  homework  assignment  reading:  One 
page  of  dishwashing;  two  paragraphs  of 
making  beds. 

Parenthood:  A  course  of^training  which 
enables  a  person  to  hear  any  kind  of  yell, 
shriek  or  blast  without  shivering. 

I  have  tried  various  methods  of  dishwash- 
ing, and  the  only  one  that  really  accom- 
plishes the  job  is  to  pitch  in  and  do  them. 

Note  to  little  women:  To  cultivate  good 
looks  is  different  from  cultivating  vanity. 


\  mother-in-law  should  never  be  as- 
tounded upon  discovering  faults  in  her 
daughter-in-law  that  can  be  found  in  her 
own  daughter. 

A  mother's  birtMay  note:  Dear  mother,  we 
have  decided  to  give  Hardtack  and  Dogbis- 
cuit  away  and  just  keep  Jeep.  We  are  doing 
this  so  you  can  have  peepul  in  again. 

It  is  possible  to  watch  a  child  play  for  one 
hour  and  tell  quite  accurately  the  kind  of 
home  he  comes  from. 

She  is  the  kind  of  woman  who  never  takes 
a  washing  down  the  same  day  she  hangs 
it  up. 

The  trouble  with  handing  ourselves  bou- 
quets is  that  the' flowers  usually  look  like 
weeds  to  the  other  person,  or  at  least  lack 
fragrance. 

The  next  most  difficult  problem  to  having 
grandparents  spoil  your  children  is  having 
neighbors  spoil  your  dog. 

Old  advice:  "A  girl  should  marry  only  if 
the  matter  comes  reasonably  to  hand.  She 
should  never  make  it  an  object  in  Hfe." 

Children  need  not  be  perfect;  one  of  the 
chemist's  problems  in  copying  jewels  is  to 
preserve  the  imperfections  embedded  in 
them. 

One  advantage  the  child  psychologist  has 
over  a  parent  is  that  he  doesn't  live  with  the 
subject. 

Some  mothers  are  so  eager  to  make  a  baby 
relish  his  food  they  use  two  spoons,  to  keep 
the  child  from  screaming  as  soon  as  its 
mouth  is  empty. 


•  •*••••••*••••••••••• 


LADIES-  HOME  JOLKNA[. 


Keep  the  name  in  mind- 
the  flavor  speaks  for  itself! 


Think  of  all  the  times  you've  rejoiced 
in  the  golden  goodness,  the  clear  spark- 
ling color  and  the  zesty  freshness  of 
Del  Monte  Brand  Pineapple,  all  styles! 
You  still  can  get  some  Del  Monte 
Pineapple  and  Pineapple  Juice.  Not 
much,  though,  because  all  pineapple  is 
very  scarce.   And,  of  course,  the  supply 


of  Del  Monte  your  grocer  does  get  is 
bound  to  sell  especially  fast. 

But  you'll  want  Del  Monte  when- 
ever you  find  it.  There's  no  pineapple 
more  tempting  or  richer  in  tropical 
goodness.  Keep  the  name  in  mind — 
Del  Monte  Pineapple,  the  JJavor  pnt 
brand.  Be  on  the  lookout  for  it. 


t  .'    »  - 


p^- 


Puts 


'^i'Cfo 


S^^APpu 


1  ?^f  JUlCf 


PINEAPPLE 


SLICED      •      CRUSHED      •      JUICE 


84 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


■Ave  WASHING— 
Clean  top  of  stove 
withScotTowels — 
DO  messy  cloth  to 
nash  afterwards 


SAVC  IRONING— 
Dry  hands  with 
ScotTowels — cut 
down  laundering — 
save  good  linens 


HILP  PROTECT 

HEALTH— Clean 
individual  towels 
help  prevent  spread 
of  infections 


Why  drudge  over  routine  kitchen 
jobs  when  ScotTowels  make  them  so 
much  easier? 

For  only  a  penny  a  day,  these  mar- 
velous towels  lift  the  burden  from 
a  dozen  daily  chores! 

In  these  days  of  shortages,  of  course, 
there  are  fewer  ScotTowels  for  every- 
body. Our  armed  forces  and  war  in- 
dustries need  and  must  have  large 
quantities  of  Scott  paper  products. 
But  there  will  be  more  ScotTowels 
when  peacetime  arrives! 

In  the  meantime,  if  your  dealer  is  tem- 
porarily out  of  stock,  won't 
you  try  again  later? 


(Continued  from  Page  82) 

After  dinner  Ted  took  Dick  to  his  room 
and  started  the  evening  story.  He  could 
hear  the  piano  playing  softly  downstairs  and 
guessed  that  it  was  Nora  maintaining  mo- 
rale, but  a  moment  later  she  opened  the 
bedroom  door  and  came  in. 

"That  sweet  kid,"  she  said.  "He's  playing 
Lord  Jeffrey  Amherst.  They're  singing  to- 
gether. It's  all  so  darned  young  and  right — 
makes  me  want  to  bawl." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Ted,  "and  hear  how  Osa 
Johnson  poured  a  bag  of  flour  on  some 
lions." 

Before  they  left,  Dick  had  a  question. 
"Wait  a  minute,  you  parent*  Do  you  have 
to  go  back  tomorrow,  daddy?" 

"No,  not  for  a  few  days."     . 

"What's  the  biggest  number  there  is?  "  he 
demanded. 

Nora  told  him  that  there  was  no  biggest 
number,  that  numbers  kept  going  on  and  on, 
and  before  she  knew  it  she  was  hopelessly 
snarled  in  infinity. 

Dick  looked  more  and  more  puzzled  and 
finally  gave  her  hand  a  gentle  push.  "You'd 
better  not  try  to  go  into  it,  mom,"  he  said 
kindly.  "Daddy,  don't  you  know  what's  the 
biggest  number  there  is?" 


was  beginning  to  roll  in,  shrouding  the  skel- 
eton shapes  of  embryonic  ships.  Men  and 
women  workers,  lunch  pails  in  hand,  moved 
in  and  out  of  the  yard  as  they  changed  shifts. 

What  was  she  doing  here?  she  wondered. 
What  had  become  of  her  former  fancy  life? 
It's  the  war,  she  told  herself  doggedly, 
though  she  knew  part  of  her  reason  for  being 
here  was  more  personal  than  that.  She  had 
little  time  for  introspection  these  days,  with 
a  schedule  of  forty-eight  hours  of  work  and 
an  hour  a  day  spent  in  commuting.  It  was, 
therefore,  easy  to  postpone  plans. 

The  blueprint  shack  was  a  squat  two- 
room  structure  with  a  desk  in  each  room,  two 
telephones,  fat  bulging  files  and  a  soft-drink 
machine.  Penny  worked  here  alone  most  of 
the  day.  Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoons, 
however,  the  soft-drink  machine  attracted  a 
superintendent,  or  a  timekeeper,  or  an  itiner- 
ant ofiice  worker. 

The  extra  telephone  was  a  great  conven- 
ience, too,  for  the  young  naval  officers  who 
were  attached  to  the  yard.  The  prospect  of 
the  evening  ahead  of  them  was  always  a  sober 
problem  for  them.  Their  behavior  was  re- 
markably standardized.  Sometimes  they 
came  in  pairs,  sometimes  singly.  Dropping  a 
nickel  in  the  machine,  they  would  hold  their 
bottle  of  cola,  loll  over  Penny's  desk  and, 
vacant-eyed,  reach  for  the  phone.  What  fol- 
lowed was  routine.  "Hello,  gorgeous,"  in  a 
quiet  intimate  voice.  They  all  seemed  to  use 
this  slow,  quiet  voice,  as  if  they  had  every- 
thing under  control.  Without  any  self- 
consciousness  at  all,  they  put  on  their  lovers' 
voices  while  Penny  sat  there  at  their  elbows. 

Lieutenant  Horn,  one  of  the  regular  cus- 
tomers, varied  his  routine.  Each  afternoon 
at  four  he  came  in,  dropped  his  nickel  in  the 
machine,  lolled,  lost  in  thought,  then  dialed, 
waited,  and  without  saying  "Hello"  would 
ask,  "How  about  a  steak  tonight?"  Then 
he  waited  and  listened. 

As  Penny  stood  looking  out  the  narrow 
unwashed  window,  she  heard  a  nickel  drop 
in  the  soft-drink  machine.  Turning,  she  saw 
it  was  Lieutenant  Horn.  Lieutenant  Horn 
shared  an  apartment  somewhere  with  an- 
other young  officer,  a  Lieutenant  Herbert, 
and  it  was  only  when  his  friend  Lieutenant 
Herbert  was  on  duty  that  Lieutenant  Horn 
looked  in  his  little  book  and,  dialing,  said, 
"Hello,  gorgeous." 

Penny  turned  back  again  to  gaze  at  the 
maze  of  bulkheads  and  the  white,  cold  sky. 
Sometimes  she  felt  an  unaccountable  satis- 
faction at  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  a  good, 
tired  feeling  as  she  watched  the  workers 
streaming  in  and  out,  a  feeling  of  belonging, 
of  being  bigger  than  her  own  personal  life. 

As  she  turned  back  to  her  desk,  Lieuten- 
ant Horn  was  sitting  there,  his  bottle  in  one 


"Certainly.  It's  one-hundred-thousand- 
million-billion-trillion." 

Dick  sighed.  "Well,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  that's  the  number  of  days  I  want  all  four  of 
us  to  be  together." 

The  music  had  stopped,  and  they  could 
hear  voices  in  the  front  hall. 

"It  must  be  that  horrible  Buddy," 
whispered  Nora.  She  tiptoed  to  the  railing 
and  looked  over.  Ted  started  to  go  down,  but 
she  motioned  for  him  to  stop. 

"You  see,  I  have  to  report  back  for  duty 
tomorrow,"  they  heard  Tony  say.  "This  is 
my  last  chance  to  see  Jen." 

"Yeah,  sure.  I  didn't  realize,"  Buddy  was 
saying.  He  moved  uncertainly  to  the  door 
and  stopped.  "  If  you  don't  mind  my  asking, 
is  that  the  Navy  Cross?" 

"Afraid  it  is.  See  you  at  the  dance?" 

"Yeah!  Sure.  Good  night,  Jendy.  Good 
night,  sir." 

It  was  eleven-thirty,  but  even  an  overdose 
of  nembutal  would  not  have  put  Ted  to 
sleep.  "I'm  as  nervous  as  a  young  father  in 
the  waiting  room,"  he  told  Nora. 

"Oh,  Ted.  let's  wait  for  them.  I  keep  re- 
membering how  I  played  Mutt  to  every 
boy's  Jeff  until  I  met  you,  you  long  lug." 


MEiMT  FOR  LOVE 

(Conliniied  from  Page  24) 

hand,  his  other  on  the  telephone.  In  his 
fatigues  his  golden  skin  and  hair  looked  all  of 
one  color. 

Tawny,  Penny  thought.  "Hello,"  she  said. 

"Hello."  Lieutenant  Horn  seemed  to  be 
ruminating  heavily,  as  he  always  did  when 
he  approached  a  telephone  with  menus  on  his 
mind.  "How  do  you  make  gravy  without 
lumps?"  he  asked  her  abruptly. 

"Lumps?" 

"Yes— the  flour  thickening;  how  can  you 
thicken  gravy  without  getting  lumps?" 

"You  shouldn't  put  flour  in  gravy  in  the 
first  place." 

"How  come?  I  like  the  thick  brown  kind, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know.  The  kind  mother  used  to 
make." 

He  nodded  eagerly. 

"Well,  ihat's  all  wrong.  Gravy  should 
never  be  thickened.    It  should  be  clear  and 


€IIITiri>iM 

^  An  unknown  rritio  wrote  on  the 
^  wall  of  a  cinema  outside  whirli 
people  were  queuing:  "Never  in  the 
history  of  human  entertainment 
have  so  many  waited  so  long  for  so 
little."  —WORLD  REVIEW: 

Quoted  in  Mogazine  Digest. 


taste  of  meat,  not  flour.  The  French  would 
never  thicken  a  meat  gravy  with  flour." 

The  lieutenant  stared  at  her  belligerently. 
"That  doesn't  mean  it  isn't  done.  I've  been 
brought  up  on  thickened  gravy  and  I  like  it." 

Penny  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  de- 
cided not  to  argue  about  it.  She  said  merely, 
"Well,  it  isn't  elegant." 

"Really." 

He  sat  there  with  his  cap  on,  looking  very 
cool  and  scrubbed.  Even  his  brown  hands  as 
they  dialed  a  number  on  the  telephone 
looked  chapped,  as  if  from  too  much  scrub- 
bing. At  this  hour  of  the  day  Penny  always 
felt  disheveled,  as  if  she  were  smudged  all 
over  with  carbon  paper.  There  he  was  hold- 
ing the  telephone  receiver  expectantly,  look- 
ing forward  to  the  evening  and  what  he 
should  eat — eating  seemed  always  to  be 
such  a  pompous  problem  with  him — and  all 
she  wanted  was  to  go  straight  home  without 
any  dinner  at  all  and  flop  on  her  noisy,  tin- 
kling couch.  A  couch  that  served  as  her  bed 
in  her  large  cold  room.  Her  skating  rink,  she 
had  called  it  once  in  a  letter  to  Norma. 
Sometimes,  lying  on  her  lumpy  couch,  she 
grew  enormously  depressed  at  the  decay  in 
fortune  of  that  large  room  with  its  handsome 
white  marble  mantel,  rich  parquet  floors  and 


"You  know,"  said  Ted,  "I  spent  a  lot  of 
time  with  Tony.  You  don't  think  he  took 
Jendy  just  out  of "  ^ 

"I  don't  care  whether  he  did  or  not," 
Nora  said.  "He's  the  grandest  guy  in  the 
world,  next  to  you,  darling." 

The  telephone  rang,  and  Ted  answered. 

"Ensign  Sanders  reporting." 

"Where  are  you,  Tony?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  guess  I'm  in  the  coach's 
office.  The  room  is  crawling  with  old  shoes 
and  air  pumps.  May  I  ask  a  favor,  sir?  I 
can't  seem  to  make  much  time  with  Jen. 
The  whole  football  team  is  running  interfer- 
ence, but  I'd  love  to  have  the  last  dance 
with  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  you  see,  this  shindig  isn't  over  until 
one  o'clock,  and  the  last  train  back  to  town 
is  the  twelve-forty,  and " 

"You're  more  than  welcome  to  the  guest 
room,"  said  Ted.  "  I  don't  care  for  it  myself, 
but  I  think  you'll  find  it  comfortable." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Nora,  "is  she  having  a 
good  time?" 

"I  think  she  is,"  said  Ted.  He  sat  down 
beside  her,  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and 
kissed  her.  "Sometimes  we  have  an  even 
better  time  than  we  dreamed  of." 


magnificent  crystal  chandelier  that  hung  in 
desolate  grandeur  from  the  ceiling.  Obvi- 
ously, it  had  once  been  a  drawing  room. 
Now  it  was  rented  by  the  week. 

"That  you?"  Lieutenant  Horn  was  say- 
ing quietly  into  the  telephone. 

Penny  saw  that  even  his  eyebrows  and 
lashes  were  tawny  as  the  last  light  from  the 
window  fell  on  his  face.  Casually,  she  won- 
dered how  he  could  look  so  smooth  and  clean 
after  a  day  in  the  yard,  when,  sitting  here  in 
this  small  office,  she  felt  so  totally  rumpled, 
so  in  need  of  a  bath.  She  hadn't  had  a  decent 
bath  since  leaving  New  York.  Climbing  a 
flight  of  stairs  with  soap  dish  and  towel  in 
hand  to  a  bathroom  that  smelled  of  dis- 
infectants was  hardly  a  luxury.  It  reminded 
her  daily  that  perhaps  she  had  better  do 
some  planning  soon.  Often  she  argued  with 
herself  as  she  sat  huddled  in  the  distasteful 
bath.  Shall  I  let  a  little  perfumed  soap  affect 
my  character?  Make  my  decision  for  me? 
Change  the  course  of  my  life?  But  after  all, 
as  Norma  said,  what  was  she  trying  to 
prove? 

"Forget  the  gravy,"  she  heard  the  lieuten- 
ant say  over  the  telephone. 

Penny  took  out  her  powder  puiif  and,  go- 
ing to  the  small  mirror  nailed  on  the  wall, 
she  peered  at  herself.  I've  forgotten  myself 
completely.  This  is  enough  of  this.  I  wonder 
if  I  could  ever  look  cool  and  well  groomed  again. 
Where  were  the  smooth  lips  she  used  to 
achieve  so  easily  with  her  lipstick? 

"How  about  a  steak  instead?"  Lieuten- 
ant Horn  was  saying. 

Penny  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
tawny  young  man'at  the  telephone,  wonder- 
ing if  he  ever  spoke  of  anything  but  food. 

"We're  having  a  steak  tonight,"  he  an- 
nounced as  he  hung  up. 

"That's  good." 

"Do  you  cook  when  you  get  off  here?" 

"I  haven't  a  kitchen."  Indeed,  Penny 
had  been  fortunate  to  find  any  kind  of  shel- 
ter at  all  in  this  overcrowded  shipyard  city. 

"It's  rugged  having  to  eat  out  every 
night.  Shouldn't  you  like  a  home-cooked 
meal  sometimes?" 

' ' Home-cooked — rats ! ' ' she'exploded .  "I'd 
like  to  be  dining  at  the  Colony.  I'd  like  to  be 
having  smoked  salmon,  the  Nova  Scotia 
kind,  sliced  so  thin  you  could  see  the  design 
on  the  plate  under  it.  I'd  like  to  be  having  a 
paper-thin  steak  minute,  cooked  in  a  chafing 
dish,  and  after  that  a  green  salad  with  a 
thick  slice  of  pate  de  foie  gras — the  Stras- 
bourg kind — and  after  that  a  souffle  grand 
marnier.  That's  what  I'd  like." 

Lieutenant  Horn  did  not  answer,  but  she 
felt  that  he  was  studying  her.  He's  puzzled 
to  find  that  a  girl  who  sits  here  in  a  shipyard 
(Continued  on  Page  86) 


LADirs-  IIOMR  JOIRNAI. 


Space  for  Everything  . . .  room 
for  large  dishes,  small  (lishes,J 
plenty  of  tail  bottle  space.  Interi- 
or arrangements  quickly  adjust- 
able to  meet  your  individual 
needs.  And  a  variety  of  cold  .  .  .  quick,  dry  cold  for 
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86 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  10  1 ,' 


See  Jane's 
stockings! 

Poor  Jane  —  runs 
seem  to  come  for 
no  reason  at  all!" 


Now  see 
Joan's! 

Joan  rarely  gets  a 
stocking  run!  The 
reason  is  Lux  care! 


YES,  Luxing  stockings  t/oes 
make  a  difference  in  their  wear — 
strain  tests  have  proved  this.  Lux- 
ing actually  cut  down  runs  50%. 

Stockings  rubbed  with  c^ke 
soap  and  those  washed  with  a 
strong  soap  went  into  runs  ever 
so  much  more  easily. 

Lux  saves  stocking  elasticity  .  .  . 
that's  why  the  delicate  threads 
can  stand  constant  strain.  That's 
why  Luxed  stockings  fit  better, 
too.  Lux  your  stockings  nightly — 
dry  rayons  at  least  24  hours. 


OVER  90%  OF  THE 
MAKERS  OF  STOCKINGS 
RECOMMEND  LUX 


(Continued  from  Page  84) 
at  a  desk  every  day  knows  something  about 
food,  she  thought,  while  his  idea  of  a  delicacy 
is  thickened  gravy. 

"I  was  just  going  to  offer  to  share  our 
steak  with  you,"  he  said  simply. 

His  simplicity  was  a  rebuke  to  her  cheap 
braggadocio.  To  hide  a  blush  that  rose  in  her 
face,  she  turned  and  pulled  a  drawer  from 
the  files.  Then  she  said  lightly,  "I  can't 
gobble  up  the  victuals  of  the  armed  forces. 
But  it's  awfully  generous  of  you  anyway." 

"My  pal's  a  swell  cook,"  he  urged,  "and 
I  think  you  like  to  eat.  William  and  I  like  to 
eat  too." 

"It  wasn't  difficult  for  me  to  guess  that," 
Penny  laughed. 

Lieutenants  Christopher  Horn  and  Wil- 
liam Herbert  lived  in  a  small  two-room 
apartment  .perched  on  Nob  Hill.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  the  young  men  tended  their 
home  with  respect  and  diligence.  The  small 
living  room,  in  which  two  dark  red  couches 
served  as  beds,  had  an  air  of  home  and 
hospitality  quite  unwarranted  by  its  size 
and  furnishings.  Eucalyptus  leaves  were 
bunched  handsomely  in  a  white  pottery  jar, 
and  magazines  were  piled  strictly  according 
to  date  on  a  table,  while  on  the  walls  was  a 
series  of  sketches  of  ships,  all  of  them  signed 
by  one  or  the  other  of  the  young  men. 

"We're  marine  architects,"  they  ex- 
plained to  Penny.  "We're  from  Bay  City, 
Michigan,  so  we're  indigenous  to  boats." 

Dinner  was  served  in  a  little  nook  off  the 
kitchen.  Conversation  was  limited  to  food. 
Penny  described  the  smoked  trout  at  the 
Colony,  the  souffles  at  Le  Pavilion,  the  thick 
gelatinous  green-turtle  soup  at  Twenty-One, 
the  pepper  steak  at  the  Brussels.  The  young 
men  listened  rapturously.  Lieutenant  Her- 
bert had  been  in  France  for  a  brief  two  weeks 
on  a  student's  tour.  He  described  an  unfor- 
gettable omelet  he  had  had  at  Reims. 

"I'd  like  to  be  an  expert  in  cheese  and 
wine,"  Lieutenant  Herbert  said. 

"That  I  could  never  be,"  Christopher 
Horn  said  gravely.  "Because  headwaiters 
always  get  me  down.  I  haven't  any  poise 
with  headwaiters  at  all." 

Penny  thought  this  naivete  touching. 
"Money  does  it,"  she  advised,  feeling  very 
mature  and  worldly.  "Headwaiters  sense  it 
when  you're  a  little  afraid  of  the  check.  And 
besides,  you're  young." 

Lieutenant  Herbert  tipped  his  head  in 
Penny's  direction.  "Listen  to  grand'mere," 
he  said  to  Christopher. 

When  the  time  arrived  to  do  dishes. 
Lieutenant  Herbert  led  Penny  into  the  liv- 
ing room,  refusing  firmly  to  allow  her  to  help 
Christopher.  "It's  the  routine,"  he  ex- 
plained. "When  I  cook,  Chris  does  the 
dishes,  and  vice  versa.  It's  the  discipline  of 
this  mess." 

William  Herbert  could  not  be  said  to  be 
conversational.  He  smoked  a  pipe  calmly, 
politely  answering  Penny's  mild  attempts  at 
conversation.  At  last  Penny  gave  up,  curled 
on  one  of  the  red  couches.  These  young  men 
were  new  to  her.  Their  slow  voices,  their 
ability  to  endure  silence  with  such  poise, 
while  she  fidgeted,  floundering  for  something 
to  say,  was  distinctly  novel  to  her.  She  won- 
dered if  this  poise  was  an  accomplishment  of 
the  Navy  Department.  If  so,  it  might  be  a 
good  idea  to  become  a  Wave.  It  seemed 
miraculous  that  it  was  quite  possible  not  to 
talk  at  all. 

These  slender  young  men  with  their  flat 
bellies  and  narrow  hips  were  foreigners  to 
her,  another  breed  from  the  men  Penny 
knew.  She  supposed  it  was  the  younger 
generation  of  Americans.  Though  to  be  sure, 
they  must  be  at  least  as  old  as  she;  they 
couldn't  be  less  than  twenty-seven  or  eight. 

Penny  remembered  Addison  and  his 
coterie.  Addison  fighting  for  a  waistline. 
Addison  dressed  in  his  expensive  weaves  and 
his  swank  haberdashery.  Norma's  Edward 
with  his  diets  and  sun  lamps  and  masseurs. 
Those  men  in  her  former  world  with  their 
endless,  complicated  details  of  living.  What 
a  difference  from  these  young  men  with  their 
black  ties,  their  small  simple  dwelling.  How 
very  strange  that  such  differences  could  exist. 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


87 


This  Hearing  Aid  is 

KINDTO YOUR  EAR 


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N-9 

N.AME „ 

MAIL 
THIS 

COUPON 
FOR 

SAMPLES 

ADDRESS 

CITY   

STATE 

She  picked  up  a  lonely  book  from  the 
coffee  table. 

"Chaucer,"  Lieutenant  Herbert  said. 

"You?"  Penny  asked  incredulously. 

"No,  Christopher.  He's  a  fiend  for 
Chaucer." 

"Chaucer,"  Penny  repeated.  "It  must  be 
a  pose." 

"Could  be.  I  doubt  it." 

All  they  needed  was  a  piano.  Penny 
thought  merrily,  and  mother  under  the 
lamp,  and  she  would  play  Love's  Old  Sweet 
Song  and  they  would  have  a  perfect  Y.M.C.A. 
evening.  It  was  all  too  unbelievable.  The 
proper  young  men,  the  spotless  rooms,  the 
pipe-smoking  William,  the  Chaucer-reading 
Christopher. 

The  telephone  had  rung  two  or  three 
times  during  the  evening  and  the  young  men 
had  gone  into  the  usual  routine.  "Hello, 
gorgeous.  .  .  .  Sorry,  not  tonight.  In- 
volved in  a  lot  of  gold  braid,  you  under- 
stand." They  probably  had  their  other  side. 
Penny  thought,  the  side  they  showed  to  the 
gorgeous  girls.  But  as  for  herself,  she  was 
really  very  comfortable.  It  was  all,  in  fact, 
extremely  pleasant.  And  she  felt  motherly 
and  natural  with  them. 

It  was  Christopher  who  took  Penny  home, 
down  two  steep  blocks  and  up  three  steep 
blocks,  past  a  clump  of  melancholy  eucalyp- 
tus trees  that  grew  at  the  crown  of  the  al- 
ways foggy,  wind-swept  hill. 

"Sorry  to  make  you  walk,"  he  said.  "But 
there's  never  a  cab." 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "The  war." 

Invitations  to  the  apartment  were  fre- 
quent after  that  first  evening.  Invitations 
that  were  issued  casually  at  the  office  while 
Christopher,  telephone  receiver  in  hand, 
planned  the  menu  for  the  evening  with  Wil- 
liam. Turning  to  Penny,  he  would  say,  "How 


WRONG  BIRD 

^  The  stork  is  charged  with  a  lot  of 
^  things  which  should  more  prop- 
erly be  blamed  on  a  lark. 

—  GREEN  GANDER: 
Quoted  in  Magazine  Digest. 


about  a  steak?"  or,  "No  meat  today,  but 
William  has  thought  of  a  capon.  How 
about  it?" 

Penny  rarely  refused.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  to  be  offended  at  these  last-minute 
offers,  or  to  pretend  that  she  had  a  previous 
engagement,  for  such  maneuvers  would  im- 
ply that  her  relationship  with  the  young 
men  was  something  other  than  pure  cama- 
raderie. They  regaled  her  with  tales  of  their 
more  riotous  evenings  with  the  gorgeous 
girls.  Always  it  was  the  three  of  them  who 
dined  together,  and  after  dinner  she  and 
William  played  gin  rummy  while  Christo- 
pher did  the  dishes  or  read  Chaucer.  Once, 
while  supposedly  reading  his  Chaucer,  Chris- 
topher produced  from  behind  the  book  a 
sketch  of  Penny. 

"Am  I  as  pretty  as  that?"  Penny  asked 
delightedly,  scrutinizing  the  sketch.  "  I  com- 
pletely forgot  I  was  as  pretty  as  that." 

William  scanned  her  critically.  "You  are 
pretty,  grand'mere.  You  really  are." 

Penny  hung  up  the  sketch  in  her  mirror 
when  she  got  home  and,  staring  at  it  with 
pleasure,  she  said  to  herself.  How  you  must 
be  slipping,  to  be  so  pleased  with  a  little  thing 
like  that.    How  you  must  be  slipping! 

To  repay  in  some  way  the  hospitality  of 
the  young  men,  Penny  turned  over  her  ration 
book  to  them.  She  searched  in  the  shops  for 
delicacies  for  them.  She  found  a  last,  lonely 
tin  of  fat,  black  truffles  which  she  taught  the 
young  men  to  slice  into  their  scrambled  eggs 
to  make  them  interesting.  She  paid  an  out- 
rageous sum  for  an  imported  pate  defoie  gras. 
And  in  an  exclusive  women's  shop,  on  the 
cosmetic  counter,  she  found  an  English 
vinegar  that  was  bottled  like  a  perfume,  and 
this  made  their  salad  dressings  foolproof. 
She  taught  them  to  have  their  salads  simple, 
with  only  lettuce  and  French  dressing;  to 
roast  chickens  without  the  conventional 
dressing.  "  It's  more  elegant  that  way,"  she 


'Round  the  Town 
It's  TUSSY. . . 


Skating  in 
Park 


Copr.,  1946.  by  Lnhn  *  Kink  I'ro.lu.l!.  Curp  .  BlouniH«M,  N    1, 

SKATING  in  the  park... cocktails  in  a  lower... or  luunburgers  at  4  A.M. 
.  . .  wherever  you  are,  face  your  friends  v\  illi  a  smooth-skinned,  young 
look.  Tussy  Special  Night  Cream  helps  guard  again-st  dry.  wcalher-beaten 
skin.  It's  luxuriously  rich... wonderfully  softening!  Aids  against  fine,  dry 
lines.  2  oz.,  $2.*  During  the  day,  look 
pretty  ...protect  your  skin,  too,  witli 
Safari  Powder  Base  Cream... sohen- 
ing,  flattering !  1  oz.,  $1.*  'PiusTax 

Tu»»y  Co9uieli<(ucs.  683  Kilili  Ave.,  New  York  22,  N.  Y. 


FOR   THAT   YOUNG,   YOUNG   LOOK 


88 


l.\l)IF.S-  HOME  JOUllNAL 


February,  1945 


JOHNSON.    STPPHHNS    &    SIIIN'KI.I-:    SHOI-    CO.     •     ST.    LOriS.    MISSOITKI 


explained,  "with  only  a  flavor  of  tarragon 
inside."  They  were  eager  disciples. 

When  the  telegrams  began  to  arrive  from 
Norma  stating  that  she  would  arrive  in  San 
Francisco.  Penny  returned,  as  it  were,  to  her 
mislaid  self.  She  began  again  to  wonder  at 
the  calendar,  at  how  long  she  had  been  in 
exile,  and  she  knew  a  twinge  of  fear  when 
she  remembered  how  far  apart  Addison's 
letters  were  arriving.  She  knew  that  with 
the  arrival  of  Norma  a  decision  was  ap- 
proaching. And  she  was  no  longer  in  the 
mood  for  cuisine  and  calm  evenings  with  the 
calm  young  men. 

Twice  she  refused  dinner  at  the  apart- 
ment. The  third  time  Christopher  broke  a 
precedent.   It  was  Wednesday. 

As  he  dropped  his  coin  in  the  soft-drink 
machine,  he  asked  her  for  dinner  on  Thurs- 
day, a  night  ahead.  At  her  refusal,  he  asked 
bluntly.  "Is  something  wrong?" 

Penny  shook  her  head.  "It's  just  that  I 
have  a  friend  coming  from  New  York,"  she 
explained.  "She's  on  her  way  to  Palm 
Springs  and  will  be  spending  the  night  in 
San  Francisco  Saturday  in  order  to  see  me." 

Christopher  stared  at  her  for  a  moment. 
"But,"  he  said  coldly,  "we  asked  you  for 
Thursday,  not  Saturday."  Then  he  added 
quickly.  "However,  it's  none  of  our  busi- 
ness." He  turned  and  marched  out  of  tiie 
oflice.  leaving  liis  drink  untouched. 

The  next  afternoon  when  he  appeared  as 
usual  and  had  seated  himself  at  Penny's 
desk,  bottle  in  hand, 
she  said  to  him,  "  I 
was    disturbed    all 
night." 

He  spread  an  aft- 
ernoon newsi)aper 
on  her  desk  and  bent 
over  it.  "Why?" 

"  Because  you 
seemed  angry  with 
me  -  andVightly  so. 
loo.  sine:  you  and 
\\  illiam  have  been 
so  nice    to   m  e  . 

He  cut  her  short. 
"We've  just  sort 
of  taken  you  for 
granted,  I  guess." 
He  turned  a  page  of 
iii  s  paper  and 
scanned  it.  Then  m 
that  slow.  p(Mse(i 
voice  he  asked, 
"What  are  we  talk- 
ing about,  any- 
way?" 

"  '\'  o  u  r  b  e  i  n  g 
angrv  yesterday." 

"Was  I?" 

"You  left  without  drinking  your  cola." 

"^■es.  I  guess  I  was  sore.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  be." 

"You  thouglit  I  was  ungracious  and  all 
that.  After  all " 

"Let's  forget  it.  shall  we?" 

He  picked  .up  the  receiver,  called  William 
to  discuss  the  evening's  menu.  But  he  did 
lot  turn  to  invite  Penny. 

The  absurd  link  hoy.  Penn\-  thought,  llw 
ahsiiril  little  hoy.  She  stuffed  today's  filing 
into  the  already  bulging  liles. 

When  Norma  arrived  Penny  abruptly  re- 
turned to  herself.  That  New  York  self,  now 
slightly  frayed  and  definitely  out  of  prac- 
tice. There  on  the  table  were  Norma's  black 
bag  and  gloves,  well  groomed,  serene  and 
snobbish.  And  next  to  them  were  Penny's 
own  bag  and  gloves,  crumpled  with  overuse, 
the  lingers  of  the  gloves  bunched,  looking  like 
clenched,  all-too-human  hands.  Norma's 
glo\-es  suggested  poise,  success. 

Penny  had  come  straight  from  work  to 
Norma's  room  at  the  St.  Francis  Hotel. 
Norma  sat  with  a  large,  proud  diamond  on 
her  fourth  linger,  the  engagement  ring  from 
Edward.  She  had  the  sublime  confidence  of 
those  who  have  arrived  at  their  destined 
selves.  Sitting  there  with  her  neatly  stacked 
and  gleaming  lu.g.ga.ge  about  her.  the  shoe 
box.  the  hatbox.  the  jewel  box.  Norma  was 
in  her  person  an  organization.  The  phalanxes 
of  gleaming  bottles  in  her  bathroom,  all  de- 


voted to  the  enhancement  of  her  person,  all 
this  business  of  being  Norma,  led  one  to  be- 
lieve that  her  physical  person  itself  was  a 
career,  a  business,  well  and  beautifully  run. 
In  contrast,  sitting  there  with  her  nforning's 
make-up  encrusted  underneath  a  five- 
o'clock  dusting  of  powder.  Penny  felt  like  an 
untended  garden. 

JliDWARD's  sweet,  really,"  Norma  was 
saying,  touching  her  sauterne  hair  delicately. 
"Of  course,  I  know  I'll  have  to  go  on  the  bi- 
annual fishing  trips,  and  you  know  how  I  get 
neurotic  out  in  the  open,  amid  the  lield-and- 
stream  stuff.  But  that's  minor,  that's  really 
minor.  And  now  about  you.  Penny?" 

"  I  wash  my  own  hair  on  Sundays,  for  I've 
no  time  during  the  week.   I  work." 

"How  grim.   No  men?   No  men  at  all?" 
"Oh,  I've  a  couple  of  friends.  Navy  lieu- 
tenants."  Penny  began  to  laugh. 
"What's  so  funny?" 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  how  you  would 
react  to  them.  They  cook  dinner  for  me  at 
their  apartment  about  twice  a  week.  I'm 
teaching  them  to  eat  properly.  That  re- 
minds me.  they've  got  my  ration  book.  I've 
got  to  get  it."  Penny  knew  as  she  said  that 
that  her  intention  to  go  back  to  New  York 
had  matured. 
"They  cook?" 

"Um-h'm."  Penny  enjoyed  the  look  of 
distaste  on  Norma's  face.  "One  of  them  is 
dark.  The  other  is — tawny.  They're  ratiier 
prim.  And  fur- 
ther'' —  Penn  y 
paused  for  em- 
phasis— "one  of 
them  reads  Chaucer 
and  the  o  t  ii  e  r 
smokes  a  pipe." 

"  Far  -  from  -  the - 
madding  -  crowd 
type.  Ugh!" 

"Ofcourseldon't 
know  how  they  be- 
have when  they're 
out  with  their  gor- 
geous girls.  I  im- 
agine they  think  of 
me  as  an  old  hag  of 
t  w  e  n  t  y  -  s  e  v  e  n . 
They're  not  your 
type,  pet,"  Penny 
ended. 

"Well,  they're 
not  your  type 
either,"  Norma 
snapped. 

"Oh  I  don't 
know."  Penny  said 
thoughtfully.  "I 
really  like  them. 
Really  I  do.  I  re- 
lax with  them.  Women  like  us  always  tliink 
of  men  as  enemies  to  do  combat  with.  I 
don't  feel  like  that  with  them.  I  feel  friendly, 
really  friendly.  None  of  the  works  at  all. 
Yes,  I  like  them  very  much." 

Norma  shook  her  finger  and  the  diamond 
blinked  arrogantly.  "When  a  woman  re- 
laxes she  should  know  she's  off  the  beam, 
she's  lying  down  on  the  job.  When  it's  com- 
fortable, it's  boupd  to  be  backsliding." 
Penny  felt  a  stubbornness  rise  within  her. 
Norma  went  on:  "I  could  understand 
your  putting  on  the  hair  shirt  for  a  reason: 
if  you  were  trying  to  make  .A.ddison  jealous, 
or  if  you  had  someone  else."  Norma 
shrugged  her  slim,  well-tailored  shoulders. 

"But  sometimes,"  Penny  said  slowly, 
"sometimes  I've  really  felt  good  out  here, 
dull  as  it  is.  I've  felt  that  I  was  down  to 
basic  things." 

"The  only  basic  thing  for  a  woman  is  a 
man.  and  you  know  it." 
"How's  Addison?" 

"Addison  isn't  wasting  away,  but  he's 
waiting."  Norma  said.  "You  get  away  with 
murder.  I  suppose  it's  your  dark  hair.  Men 
expect  you  to  have  moods." 
"When  are  you  going  back?" 
"I've  a  drawing  room  out  of  San  Fran- 
cisco in  two  weeks." 

"Drawing  rooms  are  hard  to  get." 
".'\lmost  impossible." 
"You  want  company?" 
"Of  course,  stupid." 


REGITLAK 

CARE  PAYS 

DIVIDENDS 

«lioe    trees    help 

J^ 

keep       Hitoeti      ill 

nliuiM-.    Have  worn 

repuir<-<l  proiii|>tl> 

^^^^^ 

III   !*a*t'   riiHlly    ri'- 
pairNlattT.  On  \««>l 
.lavx.    Mtar    riili- 

lltTMllIlt   laklM  llf-MI 

(^/^l^ 

olViiii  rracliiilK  ilf'M 

liliatiuil,  for  pernpira- 

lidil    iiijliri'M   lealli 

er.    Put    slliie  treen  iir 

nliilT  paper  in  wvl 

hIiim-i,  and  ilry  mIiimIv. 

('.lean  ami  |Mili»li  »lu>e*  rcmiLirly. 

llfllltjf 

W  aiil     iIk'    answer* 

III      l\' 

to  hiiiiilreds  of  war- 

11  lilLla 

lime    lioii.xi'keeiMiij: 

|.r<.l>leiiis'?      Order      the     \\  \KTI\Ii;       | 

llOMI'.M  VKINi; 

Mam M-    from    the 

Kefereiice    Lilirary.    LxDIKS"    Ho\IK       | 

Joi  UWI,.  IMiilai 

lelphia    .^.   Pennsyl- 

>  uiiia.  No.  2007, 

2.")  rents. 

LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


89 


"That'll  give  me  time,  I  guess,"  Penny 

said.  "I'll  wire  Addison." 
"That's  a  great  load  off  my  mind." 
"I    must   remember   to   get   my   ration 

book,"  Penny  said  dreamily. 

It  was  after  six  o'clock  next  day  when 
Penny  left  the  Townsend  Street  station, 
after  seeing  Norma  on  her  train.  She  went 
briskly  in  the  direction  of  the  streetcar.  She 
felt  relieved  now  that  the  decision  was  made, 
the  date  of  her  departure  set.  Norma  had 
regained  all  her  natural  gaiety  at  the  sta- 
tion. Penny,  too,  felt  exhilarated,  flushed 
with  excited  planning. 

As  she  walked  she  made  inventories  of  the 
things  she  must  do  before  she  left.  But  as 
she  advanced,  the  grayness  of  the  afternoon 
seemed  to  seep  into  her  spirits  and  her  ex- 
hilaration began  to  dwindle.  I'm  just  let 
down,  she  told  herself  as  she  took  a  seat  in 
the  streetcar.  Watching  the  dreary  faces  of 
the  passengers  in  the  car,  she  became  im- 
measurably depressed.  These  people  and  the 
crawling  car  were  actuality  itself,  and  her 
plans,  even  Norma's  visit,  began  to  take  on 
the  aspects  of  a  dream.  First-class  neurotic, 
that's  what  I  am,  she  accused  herself.  /'// 
wire  Addison  tonight.  Maybe  I'll  phone  him. 
Her  decision  to  return  to  New  York,  so 
clear  and  logical  twenty  minutes  before,  no 
longer  seemed  so.  For  what  did  it  mean? 
Baldly,  it  meant  that  her  experience  of  a 
year  was  to  add  up  to  nothing.  Nothing 
would  be  changed  after  the  first  week's  ex- 
citement of  her  return.  She  would  return  in 
a  circle,  as  it  were,  back  to  where  she  had 
begun.  It  is  all  settled,  she  told  herself 
as  she  trudged  up  the  hill  to  her  rooming 
house.  /  ivon't  think  any  more  about  it.  I'll 
start  acting.   I'll  start  packing  tonight. 

Twice,  on  a  corner,  she  hesitated,  wonder- 
ing if  she  had  not  better  go  back  at  once  to 
send  a  wire  to  Addison  and  thereby  make  it 
all  inevitable.  But  the  growing  darkness  and 
the  chill,  moist  air  dissuaded  her.  Too,  she 
was  impelled  by  an  urgency  to  reach  the  safe 
privacy  of  her  room.  She  almost  ran  up  to  the 


house.  Yes,  it  was  time  she  was  leaving  here. 
To  scamper  so  wildly  to  a  room,  just  to  be 
alone,  showed  an  unhealthy  love  of  solitude. 

Breathlessly  she  opened  her  door.  At  once 
she  saw  the  white  cap  on  the  table.  "Oh!" 
She  felt  thwarted,  angry  and  unprepared. 

"Your  landlady  let  me  in,"  Christopher 
said. 

"How  nice,"  she  said  unconvincingly. 

"William  is  on  duty  tonight,  and  I  cooked 
a  chicken  the  way  you  prescribed — with  the 
tarragon,  you  know." 

Sparring  for  time  to  collect  herself,  she 
said,  "The  tarragon  was  for  hot  chicken." 

"Then  it  won't  be  any  good  cold?" 

"I  dare  say  it  would  be  all  right."  She 
removed  her  hat  and  coat.  "How  do  you 
like  my  acre  of  a  room?"  Her  voice  was 
taut  and  falsely  gay,  the  kind  of  voice  she 
had  taught  herself  to  use  in  company  or 
with  Addison  when  she  was  feeling  below 
par.  This  was  her  New  York  manner,  never 
so  gay  as  when  depressed,  never  so  out- 
wardly successful  as  when  you  were  feeling 
a  total  failure.  "Do  sit  down."  She  mo- 
tioned to  the  couch  and  drew  up  the  single 
straight-backed  chair  for  herself. 

"I'm  intruding,"  he  said  softly. 

"No,  no,  do  sit  down" — still  in  that  tight 
sharp  voice.  She  waited  for  the  tinkle  of  the 
couch  as  he  sat  down.  "I'm  going  back  to 
New  York,"  she  said  suddenly.  He  did  not 
say  anything,  and  because  the  silence  was 
awkward  in  that  large,  dim  room,  and  be- 
cause someone  had  to  say  something,  she 
added,  with  a  burst  of  frankness,  "And  I 
don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  I 
don't  want  to  go  and  I  don't  want  to  stay." 
She  wished  he  would  say  something,  but  he 
didn't.  She  had  no  desire  to  let  down  her 
hair  this  way.  "I've  got  a  Quisling  in  me 
somewhere,"  she  said.  Now  that  she  had  be- 
gun to  talk  she  felt  very  sorry  for  herself,  she 
felt  she  might  easily  cry. 

Christopher  leaned  forward  and,  taking 
her  tight-clenched  hand,  said  solemnly, 
"Tell  me  about  it."  He  had  the  air  of  a 
physician,  and  it  would  be  a  great  luxury  to 


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90 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


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admit  confusion,  but  something  stubborn  in 
her  hesitated. 

"You  wouldn't  understand." 

"Come  now,  grand'mhe,  you've  always 
treated  us  like  adolescents.  Maybe  we're 
wiser  than  you  believe." 

"I  just  don't  seem  to  want  to  do  any- 
thing." How  feeble  that  sounded.  Here  she 
was  again  without  a  language. 

"Have  you  tried  everything?"  Christo- 
pher asked  with  the  suspicion  of  a  smile. 
He  said  it  slowly,  with  great  deliberation. 
He  was  so  exasperatingly  composed. 

She  weighed  his  words  carefully.  "No,  I 
haven't  tried  everything." 

"Well,  then,  how  can  you  say  that  you 
don't  like  anything?"  he  asked,  quietly, 
reasonably.  "When  people  try  to  make  a 
decision  it  is  not  necessarily  always  a  choice 
between  two  things.  It  is  not  always  just 
either — or.  Ther^is  always  the  possibility  of 
a  third  thing."  He  waited  for  her  to  digest 
his  words. 

She  stared  at  him  thoughtfully.  "I'd 
never  thought  of  that."  The  potentialities 
of  his  remark  dawned  on  her  slowly,  the 
possibility  that  her  life  was  not  necessarily 
destined  to  be  led  either  in  New  York  with 
Addison  or  in  San  Francisco  in  her  naked 
room.  She  felt  an  admiring  wonder  at  the 
wisdom  of  the  young  man  who  sat  opposite 
her,  leaning  toward  her  with  such  friendly 
concern.  "I  like  your  idea,"  she  said.  "I'd 
never  thought  of  it  from  that  angle.  It's 
really  cheered  me  up." 

The  couch  tinkled  as  he  sat  back  now  ap- 
praising her.  "I've  always  felt  that  you  were 
but  the  excerpt  of  yourself,"  he  said.  Then 
he  quoted.  " "  From  hir  childhedc  I  finde  that 
she  fledde  office  of  wommen.'" 

"That  must  be  Chaucer,"  she  said,  relax- 
ing a  little.  "What  does  it  mean?" 


He  pondered  a  moment.  "One  has  to  live 
with  the  blood,  too,  to  be  a  total  person. 
Part  of  you.  Penny,  is  in  abeyance." 

She  flushed  with  a  quick  anger  at  the  im- 
plication of  his  remark.  "You  know  nothing 
about  me,"  she  retorted.  "Do  the  gorgeous 
girls  make  you  a  total  person;  is  that  what 
you  mean.  Chris?" 

"Now  you're  angry." 

"Why  should  I  be  angry?"  She  arose 
with  affected  nonchalance.  She  felt  him  an 
enemy  now.  She  felt  at  bay. 

"I  don't  know  why  women  become  so 
hurt  and  dovelike  when  blood  and  bones  are 
mentioned."  He  rose,  too,  and  his  voice  had 
a  quiet  contempt  in  it.  "It's  not  honest." 

"But  I'm  not  hurt — why  should  I  be? 
You  know  very  little  about  me,  my  dear 
boy."  She  could  feel  the  flush  of  anger  in 
her  cheeks. 

He  reached  out  for  her  arms  and  grasped 
them  tightly  as  if  to  shake  her.  "Don't  call 
me  'my  dear  boy.'" 

She  felt  horribly  abused.  The  tears  spilled 
down  her  cheeks.  "You  call  me  ' grand' - 
mere.' "  she  choked.  To  try  to  hang  on  to  the 
shattered  remnants  of  her  dignity  was  use- 
less. She  let  the  big  fat  tears  spill  down  her 
face.  "I've  been  feeling  so  awful — today— I 
haven't  known  which  way  to  turn.  And  now 
you're  giving  me  hell — you  too." 

"  I'm  not  giving  you  hell."  He  pressed  her 
head  against  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  yes  you  are,  yes  you  are,  indirectly, 
oh,  yes  you  are  giving  me  hell."  Her  arms 
were  dangling  at  her  sides. 

He  patted  her  hair.  "There,  there,"  he 
said.  Her  shoulders  were  shaking  under  his 
hands.  "There,  there."  he  reiterated. 
"Shush  now." -Lifting  her  chin,  he  kissed 
her  lightly  on  the  forehead.  "There,  now, 
shush."  (Conlinued  on  Page  93) 


Look,  Lady,  ifs  Time  Yod  Knew 

WIIKN  your  world  la.stcs  like  a  package  of 
pcrsitiiinons;  wherever  you  stop,  your  loo 
is  ill  il ;  you'd  like  to  bile  ofl'  your  tongue  once 
and  for  all;  your  personal  relations  have  reached 
an  all-time  low;  and  you  never  looked  worse — 
lady,  it'.s  time  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  Sub-Deb 
booklets.  \ou  need  a  boost — and  these  booklets 
will  do  it.  Take  a  look-see. 


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So  one  and  one  really  make  one. 
A  moment  bright  with  rapture, 
and  suddenly  you  know.  Winged  ecstasy 
set  to  shimmering  music.  You're  whirhng 
through  space,  lost .  .  .  yet  you've  just 
found  yourself  for  the  first  time!  This  is 
the  end  of  the  beginning  of  your  life. 
This  is  love,  love,  love . .  . 

You  vow  always  to  guard  the  loveliness 
he  loves  ...  to  cherish  vour  satin- 
smooth   complexion.   It's   so    easy   with 
Woodbury  Facial  Soap,  made  for 
the  skin  alone.  Gentlest  of  cleansing  care. 
A  beauty  treatment  in  cake  form. 
Your  daily  Woodbury  Facial  Cocktail 
promises  radiant  complexion 
charm  .  .  ."forever  after" 


WOODBURY 

FOR  THE  SKIN  , 

YOU  LOVE  TO  TOUCH       ? 


IO< 


92 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


■•^k«?k:^^  -^s^isi^  ■'s-"--* 


Brer  Rabbit 
coiDLABELMolasses 


(§1   :^! 


Light  colored,  sweet  and  mild 
s  a  luscious  table  treat 


Lots  of  folks  are  discovering 
the  mouth-watering  goodness 
of  Brer  Rabbit  Cold  Label 
Molasses  on  pancakes  and 
waffles — on  plain  bread,  too! 

Gold  Label  Brer  Rabbit  is 
the  iughest  quality,  fancy,  light 
colored  New  Orleans  molasses 
— sweet  and  mild  flavored  for 
table  use.  And  one  tablespoon- 
ful  added  to  a  glass  of  cold  or 
warm  milk  makes  a  delicately 
flavored  milk  sliake  that's  rich 
in  iron  and  calcium. 

If  you  prefer  a  dark  molasses, 
get  Green  Label  Brer 
Rabbit,  recom- 
mended for  cooking 
.      and    for   a 
yy   full    fla- 
•  '^     vored  iron- 
rich    milk 
shake. 


Penick  &  Ford,  Ltd.,  Inc. 
New  Orleans,  La., 
Dept.  J  2-5 

Please  send  my  free  copy  of  "Brer 
Rabbit's  Modern  Recipes  for  Modern 
Living,"  telling  all  about  New  Orleans 
molasses  for  table  use  and  cooking. 


Name^ 


(Print  Namu  uud  Addruttm 


Address^ 


(Continued  from  Page  90) 

They  stood  there  for  what  seemed  a  very 
long  time,  waiting  for  her  sobbing  to  abate. 
Then  he  wrapped  his  arms  about  her  and 
laid  his  cheek  against  her  temple.  She  felt 
the  warmth  of  his  face,  and  fast  as  thought, 
like  the  swift  exchange  of  messages  on  a 
teletype,  an  answering  warmth  seemed  to 
rise  from  within  her  shoes  to  sweep  over  her. 
She  stood  there  in  utter  stupefaction,  arms 
too  long  and  nowhere  to  put  them,  and  a 
strange  swimming  in  her  head. 

"I  can  hear  your  heart.  Penny,"  he  said. 

"Can  you?" 

"It's  marching  fast." 

"It's  humiliating  for  it  to  behave  like 
that." 

"We're  whispering,"  he  said.  "Why?" 

There  was  a  little  chaos  of  hands  and  arms 
and  salt-stained  lips. 

He  peered  into  her  face  avidly,  scanning  it 
as  if  he  were  reading  writing  on  a  page. 
"This  is  a  helluva  note,"  he  said. 

Fumbling  wnth  her  hair,  Penny  moved 
away.  She  went  dizzily,  her  heels  as  loud  as 
cannon  on  the  parquet  floor.  "Did  you  say 
you  had  cooked  a  chicken?"  She  tried  to 
use  her  normal  voice,  but  it  sounded  loud 
and  sacrilegious. 


"Yes,  my  cookery  is  waiting." 

She  opened  a  closet  door  and  grabbed  a 
coat.  "Shall  I  wear  a  raincoat?  Is  it  rain- 
ing?" 

He  helped  her  with  the  raincoat.  "I've 
heard  it  could  happen  like  this,"  he  said, 
"suddenly  like  a  plague." 

"  It's  probably  just  a  question  of  me  being 
blue — and  you  in  uniform — and  Sunday  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,"  she  said  shakily,  her 
fingers  very  busily  buttoning  her  coat. 

When  they  reached  the  street  they  started 
off  toward  Nob  Hill  and  his  apartment. 
They  walked  quickly,  the  sound  of  their 
footsteps  loud  in  Penny's  ears. 

"I  feel  tall,"  he  said. 

"You  are  tall." 

"But  I  feel  immensely  tall." 

"You're  very  beautiful,  Chris." 

"I've  always  felt  that  you  didn't  like  San 
Francisco, ".he  said. 

"I  like  it  tonight." 

"But  you  like  New  York  better." 

"I've  got  lots  of  friends  in  New  York." 

They  had  reached  the  crown  of  the  hill. 
Below  them  was  the  city  wrapped  in  mist, 
and  near  them  the  always  moving  eucalyp- 
tus trees.  Over  the  other  shoulder  were  the 
towers  of  the  Golden  Gate  Bridge  disappear- 


ing in  fog,  and  like  great  watchdogs  the  fog- 
horns barking  protectively. 

"My  raincoat  isn't  very  warm,  Chris." 

He  stood  close  to  her,  serving  as'fe  wind- 
break. "I  shan't  say  those  three  chronic 
words,"  he  said.  "But  this  is  it." 

"I  feel  drunk — marvelously  drunk,"  she 
told  him. 

"No" — firmly.  "No,  this  is  a  fact.  This  is 
absolute  bedrock,  this  is  the  mother  of  all 
facts.   I  can  recognize  a  fact  when  I  feel  it." 

"I  never  thought  facts  were  pleasant. 
That's  why  I  can't  believe  this  is  a  fact." 

"Is  it  yes  or  no?"  he  asked  finally. 

"Yes  or  no  what?" 

"New  York." 

Swiftly,  as  in  a  motion-picture  montage, 
Penny  saw  Norma  on  her  speeding  train, 
constantly  dueling  Norma,  ignorant  Norma; 
for  surely  Norma  had  never  experienced  this 
feeling  of  being  totally  awake,  this  feeling  of 
being  utterly  beautiful  while  standing  hat- 
less  with  blowing  hair,  in  a  shabby  raincoat, 
this  feeling  of  being  at  the  center  of  the 
stage  while  standing  on  a  foggy,  deserted 
hill. 

"No,  Chris,  no,"  she  said. 

"No— what?" 

"No  New  York." 


THISCMBEMIERlCil 


S(^  Stfuit^efU  ^unt 


******    if    MARV  SITS  WITH  THE  STARS     ••••••• 


I  REMEMBER  once  seeing  a  list  of  Crow 
Indian  names  up  on  the  lovely  reserva- 
tion of  rolling  hills  and  waving  buffalo 
grass  in  Southern  Montana,  and  among 
them  was  a  name  I  have  never  forgotten. 
It  was  "Mary  Sits  With  the  Stars." 

No  one  knows  just  how  the  American 
Indians  receive  their  names.  One  theory  is 
tiiat  a  child  is  named  after  something  the 
mother  has  seen  just  before  its  birth,  or  be- 
cause of  something  the  mother  has  been  do- 
ing. If  this  theory  is  correct,  then  the 
mother  of  Mary  was  a  thoughtful  woman;  a 
woman  who,  as  we  shall  see,  "considered." 

One  can  imagine  her,  the  child  big  within 
her,  sitting  on  starlit  nights  on  the  edge  of 
some  slope,  endless  miles  of  silver  silence 
stretching  away  from  her,  her  mind  busy 
with  plans  for  the  life  so  recently  created; 
busy,  as  are  the  minds  of  millions  of  dream- 
ing American  women  now,  young  and  old, 
red,  white,  black  or  yellow,  whose  sons  are 
scattered  to  the  four  corners  of  the  globe  or 
whose  sons  are  about  to  be  born. 

Next  to  our  breath  and  the  flowing  of  the 
blood  in  our  veins,  words  are  the  closest 
things  to  us  we  have.  And  like  our  breath 
and  the  flowing  of  our  blood,  they  are  with 
us  always.  Their  exact  meaning  is  of  grave 
and  terrible  importance.  Between  each 
man  and  woman  and  both  the  inner  and  the 
outer  world  is  a  thin  transparent  sheet  of 
glass,  and  this  glass  is  language.  If  the  win- 
dow is  dirty  or  scratched  through  ignorance, 
or  carelessness,  or  misuse,  what  the  man  and 
woman  see,  looking  out,  is  obscure  and  dis- 
torted, and  what  light  comes  in  is  misty  and 
uncertain.  For  language,  the  desire  to  com- 
municate not  only  the  barest  needs  but  the 
deepest  thoughts,  with  all  the  agony  of  wish- 
ing to  be  understood,  is  what,  more  than 
anything  else,  distinguishes  the  human  race 
from  other  species,  and  is  the  fundamental 
mystery  upon  which  can  best  be  based  belief 
in  some  sort  of  immortality. 

No  man  is  wiser  than  his  words,  although 
this  does  not  mean  that  a  large  vocabulary 
necessarily  implies  wisdom.  Many  simple 
men  speak  knowingly  within  their  limits. 
Many  so-called  educated  men  open  their 
voluble  lips  only  to  speak  folly. 

The  point  is  to  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing, and  what  the  words  you  use  mean,  for 
words  are  as  dangerous  as  lightning,  and  as 
reverberating  as  thunder.  And,  like  rain  on 
a  pond,  words  move  in  ever-widening  cir- 
cles. That  is  why  one  of  the  most  useful  and 
instructive  things  a  man  can  do,  whenever 
he  gets  the  chance,  is  to  look  up  derivations. 


What  do  the  words  he  uses  actually  mean? 
Why  were  they  first  invented?  What  press- 
ing human  need  did  they  first  fulfill? 

For  each  word  in  the  beginning  was  an  in- 
vention, and  a  slow  and  painful  one  at  that. 
And  each  word  in  the  beginning  had  its  own 
separate  shade  of  difference,  accurate  and 
subtle.  In  all  language  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  perfect  synonym.  Only  carelessness 
makes  us  think  otherwise. 

And  it  is  wonderfully  exciting— this  game 
of  derivations.  Far  more  exciting  and  useful 
than  crossword  puzzles  or  anagrams.  Try  it. 
All  you  need  is  a  dictionary.  Also,  it  is  sur- 
prising and  amusing.  Constantly  you  will 
catch  your  friends  using  words,  ponderously 
and  portentously,  but  ignorantly,  the  real 
meaning  of  which  makes  what  is  being  said 
absurd.  But  above  all,  if  you  play  this  game, 
you  will  achieve  a  respect  for  your  distant 
ancestors,  for  the  men  who  invented  most  of 
our  words,  and  for  the  human  race  to  which 
they  belonged.  You  will  perceive  in  the  hu- 
man race  a  constant,  not  to  be  defeated, 
longing  for  and  belief  in  the  good  and  wise 
and  far-visioned,  and  an  equally  strong  con- 
tempt for  the  small  and  selfish  and  self- 
seeking.  To  express  this  belief  and  this  con- 
tempt, our  ancestors  invented  strong  and 
wise  and  beautiful  words. 

And  this  brings  us  back  to  Mary  Sits  With 
the  Stars. 

We  all  of  us  know — his  name  is  legion— 
the  man  who  calls  himself  "a  realist,"  and 
who  thinks  that  "realism"  consists  in  be- 
lieving the  worst,  in  deprecating  imagina- 
tion, in  obstructing  progress,  and  in  concen- 
trating upon  his  own  interests  and  the  im- 
mediate future.  He  is  a  "practical "  man;  he 
tells  you  so.  Such  men  know  neither  their 
derivations  nor  their  history,  and  this  can 
be  proved  by  a  small  trick,  by  the  use  of  two 
of  the  commonest  of  English  words. 

Ask  any  such  man  if,  granting  all  his 
premises,  nonetheless  he  will  not  admit  that 
the  realistic  man,  the  practical  man,  must  be 
one  who  "considers,"  who  figures  things 
out.  The  only  possible  answer  is  yes.  Then 
ask  this  "realist"  if  he  knows  what  the  word 
"consider"  actually  means.  He'll  be  aston- 
ished. For  "consider"  comes  from  two 
Latin  words,  con  and  sidera,  and  means 
"with  the  stars";  and  the  wise  men  who  in- 
vented the  word  meant  to  describe  that 
ultimate  wisdom  which  arises  only  from  oc- 
casionally sitting  by  yourself,  and  consider- 
ing the  universe,  and  birth,  and  death,  and 
the  glory  and  the  pity  of  yourself  and  of  all 
men,  your  brothers,  everywhere. 


"Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star,"  said  Amer- 
ica's wisest  philosopher;  and  he  might  have 
added,  "Make  your  thinking  universal,"  for 
strange  things  happen  to  you  if,  occasion- 
ally, "you  sit  with  the  stars,"  if  you  make  a 
habit  of  "considering."  Each  time  you  do 
so,  if  only  ever  so  little,  intolerance  drops 
away  from  you,  and  some  degree  of  small- 
ness;  and  a  slice  of  selfishness,  and  of  the 
cruelty  of  self-advantage. 

And  the  other  common  word  not  gener- 
ally understood  is  "desire,"  which  also  has 
to  do  with  the  stars,  although  the  prefix, 
"de,"  is  different,  and  so  means  "from  the 
stars"  and  not  "with  them."  Here,  then,  is 
a  logical  sequence,  for  all  action  must  begin 
with  a  desire,  and  all  action,  at  least  accord- 
ing to  the  men  who  invented  words,  must 
be  considered.  From  the  stars,  with  the 
stars,  is  hence  the  course  of  wisdom  and  the 
method  of  thought. 

A  porch,  a  rocking  chair  and  "consider- 
ing" have  had  much  to  do  with  the  wise  and 
tolerant  and  humorous  and  kind  American 
philosophy  that  has  made  us  what  we  are  to- 
day. And  as  the  world  and  this  country  be- 
come more  crowded  and  breathless,  only  the 
fool  will  forget  the  stars. 

And  That  Can  be  America. 


WHAT  YOU  CAN  DO 

(Continued  frotn  Page  27) 

f 

Shakespeare  noted  that  the  soldier  was 
"jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in 
quarrel."  Very  likely  our  young  veteran  will 
be  somewhat  like  that,  edgy,  unpredictable, 
overly  intense  and  violent  in  his  speech,  with 
some  tendency  to  explode  into  violent  action. 
The  tendency  toward  explosive  outbursts 
varies  greatly,  reflecting  the  veteran's  pre- 
service  personality  and  the  circumstances  of 
his  war  experience.  Those  who  have  been  in 
combat  will,  of  course,  have  most  reason  to 
display  such  traits. 

The  mental  states  that  go  with  war  ex- 
periences are  incommunicable,  or  nearly  so. 
Almost  every  generation  that  has  fought  a 
war  has  come  back  feeling  that  it  has  learned 
something  which  it  cannot  share,  believing 
that  civilians  can  never  understand  the 
soldier.  Often  they  wish  to  forget  the  whole 
business,  feeling,  as  one  young  veteran  ex- 
pressed it,  "Such  thingsare  better  forgotten." 

What  can  the  mother  do  for  such  a  boy? 
She  can  tolerate  him,  put  up  with  his  eccen- 
(Continued  on  Page  94) 


TOMATO 


ii 


^om.A^ 


/ 


\ 


.   fnmnbell's  Tomato  Jui« 

„„.  *»  ^ .'  *•« ;»  :f:^  H.," 

aoes  overseas  to  tne  hi    t 


I' 


than  on  your  grocer  ^^^^^ 

next  fall'.  More  tha^  ^,,,,d  win.  And 
food  is  helpi'^g^^  ^J  ^^^  of  toma- 
^th  the  vital  ^ealthb^  ^^^.^j 

toes  so  widely  reco^-f^^, He  very 
find  tomato  3^  '^^  ^^^^^.tence  of  Army 
rtor^Jd-dtitians. 

.ndtUat.wheremostojCa^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Tomato  Juice  is  ng^;no;,,r:  the  c^^ 
left  for  civxUan..  So  re  ^^^^^^^ 

you  can't  buy  today       a^.  ^^,,en3oy- 
tntrtl'om""^"'^^' 


Campbell's  .n^-t^e^^^t^ 

favorite  tomato    --^.^^   ^^^   .^esh 

venient   form   he  s    g    ^     g^    ^^d  an 

tomato  vitamms  -  ij.  ^.^^^^^  he 

abundant  supply   o^  t^^.^  ^ 

must  have  daily.  •• 

,3uringthepasttwentyea.^r;ith 

3uice  has  become  -^V,  ,ew  tomato 
Utof  Amencajhen  ^^     ^^^.^ 

season  com^^  f,^' ffcient  Campbell  s 
^e  can  put  up  sutUc  ^^^.^^ 

Tomato  Juice  ^^^^^  J^^^     Meanwhile, 


TONVMO  iVJlCE 


94 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  194! 


HORRIFIED  AS  CHILDREM  LITTER 
FP.>EMOS  FRESMLV-CLEANEO  RUG. 


RELIEVED  AS  FRIEWOS  BISSELL 
DOES  A  JIFFV  SWEEP- UP... SLIDING 
EASILY  OMOER  LOW  FURWITURE. 


AMAZED  WHEMTOLD  BISSELL  ADJUSTS 
SELF  TO  WAP- LENGTH  OF  ANV  RUG. 


REJOICES  AT  MEWS  SOME  BISSELLS 
ARE  AVAILABLE*— SO  GRAND  FOR 
QUICK  CLEAMIMGS. SAVES  VACUUM.TOo! 


BISSELL  SWEEPERS 

Sweep  QO/CKiy-  fmpty  fAS/iY 

BISSELL  CARPET  SWEEPER   CO..  GRAND  RAPIDS   2,  MICH. 


^Risseli  is  back  in 
limiied  production. 
Your  dealer  may 
have  one  for  you 
now — or  sooo. 


CHAPPED  HANDS 

Heo/  Faster!^ — -r^ 


Here's  nurses'  secret  of  quick,  soothing  relief 


Are  your  hands  red,  rough, 
chapped  and  sore?  Don't  think 
there's  nothing  you  can  do  about 
it!  Actual  tests  show  that  Noxzema 
helps  heal  even  badly  chapped 
hands  faster.  That's  because  Nox- 
zema is  not  merely  a  cream,  but  a 
medicated  formula.  It  not  only 
brings  quick,  soothing  relief,  but 
helps  heal  the  tiny  "cuts"  and 
cracks.  Nurses  were  among  the 


first  to  discover  how  effective 
Noxzema  is  for  red  rough  hands. 
Try  it  for  your  cracked,  chapped 
hands!  See  how  quickly  they  feel 
better  —  look  better,  too.  It's 
greaseless,  non-sticky.  Get  a  jar 
today  at  any  drug  counter.  10^, 
35^,   50^  and  $1.*  'Plus  Tax 

NOXZEMA 


(Conlinued  from  Page  92) 
tricities  of  speech  and  action,  help  him  to 
learn  to  conform  to  the  demands  of  society 
with  no  court-martial  hanging  over  him, 
teach  him  to  rise  betimes  and  to  bestir  him- 
self all  day  without  a  top  sergeant  to  urge 
him  on.  She  can  let  him  talk  if  he  wants 
to,  and  permit  him  to  be  silent  if  that  is  what 
he  prefers.  She  can  give  him  time  to  recover. 

It  will  be  well  for  the  mother  to  remember 
that  this  boy  who  returns  from  the  wars  has 
lived  a  long  time  without  love,  for  the  sol- 
dier's is  a  loveless  life.  One  of  the  soldier's 
most  distinctive  and  least  agreeable  traits, 
his  constant  use  of  obscenity,  results  from 
this  denial  of  love,  for  this  obscenity  is 
merely  a  way  of  degrading  that  which  one 
cannot  have.  It  may  be  that  the  veteran 
has  lived  so  long  without  affection  that  he  no 
longer  knows  how  to  express  such  feelings 
or  how  to  receive  them  gracefully,  yet  he 
needs  warmth  and  tenderness  and  yearns 
for  them  inwardly.  This  need  his  mother  can 
satisfy,  if  she  does  it  properly,  but  she  must 
demand  nothing  in  return — not  at  first.  She 
must  be  willing,  as  mothers  usually  are,  to 
give  without  prospect  of  immediate  repay- 
ment. Later  the  bread  that  she  has  cast 
upon  the  waters  will  return  to  her  manyfold. 

Perhaps  the  mother  of  our  young  veteran 
will  be  able  to  help  him  to  decide  to  return 
to  school.  It  will  be  splendid  if  she  can,  be- 
cause education  is  the  best  means  of  over- 
coming the  mental  isolation  of  army  life  and 
thus  restoring  the  veteran  to  society.  When 
the  Federal  Government  is  willing  to  pay 
most  of  the  bills  for  college  education,  it  may 
seem  a  simple  matter  for  the  veteran  to  take 
advantage  of  the  offer.  Sometimes  it  will  be, 
more  often  not.  The  veteran  is  a  man  grown ; 
it  is  hard  for  him  to  become  a  schoolboy 
again.  While  in  the  service  he  has  learned 
to  live  for  the  moment ;  it  is  hard  for  him  to 
make  long-term  plans  now,  hard  to  sacrifice 
the  present  for  the  sake  of  a  distant  goal. 
If  the  mother  can  persuade  the  boy  to  avail 
himself  of  the  sort  of  training  for  which  he 
is  fitted,  that  will  be  a  great  victory  for  her 
and  for  her  son. 

Perhaps  the  veteran,  equally  as  young  as 
the  one  of  whom  we  speak,  has  acquired  a 
wife.  Then  his  mother  faces  a  much  more 
complex  situation  and  one  which  calls  for 
great  self-restraint.  There  is  only  one  bit  of 
advice  that  one  can  honestly  give  to  such  a 
mother,  and  that  is:  Let  the  young  people 
alone!  Don't  try  to  be  a  Mrs.  Fixit!  Every 
generation  has  the  right  to  make  its  own 
mistakes.  The  present  younger 'generation, 
damaged  by  war,  will  make  more  than  its 
share.  Some  of  the  radio  programs  teach 
that  nosybodies  can  always  fix  things  up  in 
other  people's  lives.  They  are  wrong.  You 
will  meddle  but  to  mar.  Let  the  young 
people  alone! 

THE  WIFE 

The  young  wife  of  such  a  veteran,  of 
course,  has  an  even  more  difficult  problem 
than  his  mother,  without  a  lifetime  of  ex- 
perience to  guide  her  and  give  her  poise.  Her 
relationship  with  her  husband  is  new  and 
unstable,  and  very  exacting  in  its  demands. 
Herself  somewhat  scarred  by  war,  she  must 
nevertheless  take  more  than  the  wife's  usual 
responsibility  for  her  marriage.  Yet  she  has 
her  own  needs  to  consider.  Often  she  will 
have  difficulty  in  deciding  between  her  duty 
to  herself  and  her  duty  to  her  husband. 

Such  a  young  wife  must  realize  that,  al- 
though she  may  have  been  married  for  some 
years,  she  has  not  yet  established  a  home. 
She  has  known  her  husband  only  under 
unusual  conditions.  She  must  remember 
that  her  husband  is  under  a  special  strain 
because  he  must  adjust  to  civilian  life  and  to 
marriage  at  the  same  time.  If  difficulties 
arise,  the  wife  must  give  herself  and  her  hus- 
band time  to  work  out  the  pattern  of  their 
life  together.  Then  at  some  point  she  and 
her  husband  may  have  to  decide  whether  or 
not  their  perhaps  overhasty  marriage  is 
actually  worth  saving. 

The  educational  opportunities  of  the  G.I. 
Bill  of  Rights  present  a  peculiar  hazard  for 
the  future  years  of  such  marriages.  If  the 
husband  elects  to  return  to  school,  his  wife 
faces  a  difficult  period.  The  G.I.  bill  does 


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95 


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Don't  confuse  Sani-Flush  with  ordi- 
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No  special  disinfectants  are  needed. 
Doesn't  injure  septic  tanks  or  their  ac- 
tion nor  harm  toilet  connections.  (See 
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A  CANARY   Thrills 

FRANCES  LANGFORD 

Popular  Songstress  on  the  Bob  Hope 
Radio  Show' 

And  you,  too,  should  know 
the  heart-warming  thrill  of 
owning  a  canary.  Like  the 
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and  Biscuit  —  the  largest 
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I/N  A  CANARY— THE  ONLY  PET  THAT  SINGS 


not  provide  very  generously  for  dependents. 
According  to  the  present  scale,  husband  and 
wife  would  have  to  live  on  seventy-five  dol- 
lars a  month,  which  is  little  indeed  in  view 
of  current  high  prices.  Even  if  there  is 
sufficient  money,  the  position  of  a  college 
wife  is  difficult.  Her  husband  must — or 
should — spend  most  of  his  evenings  in  study, 
which  the  wife  may  be  inclined  to  resent. 
And  college  education  changes  a  man,  so 
that  the  husband  is  likely  to  grow  away  from 
his  wife. 

But  suppose  the  young  husband  does  not 
return  to  school?  Then  the  great  prob- 
ability is  that  his  economic  prospects  will 
not  be  too  good.  Will  he  not  in  later  years 
blame  his  wife  for  his  lost  opportunity,  and 
regret  that  he  married  so  young?  Perhaps 
this  is  a  very  unreasonable  attitude,  but  I 
have  seen  the  matter  turn  out  in  that  way, 
under  analogous  circumstances,  a  great  many 
times. 

Sometimes  the  woman  in  a  man's  life  may 
help  him  most  by  not  marrying  him  imme- 
diately after  his  release  from  service.  The 
chances  of  failure  in  postwar  marriages  are 
unusually  high,  and  it  may  be  best  for  both 
parties  to  delay  marriage  until  they  have 
regained  their  emotional  balance  after  the 
hysteria  of  war.  Then  there  is  the  matter  of 
education;  a  woman  is  not  very  wise  to 
marry  a  man  if  by  so  doing  she  prevents  him 
from  completing  the  training  for  which  he 
has  planned.  It  is  a  hard  choice  at  best,  for 
many  girls  will  lose  their  chance  of  marriage 
by  postponing  it,  but  a  woman  does  not  gain 
much  by  becoming  a  wife  if  her  marriage  is 
an  unhappy  one. 

If  the  wife  has  had  a  good  education,  and 
is  capable  of  systematic  intellectual  work, 
she  may  be  in  a  position  to  profit  from 
serious  study  of  the  veteran  and  his  psy- 
chology.    She   will    discover   no   rules,    of 


DEFIIVITIOIVS 

^  Smile:  a  light  in  the  window  of 
^  the  face  which  shows  that  the 
heart  is  at  home.      —MAGAZINE  DIGEST. 

Politeness  has  been  well  defined 
as  benevolence  in  small  things. 

— BOSWELL. 


course — no  valid  rules — but  she  should  study 
to  gain  a  general  knowledge  of  the  subject, 
and  to  develop  her  judgment.  For  such  a 
young  woman  I  should  suggest  the  following 
four-point  program: 

1.  She  should  begin  by  making  a  thorough 
study  of  the  psychology  of  the  veteran,  his 
habits,  attitudes,  beliefs,  desires  and  ca- 
pacities, the  ideals  and  values  by  which  he 
lives.  Many  books,  articles  and  manuals  are 
already  available  for  such  study,  and  there 
will  be  many  more.  The  novels  and  auto- 
biographies of  World  War  I  are  rich  in  in- 
sights which  can  be  applied  today.  If  a 
number  of  young  women  should  organize 
themselves  into  a  discussion  group,  they 
would  probably  find  that  this  helped  them  to 
maintain  interest  and  to  promote  under- 
standing. 

Whether  she  studies  alone  or  in  a  group, 
the  woman  should  read  to  reflect  and  con- 
sider, to  broaden  her  understanding  and  to 
develop  her  judgment,  but  without  any  ex- 
pectation of  finding  formulas  which  will  save 
her  the  trouble  of  thinking. 

2.  When  she  is  reunited  with  her  husband, 
the  young  wife  should  study  him  in  the  light 
of  what  she  has  learned  about  soldiers  and 
veterans  in  general.  In  many  respects  her 
husband  will  be  like  all  the  other  men  who 
have  come  home  from  history's  countless 
wars,  but  every  human  being  is  different. 
The  wife  must  study  her  own  veteran  in  or- 
der to  learn  his  needs  and  problems,  his 
strength  and  weakness.  She  should  strive 
to  understand  his  particular  case,  and  then 
she  must  decide  how  she  can  best  help  him 
in  the  process  of  readjustment.  She  must 
formulate  her  strategy  and  change  it  as 
circumstances  may  require. 

Perhaps  the  husband's  greatest  need  is 
emotional  security— since  he  has  lived  so 


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96 


long  in  a  loveless  world — and  she  can  best 
meet  his  need  by  just  being  a  woman  who 
loves  him  and  nothing  more,  which  sounds 
easy  but  may  require  some  doing  in  a  re- 
lationship complicated  by  a  war.  Or  perhaps 
it  is  self-confidence  which  her  husband  lacks, 
and  the  wife  must  supply  the  reassurances 
which  will  help  to  build  him  up.  There  are 
many  other  possibilities. 

Bui  all  this  ivill  be  worse  than  futile;  it  will 
prove  actually  harmful  unless: 

3.  The  wife  as  quickly  as  possible  induces 
her  husbana  to  assume  his  full  share  of  the 
responsibility  for  the  conduct  of  their  relation- 
ship. The  veteran  must  have  help  in  regain- 
ing his  mental  and  emotional  stability,  but 
it  must  not  be  continued  a  minute  longer 
than  is  absolutely  necessary.  In  a  good 
marriage,  the  responsibility  of  the  partners 
is  equal;  it  is  mutual — each  helps  the  other. 
If  the  wife  is  constantly  "managing"  her 
husband,  if  she  is  always  helping  and  never 
being  helped,  then  the  marriage  will  be  very 
frustrating  for  her  and,  strangely,  hollow 
and  unrewarding  for  her  husband.  But  let 
the  wife  transfer  to  the  husband  his  share  of 
responsibility,  let  her  lean  upon  him  some- 
times, and  she  will  find  that  her  husband  has 
gained  a  new  strength  and  their  marriage  a 
new  meaning.  It  is  desirable  that  this  shift 
of  responsibility  to  the  husband  be  made  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

4.  The  wife  who  has  studied  the  matter 
will  realize  when  she  needs  professional  help. 
In  such  matters  the  wife  will  often  have  to 
take  the  lead,  but  she  should  do  so  with  the 
utmost  tact  and  con- 
sideration.   We  are       

learning  now  that  it  is 
no  disgrace  to  call  in 
the  specialist  to  help 
with  problems  of  hu- 
man relations.  It  would 
be  best  to  go  to  a  psy- 
chiatrist or  a  trained 
social  worker  for  such 
assistance,  but  this 
may  not  be  possible. 
Then  a  family  doctor, 
a  psychologist  or  soci- 
ologist, a  minister  or  an 
understanding  friend 
may  be  able  to  supply 
wise  counsel.  In  decid- 
ing where  to  turn  for  help,  it  is  well  to  re- 
member that  the  best  advisers  are  those  who 
advise  least — or  least  readily. 

TIIK  IIADLV  WOINDKII  IMAIV 

So  far  we  have  spoken  only  of  the  veteran 
who  returns  safe  and  sound,  or  at  worst 
with  only  minor  and  transitory  disabilities. 
But  the  wife  or  mother  of  the  maimed  or 
badly  wounded  man  has  responsibilities 
which  she  can  never  delegate  to  anyone  else, 
and  she  faces  a  set  of  choices  which  involve 
almost  unbearable  pathos.  For  the  sake  of 
the  discussion,  let  us  assume  that  the  boy 
has  had  an  amputation  or  some  other  dis- 
abling or  disfiguring  accident,  but  that  he 
has  not  broken  mentally. 

The  present  tendency  of  Army  authorities 
is  to  tell  the  wife  or  mother  of  such  a  maimed 
and  mangled  man  that  she  must  receive  him 
casually,  overlooking  his  disability  or  pre- 
tending that  it  does  not  exist.  For  instance, 
an  administrative  officer  at  Halloran  Gen- 
eral Hospital,  who  himself  had  suffered  and 
overcome  a  disability,  recently  stated  a  set 
of  rules  of  behavior  for  the  families  of  dis- 
abled veterans.  They  follow: 

Be  casual.  An  initial  expression  of  sym- 
pathy is  to  be  expected,  but  don't  dwell  on  it. 

Get  all  the  false  feeling  of  frustration — 
yours  and  his — out  of  the  way  immediately. 

Be  hard-boiled— to  his  face  at  least.  If  the 
man  understands  the  reason  for  this  atti- 
tude, he  will  regard  it  as  a  service. 

Be  on  the  alert  to  discourage  any  tendency 
toward  an  invalid  complex.  Encourage  him 
to  go  on  and  be  the  useful  citizen  he  would 
have  been  if  he  had  not  been  hurt. 

Recognize  the  fact  that  whatever  differ- 
ences exist  are  purely  physical,  they  in  no 
way  make  him  a  different  person. 

These  rules  are  in  accord  with  the  current 
tradition.  They  are  based  upon  sound  psy- 
chological understanding  of  the  harm  that 


February,  IS 

can  be  done  to  a  disabled  veteran  by  an  ov( 
solicitous  family,  but  they  have  their  poi 
of  danger  in  that  they  overlook  the  ve 
great  possibility  of  carrying  this  casualne 
this  bravery  too  far.  There  is,  jjf  course, 
denying  the  sincerity  of  the  men  who  gi 
this  advice.  Many  of  them  have  devot 
their  lives  to  the  wounded  men  of  o 
armies.  Nevertheless,  I  believe  their  psych 
ogy  is  bad.  It  may  work  for  some  cases,  b 
in  others  it  can  do  incalculable  harm. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  pers 
who  meets  the  wounded  veteran  casua! 
should  treat  him  casually,  like  anybody  eli 
and  should  not  torture  him  with  mort 
curiosity  or  offers  of  imwanted  help.  B 
the  closer  one  comes  to  such  a  man,  t 
harder  it  is  to  overlook  his  disability.  An  ei 
ployer  should  discuss  it  frankly.  A  wife 
mother  can  hardly  avoid  a  strong  emotioj 
reaction  toward  it.  Many  times  the  moth 
cannot  help  crying  about  it,  and  in  such  ca; 
it  is  better  that  she  should  not  try.  It  seei 
to  me  it  is  never  a  good  idea  to  advise 
mother  or  anyone  else  to  do  something  whi 
it  is  quite  impossible  for  her  to  do; 

No  doubt,  as  the  proponents  of  the  tre; 
'em-rough  school  insist,  the  amputees  ma 
tain  high  morale  in  the  hospital,  and  th 
break  when  they  get  outside  where  peo] 
sympathize  with  them.  Such  things  happ 
frequently.  But  in  the  hospital  the  veter 
is  surrounded  by  other  cruelly  wound 
men.  That  makes  it  easier  for  him  to  mE* 
light  of  his  own  disability.  When  he  gets  (j 
he  must  learn  to  l] 

with   people   who   .j 

not  disabled.  It  is  bl 
ter,  therefore,  for  arr 
not  to  stay  too  long 
a  hospital,  and  we  m  ^ 
face  the  necessity  of  i 
emotional  readju 
ment  when  the  veteil 
returns  to  society. 

We  know,  also,  tl 
what  the  veteran 
quires  from  his  wife 
mother  is  very  diffen 
from  what  he  demar 
of  his   companions 

the  hospital.   From , 

own  women  a  rr 
must  get  emotional  security,  and  the  f( 
ing  that  he  is  important  because  he  is  v; 
he  is.  Such  things  are  incompatible  w 
casual  acceptance  of  disability. 

We  also  know  that  in  these  really  cl 
relations  it  is  necessary  for  all  import. 
emotions  to  be  expressed.  Both  the  disab' 
veteran  and  his  family  must  complet 
unburden  themselves  concerning  his  har 
cap.  They  must  face  it  and  not  try  to  prcti 
that  it  does  not  exist.  They  must  mourn 
his  loss  and  win  emancipation  from  tl 
grief  at  the  cost  of  pain.  If  a  person  trie 
put  such  things  out  of  his  mind,  they  fe; 
in  the  unconscious  and  produce  neun 
symptoms.  It  is  precisely  from  such  way 
meeting  situations,  such  often  admire 
courage,  such  militant  ignoring,  that  n 
rosis  arises;  for  the  neurotic  is  only  a  per 
who  has  carried  some  virtue  to  such 
extreme  thairit  has  become  a  vice. 

Therefore,  my  advice  to  the  wife  or  mot' 
of  the  badly  wounded  man,  given  with 
caution  that  circumstances  alter  cases  : 
every  human  being  is  different,  would  bt 
If  your  son  comes  home  disabled  or  i 
figured,  cry !  That  is  the  natural  and  hun 
thing  to  do.  Let  him  cry  too.  Leteveryb 
cry.  Cry  until  you  get  it  out  of  your  s 
tems.  Then  when  you  have  had  your  < 
and  he  has  admitted  and  expressed  his  ( 
heartache,  try  to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  y 
lives  and  put  them  together  again.  Admit 
disability.  Get  used  to  it.  Then  help  y 
son  to  build  up  the  best  possible  life  v 
what  he  has.  This  will  rule  out  all  possibi 
of  undue  pampering  or  of  encouraging 
validism.  But  do  not  start  being  hard-bo 
until  you  have  been  sympathetic. 

The  disabled  veteran  who  is  too  brave 
that  he  refuses  to  recognize  his  disabil 
runs  the  risk  of  building  up  inner  teni 
that  will  sooner  or  later  put  him  in  a  me: 
hospital.  The  wife  or  mother  who  trie: 


TIME  \VOItK<« 
FOR  WOMEIV 

^  Times  have  <'hanf;e€j  to  ihc  a<l- 
^  vail  I  ape  of  women.  In  America's 
eoloiiial  days,  the  husband  usually 
oullived  his  first  vtifc,  and  more  men 
than  w<»men  married  a  second  time. 
Continuous  childbcarinK  took  a 
heavy  toll.  'IVxIay,  women  live  on  the 
average  four  years  longer  than  men, 
anil  their  chance  t«>  marry  a  second 
time  as  a);ainst  that  of  their  hus- 
bands is  two  to  one.  h.  G.  BEIGEL 

Marrioge:  Fables,  Focts  ond  Figures. 


97 


A  tip  to  Mothers: 

'Let  Junior  have  his  private 
HAP  STICK.  He'll  prize  It— use  it 
—if  it's  his  very  own.  Specially 
[ledicated  to  bring  quick  comfort  to 
chapped,  cracked,  sore  lips. 

CHAP  STICK  for  every  member 
your  family." 


^OXSt   SHOE   FOR   EVERY   QCCN^' 


\0' 


ER  BROS.  SHOE  CO.  •     ST.  LOUIS  8,  MO. 


overlook  a  disability  can  easily  spoil  a  re- 
lationship by  imposing  upon  herself  and  the 
veteran  a  mental  strain  greater  than  either 
can  bear.  The  wife  of  one  disfigured  man 
stated  her  courageous  but  mistaken  policy 
in  these  words:  "  If  a  man  is  disfigured,  don't 
ever  mention  that  fact  to  him.  Imagine  how 
it  would  hurt  him!  And  above  all,  concen- 
trate on  what  is  left,  not  what  is  gone."  Her 
psychology  was  shortsighted.  By  excluding 
such  a  fact,  obvious  to  them  both,  she 
will  end  by  making  the  disfigurement — the 
horrible  never-to-be-mentioned  thing — far 
more  important  than  it  would  otherwise 
be.  The  workable  solution  would  be:  Accept 
the  disfigurement.  Grieve  over  it  until  you 
both  feel  better.  Refer  to  it  when  necessary, 
and  never  let  it  get  to  the  point  where  it 
cannot  be  referred  to.  Then  it  will  slowly  re- 
cede from  the  center  of  the  field  of  conscious- 
ness and  you  may  both  forget  it  in  a  healthy 
manner. 

It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  disabled 
veteran  and  his  family  should  mourn  in 
order  to  free  their  minds  from  his  handicap. 
As  long  as  the  disability  or  disfigurement  is 
not  faced,  it  will  dominate  consciousness. 
The  disabled  veteran  must  say  to  himself, 
"  I  am  crippled.  I  have  lost  an  arm.  Nothing 
can  ever  bring  it  back.  It  is  a  great  loss," 
and  then  he  must  give  suitable  expression 
to  his  sorrow.  Only  then,  perhaps  after 
months  of  the  psychic  pain  of  grief,  can  he 
go  on  to  other  things  with  a  mind  free  and 
void  of  tenseness.  There  is  no  recovery 
without  an  intermediate  state  of  unhappi- 
ness.  Nothing  can  cure  grief  but  grief  itself. 

For  the  disabled  veteran  who  mourns  but 
not  too  long,  as  for  the  widow  who  weeps  but 
not  forever,  the  prognosis  is  good.  Courage 
the  disabled  veteran  must  have  in  any  case, 
and  his  wife  or  mother  must  have  courage 
also ;  but  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  their  mental 
hygiene,  they  should  not  show  it  until  they 
have  purged  themselves  with  weeping. 

Mourning,  of  course,  is  not  enough.  The 
fact  is  that  the  wounded  man  needs  several 
different  kinds  of  help  from  his  wife  or 
mother,  and  to  give  this  help  she  must  do 
different  things  at  different  times.  I  think  it 
might  be  useful  for  such  women  to  realize 
that,  choosing  their  times  well,  they  must  do 
the  following  things: 

1.  Through  sympathy  and  love  they  must 
help  the  wounded  man  to  give  adequate 
expression  to  his  own  pent-up  emotions. 
Some  say.  Don't  cry.  I  say.  Cry  and  get  it 
over  with.  Cry,  and  thus  help  your  man  to 
cry.  Some  say.  Do  not  coddle  the  wounded 
man,  do  not  pamper  him.  I  say.  Coddle 
him  some,  pamper  him  a  little  and  thus  help 
him  to  get  well.  Give  him  enough  sympathy, 
but  not  too  much. 

2.  They  must  help  him  to  face  reality. 
That  means  he  must  realize  he  has  a  handi- 
cap. I  know  of  a  blinded  veteran  who  re- 
fused a  fellowship  because,  he  said,  he  could 
do  anything  a  sighted  man  could  do  and 
therefore  he  wanted  no  special  help.  He  was 
wrong.  Blindness  is  certainly  a  handicap. 
He  needed  help,  and  should  have  accepted 
it.  The  wife  or  mother  must  help  such  a  man 
to  face  reality,  and  to  accept  any  aid  which 
is  justly  his  to  put  him  on  an  equal  basis 
with  others. 

3.  They  must  assure  him  that,  regardless 
of  his  disability,  he  still  matters.  The 
woman  must  give  him  emotional  security, 
the  feeling  that  come  riches  or  poverty,  for 
better  or  worse,  she  will  stand  by  him.  Hon- 
esty compels  us  to  admit  that  sometimes 
the  young  wife  will  be  unable  to  give  such  as- 
surance. There  is  no  dodging  this  fact.  A 
great  many  of  the  hasty  marriages  of  war- 
time will  be  hard  to  carry  through  under 
any  circumstances,  and  disability  of  the  hus- 
band will  complicate  them  still  further. 

4.  They  must  help  him  to  take  up. his  life 
and  to  make  the  most  of  it  in  spite  of  his 
handicap.  They  must  induce  him,  as  noted 
above,  to  assume  his  full  share  of  responsi- 
bility for  family  relationships. 

Any  woman  who  attempts  to  help  the 
disabled  man  in  her  family  must  employ 
almost  infinitely  varied  means  to  these 
different  ends.  Keeping  her  varied  objec- 
tives in  inind,  she  must  discover  what  she 


Look 


even 


prettier 


than 


you 


ore! 


EN  LELONC  \  /c)j 


The  lavish  loveliness  of 
Lucien    Leiong   Pace   Pov^der 
av/akens  beauty  you  never 
vm^-  dreamed  was  yours.    And  for  economy, 

v/itness  that  there  are  five  ounces  in  the 
container, sufficientfor  a  six-months'  revel.      Zri.«fax 


LUCIEN     LELONG     FACE     P  O  W  D  E  BtMJ 


98 


February, ] 


t^ 


<$f 


must  do  and  say  to  attain  them.  If  there  is 
a  rule  for  such  matters,  it  is:  Everything  at 
the  right  time,  nothing  too  much  or  too  long. 
But  do  not  forget,  all  your  cunning  will  be 
useless,  or  worse,  if  you  do  not  quickh  shift 
to  the  man  his  own  full  share  of  responsibility 
for  your  relationship. 

THE  I^IEINTALLY  tXSOriVD 

In  the  above  discussion,  I  have  assumed 
that  the  returning  veteran  is  mentally 
sound.  In  the  case  of  the  veteran  whose 
mental  equilibrium,  for  whatever  reason,  has 
been  upset,  professional  advice  is  necessary. 
Just  as  in  the  case  of  the  amputee,  the  wife 
or  mother  of  the  psychiatric  case  must  give 
him  emotional  security,  let  him  know  that 
he  still  matters,  and  help  him  to  build  up 
self-confidence  to  meet  the  strains  of  life — 
if  she  can.  It  will  help  such  women  to  realize 
that  most  of  these  men  are  not  "crazy,"  that 
they  broke  under  unusual  stresses  and  will 
probably  be  adequate  for  the  ordinary  de- 
mands of  life,  once  they  have  recovered  from 
their  experiences.  But  women  must  also 
consider  their  own  needs.  I  do  not  believe 
that  anything  is  gained  where  one  human 
being  sacrifices  himself  for  another  beyond  a 
certain  point.  I  admit  the  point  is  hard  to 
locate  exactly. 

However,  all  such  cases  require  profes- 
sional advice,  and  for  this  there  is  no  sub- 
stitute. In  order  to  meet  the  psychiatric 
needs  of  the  United  States'  in  the  postwar 
years,  we  shall  need,  according  to  careful 
estimates  by  authorities  in  the  field,  from 
ten  to  fifteen  thousand  additional  psy- 
chiatrists and  a  somewhat  larger  number  of 
psychiatric  social  workers.  The  job  for  all  of 
us  is  to  build  up  such  a  public  demand  that 
the  need  will  be  met.  Even  if  this  service  is 
made  readily  available,  there  will  still  be 
work  for  the  wives  and  mothers  of  the  psy- 
diiatric  cases.  One  of  their  tasks  is  suggested 
by  the  fact  that  the  great  majority  of  persons 
who  need  psychiatric  care  usually  refuse  to 
take  it,  preferring  to  attempt  to  lift  them- 
selves by  their  own  bootstraps. 


A  COMMUNITY   PROGKAM 

Women  whose  husbands  and  sons  are  no 
the  service  can  most  effectively  help  reti 
ing  veterans  through  the  community  act 
ties  of  the  various  women's  clu|)s  and  org 
izations.  Some  suggested  programs  for  s 
groups  might  be  summarized  as  follows: 

1.  Attempt  to  activate  the  G.I.  Bill 
Rights  in  their  local  communities.  Legi 
tion  such  as  the  G.I.  bill  does  not 
cannot  solve  the  veteran  problem.  It  mei 
makes  available  certain  types  of  assista 
to  veterans.  Leaders  of  the  local  commui 
must  take  the  responsibility  for  seeing  t 
every  veteran  gets  the  kind  of  help  he  wj 
and  needs.  This  can  never  be  done  en  ma 
It  requires  painstaking  work  with  indivic 
veterans. 

2.  Work  on  the  health  problems  of  ■ 
erans  and  their  families.  Seek  out  case 
disability  among  veterans  in  the  immec} 
postwar  years,  and  see  to  it  that  they 
ceive  proper  care.  Failure  to  do  this  a 
World  War  I  caused  many  injustices, 
opened  the  door  to  many  later  frai 
Veterans'  families  will  also  have  ser; 
health  problems;  many  of  these  have  li 
under  very  bad  conditions  during  the 
years.  As  a  part  of  the  health  progr 
psychiatric  facilities  of  some  sort  shouk 
made  available  in  every  community. 

3.  Furnish  veterans  help  in  getting  ; 
and  expert  vocational  guidance. 

4.  Help  veterans  eligible  for  schooling 
capable  of  profiting  from  it  to  take  advant 
of  their  opportunities  under  the  G.I.  Bi' 
Rights.  This  would  sometimes  involve  1 
of  some  sort  for  the  veteran's  family,  wl 
might  be  deprived  of  income  while  he 
going  to  school. 

5.  Make  available  trained,  professii 
help  for  veterans  involved  in  tan 
marriage  and  family  relationships. 

6.  Do  all  this  in  co-operation  with  es 
lished  agencies  and  without  duplicatioi 
effort.  There  is  no  excuse  for  competitio 
for  jurisdictional  disputes.  There  is  v 
enough  for  all- 


The  south  side  (the  sunny  side)  is 
the  best  place  to  tap  a  sugar  maple 
tree  to  get  a  high  yield  of  sap 

Enjoy  real  maple 
sugar  flavor 

Nothing  can  match  the  flavor  of  real  maple 
sugar.  And  we  make  sure  you  get  it  in 
Vermont  Maid  Syrup. 

First,  we  choose  mapte  sugar  with  a  good, 
full  flavor.  Then  by  skillfully  blending  it 
with  a  combination  of  cane  sugar  and  other 
sugars  we  enhance  the  luscious  maple  flavor 
— make  it  richer  .  .  .  more  delicious. 

This  blend  gives  you  the  same  true  maple 
sugar  flavor  in  every  bottle  of  Vermont  Maid 
Syrup. 

Penick  St  Ford,  Ltd.,  Inc., 
Burlington,  Vt. 


No  one's  home-made  kini 


tastes  as  ^oodas 

EVERBES' 


f 


id 


'r' 


Vermont 

Syrup 


Serve  piping -hot  hiscuii 

^^ — ~  WITH 

(  OLD  FASHIONED  , 
((C  SPICED  PEACKJ 

^^  WITH     CHERRY  J^^^ 

We  slice  plump  peaches 
that  are  bursting  with  flavor, 
spice  them,  add  luscious  red 
cherries,  and  make  a  spread 
that'sings  to  your  appetite. 
It's  a  delicious  taste-treat  that 
brightens  every  meal! 

"How  to  Make  Life 
.Sweeter  with  Everr 
best"  illustrates  — 
recipes  for  des- 
serts, icings, 
tea  ftoodics.  /  rp, 
SENT  FREE      /.      "* 

6laser,  Cianilell        "tClpl 
Conpaey        '  ' 

Depl.   B2 
Chicago  8 


99 


XICE  TO  rOMi:  HOME  TO 

(Continued  from  Page  41) 


that.  It  is  very  good  looking  and  good  eat- 
ing, and  the  motif  is  the  sauce.  I  shall  tell 
you  about  curried  shrimp  later,  but  now  do 
help  me  to  keep  my  mind  on  the  menu  and 
my  eyes  off  these  boys. 

SHKIMP  I'Ot  RTAIL  SAUCE 

Mix  1  cup  of  tomato  catchup,  !4  cup  of 
chili  sauce,  juice  of  1  lemon,  1  teaspoon  of 
Worcestershire  sauce,  a  few  drops  of  Ta- 
basco sauce,  1  tablespoon  of  horse-radish. 
Arrange  your  shrimps  in  glasses — nave 
plenty  of  shrimps  (cold)  and  plenty  of 
sauce  (hot  >vith  seasoning.) 

STEAK  Al%'l»  ONIONS 

One  thing  that  surprised  me  a  little  was 
that  nobody  mentioned  mushrooms.  Maybe 
they  don't  like  them.  Perhaps  they  forgot 
them.  But  a  good  supply  of  fried  or  broiled 
mushrooms  does  go  well  with  steak;  and  if 
you  go  ahead  under  your  own  steam  on  this 
business,  I  believe  no  one  is  going  to  find  a 
word  of  fault. 

Anyway,  we  have  the  French-fried  onions, 
and  whoever  dreamed  those  up  ought  to  have 
a  leather  medal,  and  maybe  has.  I  wouldn't 
know,  for  they  came  into  my  life  an  accom- 
plished fact. 

But  to  thv  tttttak.  Pick  a  sirloin  or  a 
porterhouse,  anywhere  from  one  and  a 
half  to  two  inches  thick.  Sprinkle  it  with 
black  pepper.  Set  to  broil  and  sear  it 
quickly,  turn  it  and  sear  on  the  other  side. 
Now  turn  down  the  broiler  and  finish 
broiling.  Most  men  like  it  rare — "just 
whisked  through  the  kitchen,"  says  one — 
but  I  saw  one  vote  for  medium,  and  that 
is  how  I  like  mine.  Put  it  on  a  very  hot 
platter,  dust  with  salt,  garnish  as  you 
please — but  be  generous  with  your  crisp 
brown  onion  rings.  And  don't  forget  to  add 
as  much  butter  as  you  can  spare,  right  on 
the  hot  steak. 

Can  do.  You  can  and  may  pan-broil  your 
steak.  Heat  a  large  iron  spider  smoking  hot. 


Put  in  the  steak,  sear,  turn,  sear,  reduce  the 
heat  and  finish  it  off.  I've  seen  a  good  job 
done  with  some  steaks  this  way.  We  always 
used  to  broil  steaks  in  a  wire  broiler  over 
red-hot  coals  or  charcoal,  and  I  still  do  at 
the  grill  down  by  the  brook.  So  you've  got 
a  choice,  all  good  and  every  one  guaranteed 
to  get  the  results  you  want,  and  they  want. 
And  this  is  what  they'll  get. 

FKENCH-FltlEU  ONIONS 

Soak  the  sliced  onions  in  milk  on^  hour. 
Drain.  Dip  in  flour  and  frj  in  deep  hot 
fat  until  a  wonderful  golden  brown.  (For 
crispness,  the  onions  shoidd  be  sliced  very 
thin  and  separated  into  rings.)  Rcrmutia 
onions  make  better  French  fries  than  the 
small  to  medium  ordinary  yellow  onions. 
But  onions  are  onio  is,  say  what  you  will, 
and  they  are  all  goo. I. 

IVait  a  minuti'.  It's  mashed  potatoes 
that's  on  my  mind.  I  know  just  the  kind  the 
boys  had  in  mind.  Mash  them  or  put  them 
through  the  ricer.  Then  do  it  again  and  then 
beat  with  a  wooden  spoon.  Gradually  add 
milk  or  cream — you  know  which  is  better — 
hot  with  seasoning  of  butter,  salt  and  pepper. 
Then  beat.  Be  careful  that  they  aren't  soggy 
or  pasty,  but  light  as  a  feather  and  smooth  as 
a  kitten's  ear.  Pile  them  in  a  hot  dish.  Make 
a  deep  hole  in  the  center  and  drop  in  a  gen- 
erous piece  of  butter.  Set  in  the  oven  for 
a  minute  or  so. 

Ntttr  In  tny  prtuniftv.  But — not  another 
word  about  shrimp.  Only  I  said  I'd  give  you 
this  curry  receipt.  So  here  it  is — just  in  case. 

CIJItltlED  SHniJ»IP 

Take  2  to  3  pounds  of  shrimp,  wash, 
cover  with  boiling  water.  Add  a  slice  of 
lemon,  a  slice  of  onion,  a  piece  of  bay  leaf, 
a  few  whole  black  peppers,  a  handful  of 
celery  leaves  and  Vi  teaspoon  salt.  Simmer 
about  fifteen  minutes.  Drain  (save  the 
liquor),  cool,  shell  and  remove  black  vein. 


OFFEE 

(CiKE§ 


— nuule  thv  eiittii  Mtuft  iraif 

HERE'S  HOW:  Follow  directions 
for  "Roll-overs"  on  the  Duff's  Hot 
Muffin  Mix  package.  Sprinkle  with 
brown  sugar  un<l  spices,  and  dot 
with  shortening.  Cut  slices  about 
1"  thick  and  bake  in  a  greased, 
floured  muffin  tin. 


Lusty  Lea  ScPemn^ 
Worcestershire  add- 
Td  to  low-point 
cneats  gives  them  a 

"*"flarr"u:^ 

cious  flavor.   *- 
Perrias  Sauce  js  a 
'flavor   secret    or 
good    cooks    eve^y- 

can  use  it  to  add  ex 
tra  tastiness  to 
vorite  dishes. 


Famous  for  more 
than  100  years 


w 


LEA&PERRINS 

THE  ORIGINAL  WORCESTERSHIRE 


I  a^^i:-  ls*;^-^i 


*J  o 


^^/ way  to  give  | 
a  budget  supper  i 
a  banquet  air 


^ 


I^Ioat   Birds 

Mix  together  I'a  tsp.  salt,  ?1^  tsp. 
pepper.  Sprinkle  on  both  sides  of 
6  slices,  6"x4"x)2"  thick,  of  meat 
(veal,  pork  or  beef).  Pound  3  tblsp. 
flour  into  1  side  of  meat  slices. 
Turn  and  pound  unfloured  side. 
Cook  ^3  cup  fine  cut  onion  in  3 
tblsp.  hot  fat.  Add  4  cups  day-old 
bread  cubes,  '^/i  cup  fine  cut  celery, 
'4  cup  milk,  1  beaten  egg.  Mix 
thoroughly.  Spread  on  unfloured 
side  of  meat  slices.  Roll  up  and 
secure.  Brown  in  3  tblsp.  hot  fat. 
Add  ^4  cup  hot  water,  cover,  cook 
for  1  hour  or  until  tender.  Serve 
in  nests  of  the  tenderest,  juiciest, 
most  succulent  green  beans  that 
ever  made  your  mouth  water  for 
more.  That  means  nothing  but 
the   Finest .  .  .  Stokely's   Finest! 


100 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


lerhaps  you  are  wondering 
why  we  advertise  when  there  is 
a  great  scarcity  of  tuna.  Well,  we 
do  so  for  two  reasons;  first,  to 
tell  you  why  there's  a  shortage, 
which  is  because  most  of  our  big 
fishing  fleet  is  in  the  Navy. 

Secondly,  (and  most  impor- 
tant!) to  assure  you  that  when 
you  are  lucky  enough  to  find 
these  famous  brands  at  your 
grocer's,  every  can  is  the  same 
high  quality  as  you  enjoyed  be- 
fore the  war  . .  .  always  delicate 
and  delicious  because  only  the 
tender,  light  meat  is  packed. 

VAN  CAMP  SEA  FOOD  CO.,  INC. 
Terminal  Island.  California 


Buy  EITHER  brand... 
the  quality  is  the  same 


You  are  an  American 
...buy  WAR  BONDS/ 


Put  4  tablespoons  of  butter  or  margarine 
in  a  frying  pan.  When  melted,  add  1  onion, 
'4  cup  of  apple  and  '^  cup  of  celery,  all 
chopped  fine.  Simmer  these,  then  add  the 
liquor  drained  from  the  shrimps  with 
enough  water  to  make  1'/^  cups  of  liquid. 
Let  it  all  simmer  gently  until  the  celery 
and  apple  are  tender  and  most  of  the 
liquid  has  cooked  away.  Stir  into  the  mix- 
ture 2  tablespoons  of  curry  powder.  Add  2 
cups  of  cream  and  the  shrimps.  (Don't  get 
excited  and  forget  theshrimps.)Cookslowly 
until  the  cream  is  reduced  to  a  sauce. 
If  your  wartime  cream  is  too  thin  it  may 
cur«lle;  better  thicken  slightly  with  1  table- 
spoon flour.   Season  with  salt  and  pepper. 

Surprisina  things  happen.  Most  of  OUT 
boys  had  hot  rolls,  crusty  rolls  or  baking- 
powder  biscuits  on  their  minds.  But  one  of 
our  picked  crew  here  voted  for  his  favorite 
"Coffee  Gems."  That  was  a  new  one  to  me, 
but  they  certainly  sounded  good  and  I  found 
they  were  good,  so  that  is  why  I  shall  set 
this  receipt  down  instead  of  the  usual  "rolls 
and  biscuits."  This  will  give  you  a  real 
variation  on  an  old  theme.  These  go  with 
coffee  and  Sunday  breakfast  as  naturally 
as  a  boy's  thoughts  turn  to  home. 

fnVVKK  UK^tS 

Cream  14  «'"p  of  shortening  with  '/x  cup 
of  sugar.   Add  1   well-beaten  egg.   Stir  in  !4 


No,  the  reason  for  their  trip  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Juditii.  Not,  at  least,  in  that 
sense.  As  Marny  thouglit  that.  Judith  turned 
l.er  exquisite,  triangular  face  witii  its  pointed 
chin  and  high  cheekbones,  its  wide,  soft,  dark 
eyes  and  arched,  shilling  eyebrows,  and 
smiL'd  at  her.  Marny  felt  her  heart  warming 
toward  Judith;  she  always  did  when  Judith 
smiled  like  that.  In  a  C|ueer  way  Juditii  and 
Andre  Durant  were  alike:  both  of  them  had 
the  most  extraordinary,  apparently  un- 
studied and  unconscious  charm. 

Winnie  turned,  putting  her  large,  fair 
forearm  across  the  back  of  the  folding  seat. 
"You  are  very  quiet,  Marny,"  she  said. 
"1  ired?  We'll  soon  be  at  the  house.  We've 
done  wonders  with  it  this  year,  Judith  and  I. 
Of  course,  we  never  stayed  in  Florida  long 
enough  to  do  anything,  other  seasons.  But 
it's  really  awfully  nice  in  the  summer,  you 
know.  We  like  it  better,  honestly,  than  the 
winter-tourist    season.    There's    always    a 

breeze  and Here  we  turn  off."    She 

leaned  forward  and  poked  the  chauffeur 
eliiciently.  "Turn  here — then  right  across 
the  bridge." 

"New  chauffeur?"  asked  Tim. 

"We've  had  him  a  week,"  said  Judith 
lazily.  "He  can't  drive,  but  don't  be  nervous, 
darling.  We'll  be  home  in  a  minute  or  two. 
It's  so  hard  to  get  any  help  now.  But  Winnie 
finds  them — I  don't  know  how.  Winnie  is 
wonderful." 

They  were  on  the  causeway,  with  Miami 
glittering  in  the  setting  sun  behind  them 
now,  strung  with  a  few  early  lights  as  if  they 
were  jewels,  and  ahead  of  them  Miami  Beach 
stretching  to  the  right  and  left  beyond  the 
bay.  Islands  like  emeralds  dotted  the  bay. 
Presently  they  would  turn,  and  turn  again; 
cross  a  bridge  and  reach  the  island  Tim  had 
bought  several  years  before:  Shadow  Island. 

Andre  seemed  to  be  going  to  the  island 
with  them;  it  appeared  to  be  taken  for 
granted.  Perhaps  he'd  been  staying  at 
Shadow  Island  before  Judith  sent  him  to 
New  York  with  the  letter  to  Tim.  It  was 
odd,  thought  Marny,  that  in  all  her  conver- 
sation with  Andre  during  that  week,  she 
didn't  happen  to  know  that. 

She  didn't,  if  it  came  to  that,  know  very 
much  about  him.  She  had  an  impression 
that  Judith  had  asked  Tim  to  give  him  a  job; 
if  so,  however,  Tim  had  not  mentioned  it  to 
her.  She  knew  that  he  was  young,  good  com- 
pany and  vouched  for  by  Judith.  '1  here  was 
something  vaguely  foreign  about  him;  she 
knew  he  had  lived  in  France  and  in  various 
Caribbean  islands  and  had  traveled  consid- 
erably. He  had  gone  to  school,  briefly,  he'd 
said  once,  in  England,  but  he  spoke  Amer- 


cup  of  molasses.  Sift  144  cups  of  flour  with 
!4  teaspoon  of  salt,  \4  teaspoon  of  ginger 
and  '/4  teaspoon  of  cinnamon.  Dissolve  1 
teaspoon  of  soda  in  J4  cup  of  stri>ng  cold 
coffee.  Add  dry  ingredients  alternately  to 
the  creamed  mixture  with  the  coffee.  Fill 
greased  muffin  pans  two  thirds  fidl  and 
bake  in  a  moderate  oven,  350°  F.,  for 
twenty-five  minutes. 

Getting  toward  the  end.  Only  a  choco- 
late cake  will  do.  Chocolate  cake  and  choco- 
late frosting,  and  may  the  bowl  be  licked  when 
all  is  done.  This  is  a  little  special,  this  cake, 
and  no  man — soldier,  sailor,  marine  or  what- 
ever— but  would  fly  an  ocean  to  get  it.  Goes 
lovely  with  ice  cream,  too,  especially  vanilla. 
And  vanilla  is  what  they  want.  No  straw- 
berry flummery  was  mentioned.  It's  good 
old  vanilla  from  start  to  finish. 

But  how  do  I  know  when  they  say  "choco- 
late cake"  whether  they  mean  chocolate 
cake  with  a  white  frosting  or  white  cake  with 
a  chocolate  frosting?  So  I'm  providing  both. 

I'UOI'OLATE  <:AHE 

Mix  '/i  cup  of  sugar,  !4  cup  of  cocoa  and 
Vi  cup  of  boiling  water  together.  Stir  con- 
stantly over  low  beat  until  smooth  and 
glossy,  ('ool  thoroughly.  Cream  '/^  cup 
of  shortening  and  1  cup  of  sugar  together. 
Add  2  well-beaten  eggs  and  beat  the  mix- 
ture well.    Tbeii  add   the  cooled  chocolate 


THE  WHITE  DREKS 

(Continued  from  Page  IS) 

ican  with  only  a  touch  of  any  sort  of  accent 
and  that  was,  if  anything,  French.  He  was 
good  at  swimming,  tennis,  dancing,  and 
knew  odd  bits  of  information  on  many  and 
varied  subjects.  He  was  attractive — too 
attractive? — gay,  handsome  in  a  rather 
casual,  careless  way.  She  knew  how  he'd 
laughed;  she  knew  he  liked  a  rumba  and 
danced  with  an  easy  Latin  rhythm;  she 
knew — well,  that  was  enough.  Why  should 
she  catalogue  Andre  Durant's  virtues? 
Whose  black  head  was  bent  near  Winnie's 
as  they  both  leaned  near  the  open  window 
to  watch  the  jewellike  lights  of  Miami. 

They  turned  off  the  causeway  and  crossed 
a  bridge.  It  was  the  only  approach  to  the 
island  by  road.  The  car  went  through  coral 
gates,  and  along  a  winding  avenue  set  so 
beautifully  and  so  thickly  with  tropical 
flowering  shrubs  that  it  blazed  with  scarlet 
and  red  and  purple. 

It  was  by  that  time  growing  dusk,  so  the 
shadows  along  the  driveway  were  soft  and 
thick;  another  turn  and  they  approached  the 
house— long,  white,  Spanish  in  effect,  with 
grilled  iron,  lacy  and  painted  white,  along 
the  balconies,  and  lights  glowing  inside. 

It  was  a  beautiful  house;  it  suited  the 
palms,  the  thick,  rustling  bamboos,  the 
bougainvillaea  and  poinciana  and  the  blue 
waters  of  the  bay  as  perfectly  as  if  it  had 
grown  there.  On  the  south,  directly  below  it, 
lay  the  bay,  blue  now  in  the  dusk.  On  the 
north  was  a  swimming  pool,  tiled  in  blue. 
They  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  through  thick 
shrubbery. 

It  looked  cool  and  inviting.  A  quick  swim 
before  dinner  was  exactly  what  she  needed, 
thought  Marny.  Something  was  wrong  with 
her;  something  that  the  tropic  twilight,  the 
lush  greens,  the  bright  scarlets,  the  sweet, 
humid  air  had  sharpened,  rather  than  lulled. 
It  was  like  a  bud,  that  small  hidden  sense  of 
uneasiness,  forced  by  the  tropical  air  into 
swift,  full— and  rather  sinister— bloom. 

// 

It  was,  however,  an  imaginary  bloom — 
something  she  could  not  see  or  touch  or 
account  for  in  any  way — and  she'd  have  to 
hurry  for  her  swim. 

Winnie  took  charge  as  the  car  stopped  and 
moved  things  along  briskly;  dinner  would  be 
at  eight,  drinks  on  the  terrace  above  the 
bay,  now  or  at  any  time. 

Under  Winnie's  brisk  direction  and  bus- 
tling there  was  no  chance  for  further  talk. 
Before  she  realized  it,  Marny  found  herself 
in  one  of  the  guest  rooms — a  charming 
room,  all  modern  blond  wood  and  thick 
beige  rugs  and  pale  pink  cushions.  An  open 


mixture  and  2  teaspoons  of  vanilla.  Mix 
until  smooth.  Sift  2  cups  of  cake  flour 
with  y^  teaspoon  of  salt  and  1  teaspoon  of 
baking  soda.  Add  alternately  to  creamed 
mixture  with  %  cup  of  buttermilk.  Bake 
in  a  loaf  or  in  layers,  and  don't  scrHnp  on 
the  frosting. 

CHOCOLATE  FROSTING 

Melt  4  squares  of  chocolate.  Beat  2  egg 
yolks  very  thick.  Add  I'/i  cups  of  sugar,  Yi 
cup  of  milk  and  1  tablespoon  of  butter  or 
margarine.  Bring  to  a  boil,  stirring  con- 
stantly. Boil  one  minute.  Take  from  the 
fire  at  once.  Add  the  melted  chocolate  and 
1  teaspoon  of  vanilla.  Beat  hard  until 
thick.  Cool  until  it  is  ready  to  spread  and 
doesn't  exhibit  any  melancholy  disposi- 
tion to  retire  from  the  cake  to  the  plate. 
It  won't — if  you  make  it  with  care. 

So  now  gou  know.  If  anybody  has  won- 
dered— now  you  know.  At  least  how  eight 
men  feel  about  their  favorite  meal.  Some 
of  them  like  to  cook.  That  boy  who  makes 
baking-powder  biscuits,  for  example.  And 
one  who,  in  England,  gets  his  own  breakfast. 
And  another  who  broils  the  best  steak. 

Well,  it's  all  nice  to  know  about.  And  you 
can  bet  there'll  be  more  favorite  meals  set 
up,  when  these  and  all  the  rest  come  home, 
than  you  can  shake  a  stick  at.  But  of  one 
thing  I  am  certain:  ice  cream  is  a  pin-up. 


door  led  to  a  balcony,  from  which  winding 
iron  steps,  painted  white  and  laden  with 
purple-flowering  bougainvillaea,  led  down 
to  the  strip  of  lawn  and  the  bay. 

A  small  colored  maid,  neatly  aproned  and 
capped,  appeared  to  unpack  Marny's  bags 
and  see  to  the  towels  in  the  sea-green-and- 
scarlet  bathroom  adjoining. 

The  quiet  was  soothing  after  the  steady, 
strong  drone  of  the  airplane  engines.  It 
would  be  even  quieter  in  the  pool. 

She  searched  out  the  white  two-piece 
bathing  suit  she  had  packed  hurriedly  the 
night  before  and  got  into  it  quickly.  She 
slid  her  tanned  feet  into  scarlet  sandals, 
twisted  her  dark  hair  into  a  knot  on  top 
of  her  head  and  fastened  it  with  combs, 
considered  and  rejected  the  hot  stickiness  of 
a  bathing  cap,  and  went  to  the  pool. 

She  knew  the  house  rather  uncertainly; 
she  could  cross  the  balcony,  go  down  the 
twisting  iron  stairway  and  around  either 
end  of  the  house,  but  probably  there  were 
people  on  the  wide  porch  for  which  the 
balcony  just  there  formed  a  roof.  She  took 
the  back  way — narrow  back  stairs  and  a  hall 
which  ran  past  the  kitchen  door. 

She  went  quietly  across  the  driveway 
leading  toward  the  garage.  Once  beyond 
the  hibiscus  hedge,  flaming  outwardly  with 
scarlet  yet  deep  blue  in  the  shadows  below, 
she  felt  singularly  removed  from  the  house. 

The  pool  was  an  even  deeper  blue;  she 
sat  on  the  flagstone  border  around  it  and 
took  off  her  sandals  thoughtfully.  And 
glanced  back  toward  the  high  enclosing 
hedge,  and  the  green-shuttered  windows  of 
the  house.  Would  Andre  see  her?  And  come 
and  swim  with  her — the  two  of  them,  alone, 
in  the  cool  blue  water  with  the  dusky, 
tranquil  sky  above  them. 

She  broke  ofY  that  train  of  thought 
abruptly;  she  slid  into  the  water,  turned 
over  on  her  back  and  floated,  barely  using 
her  hands,  deliberately  aware  only  of  the 
slight  movement  of  her  slim  body  and  the 
coolness  of  the  water. 

She  wouldn't  think  of  Andre  Durant.  And 
she'd  conquer  the  abruptly  flowering  sense 
of  something  that  was  so  like — well,  like 
fear! 

She  swam  and  floated  again.  Usually  it 
was  easy,  to  float  like  that  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, away  from  the  job  and  the  fagade  she 
had,  perhaps  unconsciously,  perhaps  in  self- 
defense,  built  for  herself,  back  to  plain 
Marny  Sanderson,  who  didn't  have  to  worry 
about  keeping  her  feet  on  the  rung  she'd  got 
to,  on  a  steep  ladder.  How  easily  she  could 
slip  off  that  rung!  Due  to  ill  luck.  Due  to  a 
(Conlinued  on  Page  102) 


FOR    ABOUT 


A    GUEST 


Here's  a  really  pretty  party— yet  one  that  says  "good  food"!  There's  a 
scrumptious  sauce  in  that  meat  casserole — a  savory  trick  with  shrimp — 
a  new  salad  idea.  You  will  hear  men  ask  for"seconds" — women  for  recipes. 
Each  dish  is  made  extra  rich  and  deUcious  with  pure  point-saving 
Mazola.  Pressed  from  the  hearts  of  golden  corn,  Mazola  makes  so  many 
good  things.  It's  perfect  for  frying,  for  making  fresh  salad  dressings . . . 
and  as  a  shortening.  All  grocers  sell  Mazola. 

LOW-POINT  MENU  — PREPARE  MOST  OF  THIS  FOOD  THE  DAY  BEFORE! 


CREAMED  SHRIMP  SAVORY 

Mix  }/2  cup  flour;  IH  isp.  salt;  %  tsp.  pepper, 

1  bay  leaf,  powdered.  Drain  2  cups  cooked  shrimp, 
shelled  and  cleaned.  Roll  in  flour  mixture  to- 
gether with  \'2  lb.  mushrooms,  quartered. 

Heat  6  tbsp.  Mazola.  Brown  shrimp  and 
mushrooms;  remove  from  pan.  Stir  in  2  tbsp. 
of  remaining  seasoned  flour  and  H  tsp-  dry 
mustard.  Add  gradually  2H  cups  milk,  stirring 
constantly  till  mixture  thickens.  Add  1  cup 
grated  American  cheese;  when  melted,  return 
shrimp  and  mushrooms  to  sauce .  Serve  with  rice. 

CRISPY  DROP  BISCUITS 

Sift  well    together,   4    cups   all-purpose  flour, 

2  tsp.  salt,  8  level  tsp.  baking  powder.  With  a 
fork,  mix  in  %  cup  Mazola  until  the  flour  looks 
pebbly.  Then  stir  in  1 3^  cups  milk.  Drop  bis- 
cuits from  teaspoon  onto  baking  sheet  oiled 
with  Mazola.  Bake  in  hot  oven  (450°F.)  for  12 
to  15  minutes.    Makes  2-3  dozen  biscuits. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  COBBLER 

Reserve  one  cup  of  biscuit  dough, 
stirring  in  one  tablespoon  sugar. 

Now,  combine:  3  apples,  thinly 
sliced;  2  cups  canned  sour  cherries, 
drained;  1  cup  sugar,  4  tbsp.  flour,  14 
tsp.  nutmeg,  dash  cinnam,on,  2  tbsp. 
butter  or  margarine,  1}^  cups  canned 
sour  cherry  syrup. 

Place  all  ingredients  in  covered 
baking  dish;  bake  in  a  moderate  oven 
(375°F.)  about  45  minutes.  Remove 
cover;  drop  biscuit  dough  over  top  by 
teaspoonfuls.  Sprinkle  with  sugar  and 
spices,  if  desired.  Bake  in  hot  oven, 
(450°F.)  15  minutes.  Serve  warm  with 
ice  cream  or  a  custard  sauce. 


SWEDISH  MEAT  BALLS 

Combine  and  mix  well  1  lb.  ground  beef,  H  ^^- 
ground  pork,  }^^  cup  finely  chopped  onion,  ^i  cup 
fine,  soft  bread  crumbs,  3  tbsp.  chopped  parsley, 
Yi  tsp.   marjoram,   \]/2  tsp.  salt,  dash  pepper, 

1  tsp.  Worcestershire  sauce,  1  egg.  Add  J^  cup 
milk;  mix  thoroughly.  Chill  two  hours,  or  over 
night  before  shaping  into  walnut-size  balls. 

Heat  4  <6sp.  Mazola,  brown  meat  balls  slowly. 
Remove,  and  stir  into  Mazola  4  tbsp.  flour,  1 
tbsp.  paprika,  1 J^  tsp.  salt,  ]4,  tsp.  pepper,  then 

2  cups  boiling  water.  Cook  until  smooth;  heat 
meat  balls  in  gravy.  Stir  in  ?4  cup  sour  cream, 
a  little  at  a  time.  Or  use  ^  cup  evaporated 
milk,  mixed  with  3^  tbsp.  vinegar,  or  1  tbsp. 
lemon  juice  and  1  tsp.  sugar.  Serve  with  rice. 

CHATTERBOX  SALAD 

Peel  and  quarter  tomatoes.  Cut  ends  off  green 
beans.  Cook  whole  green  beans;  cauliflowerettes, 
each  in  salted  water.  Pour  marinade,  (recipe 
below)  over  dtained  vegetables;  leave 
overnight  in  refrigerator.  Lift  from 
marinade.  Arrange  as  shown  on  plat- 
ter, garnished  with  carrot  curls,  green 
pepper  rings  and  celery. 

Carrot  curls  and  celei^  garnishes: 
cut  carrots  in  thin,  lengthwise  slices; 
cut  celery  stalks  in  2-inch  pieces,  slit 
in  strips  half-way  down.  Place  both 
in  ice  water  to  curl.  Drain.  Dip  celery 
tips  in  paprika.  Wrap  carrot  curls 
around  bunches  of  green  beans. 

To  make  Marinade:  Mix  thoroughly 
with  egg  beater:  1^4  cups  Mazola,  % 
cup  vinegar,  2  '4^  tsp.  salt,  1  tsp.  pepper, 
1  clove  garlic,  1  tbsp.  sugar.  Marinate 
each  vegetable  overnight.  Savedrained 
Marinade  for  salad  dressing. 

©  Corn  Products  Sales  Co. 


V     \^: 


102 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Feel  the  pinch  of  another  inch?  Better  reduce  the  Ry-Krisp  way! 


FEEL  FIT— LOSE  FAT!  The  Ry-Krisp 
plan  for  the  normal  overweight  cuts 
calories,  permits  appetizing,  nourish- 
ing meals  like  the  one  shown  here. 
And  delicious  Ry- Krisp— 1  00% 
whole  grain,  with  a  rich  rye  flavor — 
helps  tone  you  up.  Start  now.  Eat 
sensibly.  Enjoy  23-calorie  Ry-Krisp 
as  bread  at  each  meal. 


FREE    MENUS,    RECIPES    AND    SIMPLE    REDUCING    PLAN    FOR    NORMAL 
OVERWEIGHT.   WRITE   RY-KRISP,   21    CHECKERBOARD   SO.,   ST.  LOUIS  2,  MO. 


McKee   Range-tec  Skillet 


EASY    TO    CLEAN 


McKEE 


OVEN  WARE    ,„, 


LOOK  WHILE  YOU  COOK 


TOP-OF-STOVE  WARE 


McKEE  GLASS  CO.  •  JEANNETTE,  PENNSYLVANIA  •  EST.  1853 


A  10c  BOTTLE /Qri^^;^^' 108  MEALS 

ADD  5  DROPS  to  each  serving  of  meat,  fish, 
spaghetti,  baked  beans,  chili,  eggs  and  'most  all 
foods   for   a    new,   restful    flavor. 

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• 
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AT    H  OM  E 


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(Continued  from  Page  100) 
wrong  decision.    Due  to  being  a  woman! 
Due  to  Andre.  And  there  she  was  back  to 
Andre  again.  And  glancing,  again,  toward 
the  green  hedge  between  her  and  the  house. 

She  gave  herself  a  violent  push,  turning  so 
she  could  not  see  the  house.  Her  body  glided 
through  the  water;  everything  was  quiet  and 
cool  and  there  was  no  one  anywhere — 
especially  no  Andre — and  nothing  but  the 
water  and  the  darkening  sky,  and  the  lush, 
protecting  lines  of  hibiscus  all  around. 

She  never  knew  how  long  the  man  at  the 
rim  of  the  pool  had  stood  there  watching  her. 
She  never  knew  how  she  knew  that  she  was 
being  watched,  or  what  made  her  catch  her- 
self and  lift  her  head  and  look  toward  the 
end  of  the  pool  opposite  to  the  house,  not 
far  from  the  driveway.  She  did  so,  however, 
with  sudden  expectancy,  as  if  someone  had 
spoken  to  her,  and  a  man  stood  there.  He 
was  quite  near;  she  had  floated  almost  to  the 
end  of  the  pool.  He  was  looking  across  the 
strip  of  clear  water  directly  into  her  eyes. 

He  was  in  uniform.  He  carried  a  cap  in  his 
hand.  Seen  from  the  water,  low,  there  was 
an  extraordinary  strength  and  solidity  about 
him,  as  if  he  had  planted  himself  there  and 
could  not  possibly  be  removed  except  by 
his  own  will.  The  white,  short  skirt  of  her 
bathing  suit  lay  on  top  of  the  water;  she 
whirled  over  so  quickly  that  she  got  salt 
water  in  her  eyes  and  soaked  her  hair;  she 
pushed  the  wet  hair  back  and  said : 

"Who  are  you?  What  do  you  want?" 

It  was  not  in  her  office  voice — that  pleas- 
ant, cool  voice  she  had  learned  and  tried  to 
use,  although  with  only  medium  success. 
The  hard,  fast,  thrilling,  taut,  adventurous, 
slightly  piratical,  altogether  exciting  world 
of  the  aviation  industry  was  not  one  to  in- 
duce coolness  and  calm  at  all  times.  But  her 
voice  now  was  uneven  and  slightly  breath- 
less, and  he  spoke  as  she  did. 

He  said,  "Are  you  Marny  Sanderson?" 
And  it  flashed  across  her  bemused  yet  some- 
how shocked  and  startled  consciousness  that 
when  he  asked  the  question  he  hoped  she 
would  say  no. 

OHE  swam  toward  him.  The  splash  of  her 
brown  hands  with  their  scarlet  tips  sounded 
loud  and  clear.  The  man  at  the  end  of  the 
pool  moved  as  she  approached  and  put  down 
a  hand  for  her;  it  was  sun-tanned  and  square, 
with  a  seal  ring  on  the  little  finger,  and  un- 
expectedly strong,  for  he  hauled  her  up  out 
of  the  water  and  onto  the  flagstones  so 
swiftly  and  neatly  and  easily  that  again  she 
was  caught  by  a  sense  of  surprise  and  breath- 
Icssness.  She  felt  very  small,  standing  now, 
looking  up  at  him.  And  she  must  look  like  a 
wet  cat,  with  her  hair  hanging  in  dripping 
strands  around  her  face.  She  pulled  down 
t  he  wet  and  sticking  skirt  of  her  bathing  suit, 
silently  cursed  her  wet  hair,  and  said  aloud: 

"Thank  you." 

"You  are  Miss  Sanderson?  "  he  said  again. 

"Yes." 

Definitely  there  was  something  dis- 
approving in  his  narrow,  cool  gray-blue  eyes. 
His  mouth  was  rather  tight,  she  thought;  a 
Scotch  mouth.  His  face  was  brown;  his  hair 
was  black,  and  looked  shiny  as  if  he'd  used 
copious  water  in  making  the  neat  part  in  it, 
and  not  very  long  ago.  It  was,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  rather  disarming;  as  if  it  gave  her  a 
glimpse  of  a  boy,  square  and  straight-eyed 
and  innately  conventional,  doing  the  things 
he'd  been  told  to  do,  because  reasonably  and 
conventionally  he  accepted  them.  Not  that 
there  was  anything  boyish  about  the  man  in 
the  gray  Navy  uniform  with  a  flier's  wings 
who  stood  there,  so  solidly  and  substantially. 

He  said,  "I  thought  so.  They  said  at  the 
house  that  you  were  down  here.  I'd  better 
explain  that  I  have  no  appointment.  I 
learned  that  you  and  Mr.  Wales  were  here, 
so  I  took  the  chance  of  coming  out  in  the 
hope  that  you  would  see  me.  I'm  sorry  I 
disturbed  you." 

The  flicker  of  dislike — dislike?  But  he'd 
never  seen  her  before — in  his  eyes  made  her 
reply  brusque.  "I'd  finished  my  swim. 
But  Mr.  Wales  has  just  arrived.  He  prefers 
not  to  see  people  down  here." 

Everybody  who  knew  of  Tim  Wales  knew 
that  he  saw  people  anywhere  he  chose  to  see 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


103 


fiSi 


8?^ 


It  Takes  Day-Long 
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mealy,  tender  goodness. 
Baked  by  New  Englanders 
in  famous  New  England 
kitchens  as  New  England- 
ers Uke  'em  best.  If  yoiur 
Grocer  is  out,  keep  ask- 
ing. He'll  soon  have  more. 
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pany, Portland  2,  Maine. 


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them.  The  man  before  her  obviously  knew 
that  too;  his  face  stiffened. 

She  continued  quickly,  "If  you'll  phone 
tomorrow  and  make  an  appointment " 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  Navy  flier 
looked  angry;  a  slow  flush  crept  up  over  his 
cheekbones  and  his  eyes  were  so  cold  and 
gray  that  she  lowered  her  own  gaze.  There 
was  a  row  of  little  bright  ribbons  above  his 
left  pocket — a  double  row,  as  a  matter  of 
fact.  One  was  a  Purple  Heart;  one  signified 
the  Middle  Eastern  theater  of  war;  one  was, 
she  thought,  a  decoration. 

It  was  very  quiet;  the  water  was  a  shade 
darker,  reflecting  the  deeper  blue  of  the  sky. 
The  thick  hedge  all  around  them  was  like  a 
wall  of  green.  In  the  house  a  light  showed  in 
a  window. 

She  thought  swiftly  of  taking  him  to  Tim 
and  rejected  it;  certainly  this  man  who  knew 
her  name  and  had  come  to  Shadow  Island 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  Tim  wanted  something. 
Everybody  wanted  something  of  Tim.  Part 
of  her  job  was  to  get  rid  of  the  people  who 
wanted  things. 

She  said,  "I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude;  if 
you'll  tell  me  something  of  your  reason 
for " 

He  interrupted ;  his  face  was  still  hard  and 
angry,  but  he  spoke  evenly:  "We  seem  to 
have  got  off  on  the  wrong — that  is,  made  a 


PREJUDICE 

So  few  of  us  really  think :  what  we 
do  is  rearrange  our  prejudices. 

—DR.  GEORGE  VINCENT. 

The  difference  between  a  preju- 
dice and  a  conviction  is  that  you 
can  explain  a  conviction  without 
getting  mad. 

— ANON:  The  Public  Speaker's  Treosure 
Chest,  H.  v.  Prochnow  (Horper  &  Bros.) 


bad  start.  I — my  name  is  Cameron,  Bill 
Cameron.  I'm  in  the  Navy;  that  is,  I'm  on 
leave." 

There  were  two  and  a  half  black  stripes  on 
the  shoulder  boards  of  his  gray  coat.  Lieu- 
tenant Commander  Bill  Cameron,  then. 

She  said,  "Did  you  say  you  want  to  see 
me?  Or  Mr.  Wales?" 

"I — well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  want  to  see 
you.  It's  important."  Again  there  was  a 
look  in  his  eyes  that  seemed  to  disapprove; 
as  if  he  wished  she  were  someone  else. 

She  said,  before  she  could  stop  herself, 
stung  in  an  odd  small  way  by  that  look  in  his 
face,  "Important  to  you,  you  mean?" 

His  face  didn't  change,  but  the  pupils  of 
his  eyes  grew  very  dark.  "Yes.  Important 
to  me.  Important  to  everybody  who's  fought 
in  this  war  and  who  doesn't  want  to  fight  in 
another." 

Tim  wales  hated  cranks;  he  had,  indeed, 
a  swift  and  highly  unpleasant  manner  of 
dealing  with  anyone  whom  he  suspected 
even  remotely  of  falling  into  that  category. 
And  she  knew  that,  usually,  the  cranks  were 
going  to  make  over  the  world;  only  it 
usually  developed  that  they  were  going  to 
make  over  the  world  by  means  of  some  in- 
vention which  they  quite  honestly — and 
sometimes  with  rather  heartbreaking  earnest- 
ness— begged  Tim  Wales  to  introduce.  And 
finance.  Yet  there  was  an  effect  of  urgency 
and  truth  and,  more  than  anything,  of 
common  sense  in  the  face  and  voice  of  the 
man  before  her. 

She  said  slowly,  "Perhaps  you'd  better 
tell  me  specifically  just  what  you  mean." 

"Look  here.  Miss  Sanderson.  I'm  no 
diplomat.  What  I've  come  for  is  really  big 
and  really  important.  And  I— somehow  I've 
got  to  convince  you  and  Tim  Wales." 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  decision 
of  Tim  Wales'.  I  am  only " 

He  interrupted:  "  I  don't  know  exactly  the 
title  they've  given  you  now — head  of  public 
relations  or  some  such  thing.  Actually  you 
are  the  nearest  thing  to  a  partner  that  a  man 
of  Tim  Wales'  stature  could  accept." 

"Don't  be  ridiculousl"     | 

(Continued  on  Page\  JOS) 


Is  he  a  **coffee  crank?" 

Give  him  Nescafe,  the  Nestle's  soluble  coffee  product . 


fT  hen  military  re- 
quirement a  liaie  been 
met,  Nescafe  ivill 
again  be  available 
at  your  grocer's. 


FULL  FLiVORED  COFFEE 

— made  instantly — right  in  the  cup 


Full  Flavored — because  in  Nescaffe  all  the  flavor  and 

aroma  of  freshly-roasted  coffee  are  "sealed  in"  by  a<lded 

carbohydrates. 

You  just  add  hot  water — to  enjoy  all  the  .stimulating 

goodness  of  roaster-fresh  coffee  as  you  like  it  —  strong, 

medium  or  mild.  That  saves  you  time  an<l  work  —  of 

course.  No  coffee-maker  to  get  ready  or  clean;  no  coffee 

grounds  to  dispose  of. 

And  Nescafe  is  a  penny-saver,  too — for  you  make  only 

what  you  need.  Costs  you  about  a  cent  a  cup. 

So  remember —  quick,  delicious  Nescafe  . . . 


A  teaspoonful      ■ 
Add  hot  water 


in  a  cup  ^ 
a!    it's  ready 


NESCAFE  (PRONOUNCED  NES-CAFAY)  IS  A  NESTLE  PRODUCT,  COMPOSED  OF  EQUAL 
PARTS  OF  SKILLFULLY  BREWED  SOLUBLE  COFFEE  AND  ADDED  CARBOHYDRATES 
(DEXTRINS,  MALTOSE  AND  DEXTROSE)  ADDED  SOLELY  TO  PROTECT  THE  FLAVOR. 


AWAtnfO    SUN) 


ISCAfE     PIANI 


NESTLE^S    MILK    PRODUCTS    INC.,   NEW    YORK,  U.  S.  A.  .  Producers  of  Nestle's  Evaporated  Milk 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  194 


e  were  Together...  and  in  New  York! 


"HAVE  THREE  DAYS  LEAVE; 
WILL  YOU  COME," 

you  wired.  Darling,  I  took  the 

next  train.  (Not  much  time  to  pack  .  .  . 

but  she  certainly  tucked  in 

her  Jergens  Lotion.  A 

girl  needs  Jergens  when  her  job  takei 

the  natural  softeners  from 

her  hand  skin.. 


We  dined  at  the  famous  El  Morocco 

— on  an  Ensign's  pay.  Darling,  you  were 
extravagant!  But,  "/  can't  often  dine 
ivith  a  girl  who  has  such  adorable  hands,^^ 
you  said.  Am  I  grateful  to 
Jergens  Lotion! 


"Dream-shopping" 

"Some  day  Fll  buy  you  a  ring  like 

this,"  you  said.  But  I  only  want  you  home, 

dear.  And  I'm  keeping  my  hands 

soft  as  you  love  them, 

by  using  Jergens  Lotion. 


Delightful  young  wives  of  men  in  Service 

use  Jergens  Lotion,  nearly  3  to  1.  Such  sure 
protection  against  roughness.  Two  ingredients  in 
your  Jergens  Lotion  are  "something  special";  many 
doctors  prescribe  them  for  helping  even  gratey  skin 
become  heavenly-smooth,  with  that  soft  young 
look.  Easy  to  use  Jergens!  No  stickiness!  Only — 
be  sure  and  always  use  Jergens  Lotion. 


For  the  Softesi 
Adorable  Hands  US  I 

JERGENS  LOTION 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


105 


(Continued  from  Page  103} 
"They'll  make  you  a  vice-president  next 
year  probably.  You're  at  the  top.    I  know. 
I've  looked  you  up.    I've  asked.    I  had  to 

know.  You  see "  He  paused  then.  And 

said  very  slowly  and  deliberately:  "You  see, 
[  don't  want  another  war  in  another  twenty 
years.  Or  ten  years,  or  five  years.  I  want 
yon  to  stop  it.  You,  Marny  Sanderson. 
[t  can  be  up  to  you  to  stop  the  whole  bloody 
business." 

He  was  a  crank!  In  spite  of  his  steady 
;yes;  in  spite  of  his  sensible,  firm  chin.  She 
thought  that  and  he  said  instantly  as  if  she'd 
jpoken  it: 

I'm  not  crazy.  Did  you  ever  read  The 
Might  Mail?  No — perhaps  it  was  before 
fouT  time.  Anyway,  it's  all  come  true.  Only 
t's  come  true  now  instead  of  in  the  year 
Fwo  Thousand.  From  now  on  the  people 
vho  make  planes  make  planets.  Air  power 
Tiakes  or  breaks  peace.  Listen,  Miss  Sander- 
son, I  saw  this  war.  I  don't  want  another. 
\nd  I'm  speaking,  too,  for — for  a  lot  of  men 
f/ho  can't  speak  for  themselves,  ever  again." 

She  did  not  believe  him;  she  did  believe 
lim;  she  could  not  help  listening.  She  said 
ilowly,  "Why  do  you  come  to  me?" 

"Because  you're  Marny  Sanderson;  be- 
:ause  Tim  Wales  will  listen  to  you.  Because 
^ou  are  a  woman.  Because  it's  up  to  Tim 
iVales  and  a  few  other  people  to  prevent 
mother  war." 

"A  few  other  people!"  Other  airlines,  com- 
)etitors,  rivals?  Had  he  come  from  them? 
Vhy?  To  entrap  Tim  Wales  somehow  with 
11  those  noble-sound- 

ng   generalities.    Sus-       

licion  shot  through  her 
]ivoluntary,  growing 
lelief  in  his  sincerity. 
lis    reply    confirmed 


PRESTO  €HANCiO 


"The  others  can't  do 
without  Tim  Wales. 

[e's  a  czar.  He " 

"You  mean  he  has 
hat  they  want— those 
thers !  You've  come 
om  them !  They  sent 
3u — the  other  Ameri- 
in  lines?  Or  was  it  the 
ireign  ones?  And  you 
lought  I'd  help  you 
all  the  wool  over  Tim 
^ales'  eyes  for  them, 
^ho  sent   you    here? 

xactly  who  ?  "  She  was      

igry— at    herself    for 

itening;  at  Bill  Cameron  for  coming  to  her 
ce  that,  for  catching  her  at  a  disadvan- 
ge,  for  inducing  her  to  listen. 
She  was  not  prepared  for  his  reply,  for 
said  simply,  "Mr.  Winston  Churchill 
It  me." 

'  Mr. "  she  began  and  stopped. 

And  someone  quite  near  said  lazily,  "Am 
nterrupting?" 

She  whirled  around.  It  was  Andre  Durant 
swimming  trunks,  with  a  towel  over  his 
aulder,  a  cigarette  in  one  hand.   She  had 
en  so  caught  by  the  things  Bill  Cameron 
d  said  that  she  had  not  seen  Andre  come 
-oss  the  flagstones  toward  them. 
He  said,  eying  Commander  Cameron,  "A 
nd  of  yours,  Marny?" 
She  said  automatically,  "This  is  Com- 
nder  Cameron — Mr.  Durant." 
\ndre  put  out  a  hand  which  Commander 
meron   did   not   appear   to   see.   Andre 
ugged  and  said,  "  Is  this  an  international 
iference?   I  thought  I  heard  the  name  of 
nston  Churchill." 

\nd  Bill  Cameron,  his  eyes  and  mouth 
d,  said,  "You  don't  believe  me.  You  are 
ing  to  yourself,  'If  this  is  true  he'd  have 
ers  of  introduction,  people  would  have 
jphoned,  the  way  would  have  been  paved 
advance.' " 

t  was,  of  course,  exactly  what  would  have 
)pened.  But  he  wasn't  a  spy.  He  was 
rely,  and  in  spite  of  that  reasonable, 
rdy  Scottish  face,  a  crank.  Winston 
archill!  Tim  would  make  short  work  of 
;  it  would  be  better  and  kinder,  if  it  came 
hat,  to  send  him — but  firmly — on  his  way 
hout  seeing  Tim. 


^  Two  men  on  a  cargo  steamer 
^  were  comparing  notes  as  to  their 
occupations  before  the  war.  One 
had  been  a  porter  and  the  other  had 
been  a  magician. 

The  porter  said  to  the  magician, 
"What  can  you  do?" 

"I  can  make  things  disappear. 
I'll  show  you,"  said  the  magician. 

Just  then  a  torpedo  hit  the  ship 
and  sank  her.  The  two  men  were 
flung  into  the  water.  They  scram- 
bled on  a  raft. 

The  porter  looked  around  with 
disgust,  and  seeing  no  sign  of  the 
ship,  said  to  the  magician,  "I  sup- 
pose you  think  that's  funny?" 

EFFICIENCY  MAGAZINE,  London. 


She  said,  "Mr.  Wales  is  here  for  a  vaca- 
tion. I  don't  know  exactly  how  long  we'll  be 
here,  but  I  really  think  it  would  be  better 

to " 

He  was  angry  again.   He  said,  " to 

get  out  of  here." 

"Now  really,  commander,"  said  Andre. 
"Here" — he  held  his  cigarette  case,  a  gold 
case,  set  with  sardonyx,  ornate  but  hand- 
some, toward  the  Navy  flier — "do  have  a 
cigarette.  Let's  talk  this  over  peaceably — 
whatever  it  is  you  want." 

Bill  Cameron  turned  toward  Andre  sud- 
denly and  swiftly.  "Are  you  interested  in  the 
Wales  Airlines?" 
"My    dear    fellow,    no.     I    merely 

thought " 

"Then  I'll  thank  you  to  keep  out  of  this." 
Andre's  eyebrows  went  up;  he  gave  a 
small  deprecating  shrug.  "No  need  to  get 
worked  up  about  things,  commander.  Are 
you  dining  here?  How  about  a  swim  before 
dinner?" 

"I  don't  want  a  swim,"  said  Bill  Cam- 
eron.   He  turned  to  Marny.  "I  haven't  got 
credentials,  if  that  is  what  you  want.  I  hoped 
to  be  able  to  make  you  understand.  I  thought 
you  might  be  human.  You  looked  that  way — 
in  the  water.   I  thought  you  were  a  woman. 
I  was  wrong." 
"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  job." 
"No,"  he  said.  "  I  can  see  that  now.  I  can 
see  a  lot  of  things."  There  were  hard,  dark 
pupils  in  his  eyes.  Unexpectedly  he  took  her 
hands,  both  of  them,  in  his  hard  clasp  and 
looked  at  them  for  an  instant  or  two,  and 
said,  "You  look  like  a  little  girl — a  rather 
nice,  pretty  little  girl 
with  your  hair  done  up 
like  that  and  your  white 
bathing    suit.    Your 
hands  are  nice  too — 
slim   and   brown    and 
quite   pretty    really. 
And  you'll  not  lift  one 
little  finger  to  stop  this 
bloody   business   from 
happening    all    over 
again."   He  dropped 
her  hands  with  a  ges- 
ture of  something  like 
contempt  and  turned 
away. 

Andre  said  quickly, 
"Now  really,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  can't  let  you 
talk  to  my — to  Miss 
Sanderson   like   this." 

He   put   his  hand  on 

Marny's  wrist  in  a  pro- 
prietary and  protecting  manner.  "You'd  bet- 
ter apologize,  Cameron.  And  quickly." 

Commander  Cameron  swung  around,  his 
eyes  suddenly  blazing,  his  hand  doubled  into 
a  fist.  Then  abruptly  he  walked  away. 

There  was  a  strip  of  grass  and,  farther 
down,  an  opening  through  the  green  hedge 
upon  the  driveway.  Marny  watched  the 
solid  gray-clad  figure  approach  that  opening 
and  disappear  within  the  blank  and  shadowy 
wall  of  green.  There  was  a  brief  sound  of 
hard,  angry  footsteps  on  the  gravel  and  then 
nothing.  And  suddenly  Marny  looked  down 
at  her  brown  hands,  holding  them  out,  turn- 
ing them  slowly,  as  if  compelled  to  search  the 
pink  palms. 

Andre's  voice  came  lazily  through  the 
dusk.  "Pleasant  fellow.  Nice  manners. 
Thought  for  a  moment  he  was  going  to  hit 
me.  Who  is  he  and  what  is  it  all  about?" 


/// 
she  said  slowly.  "That  is. 


1  don't  know 
yes  I  do." 

"Marny,  darling,  pull  yourself  together. 
This  isn't  like  you." 

She  pulled  down  the  wet  skirt  of  her 
bathing  suit  again,  and  gave  a  little  twist 
to  the  wet  knot  of  hair.  She'd  looked  very 
silly,  probably,  floating  on  top  of  the  water 
with  practically  nothing  on.  Like  a  Utile  girl, 
indeed,  she  thought  angrily.  She  could  feel 
her  cheeks  growing  rather  hot  and  flushed. 

Andre  saw  it  and  laughed.  "You're  blush- 
ing. What  did  the  fellow  say  to  you?  Besides 
pretending  to  be  a  friend  of  Mr.  Churchill's. 
Who  is  he?" 

"Bill  Cameron — lieutenant  commander." 


Ar^  you  in  the  know  ? 


Can 

this 

WAC  Lieutenant 

marry  — 

D  A  Private 

D  A  Captain 

D  A  Sergeant 

A  WAC  officer  can  wed  her  One  and 
Only,  whether  he's  a  brass  hat,  a 
non-com,  or  plain  G.I.  Joe.  Perhaps 
you'll  be  asked  to  be  one  of  the 
bridesmaids  at  a  furlough  wedding. 
You  can  be  on  the  scene — serene 
— whatever  the  time  of  the  month. 
Kotex  will  keep  you  confident,  be- 
cause unlike  thick,  stubby  napkins, 
Kotex  has  patented  flat  tapered  ends 
that  don't  show  revealing  lines.  And 
you'll  find  the  dependable  comfort 
of  Kotex  so  different  from  pads  that 
just  "feel"  soft  at  first  touch — for 
Kotex  stays  soft  while  wearing! 


If  your 

writing  runs 

uphill. 

are 

you  — 

n    Moody 

n   Indifferent 

lo  peopi 

e 

D  An  optimist 

It's  fun  to  read  character  through 
handwriting!  If  you  study  up  on  the 
subject,  beforehand,  it  tells  all!  Do 
you  write  uphill?  You're  an  optimist, 
says  Dorothy  Sara,  noted  handwriting 
analyst.  Why  not  keep  that  cheery 
outlook — even  on  trying  days?  You'll 
never  be  a  "worry-bird"  when  you 
choose  Kotex  sanitary  napkins,  be- 
cause that  4-ply  safety  center  keeps 
moisture  away  from  the  sides.  That's 
why  you  can  count  on  getting  pro- 
tection plus — with  Kotex. 


106 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  194! 


Come 


•  Lettuce  •  Spinach 

•  Beets  •  Tomatoes 

•  Ce  lery  •  Parsley 

•  Carrots  •  Watercress 


('i)nt;i 
Ul.C  . 


\il.iinins  A. 
iiiiii  and  irutl 


The  gardeny  fragrance  C^^ 
of  V-8*  Cocktail  — tlic  keen,  icy- 
cold  tang  ot  its  flavor  —  are 
tempting  invitations  to  sleepy,  morn- 
ing a]}petites.  V-8's  tmglmg  com- 
bination ot   fresli-\egetable  juices  is 
|)articularlv  rcrresliing  at  breakfast. 
Bracing,  /(.'stiul,  awakening,  it 
puts  real  meaning  into  a  clieery 
"Good  Morning!" 


ASK   FOR    V-8    AT 
YOUR  FOOD  STORE 


♦V-8isatratli-  in.irkownud 
in  the  IJm  tfd  St  at  i-s  by 
Standard  Hianils  Imoriio- 
rated;  in  Canada  by 
Standard  Hianils  l.iinitici. 


i  \'^"7(ze^^ u^^^^^T^^^^ ^^^ 


"Yes,  I  know.  But  what's  the  idea? 
What  did  he  want  you  to  do?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  Mainly  he  wants 
to  get  at  Tim." 

"Oh,  I  see.  Of  course.  Through  you.  And 
when  he  couldn't  he  got  mad  and  left." 
Andre  shrugged.  "Forget  him.  Let's  have 
a  swim." 

She  was  listening  for  the  sound  of  Com- 
mander Cameron's  departing  car  along  the 
driveway;  he  must  have  left  it  parked  down 
near  the  gate.  "I've  been,"  she  said  ab- 
sently, giving  her  hair  another  twist. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  room,"  said  Andre. 
He  put  out  his  cigarette.  "I  thought,  'What 
a  good  idea.'  So  I  came  down  as  soon  as  I 
could.  Come  on.  There's  plenty  of  time." 
He  went  to  the  rim  of  the  pool  and  dropped 
his  towel  on  the  flagstones. 

She  still  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  Com- 
mander Cameron's  car;  she  said,  absently 
again,  to  Andre,  "It's  all  right  to  dive; 
that's  the  deep  end." 

He  flashed  her  a  rather  odd  glance.  His 
eyes  were  dark  and  vivid,  but  it  was  not 
easy  to  know  what  he  was  thinking  about. 
He  stood  for  a  moment,  poised  on  the  rim  of 
the  pool,  tall,  deeply 


'^O  zyf/Ufftif  rj/u 


browned  by  the  Flor- 
ida sun,  neither  too 
muscular  nor  too 
flabby.  He  said  then, 
"  I  know.   Coming?" 

She  went  to  the 
pool  and  Andre  made 
a  long,  easy  dive;  she 
waited  until  his  head 
came  up,  shining  and 
wet  and  black.  He 
shook  the  water  out 
of  his  eyes. 

"Cool,"  he  said. 
"Come  on  in.  I'll 
catch  you." 

She  had  an  odd 
feeling  just  as  she 
dived  that  Bill  Cam- 
eron had  come  back 
to  the  opening  of  the 
hedge  and  was  look- 
ing at  her;  a  mistaken 
one,  for  when  she 
came  up  and  Andre 
caught  her,  laughing, 
she  glanced  back  to- 
ward the  hedge  and 
no  one  was  there. 

"A  good  dive," 
said  Andre.  "What 
are  you  looking  for?  " 

"I  thought  some- 
body was  there." 

He  looked,  too,  let- 
ting his  hands  slip 
down  her  arms  to  her 
wrists.  "I  don't  see 
anybody.     Who    did 

you    think    it    was?  _____^_^^^ 

Your  sailor  friend  or  ■■■■I^^^^B 

somebody  else?" 

"  I  thought "  She'd  thought  of  Com- 
mander Bill  Cameron.  For  no  reason,  how- 
ever, she  did  not  say  so;  instead  she  said,  "I 
didn't  see  anyone.  It  was  only  an  idea  that 
someone  was  there.  Nothing,  really." 

"Oh,"  said  Andre,  treading  water  and 
watching  the  thick  green  hedge.  "Nobody's 
there  now."  Andre  climbed  out  and  dived 
again. 

But  both  of  them  had  been  wrong,  for 
someone  said,  "Good  dive,  old  chap."  It 
was  Charlie  Ingram;  he  had  come,  however, 
from  the  hedge  entrance  near  the  house,  for 
he  stood  at  that  end  of  the  pool — hatless, 
browned,  his  white  silk  sport  shirt  open  at 
the  throat,  wearing  white  slacks  and  tennis 
shoes  and  carrying  a  racket.  He  beamed  at 
Marny.  "Hello,  my  dear,  hello." 

"Hello,  Charlie."  As  he  walked  around 
the  pool,  Marny  swam  to  the  side  and  hoisted 
herself  up  to  the  rim.  He  shook  her  wet 
hand  heartily,  his  monocle  falling  from  his 
pocket  and  swinging  madly  as  he  bent  to 
greet  her. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  my  dear.  Glad  to  see 
you."  He  glanced  at  Andre  swimming  lazily 
across  the  pool;  his  face  seemed  to  change 
slightly,   but   he   said   with   even   greater 


heartiness,  "Have  a  nice  time  in  New  York 
Durant?" 

"Great,"  said  Andre,  swimming.  "How's 
your  tennis?" 

"Very  fine,  old  chap,  splencjid!  Joll> 
good."  He  looked  down  at  Marny.  Th( 
forced  heartiness  in  his  voice  changed  tc 
Charlie's  naturally  friendly  tones.  "Having 
a  good  swim?  Must  be  nice  after  your  trip 
today.  Well,  I  must  run  along."  He  swunj 
the  tennis  racket  he  carried.  "Only  walked 
over  to  pick  up  a  racket  Winnie  had  restrung 
for  me.  Have  to  go  back  now  and  change, 
'By,  my  dear;  see  you  at  dinner.  I  want  tc 
hear  all  the  news."  He  waved  the  racket 
cheerily  and  went  toward  the  path  through 
the  hedge  which  Bill  Cameron  had  taken, 
Halfway  along  he  appeared  to  remembei 
Andre,  turned,  said  painstakingly,  "See  you, 
too,  Durant,"  and  went  abruptly  on. 

"Oh,  by  all  means,"  replied  Andre,  fishing 
a  large  hibiscus  leaf  out  of  the  pool  where  it 
had  fallen  and  dropping  it  over  the  edge. 
He  didn't  look  at  Marny,  and  they  swam 
lazily  for  a  while,  saying  nothing. 

She'd  better  tell  Tim  about  Bill  Cameron 

and    the    preposterous    things    he'd    said, 

Marny  decided  pres- 


cot)/  rj  mna^ 

By  Virginia  $»outt  Miner 

So  many  things  a  mother  must  not 

say. 
She  must  not  give  an  inkling  she  has 

heard 
His  name  so  much  as  mentioned;  not 

a  word 
Must  fall  by  any  chance  which  might 

betray 
Her  knowledge  that  his  coming,  day 

by  day. 
Gives  rise  to  song  more  sweet  than 

any  bird 
Has  ever  sung;  that  this  young  heart 

is  stirred 
In  richer  welcome  than  the  rose 

gives  May. 

But  all  of  this — a  mother  does  not 
know. 

She  greets  him  as  her  daughter's 
casual  friend, 

Some  other  woman's  pleasant,  well- 
bred  son. 

Though  all  the  while  the  flickering 
questions  go 

Within  her  mind,  revolving  without 
end: 
"Will  she  be  happy?   Safe?   Is  this  the 


ently.  Tim  disliked 
being  bothered  with 
anything  that  seemed 
to  him  unimportant, 
but  she'd  tell  him, 
nevertheless.  She 
tried  a  crawl  and  a 
dive,  and  came  up 
near  Andre. 

Andre  swam  well 
and  easily — the  way 
he  walked  or  danced 
with  an  extraordi- 
nary, apparently  ef- 
fortless grace  anc 
ease.  It  was,  it  sud- 
denly struck  her 
rather  like  the  in- 
stinctive, perfect  co- 
ordination of  an  ex- 
traordinarily slendei 
and  graceful  animal 
Actually,  however,  he 
was  almost  as  extraor- 
dinarily poised  anc 
sophisticated  and,  shf 
suspected,  worldly. 

He    turned    anc 
looked  at  her  quicklji 
across  the  few  feet  o 
water  between  them 
He  smiled,  so  his  faa 
flashed  into  vivacitj 
and  liveliness.     "Ek 
you  approve?" 
"Approve?" 
"Of  me,  of  course.' 
He  saw  too  much 
She   said    lightly 
^^^^^^^^         "Why  not?" 
^^^^•^^■■1  He  floated  a  mo 

ment,  watching  her, ; 
rather  speculative  look  in  his  face,  and  sai( 
abruptly,  "You  are — I  don't  know  how  t^ 
say  it — different  tonight."  - 
"Different!" 

"As  if  you'd 'forgotten  the  Wales  Airline 
and  filing  cabinets,  for  one  thing." 
Definitely  he  saw  too  much. 
He  added  lazily,  "You've  always  put  thi 
Wales  Airlines  first,  haven't  you?" 
"That's  my  job." 

"Oh,  naturally.  But  don't  you  ever  thinl 
of  anythmg  else?  Men,  for  instance?  " 

If  he  knew  how  much  she'd  been  thinkinj 
of  him!  But  perhaps  he  did  know  it.  Shi 
said  lightly,  "  I  think  of  nothing  else." 

He  swam  nearer  her.  Occasionally  he  be 
came  for  a  moment  very  literal;  it  was,  lik: 
his  faint  accent,  suggestive  of  somethini 
foreign,  un-American,  even  though  he  spok, 
the  American  idiom  with  ease  and  fluenc> 
With  a  flash  of  that  literalness,  he  said,  "  Yc 
are  joking." 

"Not  at  all.   I  like  men." 

He  came  up  beside  her.  "  We've  seen  a  lo 

of  each  other  this  week  in  New  York.  I  knov 

you  better  than  you  think  I  do.  I  might  evei 

know  some  things  about  you  that  you  don' 

(Conlinued  on  Page  108) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


MEAT 

measures  up  to 
every  protein  need 


PURE 

PORK  SAUSAGE 


HAM  SLICE 


Good  eye-openers  on  any  morning.  The  sound  of  bacon,  ham  or  sau- 
sage sizzling  in  the  skillet,  sending  a  fine  aroma  a-wafting  out  from 
the  kitchen. 

They're  "wakers-up"  of  energy,  too.   For  all  these  breakfast  meats 
are  rich  in  food  energy  to  give  you  more  push  through  the  morning. 

All  have  the  thiamine  (vitamin  Bi)  for  which  pork  is  notable. 

And  the  minerals  of  meat — iron,  copper,  phosphorus.    But  remem- 
ber, like  all  meat,  their  lean  is  rich  in  proteins.   Meat  has  the  right 
:ind  of  proteins,  with  all  ten  of  the  essential  amino  acids  for  tissue 
milding  and  repajr,  for  blood  regeneration.    Because  meat  has  the 
ight  kind  of  proteins,  it  is  "a  yardstick  of  protein  foods." 


This  Seal  means  that  all  nutritional  statements 
made  in  this  advertisement  are  acceptable  to  the 
Council  on  Foods  and  Nutrition  of  the  American 
Medical  Association. 


AMERICAN 
I    MEDICAL 

.       ASSN. 


MERICAN    MEAT    INSTITUTE 

Headquarters,  Chicago  •  Members  throughout  the  United  States 


Breakfast  Favorite  No.  J — eggs,  gently  cooked,  ami  iiacon,  slow-cooked,  too,  so  you  get  the  salt-sweet 
smoked  flavor  at  its  best. 

Breakfast  Favorite  No.  2— to  answer  that  ago-old  question,  "Which  goes  better  with  waffles — bacon  or 
sausage?"— serve  both!   Bacon  in  crisp  curls,  pure  pork  sausage  links  handsomely  browned. 

Breakfast  Favorite  No.  J— this  will  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all  you  "ham-and-fried  potato"  lovers, 
who  never  do  get  it  often  enough. 


[augh   with   "The   Life    of   Riley,"    featuring    William    Bendix  — every    Sunday   evening   on   the    Blue   Network  — see   paper  for   local   time   and   station. 


108 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


FEET  HURT? 


LEG  PAINS?  -4' 


TIRED,  ACHING  FEET? 


WEAK  OR 
FALLEN  ARCH? 

^  CALLOUSES  ON 
BOTTOM  OF  FEET? 


^INGROWN     BUNIONS? 
NAIL? 


DON'T  let  your  feet  get  on  your  nerves 
and  make  you  hurt  all  over.  It's 
needless!  Dr.  Wm.  M.  SchoU,  the  noted 
foot  authority,  has  formulated  a  relief 
for  your  foot  trouble  that  will  make  you 
quickly  forget  your  distress.  The  cost  of 
Dr.  SchoU's  dependable  clinic- tested 
Foot  Aids  is  small.  At  all  Drug,  Shoe, 
Department  Stores  and  Toilet  Goods 
Counters.  Insist  on  genuine  Dr.  SchoU's! 

PAIN  HERE? 

Dr.  SchoU's  l.uPA D,  a  soft  feather- 
weight cushion,  loops  over  fore 
fiart  of  foot;  relieves  pains,  cal- 
ousesat  ball.  Washable.  $1.00  pr. 


FALLEN  ARCHES 

Dr.  SchoU's  Poolllaztr  and  exer- 
cise relieve  tired,  aching  feet, 
foot  and  leg  pains,  when  due  to 
weak  or  fallen  arthcs.  $5.50  pair. 

lltllllllllillllllllilllllllllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllflllllllllllllllllKllllllllillllllllll 

WEAK  ARCHES 

Dr.  SchoU's  Plastic  Laminex  Arch 
Supports,  help  quickly  relieve  pain- 
ful foot  arcli  weakness.  Feather- 
light,  wafer-thin.  $6.50  pair. 

CORNS— SORE   TOES 

Dr.  SchoU's  Zino -pacts  quickly 
relieve  pain  and  gently  remove 
corns;  lilt  shoe  pressure;  soothe, 
cushion.  Prevent  corns, sore  toes 
and  blisters.  2)|!  and  35^  boxes. 

CALLOUSES 

Dr.  SchoU's  ZinopaJs,  special  size 
for  callouses,  relieve  pain,  soothe, 
ease  pressure  on  sore  spot; 
quickly  loosen  and  remove  cal- 
louses. 2^t  and  iit  boxes. 

BUNIONS 

Dr.  SchoU's  Zino  pads,  special  size 
for  bunions,  relieve  tender  and 
enlarged  joints;  lift  shoe  pressure. 
25*  and  }5<  boxes. 


HOT,TIRED  FEET 

Dr.  SchoU's  Foot  Balm  quickly  re- 
lieves, refreshes  feverish,  tender, 
sensitive,  tired  feet,  due  to  exer- 
cion  or  fatigue.  35(! 


TENDER  FEET? 

Dr.  SchoU's  Pool  Powder  relieves 
tender, chafed,  perspiring,  odorous 
hoc  feet;  eases  tight  shoes.  35<. 


BUNIONS 

Dr.  SchoU's  Bunion  Reducer,  of  soft 
rubber,  relieves  pain  from  shoe 
pressure,  hides  the  bulge,  helps 
preserve  shape  of  shoe.  50f  each. 
Leather  Bunion  Protector,  75ieach. 


lil[lllllilllllliUIIIItlilllllllllliltlllllll 


ATHLETE'S  FOOT 

Dr.  SchoU's  Solvex  relieves  itching 
feet  and  toes;  kills  fungi  it  con- 
tacts; helps  heal  Athlete's  Foot. 
Liquid  or  Ointment.  iOi. 


D^Scholl's 

REMEDIES  •  PADS  •  PLASTERS  •  ARCH  SUPPORTS 
FOR  MOST  ALL  COMMON  FOOT  TROUBLES 


j  FREE  Foot  Book,  also  sample  of  Dr.  SchoU's  Zino- 1 
I  pads  for  Corns.  Address  Dr.  SchoU's,  Inc., Chicago,Ill.  i 

\Name j 

lAJdress a2i 


(Continued  from  Page  106) 
know  yourself."  He  paused,  his  eyes  laugh- 
ing. And  then  said  abruptly,  "I'll  race  you 
to  the  end  of  the  pool." 

He  won  by  a  large  margin  and  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  pool  when  she  reached  it. 
She  climbed  up  to  sit  beside  him.  She  caught 
her  breath  and  tried  to  arrange  her  wet  hair 
again.  It  was  later;  the  shadows  under  the 
hedges  were  mistier  blue. 

"We'd  better  go  in,"  she  said.  "I've  got 
to  do  something  civilized  about  my  hair." 

"It's  only  a  little  after  seven,"  he  said. 
"The  butler  was  putting  drinks  on  the  porch 
when  I  came  down  the  balcony  stairs.  No- 
body else  was  around  yet."  He  got  up, 
nevertheless.  "Want  your  sandals?" 

She  got  up,  too,  and  reached  for  the  san- 
dals, but  he  had  them  in  his  hands. 

"Put  out  your  foot,"  he  said,  bending 
and  holding  a  sandal  for  her.  She  did  so,  a 
little  unsteadily,  so  he  laughed  softly  and 
said,  "Hold  onto  me."  She  put  her  hand  on 
his  wet,  brown  shoulder  for  balance.  "Now 
the  other  one.  All  right." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  he  lingered  a  little 
over  the  laced  tie;  but  then  he  got  up  briskly 
and  went  to  get  the  towel  he  had  left  at  the 
other  end  of  the  pool  and  came  back,  towel 
slung  over  one  shoulder,  while  she  waited. 
Obviously,  he  knew  his  way  around  on  the 
island;  he  knew  the  varying  depths  of  the 
pool;  he  knew  the  balcony  stairway. 

She  said  when  he  reached  her,  "You've 
stayed  here  before?" 

Again  he  gave  her  rather  an  odd  glance. 
"You  mean  at  the  island?  Of  course. 
Didn't  Judith  tell  you?" 

"She  didn't  write  to  me.  Her  letter  was 
to  Tim,  naturally." 

They  strolled  across  the  strip  of  grass 
toward  the  hedge.  "I  was  stopping  at  a 
hotel,"  explained  Andre,  "a  rather  shabby 
little  dump,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  when  Judith 
took  pity  on  me  and  invited  me  here.  Marny, 
has  Tim  said  anything  about  a  job  for  me?" 

She  couldn't  have  told  him  if  Tim  had 
discussed  it  with  her,  but  he  hadn't.  "No." 

"Oh,"  said  Andre  after  a  moment.  They 
reached  the  hedge.  "Well,  it's  all  right. 
I  don't  know  exactly  what  talents  I  have  to 
offer  the  Wales  Airlines,  but  Judith  thought 
there  might  be  something." 

It  was  like  Judith;  she  could  be  aloof  and 
bored,  or  impulsive  and  generous. 

"Tim  hasn't  said  anything  of  it,"  she  said. 
"  But  he  might  not.  He  may  have  something 
planned  for  you." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Andre.  He  didn't  seem 
particularly  cast  down,  however.  They 
reached  the  hedge.  "Let's  get  through  here. 
It's  simpler  than  to  go  around  to  the  path." 

He  held  back  branches;  one  slipped  from 
his  hand  and  slapped  back  gently  against 
Marny's  face— she  drew  back  sharply  and 
involuntarily  and  was  suddenly  in  Andre's 
arms.  Close  and  hard  and  warm.  He  held 
her  for  a  moment,  and  then  moved  her  face 
with  his  own  so  his  mouth  came  down  upon 
her  own  and  held  her  like  that.  They  were  so 
close  to  the  hedge  that  the  soft  shadow 
seemed  to  envelop  them.  Andre  kissed  her 
and  held  her  and  kissed  her  again. 

Only  all  at  once  it  didn't  seem  to  be 
Andre,  holding  her  like  that;  by  the  most 
extraordinary  alchemy  it  was  Commander 
Bill  Cameron  standing  there  in  the  soft  dusk 
with  her,  his  gray  uniform  against  her  bare 
shoulder  instead  of  the  rough  towel,  his 
mouth  pressed  down  upon  her  own.  That 
straight,  hard,  Scottish  mouth. 

She  tried  to  move.  "Andre " 

"Don't  pull  away  hke  that." 

"But  I " 

"Be  quiet."  He  kissed  her  again,  long  and 
hard.  She  pulled  away  from  him  then,  and 
he  laughed  a  little,  handsome  dark  face  vivid 
against  the  soft  greens.  "Don't  be  a  child. 
I'm  not  asking  you  for  anything.  But  it's 
silly  to  pretend  you  can  run  away  from  love." 

"  I'm  not  in  love.     At  least  I " 

She  was  trying  to  escape  his  arms,  she 
was  pushing  her  wet  hair  back,  she  was  al- 
together ineffectual  and  shaken  and  breath- 
less and  he  said,  "You  don't  know  a  thing 
about  it,"  and,  half  laughing,  kissed  her 
again.  And  released  her  and  stood  for  a  mo- 


ment, looking  down  at  her.  And  said  sud- 
denly, "You've  been  in  love  with  me  from 
the  moment  we  met.  I've  been  in  love  with 
you.  We've  been  pretending  it  isn't  so.  It's 
silly  to  do  that.  You  have  to  take  love  if  it 
happens.    Don't  try  to  run  away  from  it." 

"I'm  not.   I — we've  got  to  go  in." 

Had  Bill  Cameron  really  gone?  For  an- 
other absurd,  fleeting  second  she  had  an 
impression  that  his  solid,  gray  figure  had 
returned  to  stand  in  the  opening  of  the  hedge 
farther  down.  It  was  fleeting  enough,  that 
sense  of  surveillance,  but  strong  enough,  too, 
so  she  glanced  swiftly  that  way.  There  was, 
again,  no  one.  And  Andre  unexpectedly  and 
very  gracefully  gave  in. 

"All  right.  I  expect  you're  right.  But 
you're  wrong  about  love.  You'll  learn  that 
you  can't  always  run  away  from  it."  He  held 
the  branches  and  she  slipped  quickly  through. 

Andre  said  nothing  as  they  walked  across 
the  drive,  skirted  the  back  entrance  of  the 
house  again,  and  this  time  walked  round  it 
on  the  bay  side  and  toward  the  balcony 
stairway  which  came  down  at  the  end  of  the 
porch.  There  was  no  one  on  the  porch,  but  a 
tray  of  glasses  and  ice  and  bottles  stood 
there,  and  lights  came  from  the  open  French 
windows  of  the  drawing  room  beyond.  It 
was  still  light,  however,  outside.  They  went 
quietly  up  the  winding,  grilled-iron  stairway 
and  paused  for  an  instant  on  the  balcony 
with  its  vine-hung  railing  and  widely  sep- 
arated line  of  French  windows.  Most  of  the 
bedrooms,  probably,  gave  upon  the  balcony. 

Andre  said,  "  It's  confusing,  isn't  it?  You 
have  to  count.  But  I  think  yours  is  the  third 
from  the  front;  Judith's  is  the  first  and  then 
there's  a  couple  of  guest  rooms." 

The  third  door  was  open;  the  maid  had 
opened  it.  She  glanced  into  the  room  and 
saw  her  traveling  clock  on  the  bed  table. 

Andre  said,  low,  "Remember  what  I  said. 
You  can't  run  away  from  love.  Ever,"  and 
took  her  hand  for  an  instant  and  put  it 
against  his  face,  lightly,  so  her  palm  touched 
his  cheek.  And  laughed  a  little  and  turned 
away.  "See  you  for  a  drink,"  he  said  and 
walked  along  the  balcony  toward  the  other 
end  of  the  house. 

She  went  into  her  room,  closing  the 
screened  door  behind  her,  and  stopped. 
Suppose  Andre  was  right. 

Her  scarlet  sandals  made  vivid  points  of 
color  against  the  beige  rug  at  her  feet.  She 
remembered  Andre's  stopping  to  put  them 
on  and  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  the 
sense— or  hope?— that  he  was  doing  it 
slowly,  rather  deliberately,  prolonging  the 
small  intimacy. 

She'd  better  get  off  her  wet  bathing  suit. 
She  turned  abruptly  toward  the  bathroom 
as  Judith  knocked  on  the  door  and  called  in 
her  low,  rather  husky  voice,  "Marny,  may 
I  come  in?"  She  opened  the  door  and 
Judith,  in  pale  yellow  satin  which  dripped 
lace  at  the  wide  long  sleeves  and  trailed 
along  the  floor  and  left  Judith's  beautiful 


white  throat  bare,  came  into  the  room.  She 
was  smoking,  her  hair  was  thrust  back  with 
combs,  and  her  face  without  make-up  was 
as  creamy  white  as  a  magnolia;  she  wore 
emerald-green  satin  mules,  and  any,,  other 
woman  in  yellow  satin  and  lace  would  have 
looked  theatrical  in  the  extreme  and  Judith 
only  looked  perfectly  beautiful  and  perfectly 
self-possessed  and  normal.  She  closed  the 
door  and  said,  "I  saw  you  come  up  the 
stairs;  did  you  have  a  good  swim?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

Judith  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  shook 
ashes  into  the  tray  on  the  bed  table.  "You'd 
better  get  out  of  that  wet  bathing  suit." 

"I  was  just  going  to.  Wait  a  second." 
Marny  went  on  into  the  bright,  gaily  dec- 
orated bathroom  and  took  off  her  bathing 
suit;  the  cool,  soft  silk  fabric  clung  to  her. 
She  hung  the  brassiere  and  skirt  over  the 
shower  railing,  and  Judith  appeared  at  the 
door  with  her  white  dressing  gown. 

Here,"  said  Judith.  "There's  lots  of  time 
before  dinner.  Winnie  is  seeing  to  the  table. 
Tim's  showering  frantically,  by  the  sound 
from  his  bathroom.  Nobody's  dressed  yet. 
I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  a  minute." 

"All  right."  She  put  on  the  dressing  gown 
and  twisted  her  dripping  hair  up  in  a  towel. 

"Makes  a  good  turban.  Very  becoming  to 
you."  Judith  surveyed  her  rather  thought- 
fully.  "You  look  awfully  well,  Marny." 

Marny  secured  the  end  of  the  towel  and 
followed  Judith  back  into  the  bedroom. 
"It's  nice  to  be  here." 

"That's  not  what  I  mean,"  said  Judith 
coolly,  sitting  down  again.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  you  look  as  if  a  man  had  been  kiss- 
ing you." 

"A "  Marny  looked  around  the  room. 

"Oh,  here  they  are,"  she  said  and  took  a 
cigarette,  lighting  it  slowly. 

A  little  glitter  came  into  Judith's  eyes. 
"You  knew  the  cigarettes  were  there  all  the 
time,  darling.  And  it  doesn't  take  a  full  sixty 
seconds  to  light  a  cigarette.  Never  mind. 
I  don't  think  you've  been  luring  Tim  on  to 
indiscreet  embraces." 

"Tim "  Marny  choked  on  smoke  and 

Judith  chuckled. 

"Really,  darling,  something's  wrong  with 
you  I  Pull  yourself  together.  Whatever  it  is, 
it's  good  for  you.  I've  often  thought  you  paid 
too  much  attention  to  public  relations  for  the 
Wales  Airlines  and  not  enough  to  human  re- 
lations for  yourself.  Specifically,"  said  Judith 
dryly,  "men."  She  took  a  long  breath  of 
smoke  and  said,  "How  did  you  like  Andre?" 

Marny,  too,  took  a  long  breath  before  she 
replied,  "Very  much.  He  was  there  a  week." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Have  a  good  time  with 
him?" 

Was  there  anything  too  interested — or, 

again,  too  disinterested — in  Judith's  voice? 

She  tested  it,  swiftly  and  instinctively,  as  she 

had  tested  her  own  voice,  before  she  replied, 

(Continued  on  Page  110) 


"/  suppose  it's  something  that  comes  icith  old  age!" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


WARTIME  NEEDS  restrict 
the  civilian  use  of  cans  for 
certain  products.  But  stocks 
on  dealers'  shelves  are  yours 
to  buy  freely.  And  remember, 
foods  packed  in  cans  come  to 
you  with  their  vitamins,  min- 
erals, and  nutritional  values 
sealed  in. 


. . .  household  needs,  kept  safe  in  cans! 

•  Next  time  you  stop  at  your  druggist's,  just  notice  how 
many  products  he  stocks  to  guard  the  health  and  comfort  of 
your  home.  And,  after  Victory,  most  of  these  products  will 
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Why  are  these  things  so  much  safer  in  cans?  One  reason 
is,  cans  don't  break.  Another  reason  is,  the  names  of  the 
products,  and  instructions  for  their  use,  are  generally  printed 
right  on  the  can  itself.  No  labels  to  fall  off  and  cause  mistakes! 
And  these  cans  are  so  easy  to  open  and  close! 

This  same  safe-and-sure  protection  also  appUes  to  the 
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ucts— that  come  in  cans.  Cans  are  easy  to  carry,  easy  to 
store,  easy  to  dispose  of.  And  they  give  their  contents  lasting 
protection  against  light,  air,  dirt,  germs,  and  spoilage  .  .  . 
No  wonder  the  familiar  can  is  the  preferred  container  for 
more  than  2500  products  normally  packed  in  cans  by  over 
135  diiferent  industries.  For  no  other  container  combines  all 
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No  other  container 
protects  like  the  CAN 

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no 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


Here's  why  your  very  first  Halo  Shampoo 
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contains  no  soap  . .  .  made  with  a  new  type  patented  ingre- 
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Leaves  hair  sweet,  naturally  radiant! 

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cold  weather  lotion 


Riclwr.  heavier,  concentrated — this  lotion, 
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Campana 
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Last  winter,  the  ingredients  of  Original  Campana  Balm  went  to  war.    This  year 
AGAIN!  they're  back  again,  just  when  you  need  this  wonderful   protective  lotion  most. 


(Continued  from  Page  108) 

"Yes.  Tim  rather  turned  him  over  to  me  to 
entertain." 

Judith  had  long,  very  dark  eyelashes;  they 
lowered  a  little.  She  said,  "Andre  isn't  diffi- 
cult to  entertain.  On  the  contrary." 

"Who  is  he,  exactly?" 

"Didn't  he  tell  you  all  about  himself?" 

"No.  That  is — oh,  he  mentioned  a  few 
things;  not  much." 

Judith's  eyelashes  still  shaded  her  eyes, 
but  her  gaze  didn't  shift  from  Marny;  she 
said  slowly,  "Oh,  he's  all  right.  Charming. 
Pleasant  company.  French,  I  think.  Re- 
lated— distantly,  I  fancy — to  some  minor 
nobility.  Arrived  at  Miami  Beach  by  way  of 
Jamaica  and  Cuba;  he's  lived  here  and  there. 

Everywhere.    I  rather — like  him.    I  " 

Judith  put  out  her  cigarette,  half  smoked, 
and  in  the  same  gesture  took  up  another  cig- 
arette and  lighted  it.  "Andre  is  out  of  money. 
He  needs  a  job.  I  thought  Tim  might  give 
him  one." 

"Oh,"  said  Marny,  which  was  safe. 

Judith's  luminous  dark  eyes  flashed  across 
at  her.  "Did  he? "  she  asked  directly. 

"I  don't  know." 

Judith  waited  a  moment.  Finally  she  said, 
"I  thought  Tim  would  tell  you." 

"He  didn't  mention  it.  I  got  a  sort  of 
impression  that  it  was  in  the  air.  That's  all." 

"Oh,"  said  Judith  in  her  turn.  There  was 
a  short  silence.  Then  Judith  rose,  the  pale 
yellow  satin  outlining  her  figure  in  gleaming 
highlights.  Judith  was  a  little  too  smart,  a 


<'OSMOI*OLIPHANT 

1^  I'aiierewski  told  the  story  of  the 
^  professor  at  an  unusually  cos- 
mopolitan university  who  had  to  set 
a  thesis  for  his  riass:  he  rhose  as  the 
general  subject,  ""rhe  Elephant." 
The  Kiifilish  student  at  once  headed 
his  essay.  The  KIcphant,  and  How  to 
Hunt  Him.  The  Frenchman  pro- 
iluccd  a  sparkling  <lis<|uisition  un- 
<lcr  the  lilU-.  The  Love  l,if<'  of  the 
KIcphant.  The  (Fcrman  considered 
the  Castronomical  Possibilities  of 
the  Elephant.  The  Kiissian,  after 
smoking  several  huntlred  cigarettes, 
produced  the  startling  caption.  The 
Elephant  —  Docs  it  Exist?  And  the 
Pole  hcatled  his  thesis:  The  Ele- 
phant and  the  Polish  Question. 

—BERNARD  NEWMAN:  Pedalling  Poland. 
(Herbert  Jenkins,  Ltd.) 


little  too  thin,  a  little  too  fine-drawn— and 
altogether  enchanting  when  she  chose  to  be. 
She  turned  to  Marny,  and  the  enchantment 
flashed  out  again  as  she  smiled.  "I  only 
wondered,"  she  said.  She  yawned  a  little. 
"  I'd  better  go  and  get  some  clothes  on.  And 
let  you  dress.  Oh,  by  the  way,  somebody 
else  is  coming  to  dinner." 

"Who?" 

"I  don't  know.  Some  man  who  knows 
somebody  Winnie  knows.  Turned  up  un- 
expectedly. Heard  Winnie  talking  to  him  in 
the  hall,  but  I  didn't  hear  his  name.  Gives 
us  an  extra  man."  Judith  tied  the  yellow 
satin  belt  more  closely.  "Always  a  good 
idea,"  she  said,  yawning  slightly  again.  "I'll 
see  you — 'by,  darling."  She  opened  the 
door  and  trailed  languidly  away. 

But  the  yawn,  thought  Marny,  hadn't 
been  quite  natural.  Had  it?  And  if  Judith 
wanted  to  know  whether  Tim  had  given 
Andre  a  job,  why  didn't  she  ask  him? 

A  shadow  glided  lightly  across  the  closed 
door,  passed  briefly  along  the  bed  table  and 
was  gone  before  it  had  really,  actually 
existed.  Someone,  thought  Marny  absently, 
must  have  gone  along  the  balcony,  although 
she  had  been  so  engrossed  in  thought  that  she 
had  heard  no  footsteps.  She  looked  at  the 
small  clock  on  her  bed  table.  It  seemed  sur- 
prising that  it  was  only  a  quarter  after 
seven;  she  must  hurry,  nevertheless.  And 
she  must  dress  very  carefully;  Judith  was  so 
beautiful. 

Had  Andre  lingered  on  in  that  house  because 
of  Judith?  That  was  nonsense.  Or  was  it 
jealousy?     Was   she,    then,   in   love   with 


DON'T  LET  A 
STOPPED-UP 
NOSE  SPOIL 
YOUR  FUN! 


/ 


USE 


MisroL 

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Helps  soothe  irritated  nasal  passages. 
Helps  relieve  that  "stuffed-up"  feeling  due 
to  a  cold.  Caution:    Use  only  as  directed. 


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postcard  request  to  Dept.  L-5, 

The  Williams  Company. 

Kokomo,  Indlom 


I*   I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


111 


THE  CREAM  THAT  HAS 

EVERY  ADVANTAGE 


^ 


Called 
"Modern  Miracle"l 
—Reader's  Digest 

ACCEPTED  FOR  ADVEfiTISINC 
IN  THE  JOURNAL  OF  THE 
AMERICAN  MEDICAL  ASS'N. 


Jar  1.25,  3.00 

Spot-Stik  1.25 

1.  Conceals  all  blemishes  completely- 
even  vitiligo,  industrial  dermatitis, 
birthmarks.  Gives  your  skin  that  all- 
over  enchantingly  fresh,  flawless  appear- 
ance. 2.  Quick,  easy  to  apply— a  little 
goes  a  long  way.  3.  Greaseless!  Stays  on 
beautifully  all  day  and  evening.  4.  All 
shades— match  any  skin.  5.  Non-irri- 
tating—actually  soothing  for  minor 
skin  irritations. 

Exempt  from  Federal  Tax 
At  Drug  and  Department  Stores 

LYOIA  O'LEARY.  INC.,  551   FIFTH  AVE.,  N.  Y. 


PARCHMENT   •   KALAMAZOO  99   •   MICHIGAN 


Andre?  She  thought  again.  Suppose  Andre 
is  right.  Suppose  she  had,  actually,  fallen  in 
love  with  him  a  week  ago,  when  they  had 
met.  It  happened  like  that,  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly.  So  unexpectedly  that  it 
wasn't  immediately  recognizable. 

It  was  twenty  minutes  after  seven  when 
she  went  to  the  bathroom,  rinsed  the  salt 
water  out  of  her  hair  and  combed  and  pushed 
it  into  shape.  Winnie  had  the  room  lux- 
uriously stocked  with  salts  and  cologne  and 
powder  and  bath  oils,  and  Marny  lay  back 
in  the  fragrant  water,  pretending  not  to 
think — and  thinking,  in  spite  of  herself,  of 
Andre  and  the  things  he  had  said. 

Later  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  have 
heard  a  door  open  or  close.  If  so,  however, 
she  was  not  really  conscious  of  it,  and  roused 
herself  merely  with  a  feeling  that  much  more 
time  had  passed  than  she  meant  to  let  pass, 
and  got  out  of  the  tub.  She  slid  into  her  robe 
and  went  into  the  bedroom.    And  stopped. 

A  girl  stood  there:  a  very  young  girl — 
eighteen,  perhaps;  she  was  small  and  gentle- 
looking,  with  misty  light  hair  in  a  halo  about 
her  young  face,  and  enormously  large  eyes, 
very  bright  and  dark,  with  blue  shadows 
under  them.  Her  mouth  was  lipsticked — 
hurriedly,  for  it  was  smeared  and  red.  She 
had  something  clutched  tightly  in  both 
hands;  Marny  could  not  see  what  it  was. 
And  she  looked  at  Marny  out  of  those  enor- 
mous shadowed  eyes  and  said,  whispering, 
her  badly  painted  mouth  trembling: 

"You  are  lovelier  even  than  he  said." 

Marny  had  never  seen  the  girl  before.  She 
put  her  hand  on  the  chair  beside  her. 

And  the  girl  said  jerkily,  "You're  so 
pretty.    I  knew  you'd  be  pretty." 

"You  knew " 

"He  doesn't  like  women  unless  they're 
pretty." 

"He " 

"Andre,  of  course.  I'm  his  wife,"  said  the 
child,  and  stood  there  as  still  as  a  little  white 
marble  statue. 

Ihere  was  the  murmur  of  water  still  run- 
ning out  of  the  tub  in  the  bathroom.  The 
door  was  open  upon  the  balcony,  and  off  in 
the  distance  somewhere  a  motorboat  droned 
softly.  Marny  stared  at  the  thin,  white  child 
and  said,  "His  wife " 

The  girl  nodded ;  there  were  pride  and  de- 
fiance and  a  childish,  strange  wistfulness  in 
her  look.  " He  married  me.  A  year  ago.  I'm 
Cecily.  Laideau  brought  me  here.  I've 
talked  to  Andre.  He  told  me  about  you.  I 
knew  something  had  happened;  he  was 
different.  But  he'd  have  told  me  even  if  I 
hadn't  asked  him.  He  likes  to  hurt  me. 
He'll  hurt  you.  Only  he'll  not  have  a  chance. 
Because  I  can't  let  you  take  him  from  me." 

"Cecily    "    said    Marny,    and    was 

stopped  by  the  grain  of  damning  truth  in  the 
girl's  words.  Andre  had  made  love  to  her— 
briefly  and  only  that  night,  but  it  had  hap- 
pened, she  had  let  him,  she  had  considered 
whether  or  not  she  was  in  love  with  him  and 
she  had  implied,  within  herself,  a  consent. 
She  said,  "I  didn't  know  about  you." 

Cecily  said  very  quietly,  "You  see,  there's 
only  one  thing  for  me  to  do,"  and  lifted  her 
thin,  young  hands  and  pointed  a  revolver 
straight  at  Marny. 

The  girl  was  mad.  Young,  frantic,  mad — 
and  heartbreaking.  Marny  looked  at  the 
revolver.  How  had  she  got  it?  She'd  have 
to  take  it  away  from  her.  Or  she  could  shout 
for  help,  of  course;  but  that  wouldn't  do. 
She'd  have  to  get  the  revolver  away  from 
the  child  and  then  induce  her  to  listen  to  the 
truth.  And  Cecily  was  strung  to  a  nervous 
pitch  which  would  make  any  move  more  or 
less  dangerous. 

Definitely  dangerous!  She  was  hysterical, 
desperately  determined  and  too  far  away  for 
Marny  to  snatch  the  revolver  from  her 
hands.  She  couldn't  reason  with  her— not 
in  that  state.  There  wasn't  anything  to  do, 
and  she  had  to  do  something. 

And  the  child  was  going  to  joint!  No  face 
could  be  so  white,  so  drained  of  color,  so  thin 
and  tragic  and  dreadful. 

"Cecily,"  cried  Marny,  "you're  sick," 
and  ran  as  the  girl  swayed  and  caught  her 
in  her  arms.  She  pushed  her  dinner  dress, 
which  the  maid  had  laid  out  on  the  bed,  onto 


Wheft  a  toilet  tissue  is  both  soft 
as  cleansing  tissue  and  firm,  too — 
it  is  a  winner  among  women! 
That's  what  we  Lave  found  in 
Scott's  new  Soft-Weve  and  now 
the  whole  family  like  it. 
You  ■will,  tool 


Gllium'm;j  itmt  5()>fr:..toifef  tt4di^  Uam. 


The  way  to  a  man's  heart  i.s  through  his  slxirt 
collar!  That's  why  it's  important  to  look  for 
Van  Hcusen  Shirts.  Their  attached  collars  look 
starched  but  need  no  starch  .  .  .  stay  comfortable 
and  neat,  the  way  your  husband  wants  them ! 
Van  Heusen  Shirts  arc  Sanforized — can't  shrink  out 
of  fit.  You'll  get  a  new  shirt  free  if  one  ever  does. 
Endorsed  by  American  Institute  of  Laundering. 
$2.25  and  up.  Phillips-Joues  Corp.,  N.  Y.  1. 

/v   Guaranteed  by   -^X 
L  Good  Housekeeping  y 

VAN    HEUSEN    SHIRTS  •TIES  •PAJAMAS  •COllARS*  $  P  0  «X- ^- t  tt-t- .* .,       -=^ 


112 


LADIES'  HOiME  JOURNAL 


\^^'^!- 


/Business  at  my  War  Bond  booth 
was  so  good  I  slaved  on  and  on 
'and  on.  I  doubled  my  bi-sl  previous 
day-  but  it  was  nearly  support  ime 
before  I  finally  got  home. 


2  I'd  forgot  ten  Bert  was  bringing 
'  two  important  customers  for 
dinner!  I  was  frantic.  He  was  count- 
ing on  me  for  something  deluxe.  If  I 
let   him  down  he'd  never  forgive  me. 


SPA0HETT1      SfWjsy 
DINNER  01  '^ 


^  Then  ...  a  smiling  ("hef  beck- 
ed' oned  from  my  pantry!  It  was  a 
carton  of  ("hef  Boy- Ar- Dee  Spaghetti 
Dinner,  our  family  favorite.  "Dinner 
in  12  minutes!"  1  called  gaily  to  the 
hungry  men. 


lX>e  '^^^^       ^^g    dofun>    * 

Coot  SI'- ^     („r   \  -   •      .e  hc:»» 

over  ^^  ^"-,t,;b-.ne  ^^^..ieA 
tfVvctt'     •  •  "■       with  »n^,  .^  t,oNv' 


^t  Our  guests  said  they  had  never 
ft  tasted  such  won<lerful  spaghetti 
and  sauce.  Bert  beamed  proudly.  As 
for  ine  —I  sighed  with  relief,  vowing 
always  to  have  an  extra  Chef  Boy- 
Ar-Dee  carton  on  hand. 


J"^ 


-^•' •■^-t^^''"^' '*'-" 


BOYA/i. 


Chef  BOYARDEE 


i 


?!?S^ 


the  floor  and  let  the  slight  figure  down  gently 
on  the  pillows;  she  reached  for  the  water 
carafe  on  the  bed  table  and  poured  some 
quickly  into  her  hands  and  rubbed  that 
stone-white,  small  face. 

She  must  have  help.  The  girl  looked  as  if 
she  were  going  to  die.  She  couldn't  leave  her. 
She  glanced  frantically  around  the  room; 
there  was  nothing,  of  course,  no  smelling 
salts,  no  ammonia.  The  bell  was  across  the 
room  beside  the  door.  If  she  shouted  every- 
one would  hear  and  have  to  know  all  about 
it,  she  thought. 

Cecily's  enormous  eyes  opened  and  looked 
straight  up  at  her. 

"Better?" 

Cecily's  small  head  went  up  and  down. 

"I'll  get  a  towel.  I've  soaked  your  dress." 

"No,"  whispered  Cecily. 

"But " 

"Please  stay  here."  Her  hand  caught  at 
Marny's  imploringly. 

The  whole  situation  was  suddenly  perfectly 
normal  and  simple  and  straightforward.  In 
an  instant  it  had  shaken  away  from  a  night- 
mare. The  revolver  was  on  the  floor,  and 
Marny  picked  it  up  as  casually  as  if  it  had 
been  a  book  and  put  it  on  the  table. 

Cecily  said,  "  I  made  a  scene." 

"Believe  me,  Cecily,  I  didn't  know  about 
you.    Nothing  has  happened,  really." 

"He's  in  love  with  you." 
."No." 

"Yes.  Yes,  he  told  me.   I  talked  to  him. 
I  asked  him.   I  had  to  know.  He's  through 
with   me.    He   told 
me." 

"  He"  —  Marny 
swallowed  —  "  he 
didn't  mean  it,  Cec- 
ily, believe  me." 

The  girl  moved 
her  fair  head  hope- 
lessly on  the  pillow, 
her  eyes  never  leav- 
ing Marny's.  "Oh, 
yes,  he  meant  it.  I 
know.  Laideau 
knows  it  too.  He's 
known  him  so  long. 
Longer  than  any- 
body   " 

"Who  is  Lai- 
deau?" 

A  look  of  faint 
perplexity  crossed 
Cecily's  face.  "But 
you  must  know — ev- 
erybody who  knows 
Andre  knows  Lai- 
deau. They've  al- 
ways been  together. 

Ever  since  Andre  was  a  little  boy.  Laideau 
took  care  of  him,  and  then  they  left  France 
and  went  to  Haiti  and  then  to  Puerto  Rico 
and  then  to  Jamaica.  But  you  know  all 
that— Andre  has  told  you." 

"Listen,  Cecily,  Andre  hasn't  told  me 
anything.  You  are  altogether  mistaken." 

A  look  came  into  the  child's  eyes  that  was 
adult  and  wise  and  more  tragic  than  Marny 
had  ever  seen  in  anything  before.  She  said, 
"He  made  love  to  you." 

"A  little,"  said  Marny,  hating  herself. 
"But  that's  all.  Cecily.  I'm  telling  you  the 
truth.   And  I  didn't  know  about  you." 

Cecily  frowned.  She  said,  "I  don't  un- 
derstand. He  said  he  wants  to  marry  you. 
He  said  he  was  going  to  get  a  divorce." 

"Cecily,  that  isn't  true!" 

Cecily  said  suddenly,  "I'm  all  right  now. 
I'm  going  home." 

"No,  you  can't.  You're  not  well." 

"Yes,  I'm  going."  She  pushed  away 
Marny's  hand  and  slid  upward  and  off  the 
bed.  She  was  white;  she  was  so  thin  that 
Marny  could  almost  see  her  quick  heart- 
beats under  the  thin  blue  dress  she  wore. 

"  But  I  can't  let  you.  Let's  straighten  this 
thing  out.   Let  me  call  Andre." 

"No,  no!"  It  was  a  repressed  scream; 
Cecily  caught  herself  and  put  her  hand  over 
her  mouth  and  looked  at  the  door  into  the 
liall.  After  a  moment  she  whispered,  "I 
didn't  mean— I'm  sorry— I've  got  to  go." 

"I'm  going  with  you,  then.  Where  is 
home?" 


\mi  WASTE  PAPER 

•  Don't  buy  paper  you  don't  neetJ. 

•  Don't  let  the  druggist,  grocer, 
butcher,  baker  wrap  articles  you 
can  carry  home  unwrapped. 

•  Don't  throw  paper  away  until 
it's  thoroughly  used. 

•  Don't  throw  this  magazine 
away — pass  it  on  to  someone  who 
couldn't  buy  a  copy;  wartime  paper 
needs  are  forcing  us  to  print  him- 
dreds  of  thousands  fewer  copies 
than  we  printed  last  year. 

■..end  Yonr 
Journal  lo  a  Friend 

]|lake  a  Friend 
by  Lending  Your  Journal 


February,  194 

"No,  you  can't— Laideau  will  take  mt 
We  came  in  a  boat.  We — no,  you  can't  go 

"Yes,  I " 

"No!"  cried  Cecily  and  whirled  arouro 
the  room,  like  a  little  frightened  animal  seek 
ing  a  way  out  of  a  trap;  then  she  saw  th 
door  open  upon  the  balcony  and  slid  out. 

"Cecily,"  cried  Marny  and  ran  after  hei 
By  the  time  she  reached  the  balcony  the  gii 
had  gone.  She  looked  up  and  down;  eacl 
end  of  the  narrow  balcony  was  hung  witl 
heavy  vines.  Then  she  heard  a  light  swif 
sound  of  motion  and  ran  to  the  railing  an( 
looked  down.  Cecily  was  rurming  down  th 
winding,  grilled-iron  stairway  that  led  di 
rectly  to  the  strip  of  green  lawn.  "Cecily,' 
cried  Marny  softly,  but  the  girl  did  no 
look  up;  Marny  started  after  her,  and  as  sh 
reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  the  girl  flashei 
out  of  sight  in  the  thick  shrubbery  across  th 
lawn  and  at  an  angle  to  the  shore  line  of  th 
island.  Marny  stopped.  Somewhere  sh 
heard  the  sound  of  oarlocks.  It  was  a  stead 
creak,  creak  which  suddenly  stopped. 

OHE  clutched  her  white  dressing  gow 
around  her  'and  ran  halfway  down  th 
winding  steps  and  paused  again  to  lister 
she  could  see  most  of  the  sea  wall,  th 
thick  clump  of  bamboos  behind  which  th 
girl  had  disappeared.  And  then  clearl 
through  the  twilight  the  sound  of  oars  bega 
again;  as  she  waited,  staring  at  the  blue  wa 
ter,  after  a  moment  a  rowboat  came  gradu 
ally  into  sight  heading  away  from  the  islan 
and  toward  the  stri 
of  lights  and  build 
ings  which  was  Mi 
ami  Beach.  A  ma 
was  rowing;  Cecil 
was  sitting  with  he 
small  blue-clad  bac 
turned  towar^ 
Shadow  Island.  Th 
man  rowing  wa 
thick  and  swarthy 
with  black  hair;  h 
bent  to  the  oars  an( 
sent  the  boat  rapidl; 
into  the  dusk. 

She  didn't  kno\ 
what  to  do;  a  hun 
dred  things  occurra 
to  her,  standin; 
there  on  the  stairs 
watching  the  boa 
grow  smaller  am 
farther  away;  cal 
Andre,  call  Tim,  cal 
Winnie.  Do  some 
thing.  But  what,  ex 
actly? 
She  went  a  step  or  two  farther  down  th 
winding,  vine-hung  stairway.  The  curve  c 
the  stairway  brought  into  view,  below,  th 
wide,  open  porch,  with  its  bright  cushions  an 
rugs  and  brilliant  flowers  and  tray  of  glasse: 
She  stopped,  with  her  hand  on  the  iron  rai 
ing,  to  look  again  after  Cecily.  The  rowboj 
was  approaching  a  curve  of  the  island  whei 
there  were  thick,  green  casuarina  tree 
Neither  Cecily  nor  the  man  bending  over  th 
oars  appeared  to  have  changed  position.  ^ 
she  watched,  the  boat  rounded  the  curve  an 
disappeared.    » 

And  at  that  instant  someone  walked  aero: 
the  porch  and  said,  "Miss  Sanderson." 

She  looked  down  sharply.  And  Con 
mander  Bill  Cameron  stood  there  looking  u 
at  her.  He  was  in  Navy  whites  now. 

He  said,  "I  didn't  mean  to  startle  yoi 
I  meant— I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you- 

that  is,  I " 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 
His  face  stiffened;  he  made  a  formal  bri 
bow.  "I  was  trying  to  apologize.  I  seem  t 
have  been  wrong  again." 

Already  the  reaction  of  the  meeting  wi( 
Cecily  was  beginning;  his  words  and  his  stil 
angry  Scottish  face  seemed  to  crystalli- 
her  confused  and  shaken  emotions  into 
singleone  which  was  anger.  She  said,  "Don 
apologize.  Answer  my  question.  What  a 
you  doing  here?" 

Her  tone  drew  a  spark  of  anger  into  b 
own  eyes;  he  answered,  however,  with 
calm  politeness,"  I've  come  to  dinner." 
(Conlinued  on  Page  IN) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


/I^ON 


oro 


N^ 


^  w 


WHAT'S  MISSING  HERE?  Color!  Each  individual  food  is 
delicious,  but  they  shouldn't  all  have  been  put  into 
the  same  meal.  Too  much  white,  in  eggs,  sauce,  par- 
snip and  potatoes.  Not  enough  brightness  and  warmth 
to  gladden  the  eye,  and  make  you  hungry-to-eat.  Now 
look  below,  and  see  how  to  make  a  meal  for  morale. 


Study  This  Contrast  in  Meal  Planning 


See  how  Niblets  Brand  whole  kernel  corn 
turns  a  dull  meal  into  one  of  sunny  cheer. 


COLOR  DOES  IT !  So  easy  to  make  these  simple  changes 
— to  think  in  color  as  well  as  flavor.  Bright  green  of 
spinach,  red  and  green  of  stuffed  olive  slices.  But  even 
more,  the  eating  sunshine  that  puts  high  cheer  into 
any  meal — Niblets  Brand  whole  kernel  com.  Don't 
you  want  to  try  it? 


^^  {  :. 


He's  a  happy  fellow — this  Green  Giant  you  see  on  the  can. 

Good  reason,  too.  He's  the  ambassador  of  tenderness  and  flavor  in  corn — 

those  fine,  thin-skinned  kernels  that  grow  in  good  soil  from 

special  seed  (D-138,  exclusive  with  us)  and  go  into  cans  of  Niblets  Brand 

whole  kernel  corn  for  your  fun  in  eating. 

Packed  only  by  Minnesota  Valley  Canning  Company,  headquarters,  LeSueur,  Minn,  and  Fine  Foods  oj  Canada,  Ltd.,  Tecumseh, 
Ont.  Alsopackersofthef allowing  brands:  Green  Giant  Peas,  Aiblets  Mexicorn,  Del  Man  Cream  Style  Cum  andAibletsAiparagus. 

Niblets  w^o/e  j^er/ie/ Corn 

BRAND 


^ 


I 


Nib! 


LWcORN 
"'^'^ THE  COB 


"NieLcrs"  e**NO 

■  EQ.  U.  S.  PAT.  OFF. 


114 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


NOW. .  try  the  SHAMPOO 
THAT  CONTAINS  ITS  OWN 


1?in^ 


A  Shompoo  for 
fhe  who/e  family 


NOW  AVAILABLE  for  you  .  .  .  Fitch's  Saponified 
Cocoanut  Oil  Shampoo  combines  mild  Cocoonut  Oil  and 
vegetable  oils  into  a  perfectly  blended  shampoo.  As  rec- 
ognized authorities  on  hair  care  for  over  50  years,  The 
F.  W.  Fitch  Company  ask  you  to  try  this  beauty  shampoo. 


LEAVES  HAIR  SOFTER  .  .  .  NOT  "DRYING" 

.  .  .  Helps  make  your  hair  feel  surpris- 
ingly softer  .  .  .  look  silkier.  After  sham- 
pooing, your  hair  will  have  a  lovely,  soft 
gloss  and  be  easy  to  manage. 

"MOUNTAINS"  OF  LATHER  ...  In  either 
hard  or  soft  water,  a  small  amount  gives 
huge  swirls  of  billowy  lather  that  loosens 
and  floats  away  all  dirt,  dust  and  other 
hair  accumulations. 

A  TRUE  BEAUTY  SHAMPOO  .  . .  Brings  out 
the  natural  beauty  of  your  hair  by  re- 
vealing those  shy  highlights  that  lend 
glamour  to  every  hairstyle. 

PATENTED  RINSING  AGENT  .  .  .  Makes 
rinsing  a  simple,  easy  job.  This  special 


At  Drug  Counters 
Generous  6  oz.  bottia 


agent  goes  into  action  with  the  rinse 
water  to  help  carry  away  remaining  par- 
ticles. No  special  after-rinse  is  required 
.  .  .  hair  and  scalp  are  left  immaculately 
clean,  refreshed. 

DELIGHTFULLY  FRAGRANT  .  . .  You'll  like 
the  clean,  fresh  scent  of  this  clear  liquid 
shampoo.  It  leaves  your  hair  with  a 
pleasing,  delicate  fragrance.  Try  Fitch's 
Saponified  Cocoanut  Oil  Shampoo. 

—  FOR   DANDRUFF , 


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tllOi 


(Continued  from  Page  112) 

"But  you "  She  paused.  "Who  in- 
vited you?    Does  Tim  Wales  know?" 

"  I  rarely  go  to  dinner  without  an  invita- 
tion," he  said  with  a  spark  of  laughter  in  his 
eyes. 

"But  you  don't  know  Tim!" 

He  made  a  sketchy  bow.  "Miss  Wales  and 
I  have  mutual  friends." 

"Miss  Wales!"  This,  then,  was  the  man 
Judith  had  mentioned ;  the  extra  man,  always 
welcome.  Well,  Tim  wouldn't  welcome  him. 

He  said,  "This  is  all  rather  childish.  I 
meant — well,  when  I  left  you  I  came  to  the 
house  and  asked  for  Miss  Wales.  I  gave  her 
a  note  from  a  friend  of  hers  and  mine.  She 
asked  me  to  dinner;  I  accepted  and  drove 
back  to  my  hotel,  changed  and  returned. 
That's  all.  If  it's  any  business  of  yours,"  he 
added  with  a  sudden  twinkle. 

She  whirled  around  on  the  step  and  he 
reached  up  suddenly  and  caught  her  wrist  so 
hard  that  it  turned  her  around  again  facing 
him.  "Where  are  you  going?  Are  you  going 
to  tell  Tim  Wales  about  me  and  get  me 
thrown  out?" 

"  Is  it  any  business  of  yours?  "  she  snapped. 

"That's  childish  too,"  he  said.  And  went 
on,  all  at  once  very  sober:  "Look  here.  Miss 
Sanderson.  Everything's  gone  wrong  be- 
tween us;  it's  been  my  fault.  But  I— you 
must  believe  me,  I  am  serious;  I  have  a  real 
and  urgent  reason  for  seeing  you  and  seeing 
Tim  Wales.  I'm  sorry  I  lost  my  temper. 
But  that  wasn't  why 
I  left.  I  didn't  see  ^ 
any  point  in  talking 
in  front  of  that— of 
the  fellow  who  joined 
us.  I  —won't  you  let 
bygones  be  bygones? 
I  ask  you  to  be  fair, 
not  hold  any  prej- 
udice   against  me." 

An  inner  and  un- 
easy feeling  that  she 
might  not  have  been 
quite  fair  seemed  to 
link  itself  up  with 
another  less  defin- 
able but  even  less 
creditable  impulse  of 
opposition.  She  told 
herself  quickly  that 
the  fact  that  he  was 
right  about  that 
didn't  make  him  any 
less  of  a  crank. 

And  he  said 
abruptly,  "You're 
very  stubborn,  aren't 
you?" 

"Will  you  let  go 
my  hand?" 

"I'm  a  fool,"  said  Bill  Cameron.  "Well — 
I've  done  everything  I  can  do.  I  suppose  I 
spoke  to  you  again  at  the  wrong  time." 

She  had  forgotten  Cecily.  Naturally  he 
had  seen  the  girl  run  down  the  stairs,  and 
had  seen  Marny  following.  She  glanced 
out  toward  the  point  of  the  casuarina  trees, 
but  the  boat  was  not  in  sight  anywhere. 

It  seemed  to  her  suddenly  that  she  could 
hear  again  the  regular  creak,  creak  of  oars. 

V 

Was  the  boat  returning?  But  Cecily  would 
not  return  to  the  island;  why  should  she? 
Marny  watched  and  listened  for  a  moment, 
and  the  boat  did  not  reappear. 

The  man  standing  below  her  said  sud- 
denly, in  a  different  voice,  "You  look — so 
pretty.   I  thought  you  might  listen  — ■ — " 

She  glanced  at  her  white  robe  and  bare 
feet,  jerked  her  hand  away,  clutched  the  neg- 
ligee about  her  and  ran  up  the  steps. 

She  went  into  her  room.  She  was  angrily 
conscious  of  the  way  she  looked:  her  bare 
feet,  her  thin  white  robe  clutched  tight 
around  her.  And  of  the  way  she  had  be- 
haved; unmtentionally,  simply  because  there 
was  something  about  Bill  Cameron  which 
roused  her  instant  antagonism. 

She  had  let  something  about  the  per- 
sonality of  the  Navy  flier  and  her  own 
personality  clash  and  spark;  it  was  wrong. 
Personalities  had  no  place  in  business.  Be- 
sides, it  was  not  really  important  either  way. 


He  had  managed  to  get  an  introduction  to 
Winnie,  and  Winnie's  first  impulse  always 
was  one  of  hearty  and  lavish  hospitality. 
He'd  thus  got  himself  invited  to<^hadow 
Island  for  dinner;  now  it  was  up  to  Tim  to 
deal  with  the  thing  as  he  pleased. 

The  main  thing  to  decide  was  what  to  do 
about  Cecily.  The  red-and-white  dinner 
dress,  which  she'd  flung  to  the  floor  to  make 
room  for  Cecily,  still  lay  there.  She  picked 
it  up  and  started  mechanically  to  dress. 
Where  had  Cecily  gone;  where  was  "home"? 
Obviously,  Cecily  was  not  staying  in  the 
house;  she  must  have  seen  Andre,  though, 
sometime  since  their  arrival.  Otherwise 
Andre  couldn't  have  said  the  incredible 
things  Cecily  had  quoted  him  as  saying. 

But  then  he  couldn't  have  said  them  any- 
way! Cecily  was  pathetic  and  young  and  ■ 
tragic,  really.  But  she  was  also  obviously 
hysterical.  Mad,  Marny  had  thought  her  for 
a  moment;  not  that  she  was  that  actually, 
but  she  was  clearly  not  responsible  just  then 
for  anything  she  said  or  did. 

There  were  two  sides  to  everything.  How 
could  she  condemn  Andre  without  a  hearing, 
on  the  evidence  of  a  pathetic  but  hysterical 
child  who  threatened  to  kill  people  and 
talked  incoherently  of  Andre's  cruelty? 
Andre,  who  was  always  gay  and  pleasant 
and  even-tempered. 

He  hadn't  told  her  of  Cecily.  Well,  per- 
haps there  was  a  reason  for  that  too. 

In  any  case,  the 
child  ought  to  have 
a  nurse.  Was  the 
rather  sinister- 
looking  man  in  the 
boat  the  only  com- 
panion the  girl  had? 
Laideau — why  had 
he  brought  her  there  ? 
She  couldn't  con- 
demn Andre  without 
a  hearing.   But  she 


?^ 


v^enmmna 


^ 


Uy  Ooro(h>-  Brown  Thompson 


To  walk  far  fasting  (and  you  so 

young) 
Might  set  you  straying  or  spell  your 

tongue. 

Cold  iron  or  thrown  salt  never 

could  grapple 
With  abracadabras  like  a  red  apple. 

No  strange  little  people  who  thread 

solitude 
May  charm  past  the  munching  of 

good  plain  food! 


wouldn't  have  lis- 
tened to  him  at  all  if 
she  had  known  about 
Cecily. 

Someone  down- 
stairs turned  on  the 
radio  again;  the  gay 
sound  of  dance  music 
floated  upward  and 
through  the  still- 
open  door  from  the 
balcony.  It  had 
grown  so  dark  that 
she  had  turned  on 
lights  over  the  dress- 
ing table.  There 
were  voices  from  be- 
low, too,  so  Judith 
and  Winnie  and  Tim — and  Commander 
Cameron  and  Andre  and  Charlie  Ingram- 
were  gathering  before  dinner.  Several  \ 
motorboats  passed  the  island  as  she  dressed;  i 
later  she  remembered  having  heard  the  '■■ 
accelerating  crescendo  and  diminishing  of 
their  engines.  Once  an  outboard  went  past 
with  the  sharp  explosions  of  a  machine  gun. 
It  seemed  a  long  time  before  she  had  fin- 
ished dressing;  usually  she  was  not  so  slow 
and  clumsy.  She  looked  at  herself  carefully 
in  the  mirror.  There  was  some  reason  why 
she  must  look  particularly  well  tonight.  The 
red-and-white  sheer  chiffon  clung  to  her , 
waist  and  swirled  about  her  feet;  it  looked 
cool  and  soft  and  feminine.  Her  mouth  was 
red,  too;  her  eyes  were  dark  blue  and  her 
face  rather  pale  below  the  light  tan.  Then 
she  remembered  why  she  had  wanted  to  look , 
well  that  night. 

It  had  been  for  Andre,  so  he  would  look  at 
her  and  not  at  Judith.  So  he  would  ask  her 
to  stroll  with  him  under  the  tropic  night  sky. 
Andre!  Well,  she  wouldn't  question  the 
state  of  her  heart  any  further  on  that  sub- 
ject. She  turned  quickly  to  the  door.  As  she 
put  her  hand  on  the  latch  she  glanced  down 
at  the  bed  table.  And  something  was  wrong. 
The  carafe  of  water  was  there,  with  the 
glass  stopper  still  lying  beside  it;  there  were 
an  ash  tray  and  her  clock.  She  paused  for 
an  instant,  puzzled,  groping — and  then  re- 
alized with  a  blinding  flash  what  was  wrong. 
The  revolver  was  not  there. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


115 


The  fitsi-Thouqht 

BUHMS 


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It  had  to  be  there.  It  had  to  be  some- 
where. It  was  not.  She  looked  rapidly 
around  the  room,  she  knelt  and  fumbled 
under  the  low  bed  and  around  the  thick 
fringe  of  the  rugs,  she  looked  and  searched 
and  it  was  not  there. 

She  got  to  her  feet,  stumbling  in  her  long 
chiffon  skirt. 

So  Cecily  had  taken  it.  Somehow,  under 
her  very  eyes,  the  girl  had  snatched  it  up 
and  taken  it  away  with  her. 

Her  knees  were  shaking.  How  could  she 
have  let  the  child  take  it?  How  could  she 
have  let  a  feeling  of  normalness,  of  being  in 
control  of  the  situation,  so  blind  her? 

Where  had  Cecily  gone?  How  could  she 
find  her?  Had  Cecily  relumed  to  the  island? 
She  had  heard  the  sound  of  oars  returning. 
At  least  she  thought  she  had  heard  it. 

She  was  shivering,  trembling  as  Cecily 
had  trembled.  She  didn't  know  what  she 
was  doing;  it  was  queer,  because  she  realized 
it  and  yet  could  not  stop  and  think.  She  ran 
to  the  balcony.  It  was  dark  now,  and  if 
Cecily  had  dropped  the  revolver  upon  the 
balcony  she  could  not  find  it.  She  ran 
swiftly  down  the  winding  stairway,  tripping, 
snatching  up  her  swirling  chiffon  skirt, 
clutching  the  railing. 

She  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway; 
lights  streamed  out  from  the  French  win- 
dows opening  upon  the  porch.  She  could 
hear  voices,  and  Winnie's  laughter  and  the 
dance  music  from  the  radio.  She  could  see 
Judith  on  the  sofa  behind  white  calla  lilies, 
and  Andre  standing  beside  her,  a  cocktail 
glass  in  his  hand. 


SO  SOME  SAV 

^  The  Chinese  character  for  trou- 

^  ble  shows  two  women  under  the 

same  roof.  —LEAH  FRANCES  COLUNS: 

Quoted  in  Magazine  Digest. 

Kindness  goes   a   long    ways    lots 

o'   times   when   it  ought   t'  stay   at 

home.  _ABE  MARTIN: 

Quoted  in  The  Big  Toast  Book  Case. 

(Shrewesbury  Pub.  Co.) 

Standing  on  one's  dignity  is  the 
pinnacle  of  all  absurdities. 

—REGINALD  BERKELEY: 
Quoted  In  Magazine  Digest. 


It  was  light  enough,  now  that  her  eyes 
were  adjusted  to  the  night,  to  see  the  dark, 
thick  clump  of  bamboos  down  at  the  water's 
edge,  where  Cecily  had  apparently  got  into 
the  boat  and  gone,  and  then  perhaps  re- 
turned. And  she  must  find  her  and  she  must 
hurry.  Marny  ran  across  the  lawn ;  the  grass 
was  cool  below  the  thin  soles  of  her  slippers. 
Far  away,  she  could  hear  the  murmur  of 
surf;  nearer,  the  lap  of  water  against  the  low 
sea  wall  which  rimmed  the  entire  island. 

She  reached  the  clump  of  bamboo  and  the 
turf  skirted  it  like  a  path  with  bamboos  on 
one  side,  whispering  and  moving  in  the  light 
wind,  the  low  sea  wall  on  her  right.  Clouds 
moved  across  the  sky  and  stars  shone  down 
brilliantly  all  at  once.  The  black  water 
glittered,  reflecting  them.  The  strip  of  grass 
gave  way  to  white  sand.  A  small  pier  lay 
there,  white  and  ghostly  in  the  starlight.  It 
was  merely  a  platform  over  the  water,  with 
steps.  Two  or  three  boats  lay  moored  below : 
rowboats  and  a  cabin  cruiser. 

It  was  perfectly  still  except  for  the  faint 
lapping  of  water  and  the  distant  sound  of 
music.  There  was,  of  course,  no  revolver;  she 
couldn't  have  found  it,  it  was  so  dark,  if  it 
had  been  there.  She'd  lost  her  head  and 
wasted  time.  She'd  have  to  go  back  and  tell 
them  what  had  happened.  Andre  would 
know  where  Cecily  had  gone.  They  must 
reach  her  quickly.  She  turned  again  toward 
the  house;  the  bamboos  rustled  and  whis- 
pered beside  her. 

Someone  had  dropped  a  coat  in  the  shadow 
of  the  nearest  clump,  on  the  strip  of  grass 
just  at  the  edge  of  the  white  sand.  She  hadn't 
seen  it  when  she  passed,  she  hadn't  — — 

It  wasn't  a  coat.  She  was  on  her  knees.  It 
was  something  limp  and  white,  flung  down 
like  a  coat.   It  was  Cecily  Durant,  with  her 


Prances  Denney 


116 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  l945 


1  '  ' 


DxHieeiMarfa^/'e  makes  d&x/s 
t'>sty..m^emaiidoj^em/ 


That's  what  good  cooks  everywhere  are  saying  .  .  .  "So 
wholesome,  with  such  a  fine  country-fresh  flavor!"  Smooth 
and  perfectly  blended,  Durkee's  Margarine  is  made  ex- 
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gredients come  from  American  farms  and  every  pound  is 
enriched  with  9,000  units  of  Vitamin  A. 

SPREAD        •        COOK        •        BAKE        •        FRY 


"^^^ 


One  of  the  Basic  7  Foods 
recojuniendc'd  in  the  V .  S. 
Nutrition  Food  Rules 


childish,  pretty  face  pressed  down  into  the 
earth.  It  was  Cecily  Durant,  and  this  time 
she  had  not  fainted.  She  was  dead,  and  there 
was  something  dark  and  splotchy  all  across 
her  back  between  her  thin  shoulders. 

"Cecily — Cecily — Cecily " 

It  was  Marny's  own  voice,  and  she  knew 
it;  yet  she  hadn't  meant  to  sob  like  that, 
she  hadn't  meant  to  scream.  She  knew,  too, 
that  someone  was  coming.  She  could  hear 
footsteps  on  the  turf  path. 

Someone  reached  her.  Someone  stopped 
and  said  something  short  and  muffled  and 
was  down  beside  her,  pushing  her  out  of  the 
way,  bending  over  that  limp,  small  figure. 
It  was  Bill  Cameron. 

He  turned  abruptly  toward  her;  he  was  so 
close  that  even  in  the  darkness  she  could  see 
his  face.  He  put  his  hand  hard  on  her 
shoulder.  "What  happened?  Who  is  it? 
For  heaven's  sake,  what  happened?" 

She  couldn't  answer;  she  had  no  voice,  no 
feeling,  no  power  to  move. 

Clouds  drifted  again  across  the  stars;  a 
curtain  of  shadow  dropped  upon  them. 
Water  lapped  against  the  pier  somewhere  in 
that  soft  darkness  and  the  warm  wind 
rattled  the  bamboos.  And  Marny  fought 
through  something  that  caught  at  her  throat 
as  if  it  had  hands  and  whispered: 

"Is  she  dead?" 

"Yes.  Where  is  the  gun?" 

"Gun?" 

"Gun.  What  did  you  do  with  it?" 

"She  had  it.  That's  why  I  came." 
Marny  stared  at  the  dimly  white  face  of  the 
man  beside  her;  the  clouds  were  heavy,  and 


the  bamboos  rustled  thinly  together.  She 
cried,  jerkily,  "She  had  the  gun;  I  took  it 
and  she  went  away.  She  went  in  the  boat. 
I— then  the  gun  was  gone.    So  I  came— 

I  hurried "  She  stopped  and  cSught  her 

breath  so  it  hurt  and  she  had  to  press  her 
own  hands  against  her  throat,  queerly,  to 
relieve  it.  "Are  you  sure  she's  dead?  Per- 
haps   " 

"Yes." 

"But  isn't  there — a  doctor — anything? 
We  must  do  something.  She  can't  be  dead ! " 

"She's  dead."  He  waited  a  moment, 
kneeling  there,  his  white  uniform  outlining 
his  solid  figure.  "Yes,"  he  said  again,  very 
quietly,  "she's  dead.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  We'll  have  to  call  the  police,  of  course. 

Right  away.    And  you  "    He  turned 

around  and  rose,  taking  her  by  the  arms  and 
pulling  her  up  with  him.  He  drew  her  away 
from  little  dead  Cecily,  there  in  the  shadow.' 
"You  understand,  they'll  arrest  you." 

"Arrest "   He  was  saying  something 

very  important  and  very  terrible  and  yet  she 
could  not  fully  comprehend  it. 

"Arrest  you.  On  a  murder  charge."  He 
waited  a  moment  and  seemed  to  watch  her 
through  the  darkness;  and  then  he  said, 
"Quick.  Tell  me  how  it  happened." 

She  was  shaking,  her  words  incoherent 
and  jumbled.  "But  I — you  see,  she  had  the 
gun — I  hurried " 

His  hands  came  down  hard  on  her  shoul- 
ders again.  "Marny,  think.  Snap  out  of  it. 
Why  did  you  kill  her?' 

(To  he  Continued) 


IF  I  WKRE  A  MAIV 

(Conlinaeil  from  Page  5) 

"  I  wouldn't  be  the  kind  of  statesman  who 
allowed  the  world  to  fall  into  the  state  it 
is  in  right  now.  I  seem  not  to  be  able  to 
think  of  anything  else  so  important,  or  any- 
thing trivial  so  true." 

— flanet  Flannfr. 

"  I  would  not  leave  the  care,  training,  edu- 
cation and  enjoyment  of  the  children  en- 
tirely to  the  women  of  the  family.  Nor 
would  I  leave  the  churchgoing.  the  civic 
activities,  the  social  and  cultural  life  entirely 
to  the  women  of  the  family  and  to  the  com- 
munity." —FranrvH  I't-rliinH. 

"I  wouldn't  assume  that  women  entered 
the  service  to  meet  men.  Most  women  in  the 
service  enlisted  for  patriotic  reasons  and  al- 
ready were  committed  to  a  particular  man, 
also  in  the  service." 

— Snt,  Ruth  KrauH, 

U.  S,  Marine  Corps  Women's  Reserve. 

"I  wouldn't  laugh  at  women's  hats.  Par- 
ticularly if  I  were  a  husband.  Because  hav- 
ing been  a  woman  for  so  long,  I  know  that 
the  husband  always  gets  the  bills  for  his 
wife's  hats.  And  they're  not  funny. 

"And  if  I  were  a  man  I  wouldn't  be  so 
anxious  to  go  out  with  'the  boys.'  Because 
if  I  were  a  man  it  wouldn't  be  half  as  much 
fun!"  — Grai'ie  AlUfit. 

(IVIrs.  George  Burns.) 

"I  wouldn't  pass  up  so  many  opportuni- 
ties to  notice  nice  things  about  women — and 
to  compliment  them.  The  gentler  sex  needs 
to  have  their  egos  braced  that  way." 

—  Elvanor  Laird. 
(Mrs.  Donald  Laird.) 

"I  wouldn't  object  to  having  a  woman 
who  happened  to  have  more  money  than  I 
'did  pay  for  a  meal  in  a  restaurant.  And  I 
wouldn't  keep  saying  that  woman's  place  is 
in  the  home  and  make  sure  my  wife  stayed 
there,  then  spend  most  of  my  time  at  gather- 
ings talking  to  women  who  work  outside  the 
home."  — Milizabvth  itairvs. 

"  I  wouldn't  show  off  quite  so  much.  Men 
like  to  preen,  peacock  fashion,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  female.  Or  pose  as  big  shots  in  front 
of  other  men.  Or  take  egocentric  flights  be- 
fore everyone,  becoming  too  aggressive. 
Could  be,  they  just  have  an  inferiority  com- 
plex. Or  maybe  they  just  like  to  exhibit.   It 


seems  to  me  if  they  did  their  best  unselfishly, 
without  this  flaunting  of  their  prowess  and 
without  quite  so  much  pretension  and  dis- 
play, we'd  have  a  more  peaceful  and  happier 
time  domestically,  nationally  and  maybe  all 
over  the  world." 

— Thura  Samti'r  Wiifaloiw. 

"  I  wouldn't  wear  jewelry.   It  doesn't  be- 
come the  sterner  sex."        —Xa»u  PUtm. 


IF  I  WFRE  A  WOMAX 

(Conlinued  from  Page  4) 

"I  wouldn't  boast  of  preferring  the  com 
pany  of  the  male  sex  1  am  always  suspi 
cious  of  the  woman  who  complains  tha 
other  women  can't  be  trusted,  aren't  loyai 
enough  to  be  real  friends.  When  I  hear 
woman  condemn  her  own  sex  with  a  sweep 
ing  remark  like,  '  Women  are  so  insincere,' 
begin  to  wonder  just  how  loyal  and  sinceW 
she  is  herself."         —L^anard  n  arrvn. 

"I  wouldn't  maintain  ignorance  of  thi 
differences  in  the  uniforms  of  the  women  ij 
the  various  branches  of  the  service.  Womer 
like  their  menfolk,  are  proud  of  their  uni 
form  and  what  it  represents." 

— S  'Sat.  f'britt  W»ud.  Jr., 
U.  S.  Marine  Corps  Reserve, 

"I  wouldn't  ever  be  home  on  income-ta 
day."  ,  — Javk  Benny. 


"There  are  plenty  of  things  I  wouldn 
do,  I'd  never  wear  huge  clusters  of  fiowei 
in  my  hair  when  attending  the  theater,  bt 
cause  it's  my  conviction  that  the  rest  of  th 
audience  came  to  see  a  show,  not  a  garder 
I'd  lay  off  baby  talk  or  anything  approacf 
ing  it— by  now  most  men  concede  tha 
women  have  minds  of  their  own  and  respec 
them  for  it.  I'd  keep  my  eyes  on  my  escor 
not  on  other  gals,  in  public  places.  I  woul 
never  make  derogatory  remarks  about  other  j 
in  public — those  things  have  a  way  of  gel  ^ 
ting  around.  I'd  try  to  look  interested  eve^ 
when  the  conversation  didn't  refer  excli 
sively  to  myself,"      —3forton  Oownegm 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  positive  about  thinj 
women  are  positive  about.  If  women  wei 
always  right  when  positive,  we  men  woul 
be  wrong  too  unbearably  often." 

— ('apt.  lit'nt'  Itai/mond, 

"I  wouldn't  like  it.  Men  have  all  thebei| 
of  it."  —ErnvMt  Traex. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


More  than  just  a  beautiful  kitchen! 

You  want  a  new  type  kitchen.  Where  everything  is 
scientifically  arranged  to  save  time  and  steps  .  .  . 

to  give  you  a  cool,  clean,  comfortable  place  for 
cooking  good  meals. 


...  is  BIG!  (The  whole  Gas  industry  is  working  on  it! )  It's  a  plan  to  bring  you 

new  freedom  from  wasted  energy,  wasted  time  .  .  .  new  freedom  from  fatigue, 

dirt,  heat,  unwanted  kitchen  odors.  It's  a  plan  to  make  your  wonder  workshop  come  to  life! 

Right  now,  we're  working  with  kitchen  cabinet  makers  and  architects,  Gas  range 

and  Gas  refrigerator  people,  housewives  and  home  economics  experts— 

So  that— shortly  after  V-Day— we'll  be  able  to  offer  you  dozens  of  ideas  on  new  kitchens. 

Yes!  direct  help  in  getting  the  one  you  want— for  new  home  or  old— with  the 

least  possible  effort  and  the  lowest  possible  cost! 


.  3  nei/(^  ^oHd  of 
\^^  and  cP0m!ce 

0^  i/i/ornan 


It's  coming  soon!  .  .  .  your  "New  Freedom  Gas  Kitchen"!  *  When?  That  depends  on  Victory  .  .  .  your 

war-work  and  War  Bonds  will  speed  it  along.  But  you  may  be  sure  it  will  be  economical  and  trouble-free 

in  operation.  For  it  will  be  built  around  these  essentials  of  a  truly  modern  kitchen  .  .  . 

A  C  P  GAS  RANGE  —  with  new  features  of  fast,  flexible,  automatic  cooking.  C  P  means 

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THEiWONDER    FLAME 


■jrriKht  1946,  AmericBo  Guu  AasuciHtloD 


It  iW 


THAT    COOLS    AS 
WELL    AS    HEATS 


AMERICAN     GAS     ASSOCIATION 


118 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


"first  Aid  {or'Windims 


"When  Junior  cra-cks  a.vf\xiSiOvr-^axie 
(A  most  annoying  sound ) 

Some  Texcel  Tkpe  will  mend  it  till 
The  glazier  comes  axound. 


(Texcel  v/on'f  creep  loose — 
/he  "sfick-um's"  bonded  on!) 


And.  when  you  wrap  vi^  Ssxidwiches 
For  hubby's  luncheon  p«2i] , 

Sobie  Texcel  ke<?ps  the  wrapper  ^^ht^ 
The  brea.^  from  getting  stale .  ^ 


(Texcel  seals  pcrlectly- 
the  "s/ic/t-um's"  bonded  onl) 


VoT  Wrapping  ^ifts  and.  pAcJcages, 
For  fastening  scores  of  things , 

It's  '\ey:cel  Tape -no  fumbZing  'ro«nd 
With  loiots  and  hits  of  strings. 


(Texcel  sticks 
indefini/e/y — 
the  ^""stick-vni's" 
bonded  onl) 


Yes,'IexceJ  is  an  improved  tape 
"Whose  ^stick-urn's"  bonded  on : 

It  won'r  come  off,  it  won't  dry  out 
Before  the  judgment  dawn . 


J^iiice  Texcel  may  be  Wk  ere  lon^ 
For  househoM  tasks  send  such. 

'Rememher  to  &sk.  for  "Jexcel  Tkpe- 
It  stic^  with  justr  a  touch . 

Texcel  Tape 

CELLOPHANE   TAPE  -  STICKS    WITH   A  TOUCH 

Made  by  Industrial  Tape  Corporation 
A  Division  of  Johnson  Sc  Johnson. 
New  Brunswick:,  N.J. 


OUR   READERS   WRITE   US 

(Continued  from  Page-13) 


For  Instance,  Here's  a  Boaquet 

Halifax,  Nova  Scotia,  Canada. 

Dear  Editors:  When  I  get  my  copy  of 
the  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  I  immedi- 
ately turn  the  pages  to  see  the  illustrations 
done  by  Andrew  Loomis.  I  have  seen  a 
lot  of  illustrations  in  magazines,  but  his 
work  is  without  a  doubt  the  best  of  all. 

We  all  read  the  Fifty  Years  Ago  column 
and  enjoy  it  as  well  as  the  stories  and 
articles.  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal  will 
always  be  the  favorite  magazine  in  my 
house.  MRS.  G.  F.  PHELAN. 

Dorothy  Lays  a  Brick  Wall 

The  Duke's  Cottage, 
Rudgwick,  England. 

My  dears:  You  have  no  notion  how 
drafty  it  is,  living  in  a  punctured  house,  in 
wartime  underwear  (for  which  one  never 
has  quite  sufficient  coupons  left!).  I  wish 
the  house  menders  would  not  tarry  so ! 

A  couple  of  swans  lived  on  a  lake 
near  by.  A  bomb  fell  in  the  lake,  and  blew 
them  off  it,  in  different  directions.  The 
father  swan  got  back,  and  sailed  around 
disconsolate.  We  feared  the  mother  swan 
had  been  killed,  but  riding  one  day,  some 
five  miles  away,  we  found  her,  swimming 
around  under  a  little  bridge.  There's  all 
life  in  a  nutshell !  He  is  there  and  she  is 
there,  but  they  can't  get  together  again. 
You  cannot  pick  up  a  swan  and  take  her 
on  a  horse  five  miles.  And  though  we 
shout  his  address  down  to  her  till  we  are 
hoarse,  she  cannot  understand !  It  looks 
as  if  they  would  have  to  remain  star- 
crossed  lovers  until  the  end  I 

Later :  I  still  have  a  lot  of  Jock's  stuff  to 
go  through.  Besides  a  fairly  comprehen- 
sive diary  of  his  life  in  the  army,  he  had 
written  a  whole  lot  of  sketches  and  essays. 
I  also  came  on  a  fragment  written  in  pen- 
cil, in  the  desert,  about  a  week  before  he 
died.  I^ike  Jock,  it  stopped  at  the  begin- 
ning. There  is  a  quality  about  his  writings 
that  I  find  in  Delius'  music,  as  if  he  had 
inherited  his  great-uncle's  genius  in  a  dif- 
ferent way: 

• 
Down  in  the  wood  with  the  chestnut  trees 
And  the  downs  beyond 
And  the  sound  of  the  sea 
A  blackbird  sang  as  delicate  dawn 
Swept  light  as  gossamer  over  the  hills 
And  all  the  dewy  valley  rang 
IVith  joy  of  the  song  that  the  blackbird  sang. 

One  wonders  whether,  to  tliose  young 
men  who  must  go  so  much  too  soon,  there 
comes,  only  half  understood,  some  fore- 
knowledge of  what  has  got  to  be.  From 
so  many  of  his  essays  and  sketches  I  get 
the  impression  that  he  knew — without 
really  knowing. 

Later:  I  had  a  conversation  with  an 
American  boy  in  the  bus.  He  gave  me  the 
most  colorful  description  I've  heard  yet 
of  the  rocket  bomb:  "Boy,  did  it  burn  a 
hole  in  the  sky!" 

Later.  One  of  the  things  I  am  looking 
forward  to  is  being  able  to  move  around 
and  make  up  one's  mind  without  govern- 
ment assistance.  Oh,  to  be  done  with  , 
forms,  coupons  and  officials !  I  pin  my  all 
on  that.  And  I  should  like  to  give  a  chil- 
dren's party — a  real,  walloping  children's 
party,  with  jelly  and  ice  cream ! 

Daughter  Mary  writes  that  she  is  going 
to  risk  all  and  bring  the  baby  over  from 
Ireland  for  a  few  days.  She  writes:  "The 
poor  child  may  as  well  get  used  to  travel- 
ing, being  a  soldier's  daughter.  ..."  I 
brought  daughter  June  home  from  Burma 
at  exactly  the  same  age,  just  after  the  last 
war.  Traveling  conditions  were  just  about 
as  bad  then  as  they  are  now,  and  we  got 
through  all  right  as  far  as  I  remember. 
There  were  no  tin  openers  and  I  know  it 
was  frightfully  difficult  to  open  cans  of 
condensed  milk  with  nail  scissors. 

Later.  We  had  a  posse  of  the  F.  F.  I. 
over,  nice  little  French  girls  all  agog  at 
the  battered  splendors  of  London!  Never 
had  they  seen  such  shops,  they  said,  or 
such  well-dressed  people !  They  looked 
pretty  and  shabby,  with  their  bare  legs 
and  wooden-.soled  shoes — but  I  thought 
quite  well  nourished.  However,  extreme 
youth,  like  goats,  keeps  fit  on  very  little. 


I  have  just  had  your  letter,  Bruce,  re 
autobiography,  in  which  you  imply  that 
merely  taking  down  a  lock  or  so  of  hair  is 
not  enough;  a  girl  must  strip  to  the  buff. 
I  laughed  like  anything.  I  shall  have  to 
wait  till  I  have  one  foot  in  the  grave,  and 
then,  writing  Finis,  send  the  MS.  to  you, 
and  hastily  put  the  other  leg  in,  and  slam 
down  the  lid. 

Later.  There  was  so  little  chance  of  get- 
ting the  garden  wall  put  up  that  do  you 
know  what  ?  I  got  a  thousand  bricks,  five 
bags  of  cement  and  a  yard  of  sand  and 
ballast,  and  I  am  going  to  build  it  myself. 
Wm.  Tullett  dug  me  out  the  foundation. 
Wm.  Port  showed  me  how  to  wield  a 
builder's  trowel  and  lay  liners  and  head- 
ers (you  couldn't  be  expected  to  know 
what  that  means,  not  being  a  bricklayer) 


i 


Dorothy  turns  bricklayer. 


and  I  have  already  got  two  feet  high  done. 
Time  was  I  thought  the  knack  of  building 
was  something  you  were  born  with,  like 
blue  eyes.  But  I  find  it's  only  a  matter  of 
patience  and  knowing  how.  Now  Hadrian 
has  nothing  on  me. 

Love  to  you  both, 
DOROTHY  BLACK. 

The  Girl  Can  Cook 

Kitchener,  Ontario,  Canada. 

Dear  Editors:  I  have  been  a  devoted 
reader  of  the  Journal  since  I  was  nine 
years  old  and  will  be  as  long  as  Ann 
Batchelder  is  a  member  of  your  staff.  She 
is  the  only  cooking  expert  I  know  whose 
recipes  are  always  infallible. 

About  a  year  ago  I  became  intrigued  by 
the  weird  and  fanciful  recipes  which  ap- 
peared on  the  household  page  of  a  certain 
famous  weekly.  Betting  odds  ran  high 
that  the  reader-submitted  recipes  were 
never  tested.  As  a  result,  I  dreamed  up  a 
few  delectable  screwball  numbers  and  sent 
them  off.  Not  only  were  they  printed  as 
tested  recipes,  but  I  received  a  sizable 
check  for  my  trouble.  Shed  a  tear  for  the 
digestions  of  the  trusting  readers  and  their 
families! 

Incidentally,  I  love  to  cook.  I  also 
write  stories.  I  am  a  better  cook  than  a 
story  writer.  My  stories  always  come 
back.   My  cooking?   Never. 

Yours  sincerely, 
JANIE  CANUCK. 
^  We  would  rather  be  married  to  a  good 
cook  than  to  a  good  short-story  writer. 
Happy  is  he  rfiarried  to  both.   ED. 

No  More  Lost  Generation 

Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania. 

Gentlemen:  We,  a  group  of  girls  aged 
23-25,  are  determined  that  our  children 
will  not  fight  in  World  War  III.  We  feel 
that  repetition  of  this  present  catastrophe 
can  be  avoided  if  young  America  can  be 
awakened  to  its  responsibilities,  which  we 
see  as  follows: 

First — concern  and  interest  in  legisla- 
tion being  passed  in  Congress. 

Second — concern  over  the  welfare  of 
our  neighbor  nations. 

Third — we  must  see  to  it  that  the 
Golden  Rule  is  taught  at  home  from  the 
cradle  up.  Bigotry,  intolerance  and  preju- 
dice must  be,  and  can  only  be,  abolished 
by  parental  teaching. 
i  Fourth — we  must  look  the  shortcom- 
ings of  our  communities  and  country 
squarely  in  the  face  and  then  set  out  to 
remedy  them. 

Since  your  magazine  is  so  widely  read 
by  the  young  people  of  America,  won't 


iiH] 


h 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


119 


WHY  QUINTUPLETS 

use  this  great  rub  for 

SORE  THROAT 
COUGHStCOLDS 

Wonderful  for  Grown-Ups,  Too! 

Ever  since  they  were  tiny  tots  —  when- 
ever the  Quintuplets  catch  cold  —  their 
chests,  throats  and  backs  are  immediately 
rubbed  with  Musterole. 

Musterole  gives  such  blessed  prompt 
relief  because  it's  more  than  just  an 
ordinary  "salve."  It's  what  so  many 
Doctors  and  Nurses  call  a  modern  counter- 
irritant.  It  not  only  relieves  coughs,  sore 
throat,  aching  chest  muscles  due  to  colds, 
makes  breathing  easier — but  it  actually 
helps  break  up  congestion  in  upper  bron- 
chial tract,  nose  and  throat. 

And  Musterole  is  so  much  easier  to 
apply  than  a  mustard  plaster.  White, 
Stainless.  Just  rub  it  on!  "No  fuss.  No 
muss  with  Musterole!" 
IN  3  STRENGTHS:  Children's  Mild 
Musterole,  Regular,  and  Extra  Strong. 


VxaVfng  a 
BMy? 

Start  right  with  Hygeia  -*  * 
Nursing  Bottles.  Easy  to  — ._ 
clean — wide  mouth  and 
rounded  interior  corners  have  no  crevices  where 
germs  can  hide.  Red  measuring  scale  aids  in  cor- 
rect filling.  "Wide  base  prevents  tipping.  Tapered 
shape  helps  baby  get  last  drop  of  forn^ula. 
Famous  breast-shaped  nipple  with  patented  air- 
vent  permits  steady  flow,  prevents  "windsucking." 
Cap  keeps  nipples  and  formula  germ-free  for  stor- 
ing or  out-of-home  feeding. 

NEW  COMPLETE  PACKAGE 

Ask  your  druggist  for 
Hygeia's  new  package 
containing  Bottle,  Nipple, 
and  Cap.  No  extra  cost. 


■H-yee/a 


CONSULT  YOUR   DOCTOR  REGULARLY 


HEY,  Mom !  Don't  Be  a  Diaper  Drudge! 

Dennison  Diaper  Liners  reduce  unpleasant- 
ness in  changing  and  washing  my  diapers. 
Just  fold  a  Liner  inside  diaper  next  to  my 
skin.  When  soiled,  flush  away.  No  hard 
scrubbing.  Sanitary.  Helps  prevent  diaper 
rash.  Costs  only  a  few  cents  a  day.  Baby- 
pads:  200  for  $1.  Downee-soft:  200  for  69*. 
-^  FREE  .  .  .  Full  day's  supply.  Write  to 
Dennison,  Dept.  P-1,  Framingham,  Mass. 


DIAPER  LINERS 

Wherever  Baby  Goods  Are  Sold 

/lATERNITY  DRESSES//^ 

Smart,  youthful  stvlRsfnrMnrninff.  street,  or  .' //^ 


Smart,  youthful  styles  for  Morning,  Street,  or  '  (Co^oy 
Spring  I   Afternoon.  Also  Maternity  Bras  &  Lingerie.      ^^--^ 
^""°^   I  CRAWFORD'S 'D<^l.^'1233Balt.Ave.,KanU3Cit;,Mo. 


you  start  a  series  of  articles  addressed  to 
youth,  on  the  proposals  pending  in  Con- 
gress? We  want  articles  to  revivify  the 
youth  of  America,  so  that  they  will  fight 
as  zealously  for  the  maintenance  of  peace 
as  they  now  do  for  its  restoration. 

Sincerely  yours, 
ROSE  S.  GRANO. 
Corresponding  secretary,  Sol  Oriens  Sorority. 

►  If  our  printing  articles  could  bring  peace 
to  this  world,  how  easy  it  would  be. 
The  Sol  Oriens  Sorority  will  learn,  we 
fear,  that  the  admirable  job  they've 
cut  out  for  themselves  is  a  bit  on  the 
difficult  side.   ED. 

Pliia  for  Postwar  Libraries 

Princeton,  New  Jersey. 
My  dear  Beatrice :  I  read  in  the  October 
issue  that  the  National  Planning  Associa- 
tion reports  that  40,000,000  people  in  the 
United  States  have  no  access  to  libraries. 
Why  couldn't  many  Army  post  libraries 
be  transferred  after  war  to  some  of  these 
communities? 

KATHERINE  EISENHART. 

*  It  has  been  proposed  to  the  Surplus 
Property  Administration  and  to  Con- 
gress by  Carl  Vitz,  president  of  the 
American  Library  Association,  that  mil- 
lions of  books,  made  surplus  after  de- 
mobilization, be  transferred  to  states  by 
the  Office  of  Education  in  proportion  to 
rural  population.  Within  the  states,  he 
proposes  that  allotments  be  made  by 
the  official  state  library-extension  agen- 
cies.   ED. 

He  Bfever  Had  a  Baby! 

Moundsville,  West  Virginia. 

Dear  Editor:  Dr.  Herman  N.  Bunde- 
sen's  article,  The  Needless  Fear  of  Child- 
birth, set  me  burning  with  rage. 

Having  just  given  birth  to  my  first 
child  after  almost  twenty-four  hours  in 
labor,  I  feel  qualified  to  tell  the  doctor 
that  he,  as  a  man,  can  have  no  idea  what 
childbirth  pain  is.  Just  why  are  doctors 
now  administering  twilight  sleep  and  spi- 
nal injections  to  make  the  mother  feel  no 
pain?  As  to  the  so-called  "show,"  just 
let  me  see  a  man  who  can  stand  even  the 
smallest  pain.  Sincerely, 

MRS.  GUY  WILLIAM  KNAPP. 

Bat  She  Did! 

Tucson,  Arizona.' 
Dear  Sir:  Having  reared  two  children 
by  Doctor  Bundesen's  fine  booklets,  I  ap-  , 
predate  what  he  has  done  for  motherhood. 
I  was  glad  that  he  wrote:  "The  expectant 
mother  who  looks  upon  childbirth  as  an 
illness  is  dangerously  wrong."  . 

Parents  of  married  children  should  dis-  ■ 
cipline  themselves  so  that  they  neither 
talk  nor  show  fear  during  the  nine 
months — that  shows  greater  love  than  the 
anxious  concern  and  worry  expressed  by  . 
many  parents.  Also,  many  obstetricians 
can  help  more  than  they  do  to  build  the 
right  mental  attitude. 

Understanding  her  case  should  do  away 
with  most  of  an  expectant  mother's  fear; 
for,  as  Marie  Curie  said:  "Nothing  in  life 
is  to  be  feared.  It  is  only  to  be  under- 
stood." Yours  sincerely, 

LOIS  H.  WILSON. 

Kittens  Wlio  Waiii  Atone  ' 

Whittier  Hall,  Columbia  University, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 
Dear  How  America  Lives  Editor:  I  do 
not  know  if  the  editors  of  women's  maga- 
zines realize  the  large  numbers  of  college 
students  who  devour  their  magazines 
monthly.  I  believe  that  we  read  every 
word  on  every  page,  including  the  ads,  but 
every  feature,  advertisement  and  article 
seems  to  be  directed  to  housewives  and  we 
are  left  out  in  the  cold. 

I  have  been  avidly  reading  How  Amer- 
ica Lives  ever  since  you  first  started  it  and 
have  constantly  hoped  that  you  would  do 
at  least  one  article  on  college  students,  or 
at  least  women  living  alone. 

Very  sincerely, 
JOYCE  LINSKY. 

•  We  have  always  intended  to,  but  like 
the  mother  of  six  children  who  hoped, 
sometime,  to  get  a  little  time  all  to  her- 
self, we  have  simply  never  got  around 
to  it.   ED. 


Even  if  you  don't  have  7  babies... 


-^f.T""^  ^«<J   "'  •"»  6,    ^•"»»-  fo 


'-•.;;;-..,;-'. 


ere 


Yes,  ma'am,  we  know  how  rough  those  weekly  launder- 
ings,  and  babies,  and  just  general  wear,  can  be  on  sheets. 
That's  why  we've  made  Pequots  so  sturdy. 

But  we've  made  them  beaut  ifultoo.Yes.ma'a/n.'Pequot's 
smooth  close-woven  texture  mellows  softly,  like  old  linen. 
Keeps  that  bleached-in  whiteness  to  the  very  end  (which 
comes  eventually,  even  for  Pequots!). 

And  remember,  with  Pequots  you  get  two  exclusive  {ea- 
tuies  — double-tape  selvages,  and  handy,  projecting  size 
tabs.  Uncle  Sam  still  requires  most  of  our  output,  but 
there  are  some  Pequots  for  civilians.  If  you  need  sheets, 
get  Pequots.  Pequot  Mills,  Salem,  Massachusetts. 


PEqUDTl^  SHEETS 

50  good- looking- SO  long  wcartnS 


f.llNu, 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  19  l.'i 


tt 


Here's  Where  I  G/ve  the  Orders! 


Yes,  Mrs.  Homemaker,  you're  in  command  of  this  operation  and  you'll 
want  to  make  your  job  as  easy  and  efficient  as  possible.  Plan  now,  to  acquire 
Universal  appliances  and  housewares  as  fast  as  you  can.  Universal's  reputation 
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products,  new  features,  new  designs.  You  won't  want  to  be  without  them  a 
moment  longer  than  necessary.  To  speed  your  enjoyment  of  Universal  Better 
Living,  check  the  items  you  want  on  the  Shopping  List  on  this  page.  Clip  it, 
keep  it,  and  ask  your  Universal  dealer  to  let  you  know  when  your  chosen 
products  become  available. 

UNIVIER5AL 

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BUY     MORE     WAR     BONDS 


leri; 


It's  in  the  Faniilj 

BY  HEIVRY  PLEASA]^TS,  JR.,  M.D.,  F.A.C.P. 


ONE  of  the  most  vicious,  unfair  and  dis- 
heartening phrases  that  can  be  made 
regarding  a  patient  who  is  suffering 
from  some  form  of  mental  disturbance 
is,  "It's  in  the  family,  you  know."  No  less 
an  authority  than  Dr.  Edward  A.  Strecker, 
in  his  admirable  book,  The  Fundamentals  of 
Psychiatry,  in  discussing  the  predisposing 
causes  of  mental  illness,  says: 

"Inheritance  is  an  important  predispos- 
ing cause,  but  its  importance  has  been 
grossly  overestimated.  A  family  escutcheon 
that  does  not  reveal  an  occasional  psychi- 
atric bar  sinister  is  exceedingly  rare." 

Many  problems  of  mental  illness  confront 
us  today.  There  will  be  many  more  when  the 
war  is  over.  We  will  have  some  ten  million 
young  men  and  women  in  the  prime  of  life 
returning  to  their  homes.  Many  are,  at  first, 
not  likely  to  adjust  themselves  readily  to  the 
routine  of  civilian  life.  Some  will  crack  up. 
It  is  likely  that  most  of  these  will  recover, 
for  the  armed  services  in  the  present  war 
have  seen  to  it  that  most  of  the  mentally 
unstable  have  been  deferred.  However,  the 
recovery  of  those  afflicted  will  largely  de- 
pend upon  intelligent  and  sympathetic  un- 
derstanding on  the  part  of  parents,  wives, 
tiusbands,  sweethearts  and  friends. 

It  is  usually  at  the  critical  period  of  be- 
ginning readjustment  that  some  meddlesome 
Derson  attributes  the  individual's  peculiarity 
)f  behavior  to  some  taint  of  insanity  in  the 
amily .  I  f  the  subject  of  the  remark  happens 

0  be  within  earshot,  the  chances  of  satisfac- 
ory  recovery  within  a  reasonable  time  are 
lot  too  good. 

In  the  first  place,  the  injustice  of  the 
:harge  is  profound.  Doctor  Strecker  is  abso- 
utely  correct.  If  the  genealogical  records  of 

1  thousand  families  were  complete  and  ac- 
urate,  we  should  be  surprised  to  discover 
he  large  number  of  cases  of  serious  mental 
llness  that  had  cropped  out  in  each  genera- 
ion  of  the  majority  of  the  families.  The  fact 
hat  none  of  these  had  required  confinement 

an  institution  for  this  type  of  case  is  cer- 
ainly  no  evidence  one  way  or  the  other. 

It  is  also  true  that  certain  families  may 
ave  had  an  absolutely  clean  record  of  men- 
al  health  for  generation  after  generation 
mply  because  of  the  fact  that  throughout 
lese  generations  no  unusual  stress  or  strain 
appened  to  be  put  on  any  individual.  Had 
lere  been,  the  story  might  have  been  dif- 
rent.  Then,  too,  abnormalities  in  behavior 
n  the  part  of  any  citizen  in  certain  of  our 
ioneer  settlements  were  frequently  handled 
ith  either  a  rope  or  a  six-shooter  instead  of 
lunacy  commission  appointed  by  the  court. 

jVEN  the  actual  history  of  mental  illness 
I  a  family  may  be  utterly  misleading.  As  an 
ample,  I  may  cite  a  most  interesting 
ise:  A  certain  distinguished  general  of  the 
nion  forces  in  the  War  Between  the  States 
ter'became  one  of  the  leading  engineers  in 
le  mining  industry.  The  pressure  of  his  pro- 
ssional  work  became  tremendous.  He  de- 
floped  excruciating  headaches.  His  uncle, 
leading  physician  of  that  day,  decided  that 
e  man  was  going  insane.  He  placed  him  in 

II  asylum,  where  he  soon  became  maniacal 
id  died.  For  the  next  fifty  years,  the  fam- 
'  attributed  every  peculiarity  of  behavior 
the  man's  three  children  to  the  fact  that 
ere  was  insanity  in  the  family.  Being  in- 
rested  in  the  case,  I  went  to  considerable 
ort  to  unearth  the  hospital  records.  An 
topsy  had  been  performed  by  competent 
ysicians.  The  patient  had  died  of  a  brain 
mor !  Had  the  facts  been  made  known  to 
e  family  at  the  time,  the  stigma  of  insanity 
luld  have  evaporated. 

nother  case  is  equally  significant:  A  very 

althy  lady  lost  her  only  son  in  World 

ir  I.  The  shock  affected  her  deeply,  and 

became  more  and  more  despondent. 

entually,  she  became  so  disturbed  that  it 


was  necessary  to  restrain  her  in  bed.  Three 
nurses  were  in  constant  attendance  for  nine 
months.  Finally  she  was  moved  to  a  sani- 
tarium, where  it  was  discovered  that  she  had 
a  very  minor  defect  in  the  large  intestine, 
which  had  prevented  proper  elimination.  An 
impaction  had  resulted  which  had  allowed 
absorption  of  intestinal  poisons  to  continue 
for  months.  Within  three  weeks  after  the  re- 
moval of  the  blockage,  her  mind  became  as 
clear  as  crystal. 

The  progress  of  medical  science  in  the  past 
quarter  century  has  been  astounding.  With 
that  progress  has  come  a  realization  that  an 
enormous  number  of  cases  previously  classi- 
fied as  "insanity"  have  been  directly  trace- 
able to  diet  deficiencies,  susceptibility  to  cer- 
tain foods  (allergy),  and  lack  of  balance  be- 
tween the  secretions  of  certain  tiny  organs 
of  the  human  body  known  as  the  ' '  ductless, " 
or  "endocrine,"  glands.  Other  distressing 
nervous  diseases,  previously  considered 
hereditary,  have  also  been  traced  to  similar 
causes. 

In  this  connection,  I  may  cite  a  case  in 
which  the  only  son  of  a  very  prominent  cou- 
ple suddenly  developed  epilepsy.  Obviously, 
the  stigma  of  this  dreaded  disease  would  af- 
fect the  lad's  whole  future.  The  very  idea  of 
epilepsy  in  the  family  was  horrible. 

I  have  seldom  studied  a  case  with  more 
care.  No  test  was  omitted  that  was  known 
at  that  time.  In  the  midst  of  the  studies,  the 
lad  developed  acute  appendicitis.  I  had 
hoped  that  the  removal  of  such  a  potent 
source  of  infection  might  solve  the  problem. 
Unfortunately,  the  attacks  continued.  The 
mother  and  father  were  distracted. 

One  day  the  mother  called  me  in  great 
excitement.  "Doctor,"  she  fairly  screamed, 
"  I  think  I  have  the  answer.  Every  time  this 
boy  drinks  milk  he  has  a  convulsion." 

Believe  it  or  not,  she  was  absolutely  right ! 
This  boy  had  a  peculiar  allergy  to  milk.  We 
had  not  at  that  time  developed  the  science 
of  testing  for  allergic  sensitivity;  but  we 
stopped  giving  him  milk  in  any  form.  He 
made  a  perfect  recovery,  and  today  is  a  suc- 
cessful businessman  with  a  nice  family  of  his 
own. 

Then  there  are  the  cases  of  mental  illness 
caused  by  what  we  term  "endocrine  imbal- 
ance." We  see  these  most  frequently  in 
women  at  the  time  of  the  menopause,  or 
change  of  life.  Obviously,  if  all  the  little 
ductless  glands,  of  which  the  ovaries  are  a 
part,  are  dependent  upon  a  beautifully  co- 
ordinated production  of  secretions  that  af- 
fect the  entire  body,  anything  which  dis- 
turbs this  balance  may  cause  trouble.  When 
the  ovaries  cease  their  normal  functioning  in 
middle  life,  this  delicate  balance  is  upset, 
and  the  other  glands  may  perform  their 
functions  too  generously  for  the  patient's 
good.  Nervous  symptoms  are  apt  to  appear. 
These  may  become  so  severe  that  the  patient 
may  require  treatment  in  an  institution. 
However,  could  anything  be  more  crim- 
inally unjust  to  a  perfectly  normal  girl  than 
to  stigmatize  her  and  her  family  with  insan- 
ity just  because,  in  her  mother's  case,  a  per- 
fectly normal  bodily  function  had  gone  tem- 
porarily haywire?  Yet  we  have  seen  this 
very  thing  happen  time  and  time  again. 

There  is  another  type  of  mental  disturb- 
ance which  is  probably  more  common  than 
any  other,  yet  which  is  seldom  recognized 
early,  or  treated  intelligently.  It  is  fre- 
quently referred  to  as  "hypochondria," 
which  means  exactly  nothing.  A  physician 
may  use  the  term  "psychoneurosis,"  which 
is  almost  as  bad.  In  United  States  English, 
it  is  a  condition  of  mental  unrest  which 
cannot  be  accounted  for  scientifically.  It  is 
not  imaginary,  either.  People  suffer  more 
with  it  than  they  do  with  most  other  mental 
ailments.  The  reason  is  that  they  cannot  ac- 
count for  their  discomfort,  and  are  apt  to 


cv<nn^mt/L 
Von  Co^n^b's  "uiykt-it^  ULStXf 


Van  Camp's  Chili  Coii  Came 

and 

Van  Camp's   TENDERONI 

Tenderoni  cooks  to  a  light,  fluffy  tenderness  in  only  7 
minutes.  Van  Camp's  Chili  Con  Came  —  choice  beef 
(no  beans)  with  a  tempting  sauce  that  pleases  all  tastes 
— is  ready  to  heat  and  eat.  Combining  these  two 
delicious,  nourishing  foods — so  quickly  and  easily  — 
brings  to  your  table  a  complete  meal  that  is  a  treat 
for  all  the  family. 

So  with  all  Van  Camp's  foods,  for  Von  Camp's  does 
the  work  and  leaves  you  the  pleasure  of  serving  in- 
teresting dishes  with  little  effort  ...  at  small  cost. 
Ask  for  Van  Camp's  at  your  grocer's. 


•     Indianapolis 

Listen  to  "Take-it-easy  Time  with  Van  Camps",  Mutual 
Broadcasting  System:  77:30  a.  m.  B.w.T.,  70:30  o.  m. 
c.w.T.  9;30  a.  m.  M.W.7.,  8:30  a.  m.  p.w.T. 


122 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


MY  DOCTOR  6of9t^H^H4^^e^, 

,  .  .  Vitamins  for  our  family!  He  told  me  that  supplementary 
vitamins  help  to  guard  against  vitamin  deficiencies  that  can  lead 
to  lowered  resistance  to  colds,  nervous  upsets,  digestive  disorders, 
night  blindness,  certain  infections  of  ears,  nose,  throat  and  sinuses 
— and  a  general  run-down  condition.  Because  daily  foods  may  not 
supply  sufficient  vitamins,  my  doctor  says  adding  supplemenlary 
vitamins  to  daily  meals  is  a  wise  health  precaution  for  the  average 
family  these  busy  days! 


MY  DRUGGIST 


One-A-Day  (brand)  Multiple  Vitamins!  And  I'm  glad  I 
followed  his  advice!  One-A-Day  Vitamins  are  economical!  They're 
convenient  and  easy  to  take.  And  because  they  are  laboratory- 
tested  and  potency-guaranteed  I  KNOW  they  give  my  family  and 
me  the  vitamin  protection  we  need  to  avoid  vitamin  deficiencies  and 
their  consequences.  So  .  .  .  since  talking  to  my  doctor  and  visiting 
my  friendly  druggist  .  .  .  we're  ALL  taking  One-A-Day  (brand) 
Multiple  Vitamins  regularly!  Everybody  at  our  house  considers 
them  a  wise  investment  for  future  vitamin  health  protection, 
NOW,  we  recommend  One-A-Day  to  you  as  we  do  to  all  our 
friends  and  neighbors. 


REG.  U.S.  PAT  OFF. 


VITAM  INS 


BY  JESSE  STUART 


I  love  the  smell  of  burning  brush  in  I  love  the  land  that's  free  green  hills 

spring.  to  me, 

I  love  to  walk  afield  and  take  my  The  homespun  clothes,  the  jeans, 

team.  the  overalls; 

I  love  to  hear  the  rooster  redbird  I  love  the  oak,  the  pine,  the  chestnut 

sing,  tree, 

And  hold  the  handles  of  my  plow  The  ferny  rocks,  cowpaths,  the 

and  dream.  waterfalls. 

I'd  hate  to  think  that  money  bought  I  love  to  have  my  freedom,  own  my 

my  bread  land 

Forever  in  a  world  of  house  and  And  make  my  bread  and  owe  no 

street  man  a  cent 

Where  there  is  life  too  false,  and  And  lend  my  fellow  man  a  helping 

fear  and  dread  hand. 

Too  often  come  with  bread  of  life  Have  elbow  room  and  space  and 

men  eat.  fair  content. 


from  Album  oj  Destiny,  recently  published  by  E.  P. 
Dutlon  &  Co.   Copyright,  1944.  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co. 


MILES  LABORATORIES,  INC. 


fE>lablish«i\ 
ISixty  Yeori^ 


VU^ieM  0/  /4Ua-Settfen, 


place  a  wrong  construction  on  their  symp- 
toms. Such  cases  travel  from  doctor  to  doc- 
tor, and  from  quack  to  quack,  seeking  re- 
lief. Each  failure  lessens  their  confidence  in 
medicine  and  in  themselves.  Later,  they 
may  become  so  obsessed  with  ideas  that 
they  themselves  have  built  up  in  their  minds 
that  they  become  mentally  unbalanced. 
Such  cases  as  these  constitute  a  very  large 
percentage  of  the  population  of  our  sani- 
tariums for  mild  nervous  and  mental  dis- 
eases. Here  again  is  an  instance  of  injustice 
when  "insanity  in  the  family"  gossip  starts 
its  vicious  rounds.  Most  of  these  cases  re- 
quire nothing  but  convincing  proof  regarding 
their  actual  disability.  A  case  in  point  is  illus- 
trative: 

For  several  years,  I  was  chairman  of  the 
Medical  Aid  Committee  of  the  American 
Legion  of  Pennsylvania.  It  was  at  the  period 
when  the  relations  between  the  ex-service- 
men and  the  United  States  Veterans  Bureau 
werenotexactlyclubby.  It  was  my  interesting 
assignment  to  investigate  cases  where  the 
veteran  claimed  that  he  had  not  been  given 
a  square  deal  by  the  Government  medicos. 
I  was  not  exactly  idle! 

One  day,  an  intelligent-looking  young 
man  reported.  He  had  gone  the  rounds  of 
various  Government  hospitals  and  boards 
of  examiners,  but  was  just  where  he  had 
started,  so  far  as  results  were  concerned.  He 
was  having  "spells."  These  spells  were  not 
exactly  like  epileptic  convulsions,  but  they 
were  too  similar  to  be  disregarded.  He  would 
break  off  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation,  and 
stare  blankly  into  space  for  a  few  moments. 
While  walking  along  the  street  he  might 
stop  and  stare.  He  would  wake  up  in  the 
night  and  find  himself  sitting  up  in  bed 
just  staring.  Some  neurologist  had  claimed 
that  he  was  suffering  from  petit  mal,  or  mild 
epileptic  seizures.  Others  had  said  that  he 
was  a  plain  "  goldbricker " — he  had  heard 
that.  It  had  helped  the  situation  not  at  all. 
He  had  begun  to  think  so  himself.  As  the  lad 
had  served  in  an  artillery  unit  in  the  Argonne 
show,  the  likelihood  of  the  charge's  being 
true  was  quite  remote. 

Physicad  examination  revealed  little  at 
first ;  but  his  confidence  in  himself  had  fallen 
to  zero.  Up  to  that  time,  he  had  not  been 
granted  compensation  for  disability;  but  this 
fact  did  not  seem  to  disturb  him,  although 
he  was  certainly  not  able  to  earn  a  living. 
The  point  was  that  he  was  clearly  not  trying 
to  wangle  money  out  of  the  Government. 

He  was  taken  to  a  hospital  and  placed  on 
my  own  service,  where  the  sky  was  the  limit 
so  far  as  clinical  studies  were  concerned.  To 
make  a  long  story  short,  we  discovered  that 
there  was  every  evidence  that  he  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  diseased  gall  bladder,  dating  from 
an  attack  of  flu  shortly  after  the  Armistice. 
He  had  been  hospitalized  at  the  time,  so 
there  was  no  question  but  that  the  disability 


could  be  "service  connected."    Operation 
was  indicated,  but  not  imperative. 

In  conference  with  the  chief  medical  offi- 
cer of  the  local  Veterans  Bureau,  all  the  evi- 
dence was  submitted.  Incidentally,  no  one 
could  have  been  more  interested  or  co- 
operative than  this  gentleman.  He  reviewed 
the  case  before  the  board  of  consultants  im- 
mediately. The  unanimous  verdict  was  that 
if  the  man  were  operated  upon,  and  the 
diagnosis  of  infected  gall  bladder  confirmed, 
he  would  be  granted  full  compensation  for 
disability  dating  from  his  discharge  from  the 
Army,  and  until  his  health  was  sufficiently 
restored  for  him  to  be  able  to  work.  Nothing 
could  have  been  fairer.  It  meant,  without 
doubt,  about  seven  hundred  dollars  in  cold 
cash,  and  all  hospital  expenses  thrown  in  for 
good  measure.  I  was  delighted. 

The  man's  reaction  staggered  me.  He 
said,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  operation;  and 
I  need  the  money,  all  right.  However,  I  am 
not  going  to  accept  the  offer.  /  am  perjeclly 
satisfied  now  for  the  first  time  that  we  know 
what  the  trouble  is.  If  I  keep  on  having  the  at- 
tacks, I'll  be  operated  on;  but  I  don't  think 
I  shall.  Anyway,  I  am  convinced  that  I'm 
not  a  goldbricker."  A  diagnosis  seemed 
more  important  than  treatment ! 

The  man  is  today  a  leading  clergyman  in  a 
large  community,  and  has  a  splendid  family. 
One  of  his  main  hobbies  has  been  helping 
unfortunate  ex-soldiers. 

I  mentioned  previously  some  of  the  prob- 
lems that  will  confront  us  after  the  present 
hostilities  have  ended,  and  our  soldiers,  sailors, 
marines,  Wacs,  Waves,  Spars  and  others  of 
the  various  services  have  returned  home. 
We  must  not  forget  that  any  individual  in 
the  armed  services,  except  during  active 
combat  duty  or  special  assignment  under 
unusual  conditions,  has  had  several  ad- 
vantages during  nis  hitch  that  he  would 
never  have  had  at  home:  1 — adequate  cloth- 
ing; 2 — excellent  food,  and  plenty  of  it;  3 — 
regular  hours  of  sleep;  4 — regular  duties  un- 
der the  supervision  of  competent  superiors; 
5 — freedom  from  responsibility  beyond  the 
grade  he  occupied ;  6 — regular  pay,  provided 
he  behaved  properly;  7 — expert  medical  and 
surgical  care  at  all  times;  8 — adequate  provi- 
sion for  his  family  in  the  event  of  his  death. 
Other  items,  such  as  entertainment  and  spe- 
cial training  in  valuable  subjects,  may  also 
be  included. 

Now,  let  us  consider  the  fact  that  many 
individuals  who  have  performed  valuable 
service  under  the  above  conditions  are  to- 
tally incapable  of  setting  up  such  a  perfect 
system  for  themselves  in  civilian  life.  They 
are  going  to  miss  the  Army  routine  and  pre- 
rogatives. Some  are  going  to  be  as  helpless 
as  fledglings  leaving  their  nest.  They  are  go- 
ing to  see  some  of  their  buddies  forging 
ahead  in  business  while  they  are  wandering 
(Continued  on  Page  124) 


L\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


123 


CHEVROLET     DEALER     SERVICE     IS     THE     LEADER'S     SERVICE 


;5l 

SKILL£D  MECHANICS 


MODERN  TOOLS  AND  EQUIPMENT  CHEVKOLET-ENGINEESED  PARTS 


CHEVROLET 


Let  the 

Ser\  ice  Leader 

Ser^  ice  Your 

•  Car 


In  times  like  these  it's  more  important 
than  ever  before  to  keep  your  car  in 
perfect  running  order — to  have  the  brakes, 
engine,  tires — e-very  vital  part — carefully 
checked  at  regular  intervals  by  your 
Chevrolet  dealer.  He's  located  near 
you;  he  services  all  makes;  he's  a  slolled, 
experienced  member  of  America's 
leading  automotive  service  organization. 
,  .  .  All  signs  indicate — "More  people  go 
to  Chevrolet  dealers  for  service 
than  to  any  other  dealer  organization." 
.  .  .  Let  the  service  leader 
service  jowr  car — today! 

Buy  More  War  Bonds  . . .  Help  Speed  the  Victory 


CHE\'ROLET  MOTOR  DRISION,  General  Motors  Corporation 
DETROIT  2,  MICHIGAN 


k^  iSe 


A/ 


c^  ^e^u/ice 


124 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  191.: 


PLATE  GLASS  TOP.  I'nl  (  r  \^lal-l■|(•al■  IMalc  (ilass  lops  mi  your  fiirnituri .  and  sco 
liow  much  lii'if,'lilcr  and  clicciicr  yotir  rooms  look.  Lcl  Sister  [laiiit  |)i(liircs  lo  Ix-r 
lieai-t's  conleni  .  .  .  hccaiisc  i'lalc  Glass  lops  protect  fine  (irn'slies  from  harm. 


MANTEL  MIRROR,  lis  easy  to  wake  up  DOOR  MIRROR.  A  ruli-ieiifiiii  mirror  is 

MHiv   liviiij^   ni<iiii.    IJrif^lilen    walls   ami  a  l\vo-\va\  f^hiinoiir-j^ivcr.  Helps  v""  look 

ceiling  with  I'ittshurgh  Live  Paint.  Then  your  l)esl.  (Stocking  seain.s  straight?  Slip 

liang  a  smart  Plate  Glass  mirror  over  the  showing?)  And  tnakes  the  room  hetter- 

mantel.  It  makes  the  room  seem  twice  as  looking,  too.  Sizes  to  fit  any  door.  Can 

hig.  colorful  and  modern.  be  installed  by  anyone  in  a  few  minules. 

You  can  get  these  items  at  your  favorite  rlepnrtmcnt  or  furniture  store. 


ACCEPTED  AS  THE  MARK  OF  GOOD  GLASS.  The  i'lttshurgh  Label  on  any 
mirror  or  article  made  of  Plate  Glass,  no  matter  who  sells  it,  is  your  assurance  ol 
good  Plate  Glass.  Remember,  if  you  want  the  best,  insist  on  Plate  Glass. 


I 


Tells  you  how  to  be  your  own 
home  decorator- — shows  how 
to  give  charm  and  sparkle  to 
your  present  home  with  mirrors 
and  Plate  Glass!  Dozens  of  full 
color  pictures.  Send  coupon. 

I 


Pittsburgh  Plate  Class  Company 

2013-5  Crant  Building,  Pittsburgh  19.  Pa. 

Please  send   me,   without  obligation,  your  new,   free 
booklet,  entitled,  "Decorating  your  Home  with  Class." 

Name 

Address 

City 


.  Slate . 


(Continued  from  Page  122) 
around  vaguely  trying  to' get  started.  Some 
are  going  to  lose  confidence  in  themselves, 
even  though  in  actual  combat  they  have 
won  citations  and  medals  for  bravery.  When 
they  lose  that  self-confidence — look  out  for 
trouble !  It  is  not  going  to  help  them  in  that 
horrible  period  of  moodiness  and  uncer- 
tainty to  hear  mothers-in-law  discussing 
their  pitiful  cases  over  the  back  fence  with 
neighbors,  and  confidentially  explaining, 
"There's  insanity  in  the  family,  you  know." 

The  sooner  we  heave  a  few  of  the  time- 
honored  ideas  regarding  mental  illness  over- 
side, the  better.  We  have  a  tremendous  task 
ahead  of  us,  in  the  years  to  come,  in  as- 
sisting our  returning  men  and  women  to  re- 
adjust themselves  to  the  humdrum  life  of 
the  business  and  professional  world. 

Then  there  will  be  marital  difficulties.  No 
intelligent  person  today  fails  to  realize  how 
frequently  these  are  at  the  basis  of  mental 
illness.  It  is  beyond  reason  to  expect  that  all 
the  war  marriages  are  going  to  turn  out  to  be 
idyllic.  The  years  of  separation  will  have 
brought  many  changes.  The  war  bride, 
whose  month  of  marital  bliss  near  a  train- 
itig  camp  before  her  husband  went  overseas 
was  succeeded  by  two  or  three  years  of  hec- 
tic scrimping  with  a  colicky  infant  to  look 
after  in  a  third-floor,  two-r(X)m  apartment, 
is  not  likely  to  welcome  her  spouse  with  ro- 
mantic vaporings.  Her  chilly  reception  of 
him  is  not  unlikely  to  start  a  train  of  nervous 
symptoms  ranging  from  irritability  over 
trifles  to  maniacal  outbursts  or  heavy  drink- 
ing. Physical  as  well  as  temperamental  in- 
compatibility is  apt  to  appear  at  this  period; 
and  the  sympathetic  busybody  who  drags 
in  a  family  skeleton  of  mental  instability  for 
discussion  pours  kerosene  on  a  mighty  hot 
stove.  Someone  will  get  burned ! 


<  0>ll*MMEIVTS 

1^  When   I   walk   %tilti   yuii   I   feci  as 

^   11    I   liu<l   a  (li>»<T  in   my   l>iitl<>ii- 

llolo.  THACKERAY:  Quoted  in  So  to  Speak. 

Elizabeth  F.  von  Hesse. 

(J.  B.  LippincoH  Co.) 


Every  little  while,  public  sentiment  is 
aroused  by  reason  of  the  overcrowded  condi- 
tion of  our  hospitals  for  the  care  of  mental 
patients.  Following  this,  there  is  a  demand 
for  the  construction  of  more  and  more  elab- 
orate buildings.  When  this  is  accomplished, 
the  same  old  cycle  recurs  within  a  reasonable 
period  of  years.  All  this  is  very  beneficial  to 
contractors;  but  it  gets  nowhere  in  the  long 
run.  What  is  needed  in  reality  is  a  full  under- 
standing by  the  public  at  large,  by  the  labor 
unions,  by  the  large  insurance  companies,  of 
the  basic  causes  of  mental  illness.  It  is  about 
time  that  we  junked  this  "insanity  in  the 
family"  idea,  and  set  ourselves  on  the  right 
path  toward  the  development  of  proper  regu- 
lation of  work,  study,  recreation,  and  the 
pre%'ention  of  incapacitating  diseases.  The 
man  or  woman  who  has  served  in  our  armed 
forces  in  the  present  war  has  already  seen 
the  benefits  to  be  derived  from  living  under 
the  proper  conditions.  Eventually,  such 
men  and  women  will  demand  the  same  in 
civilian  life. 

It  would  be  entirely  wrong  for  us  to  turn 
our  backs  upon  the  fact  that  there  are  cer- 
tain abnormalities  of  the  nervous  system 
which  follow  the  Mendelian  laws  of  heredity. 
Structural  defects  of  the  brain,  such  as  those 
found  in  imbeciles  and  morons,  are  defi- 
nitely likely  to  appear  in  succeeding  genera- 
tions, particularly  if  intermarriage  with  per- 
sons of  similar  family  background  occurs. 
The  reverse  is  equally  true,  in  that  the  chil- 
dren of  families  in  which  the  intellectual  ac- 
complishments of  ancestors  have  been  out- 
standing are  likely  to  carry  on  the  good 
work.  We  know,  too,  that  in  certain  families 
we  find  a  tendency  for  ijcculiar  development 
of  the  chest  or  some  other  part  of  the  body 
which  renders  this  part  more  susceptible  to 
disease.  As  our  knowledge  of  eugenics  in- 
creases, and  is  put  into  use  through  educa- 
tion, more  and  more  stress  will  be  placed 
upon  physical  and  intellectual  stability. 


Flowers  to  beautify  your  Victory  Garden  and  lux- 
ury, taUe  (juulity  vegetables  fill  108  pages  in  1945 
edition.  2.^0  fall-color  pictures.  2000  annuals  and 
Ijerennials,  roses,  etc.  Same  iiiiih  quality  as  for 
68    years.      Catalog    mailed    FKEE    on    request. 

SPECIAL  —  Cleoini:  Pink  Queen,  All 
A im-rica silver  medal  winner.  "Spider 
Hower"  of  true  pink  on  4-foot  bushes 
from  June  until  frost.  Splendid  screen 
or  background.  Seed  with  catalog.  10c. 

VAUGHAN'S  SEED  STORE,  Depl.  112 

10  W.  Randolph.  Chicago  1;  47  Barclay,  N.  Y.  C.  7 


FEarliestTomafo 

JUNG'S   WAYAHEAD 

has  Big  Red  Fruli  ripening  a: 
early  as  July  4.  Regular  prici 
15c  packet,  but  to  Intro-  %  jj  , 
duce  Jung's  Quality  Seeds  £  \^Si 
we  will  send  you  a  trial  ^  *  u.i'*^. 
packet  of  this  tomato.  Giant .  '* 
Carrot,  Cream  Lettuce  and.* 
Earliest  Radish,  also  a 
packet  each  of  our 

Giant  Zinnias  and 

Double    Larkspur 

to  beautify  your  garden. 

All  the  above  for  lOc.  tn 


Dept.  1 


Randolph.  Wisconsir 


JUST  OUT!  /{^cxi<^  %iM/ 

"Seauti^  NURSERY  and  SEED  BOOK 


^nCFf  From  America's  Largest  Direct  to  To\ 

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tt-T  tor  btauty  all  spring,  summer,  and  fall,  send  fo 
tliis  big  new  nursery  and  seed  book.  Pictures  ne«^; 
and  cliotccst  flowirs,  ri>si*s.  shrubs,  vines,  trees.  Iruits 
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A/e 


"'''^^  duteed  stock.    Many  money-saving  collection  off' 
"^^^  flclpful  planting  guide  and  free  gifts  to  custonmrs 


Write  for  y 

DARK    RED 


RUSSIAN    LILY 


ilertlall.  \\iM-liii),il 
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E.  SHEET  HAMBURG,  IOWA 


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>iIS'  NOW.  3  Bulbs25c:  15  for  $1,  postpaid. 
f  Burpee's  SecdaiulBiilbCataloi  Free. 

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np  *^^  Burpee  BIdg, 
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»"'?J'«  CABBAGE 


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our  1945  Catalog  has  everything  for  Garden, 
Farm  and  Lawn. 
.  ALLEN'S  NURSERY  &  SEED  HOUSE 
\  Box  5,        •       Geneva,  Ohio 


,%aYpee*^ZINN 

5iM    CIANT    Dahl/aFiowered 

6  colors-Scarlet, Yellow,  Lavender,! 
Rose,  White,  a  15c- Packet  of  each, 
all  5  for  10c.  Send  dime  todayl 

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476  Burpee  Building,  Pliliadeiphia  32,  Pa« 

(or)  476  Burpee  Building,  Clinton,  Iowa 


Smdior  your  FREE  coptf 

HENDERSON'S 
1945  SEED  CATALOG 

PETER  HENOERSONACCDept.  13B 
35  Cortlandt  St.,  New  York  7,   N.  V. 


edsGivw 


Send  postcard  or  letter 
for  Rurpce'H  .Seed  CiilaloR  FKEE!. 
W.  ATLEE  BURPEE  CO. 
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ior)   479    Burp**    Bulldlna.    Cllnlon,    law* 


125 
•     •••*•••••••••••••••• 


PHOTO  BY  RICHARD  PRATT 


The  perennial  border  blooms  continuously— and  it  runs  itself. 


10  PilllPGRIE 
FOR  THE  PRESENT 


•V--J 


WHEN  the  gardener,  these  days,  comes 
home  rather  pale  from  the  hospital, 
she  is  less  inclined  than  she  used  to 
be  to  look  upon  her  plants  as  patients. 
She  wants  them  to  be  well,  and  do  well,  and 
stay  well  with  as  little  attention  as  possible; 
for  she  does  nursing  enough  during  the  day. 
And  this  attitude  of  hers  toward  gardening 
of  every  kind,  outside  and  in,  which  has  been 
developing  ever  since  Pearl  Harbor,  has  had 
some  interesting  results.  At  least  I  think 
they're  interesting;  and  having  made  life 
much  simpler  for  me,  they  may  do  the  same 
for  you. 

To  a  large  extent  the  garden  has  gone 

underground  for  the  duration,  and  what  is 

left  takes  the  minimum  of  time  and  trouble. 

For  instance,  for  two  years  now  the  main 

perennial  border  we  made  up  our  minds  to 

Keep  going  has  been  running  itself.  What  the 

gardener  worked  out  there  for  the  war  was  a 

lew  arrangement  of  nothing  but  iris,  day- 

ilies  and  ornamental  grasses.    By  using  in 

ach  case  only  well-established  clumps,  lifted 

rom  various  spots  around  the  place,  and 

jet  fairly  close  together — not  crowded,  how- 

ver — we  created  right  away  an  effect  of 

■naturity,  and  we  also  did  away  with  weeds, 

or  which  there  just  isn't  room  any  more. 

ris,  daylilies  and  ornamental  grasses  require 

lo  cultivating,  watering,  spraying,  fertiliz- 

ng  or  coddling  of  any  kind.  They  are  nat- 

iral  but  leisurely  spreaders,  and  while  in 

ime  some  will  have  to  be  taken  up  and  di- 

ided,  this  can  wait  without  harm  until  after 

he  war.   In  the  meanwhile,  the  bed  is  won- 

lerful  to  look  at  from  early  spring  to  almost 

inter,  which  is  all  you  can  ask  of  a  garden 

van  with  plenty  of  peacetime  on  your  hands. 

f  there  are  moments  when  nothing  happens 

0  be  blooming,  there  is  always  a  wealth  of 

resh,  dense  and  reedy  foliage  in  a  fine  array 

f  grays  and  greens. 

Blooming  begins  along  the  low  front  edge 
f  the  border,  in  April,  with  Iris  pumila,  four 
iches  high — the  deep-blue  variety  Spring 
kies,  the  pale-blue  Fairy  and  the  showy 


white  Schneecuppe.  Along  with  them  are 
two  varieties  which  bloom  again  in  the  fall, 
right  up  to  frost — the  yellow  Jean  Siret  and 
the  snow-white  Autumn  Queen.  Then  in 
May  come  the  intermediates,  taller,  and 
mainly  in  deep  rich  purples.  From  then  on 
the  flowering  is  terrific:  the  tall  Siberians  in 
the  back.  Snow  Queen  and  Perry's  Blue; 
the  big  iris  event  of  the  many-colored 
bearded  types;  and  on  to  the  large  flat- 
flowered  Japanese  iris  in  July,  which  one  of 
my  favorite  nurseries  now  calls  rainbow  iris, 
as  if  it  mattered.  And  all  the  while  the  Hem- 
erocallis,  or  daylilies,  have  been  interjecting 
their  brilliant  bouquets  of  orange  and  yel- 
low, from  the  earlyTDr.  Kegels  in  May  to  the 
late  Mrs.  W.  H.  Wymans  in  August.  The 
gardener's  favorite  and  mine  is  the  immense 
lemon-yellow  Hyperion — one  of  the  grand- 
est flowers  that  grow. 

Among  all  these  daylilies  and  irises,  with 
their  swordlike  leaves,  are  mingled  the  orna- 
mental perennial  grasses,  bladelike  too,  add- 
ing to  the  whole  unusual  foliage  effect.  The 
grasses  bring  in  grays,  blues,  together  with 
green-and-white  stripes.  Some,  like  pampas 
grass,  are  almost  too  big  for  the  garden  as 
they  grow  to  full  size,  but  others  are  just 
right,  and  some  make  very  nice,  neat,  low 
edging  plants.  In  fact,  a  little  garden  of 
grasses  is  one  of  the  gardener's  postwar 
projects. 

In  line  with  the  lack  of  trouble  this  reedy 
border  gives,  the  gardener  is  gradually  elim- 
inating many  other  plants  around  the  place 
which  are  too  demanding  in  times  like  these. 
Her  vegetable  patch  follows  the  same  labor- 
saving  scheme,  and  I  shall  describe  her  meth- 
ods there  next  month.  And  from  time  to 
time  I  shall  tell  of  the  tricks  we've  worked 
out  together  which  have  not  only  made  gar- 
dening more  possible  than  it  would  other- 
wise have  been  under  the  circumstances,  but 
pleasanter  as  well.  It's  my  guess  that  gar- 
dening will  never  be  the  same  again  for  us, 
but  just  as  it  is  true  of  other  things  the  war 
has  taught  us,  it  may  very  well  be  better. 


r**************    *•*••• 


Ghl:  I  think  this  "Platter  Party'    idea  is  super!   But  why  does  your  crowd  always 

meet  at  Betty's? 
Boy:   Wait'll  you  hear  their  phonograph — that's  something  special. 

-■     ■        ! 


Boy:  Listen  to  that — even  at  low  volume  you  can't  hear  a  whisper  of  needle  scratch! 
Girl:  That  is  super!  I'm  going  to  tell  daddy  about  this. 


Boy:   Get  that  trumpet — that's  solid. 

Girl:  It  really  sends  you!  Sounds  as  if  we  were  right  there.  Hope  we  get  a  Crosley 
at  our  house — then  I  can  dig  a  "Platter  Party"  too! 


GOOD-BYE,  NEEDLE  SCRATCH!"  with  the  Floating 
Jewel*  Tone  System  — patented,  exclusive  with 
Crosley.  The  rounded,  lifetime,  sapphire  stylus  in  the 
scientifically  balanced  lone-arm  floats  like  a  feather  along 
the  sides  of  the  record's  grooves— doesn't  dig  in  like  old- 
fashioned  needles.  Records  last  up  to  ten  times  longer. 
Master  Tone  Control  —  for  both  records  and  radio 
—gives  you  64  different 
tone  combinations  at  your 
fingertips— lets  you  select 
just  the  tone  you  like  best. 

PLAN  NOW  to  own  a  Cros- 
ley   Radio-Phonograph 
yourself— matchless  engineering,  design  and  inbuilt  me- 
chanical quality  make  it  worth  waiting  for,  worth  saving  for ! 

*Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  OS. 


Old  fashioned 

sharp  needle 

"Scra-a-tchl 

Hi-i-sssI 

Chatter  I" 


Floating  Jewel* 

Tone  System 

"Good-bye 

Needle 

Scratch  I" 


THE  CROSLEY  CORPORATION,  CINCINNATI,  OHIO 


Radios  :  Radio-Phonographs  :  FM  :  Television  :  Short  Wave  :  Electronics  :  Radar  : 
Refrigerators  :  Household  Appliances  ;  The  Crosley  Car  :  Home  of  WLW,  "The  Nation's  Station'* 


126 


l^^adf 


thoievmdi,'"^ 


J/ 


BABY:  How  do  you  like 
being  me,  Morrf?  Still 
think  I  have  "nothing  to 

cry  about"? 

• 

MOM:  Honey— I  take  it  all  back!  I 
never  knew  so  many  things  in  a 
baby's  life  could  irritate  his  skin 
and  make  him  cross! 

BABY:  And  does  that  suggest  some- 
thing, maybe?  Such  as  protecting 
my  skin  with  Johnson's  Baby  Oil 
and  Johnson's  Baby  Powder? 

MOM:  Gracious!  Do  babies  need  both? 

BABY:  Yessiree,  Mom!  Johnson's  nice, 


pure  Baby  Oil  to  keep  me  smooth 
and  help  prevent  what  my  hospital 
nurse  called  "urine  irritation."  And 
then  again,  Johnson's  Powder  for 
soft  cool  sprinkles  that  chase  little 
chafes  and  prickles! 

MOM:  My!  A  mother  learns  something 
about  babies  every  day! 

BABY:  Johnson's  learned 
about  'em  a  long  time 
ago.  Mom!  And  as  soon 
as  you  get  me  all  soft 
and  smooth  and  sweet 
again,  you  can  pin  the 
wings  right  here! 


Johnson's  Baby  Oil 
Johnson's  Baby  Powder 


t/  NEW  eRUNSWiCK.  N.J.    (J     CHICAGO.  Ilk 


H.   ARMSTRONG   ROBERTS 

Today  medical  safeguards  can  prevent  ^^ inevitable^ ^  diseases. 

Don't  Let  Children  heedlessly  Suffer! 


Hy  MPr.  Merman  iV.  Bundesen 

PreMiderit,  Chicago  Board  of  Health 


N 


UCH  of  the  distress  that  babies  suffer 
ould  be  prevented  if  mothers  were 
letter  informed  and  more  careful. 
ilM  Many  of  the  diseases  which  strike  later 
in  childhood  can  now  be  avoided,  or  their 
effects  greatly  diminished.     , 

Vomiting,  constipation  and  diarrhea  are 
alarming  to  the  mother  of  a  small  baby  and 
should  always  be  investigated  promptly. 
These  symptoms  may  be  warnmgs  of  serious 
disorders,  though  usually  they  mean  only 
that  the  baby  is  not  being  fed  properly.  In 
this  case,  more  care  in  preparation  and  feed- 
ing is  all  that  is  needed. 

In  rare  cases,  vomiting  is  caused  by  failure 
of  food  to  pass  through  the  opening  from 
the  stomach  into  the  bowel.  Unless  prompt 
steps  are  taken  to  correct  this  condition, 
the  baby  cannot  take  fo«d  and  his  life  may 
even  be  endangered.  Surgeons  today  have 
perfected  a  simple,  lifesaving  operation 
which  brings  immediate  relief. 

Most  babies  vomit  because  of  infection  or 
overfeeding,  or  because  the  formula  is  not 
properly  adjusted  to  their  needs.  If  an  in- 
fection is  present,  other  symptoms  soon  ap- 
pear which  enable  the  doctor  to  determine 
what  treatment  should  be  followed.  If  feed- 
ing difficulty  is  the  cause,  careful,  intelligent 
co-operation  between  the  mother  and  the 
doctor  will  soon  establish  the  kind  and 
amount  of  food  the  baby  requires. 

Constipation  is  likely  to  result  from  noth- 
ing more  serious  than  inadequate  amounts  of 
food,  or  from  too  little  sugar  or  too  much  fat 
in  the  baby's  formula.  Again,  a  period  of 
trial  and  observation  is  needed  to  insure  cor- 
rection. Once  in  a  while,  constipation  may 
result  from  complete  blocking  of  the  bowel — 
a  grave  condition  calling  for  swift,  decisive 
action.  The  wise  mother  calls  the  doctor 
promptly  when  this  disorder  appears. 

Diarrhea,  too,  may  be  caused  merely  by 
underfeeding  or  overfeeding,  or  by  improper 
or  spoiled  foods.  Often,  however,  diarrhea 
is  not  thus  easily  explained  and  eliminated. 
The  old-fashioned  "summer  complaint" 
which  grandmother  talks  about  is  still  a 
common  disorder  in  infants.  Today,  doctors 
call  it  "acute  gastroenteritis."  It  is  an  in- 
fection which  causes  painful  inflammation  of 
the  stomach  and  intestine,  and  it  rnay  be 
a  persistent,  troublesome  ailment' requiring 
careful  treatment  by'  diet  and  medication. 


Plainly,  mother  cannot  afford  to  ignore  thei 
upsets  which  warn  that  something  is  amiss 
with  the  baby's  digestive  or  eliminative 
functions.  But  most  serious  upsets  will  be 
prevented  by  strict  adherence  to  instruc- 
tions and  schedules  for  feeding  the  baby. 
Above  all,  rigid  cleanliness  must  be  observed 
in  the  handling  and  preparation  of  baby's 
food,  to  avoid  contamination  by  harmful 
germs.  The  mother  who  disregards  the  rules 
for  sterilizing  utensils  is  taking  a  chance  with 
her  baby's  health ! 

Similarly,  an  unnecessary  risk  is  taken  by 
the  mother  who  fails  to  have  her  child  pro- 
tected against  the  contagious  diseases  which 
remain  a  threat  throughout  childhood.  Vac- 
cination to  prevent  smallpox  is  almost  uni- 
versal today  and  has  practically  wiped  out 
this  dreadful,  disfiguring  disease.  Doctors 
agree  that  vaccination  should  be  done  early, 
preferably  during  the  first  six  months  of  life 


(jRATEFUL  young  mothers 
from  Maine  to  California  tell 
us  that  Doctor  Bundesen's 
baby  booklets  have  been  of 
the  greatest  help  to  them  in 
caring  for  their  own  babies. 
The  first  eight  booklets  cover 
your  baby's  first  eight  months. 
They  sell  for  50  cents.  The 
second  series  of  booklets  cov- 
ers the  baby's  health  from 
nine  months  to  two  years — 
seven  booklets  for  50  cents. 
The  booklets  will  be  sent 
monthly;  be  sure  to  tell  us 
when  you  want  the  first  book- 
let. A  complete  book  on  the 
care  of  the  baby,  a  u»ee»- 
aaru  supplvmvnt  to  the 
monthly  booklets,  OuR  Ba- 
bies, No.  1345,  is  25  cents.  A 
booklet  on  breast  feeding,  A 
Doctor's  First  Ddtv  to  the 
Mother,  No.  1346,  sells  for 
6  cents.  Address  all  requests 
to  the  Reference  Library, 
Ladies'  Home  Journal,  Phil- 
adelphia 5,  Pennsylvania. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


127 


Chix  lf\(^s 


/ 


M  \J  Wean  I  know  my  baby 
has  the  finest  diapers?  By  get- 
ting CHIX,  the  incredibly  soft 
gauze  diapers  in  the  specially-absorbent 
bird's-eye  weave,  that  forms  thousands  of 
tiny  "air-cushions. " 

WMtIN  there's  so  much 
to  do,  how  can  I  save  laundry 
time?  Buy  CHIX  — they  wash 
clean  in  a  wink,  because  the  unique  mate- 
rial lets  foreign  matter  rinse  right  out.  And 
CHIX  dry  quickly.  One  size  folds  to  fit 
growing  baby.  j-. 

WH  I  do  CHIX  help  keep' 
baby  drier?  The  special  weave 
absorbs  an  amazing  amount 
of  "wet"  and  holds  it— slowing  up  the  soak- 
ing of  baby's  other  clothes  and  saving 
laundry.  Chicopee  also  makes  CHUX,  the 
complete  diaper  that  is  completely  dispos- 
able, and  DISPOSIES,  the  new  disposable 
inserts  with  waterproof  holder. 


Ghix 

DIAPERS 


Ui  iKii'/t-irfi'e 

''        4.         K 


Close-up  of  bird's-eye  weave 
that  makes  CHIX  Down-Wave 
so  different  — soft,  light,  ab- 
sorbent. Made  of  the  same 
fine  cotton  that  is  used  for 
surgical  gauze. 


icopee  Sales  Corp.,  40  Worth  St.,N.Y.  13,N.Y. 


and  always  in  the  first  year.  Mothers  who 
postpone  baby's  vaccination  because  they 
remember  the  painful  experience  from  their 
own  childhood  will  be  reassured  to  know  that 
modem,  improved  methods  involve  a  much 
smaller  area  of  the  skin  and  offer  fewer  possi- 
bilities for  infection.  Because  the  immunity 
provided  by  vaccination  diminishes  in  time, 
revaccination  when  the  child  enters  school 
is  advisable. 

Diphtheria,  the  strangling  infection  which 
attacks  the  membranes  lining  the  nose  and 
throat  and  which  claimed  thousands  of  tiny 
victims  every  year  only  a  generation  ago,  is 
also  disappearing  rapidly  as  the  practice  of 
immunizing  babies  with  diphtheria  toxoid 
becomes  more  and  more  widespread.  Most 
doctors  recommend  the  simple  injections  of 
toxoid,  which  stimulate  the  growth  of  anti- 
bodies to  combat  the  disease  in  the  baby's 
own  blood,  at  about  nine  months,  and  a  later 
"reinforcing"  dose  when  the  child  enters 
school. 

In  recent  years,  a  vaccine  has  also  been 
developed  to  help  prevent  whooping  cough, 
which  spreads  with  lightninglike  swiftness 
among  children  and  is  particularly  serious  in 
the  first  two  years  of  life.  Whooping-cough 
vaccine  is  administered  in  three  separate  in- 
jections, usually  a  week  apart;  a  good  time  to 
give  them  is  when  the  baby  is  six  or  seven 
months  old. 

Preventive  injections  for  scarlet  fever  are 
given  less  commonly  because  of  severe 
reactions  which  sometimes  develop  to  the 
repeated  doses  of  scarlet-fever  toxin,  a 
substance  formed  from  the  organisms  be- 
lieved to  cause  the  disease.  The  doctor  will 
decide  whether  or  not  and  when  these  injec- 
tions should  be  given,  basing  his  judgment  on 
the  health  of  the  child  and  the  likelihood  of 
exposure.  During  an  epidemic,  temporary 
protection  is  sometimes  sought  through  pre- 
ventive injections  of  convalescent  scarlet- 
fever  serum,  a  preparation  made  from  the 
blood  of  a  convalescent  scarlet-fever  patient. 

Preventive  doses  of  convalescent  serums 
are  also  used  to  protect  against  chicken  pox 
and  mumps.  Since  these  are  comparatively 
mild  diseases,  however,  immunization  is 
rarely  worth  while  unless  the  child's  general 
condition  is  badly  run  down.  No  lasting 
prevention  has  yet  been  developed  for 
measles,  but,  since  the  disease  is  dangerous 
and  is  often  followed  by  complications, 
measures  providing  temporary  protection 
are  recommended  when  it  is  prevalent. 

Thus,  today  many  of  the  diseases  and  dis- 
orders which  we  used  to  think  were  "in- 
evitable" in  children  are  being  prevented 
altogether  by  alert,  conscientious  mothers. 
Every  mother  should  take  advantage  of  these 
safeguards  which  modern  medicine  provides; 
to  do  less  is  an  injustice  to  the  baby. 


BUTCH'S  BUSINESS 

(Continued  from  Page  39) 

afraid  of  anything  that  walked."  Maybe 
the  very  things  which  made  the  young  one 
look  like  a  pig  would  be  good  later  on.  After 
all,  it  was  only  the  first  day.  They  learned 
fast,  and  the  mother  could  do  tricks. 

It  was  a  losing  fight.  Heels  was  nice,  but 
logical.  She  said  you  had  to  plan  your  life 
if  you  wanted  to  get  anywhere.  You  came 
to  a  big  town  because  that  was  the  place  to 
get  ahead.  True,  it  wasn't  much  fun  for  a 
while,  but  you  could  see  where  you  were 
going.  You  were  headed  for  the  big  time,  for 
places  that  Counted.  "Counted,"  when 
Heels  said  it,  was  capitalized.  She  said  you 
couldn't  just  run  off  after  rainbows,  or  dogs 
either.  You  had  to  be  hardheaded.  Heels 
said,  and  not  let  your  emotions  run  away 
with  you.  She  said  she  liked  being  carefree 
as  well  as  anybody,  but  you  just  couldn't 
do  it  all  your  life.  You  just  couldn't. 

Sneakers  worked  hard.  He  said  maybe 
she  would  feel  differently  if  she  could  have 
seen  how  they  were  all  crowded  together  in 
that  dark  little  kennel.  And  this  was  the 
brightest  of  the  lot.  You  wanted  to  come 
away  with  all  of  them;  but  to  leave  this 
fellow  in  there — the  way  he  rolled  his  eyes 
when  he  was  looking  through  the  wire— well. 


His  faihers  a  Doctor— 


Louis  M.'s  father*  is  a  practicing  physician  in 
upper  New  %rk  State.  So  it  isn't  surprising 
that  Louis  is  being  brought  up  according  to 
the  most  modern  medical  principles.  He's  a 
fine-looking,  husky  baby  — as  you  can  see  in 
this  picture. 


Louis's  weight  Now  at  11  monthi- 

At  birth-9  lbs.,  4  oz.      28  lbs. 

Louis's  height 

A  t  birth-l  VA  in.        Nmv-3  0  /z  in. 


ms  cereal  is  CLAPPS ! 


Why  do  so  many  doctors  recommend 
Clapp's  Baby  Cereals  — and  feed  these  ce- 
reals to  their  own  babies,  too.? 

Here's  why  . . . 

In  addition  to  fine  whole  grains,  Clapp's 
cereals  give  a  baby  the  extra  food  elements 
that  doctors  consider  so  important.  Nu- 
trients like  dry  skim  milk  and  brewers' 
yeast  supply  growth-promoting  vitamins 
and  minerals. 

The  texture  is  fine  but  definite.  And 
Clapp's  cereals  are  already  cooked  — you 
just  add  formula  or  milk  right  in  the  serv- 
ing dish.  Try  Clapp's  Instant  Cereal  or 
Clapp's  Instant  Oatmeal  today. 

H^Name  on  file  at  Harold  H.  Clapp,  Inc. 


Why  so  many  doctors  recommend 
CLAPP'S   BABY   CEREALS 

Every  spoonful  of  Clapp's  Instant  Ce- 
real gives  your  baby— 

3  times  as  much  Iron  as 

unfortified  home-cooked 
cereals. 

Vfi  limes  as  much  Vita- 
min Bi  as  unfortified 
home-cooked  cereals. 

Every  ounce  of  Clapp's  Instant  Cereal 
l)rovides: 

Vitamin  Bi  Vitamin  G 

100  U.S.P.  units  0.18  mg. 

Iron  Calcium  Copper 

5  mg.  96  mg.  0.6  mg. 


Ask  your  Doctor! 


128 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


\  OOK 10 


0  In  your  own  tomato  patch,  on  a  golden  August  day,  were  you  ever 
tempted  to  pluck  a  special  "beauty"  and  suck  its  sun-ripe  juice? 

If  so,  your  palate  knows  the  true  tomato  goodness.  The  same  good- 
ness we  capture  and  keep  for  you  in  our  juice. 

Libby's,  you  see,  is  the  tomato  juice  that's  TWICE-RICH.  Rich  in 
flavor.  And  rich  in  the  precious  "tomato  vitamins".  Vitamins  A  and 
C  .  .  .  a  ready  source  of  U,  and  Bg. 

We  start  with  real  "eating  tomatoes"  .  .  .  grown  in  America's  "to- 
mato lands,"  j)ickcd  just  when  ihcir  juice  is  rich-ripe.  You'd  find  it 
fascinating  to  follow  them  through  the  Libby  kitchens. 

You'd  see  them  dazzling-brighl  under  their  special  "shower  bath"; 
you'd  sec  how  carefully  we  ()rcss  out  lh<^  fresh  juice,  how  precisely  we 
control  heal.  And  you  might  find  yourself  a  little  breathless  keeping 
up  with  Libby  speed,  which  is  a  vital  factor  in  Libby  perfection.  Taste 
tluuesultof  all  this  can;  in  Lr7>6y's  sparkling,  sun -ripened  juice.  Alwa}S 
buy   the  tomato  juice  marked  Libhy''s.  The  kind  that's  twice-rich. 


LIBBY,  M9NEILL  &   LIBBY     •     Chicago  9,111. 


TOMATO  JUICE 


you  just  couldn't  do  it  and  be  human.  You 
couldn't  leave  him. 

"He's  drooling,"  Heels  said. 

Sneakers  admitted  it  seemed  to  be  true 
(it  was),  but  it  was  only  when  they  were 
excited.  "You've  got  to  remember  it's  only 
the  first  day,"  he  said. 

Heels  went  into  the  bedroom  and  came 
back  without  her  hat. 

"Fred  Jones  was  in  town  the  other  day," 
Sneakers  said.  "He  came  in  the  office  to 
see  me." 

"From  Portland? "  Heels  wanted  to  know. 

Sneakers  said  yes;  and  Fred  had  a  job 
open. 

She  wanted  to  know  what  it  was. 

"In  Portland,"  Sneakers  said,  "we  could 
have  a  real  house  instead  of  a  danged  rabbit 
hutch." 

Heels  said  nothing. 

"In  Portland,"  Sneakers  said,  "we 
wouldn't  have  to  take  a  ferry  ride  every  time 
we  wanted  to  get  warm."  There  was  some 
fog  there,  he  admitted,  but  not  all  the  time. 

Heels  looked  her  question. 

"He'll  pay  fifty  bucks  on  the  police  beat," 
Sneakers  said.  He  did  not  say  it  very  loudly. 

Heels  said  he  was  making  that  much  al- 
ready; but  Sneakers  said  he  would  have  his 
name  on  his  stories  all  the  time. 

"There  is  nobody  Important" — "impor- 
tant" was  capitalized  too — "to  read  your 
name  in  Portland,"  Heels  said. 

If  they  ever  had  a  family.  Sneakers  said, 
it  would  be  better  for  the  kids  in  Portland. 
Heels  was  a  little  abrupt  then.  She  said  that 
was  looking  entirely  too  far  ahead. 

The  talk  went  on,  but  seemed  to  get  no- 
where. They  just  stood  looking  down  at  the 
rugs  and  the  puddle;  and  presently  there 
was  another  puddle,  but  neither  of  them 
mentioned  it. 

A  long-nosed  collie  might  have  been  smart 
enough  to  realize  that  the  scales  were  ex- 
actly balanced.  A  terrier  would  have  known 
and  would  have  acted;  and  even  a  Boston 
might  have  sensed  that  the  moment  was 
right  to  do  something  appealing.  But 
Butch?  All  Butch  knew  was  that  a  certain 
spot— it  was  on  his  back,  two  inches  ahead 
of  that  absurdity  of  a  tail — was  itching 
again.  It  itched  frequently.  He  had  tried 
biting  and  had  tried  to  reach  it  both  with 
big  front  feet  and  unsteady  hind  legs.  Noth- 
ing did  any  good.  So  he  walked  over  to  the 
nearest  feet  and  sat  down  on  one  of  them. 

In  any  other  dog,  it  would  have  been  sig- 
nificant. Any  other  dog  would  have  known 
instinctively  that  the  time  was  ripe  for 
overtures — that  Sneakers  was  sold  already 
and  Heels  held  the  deciding  vote.  Another 
dog— almost  any  breed  of  dog— would  have 


February,  1'*  1 

wriggled  with  delight  at  the  success  of  hi 
stratagem  when  one  of  the  high-heeled  slipi 
pers  stayed  put  under  his  bottom  and  th^ 
other,  at  first  hesitantly  and  almost  uncon 
sciously,  toed  up  along  his  back*  found  th' 
exact  spot  and  scratched  it. 

Butch  wiggled  because  the  scratching  fel 
good. 

Of  the  three,  only  Sneakers  really  kne\ 
that  the  battle  was  over.  Sneakers  put  o 
a  battered  old  hat  and  went  out  the  doo 
without  saying  good-by.  Sneakers  was  o 
his  way  to  quit  a  job. 

In  the  months  following,  there  were  an 
number  of  things  affecting  Butch.  There  \v;i 
the  night  in  the  old  roadster  on  the  road  t 
Portland  when  Julie — even  Butch  could  m  • 
avoid  learning  the  name  eventualh' 
wrapped  him  in  a  fur  coat  against  the  cole 
That  should  have  indicated  to  him  his  finr 
acceptance  (no  woman  wraps  child  or  bea- 
in  her  only  fur  coat  unless  she  is  very  fond  < 
it),  but  Butch  only  accepted  the  warmth  am 
did  not  evaluate  it.  He  knew  that  the 
stopped,  cold  and  hungry,  at  a  wayside  inr 
that  George — no  sneakers  now,  but  trouser 
pushed  inside  his  socks  against  the  chi 
creeping  up  his  shins — had  bought  somethin 
warming. 

They  sang  on  the  rest  of  that  cold  nigh 
ride,  sang  and  laughed,  and  Julie  huggc 
Butch  tight  under  the  frayed  fur  whic 
would  be  the  only  one  for  a  long  time  on 
police  reporter's  salary.  That  their  laughtt' 
had  a  new  freedom  in  it;  that  when  Jul 
said,  "I  feel  just  swell,"  it  was  the  end  of  a 
era — those  things  should  be  recorded,  bi 
they  were  to  Butch  only  inexplicable  an 
not  very  interesting  interruptions  of  li 
sleep.   Most  of  the  night,  he  snored. 

He  stopped  only  when  Julie  decidt 
against  sitting  on  the  far  side  of  the  roadst< 
seat  and  had  to  lift  Butch  like  a  limp  infan 
in  order  to  make  the  change.  Butch  dislikei 
being  on  the  outside.  Even  with  the  fu 
coat,  his  exposed  rear — that  tail  was  a  hope 
less  thing — got  colder  and  colder. 

Later  there  was  a  house  beside  an  uncer 
tain  little  brook,  a  house  which  never  Iuk 
been  much  and  was  no  better  for  wear 
Steadier  on  his  feet  now,  but  no  more  grace 
ful,  Butch  was  underfoot  during  the  renovat 
ing.  He  walked  in  the  fresh  varnish  on  tli 
living-room  floor  and  rubbed  a  fat  sir] 
against  the  white  paint  on  the  porch  railmu 
Neither  tragedy  affected  him  beyond  a  vami 
wonder  at  the  sudden  loud  noises  peopl 
made.  He  wondered  vaguely  and  went  b 
sleep  in  the  sun,  because  the  sun  was  warn 
(C'unliniieJ  on  Page  131) 


tJo^i^  zyto) 


meconu) 


7 


BY  ETHEL  HAIINETT  DE  VITO 


His  stripes  were  new 

And  his  pants  knife-creased 
And  he  looked  like 

A  general,  at  least. 

As  he  leaped  the  gate 

And  swung  on  in. 
She  could  almost  see 

X'here  he  had  been; 

She  could  almost  see 

That  flaming  chart 
Between  them,  holding  them 

Far  apart: 

Africa,  England, 

Italy, 
Across  the  Channel, 

The  Irish  Sea. 

How  could  this  stranger. 

This,  her  son. 
Dark  with  the  things 

He'd  seen  and  done. 


Find  in  her  all 

He'd  found  before 

Who'd  only  been 

To  the  grocery  store; 

Who'd  only  filled 
Her  preserving  bin 

And  saved  wastepaper 
And  flattened  tin? 

Bleak  with  thi,  new  pain's 

Sudden  rise, 
She  looked  up  at  him 

And  saw  his  eyes  .  .  . 

And  all  at  once 

He  was  not  a  screen 
Woven  of  lands 

Where  he  had  been. 

Not  a  dark  stranger 

Bound  to  roam. 
But  just  her  boy 

Come  home,  come  home. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


PART   AND   PARCEL   OF   A   HAPPY   CHILDHOOD 

Good-for-yoii  food  that  Mommy  makes  taste  so  good ! 


^^  Ta-^^' 


Ik 


What  a  friend  Nucoa  is  to  good  eating  today... 
so  nutritious ...  so  delicious  it  "Melts  in  Your  Mouth"! 


■'roni    American    farms   exclusively 

ome  Nucoa's  basic  ingredients— fresh  pas- 
5urized,  cultured  skim  milk  and  whole- 
3me  vegetable  oils.  Test  Nucoa's  flavor  on 
jast.  Delicious  .  .  .  always  so  sweet  and 
■esh !  Nucoa  is  freshly  made  the  year 
ound,  on  order  only.  There  is  no  "storage" 
fucoa.  You'll  be  proud  of  Nucoa  on  your 
ible  for  its  evenly  smooth-churned  tex- 
ire,  too— so  rich  and  easy  to  spread.  In 
ict,  Nucoa's  uniform  goodness  spoils  you 
)r  other  spreads,  many  users  say. 


For  table  use,  tint  Nucoa  golden-yellow  with 
the  pure  Color- Wafer  included  in  each  pack- 
age. For  seasoning  vegetables,  sauces,  etc., 
use  it  just  as  it  comes— a  pure,  natural  white. 


"G«»o<l  marks"  on  sonny's  report  card 
arc  good  marks  for  mother,  too  — for  tlie 
well-balanced,  nourishing  home  meals  that 
help  keep  sonny  sturdy,  alert,  and  regular 
in  school  attendance.  Balance  the  diet  daily 
with  selections  from  all  seven  of  the  "Basic 
7"  food  groups,  nutrition  authorities  urge. 
Nucoa  is  approved  in  Group  Seven.  It  fur- 
nishes as  much  food  energy  as  the  most  ex- 
pensive spread  for  bread  and  Nucoa  is  a 
dependable,  year-round  source  of  precious, 
protective  Vitamin  A. 


z/^^^^NUCOA 


130 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


mil,  SOI^iTHINGS  keeping  t/ieDoctor  awa/ 


It  takes  more  than  an  apple  a  day.  Sonny!  And  the 
doctor  is  mighty  grateful  to  mothers  who  keep  their 
babies  bouncing  in  wartime. 

Yes,  Mother,  with  doctors  and  nurses  so  scarce  and 
epidemics  more  likely,  your  biggest  responsibility  is 
to  keep  your  family  well.  And  one  important  health 
precaution  you  can  take  is  to  keep  your  home  "hospi- 
tal clean"  with  germ-killing  Lysol  disinfectant. 

Make  Lysol  a  part  of  your  regular  daily  cleaning. 
No  extra  trouble— just  add  2^2  tablespoons  of  Lysol  to 
each  gallon  of  cleaning  water.  Lysol  actually  helps 
clean,  too,  as  it  disinfects— because  it's  "soapy."  You 
see  the  dirt  go— you  know  the  germs  go! 

Should  sickness  come,  remember  to  wash  every- 
thing a  patient  touches  with  powerful  germ-killing 
Lysol.  Check  now  to  see  if  you  have  the  other  things  a 
doctor  is  likely  to  order.  Be  prepared  1 


Beffer  c/>ec^ 

on 
Sickroom  /\/eec/s.^ 


You'//  neec/  a 
Thet/nometer 
■first  thing . . . 


/^/je/a/ZotiVafe/- 

Soft/e  for/fc6es 

anc/  S/iii^ers . . . 


■**»" 


^^    m^W     * 


/4  See/pan,  too,  if 
you  mast  stay 
in  beef ... 


/f6sorlfent  Cotto/t 
/or  a 
t/ozen  uses . . . 


^^* 


/4/fc/  a  F/rst/lic/ 
/Cit/or 


Help  keep  germs  from  spreading! 
Keep  one  bottle  of  Lysol  in  the  bath- 
room and  one  in  the  kitchen  .  .  .  save 
time— save  steps.  At  any  drug  counter. 


DISINFECT— DEODORIZE  — CLEAN  with 


BUY 

WAR  BONDS 

AND 

STAMPS 


Coprrieht  194&,  by  Lehn  &.  Fink  I'rodDcts  Corp. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


131 


(Continued  from  Page  1Z8) 
and  because  the  outcry  obviously  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  food  and  therefore  could 
safely  be  ignored. 

More  important  than  paint  or  varnish — 
or,  for  once  in  his  life,  than  food — was  the 
stream.  Not  the  water  itself — he  never  did 
leam  to  swim — but  the  grass-grown  banks, 
the  trees  with  roots  dipping  into  the  water, 
the  rocks  of  a  rock  garden  which  never  quite 
grew  up  to  a  thing  of  beauty  but  was  full  of 
dark  and  pleasant  holes. 

In  that  grass,  under  the  roots  of  the  trees 
and  in  the  jumbled  rocks,  lived  the  mountain 
beavers.  The  beavers  were  not  beavers  at 
all,  except  in  the  local  language,  but  they 
smelled  lovely  and  musty.  And  none  of  the 
local  residents  who  hated  them  would  have 
known  their  name  of  sewellel.  They  made 
bright  eyespots  in  the  dark  caverns  under 
the  rocks.  They  made  small  noises  of  scut- 
tling and  still  smaller  whistling  sounds. 
Dutch's  nose  was  of  no  particular  use;  but 
his  ears — George  rubbed  those  ears  gently 
sometimes  and  reminded  Julie  that  they  were 
perfect  rosebuds,  approved  by  the  best  dog 
fanciers — the  ears  were  good.  He  could,  by 
setting  his  jutting  chin  down  close  to  the 
ground,  see  into  the  beaver  holes  sometimes. 
He  could  always  hear  the  insults  the  beavers 
whistled  at  him  from  their  burrows. 

All  his  life,  Butch  wanted  to  catch  a 
mountain  beaver.  All  his  life,  lumbering  end- 
lessly along  their  scuttle  runs,  whining  at 
their  burrows,  blundering  after  them  through 
the  tall  grasses,  he  thought  someday  he 
would  catch  one. 

There  were  variations.  Sometimes  George 
went  out  at  night  and  stayed  away — a  mur- 
der case,  a  kidnaping.  When  he  came  back 
at  last  with  collar  dirty  and  clothes  rumpled, 
he  would  work  in  the  garden  or  paint  furi- 
ously at  the  boards  which  always  seemed  to 
need  painting.  Then,  because  he  never  really 
had  the  proper  love  of  householding,  he 
would  sometimes  whistle  softly  and  be  gone. 
Sometimes  Julie  went  along.    More  often, 


she  watched  skinny  man  and  fat  dog, 
watched  and  grinned  with  more  affection 
than  respect.  Respect  had  small  place  in 
that  house,  for  the  laughter. 

Those  were  the  things  worth  while,  those 
walks.  There  were  thickets  where  birds  clung 
and  fluttered  excitingly  when  chased.  There 
were  white-faced  calves  in  the  suburban 
fields,  always  ready  for  a  romp.  There  was 
a  black  cat,  not  really  afraid  but  never  will- 
ing to  wait  around  to  make  sure  that  the 
heart  was  pure  gold,  the  intentions  friendly. 
The  cat  was  much  more  fun  running  than  he 
would  have  been  as  the  originally  intended 
friend.   He  was  also  perfectly  safe. 

Butch  thought  about  the  walks  occasion- 
ally when  George  was  not  there  to  organize 
them.  Some  afternoons  he  looked  at  Julie 
and  could  not  understand  why  she  was  con- 
tent to  sit  alone  in  the  sun  when  there  were 
paths  by  the  river  still  unexplored,  rocks  still 
neither  sniffed  nor  otherwise  marked,  pat- 
terns of  sunlight  and  leaves  which  never 
can  be  found  except  on  walks  which  start 
for  nowhere  and  never  arrive. 

But  by  himself.  Butch  never  found  the 
walks  worth  while.  Seldom  did  he  get  be- 
yond the  neighboring  yard,  where  a  toothless 
old  man  cackled  on  sight  of  him  and 
scratched  the  forever-itching  back  with  the 
rubber  tip  of  a  cane.  The  old  man  and 
Butch  liked  each  other  and  could  spend  long 
hours  together  when  George  was  not  around 
to  provide  excitement.  Neither  of  them 
thought  about  much. 

Butch  grew  broader  month  by  month.  The 
front  legs  thickened  until  they  matched  the 
big  feet.  Wrinkles  gathered  along  the  nose, 
which  was  really  no  nose  at  all.  More  loose 
skin  furrowed  on  the  low  skull.  The  jowls 
grew  deeper  and  muscles  rippled  thickly 
across  his  back  and  chest.  The  jaw  built  for 
war  acquired  enormous  interlocking  teeth; 
and  he  liked  nothing  better  than  to  grasp  the 
end  of  a  thick  rope  or  a  stout  stick  between 
them  and  to  hang  on  while  someone  tried  to 
get  it  away  from  him.  The  rope  would  fray 


HIS    IS    A 

M 


TH/S  IS  A 
W/ATCHBIR7 
WATCH  I /V(^ 

YOU 


THIS  (5  A 

waichBiRP 
u/at6ming  a 

STUFF  IT 


^ 


By  Munro  Leaf 

Ihis  silly  lump  on  this  cushion  is  a  Stuffit.  It  is  forever 
stuffing  things  into  its  mouth.  When  it  was  littler  it  used 
to  put  stones  or  shells,  marbles,  balls,  anything  it  found 
in  its  mouth.  It  did  that  so  long  that  its  cheeks  got  puffed 
out  like  balloons  and  now  they  stay  that  way.  Right  now 
this  Stuffit  is  stuffing  something  into  its  mouth.  I  don't 
know  whether  it's  a  pencil,  a  pen  or  what.  It  might  even 
be  a  screw  driver.  Whatever  it  is,  it  doesn't  belong  in  the 
mouth  of  this  stupid  Stuffit. 

wEi^e  you  A    STUFFIT    thismonth.^ 


Loveliness  I  hope  . . .  but  more  than  loveliness ...  a  grown 

woman's  character  and  strength  tempered  with  tenderness. 
This  I  ardently  desire  for  my  daughter! 
I  KNOW  THERE  IS  A  SOUNDER  BEAUTY  than  chubby  cheeks  and 

changing  curls,  a  beauty  that  starts  early  when  her 
supple  body  begins  to  form  and  remains  an  asset  always. 
I  jjromise  to  help  her  achieve  this  beauty. 


BEAUTY  BEGINS  AT  BIRTH— Because  your  baby  needs  one 
critical  factor.  Vitamin  D,  to  help  build  basic  beauty  assets — 
a  well-shaped  head,  a  fine,  full  chest,  straight  logs,  a  strong 
back  and  sound  teeth — Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil  which  supplies 
Vitamin  D  has  often  been  called  "baby's  beauty  bottle." 
Start  your  baby  ou  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil.  dive  it  daily! 


What  baby's  "beauty  bottle"  contains 

Rich  in  Vitamin  D,  one  teaspoonful  of 
Squibb 's  does  the  work  of  two  spooii- 
fiJs  of  some  other  oils.*  In  addition 
to  Vitamin  D,  Squibb's  is  a  rich  source 
of  Vitamin  A,  important  to  your  babj-'s 
growth.  Since  a  bottle  of  Squibb's  lasts 
ivnce  as  long,  it  actually  saves  money 
while  assuring  you  of  Squibb  quality. 


■  »U.  S.  Pharmacopeia  cod  liver  oil  contains  86 
Vitamin  D  units  Der  gram,  Squibb's  180  units 


Squibb  e^^  /ms^o// 


ccin'  hf^cS-^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


^^fearos-tje,^^3ito 


©  Corn  Products  Sales  Co. 

"I  strike!"  hisses  Sad  Iron,  "See  if  I  don't! 
Me  iron  those  sheets?  I  simply  won't! 
Your  pillow-slips  can  keep  their  crinkles 
Before  I'll  beauty-treat  their  wrinkles!" 

"Come  meet  Master  Linit!"  says  Miss  Sunny  Monday, 
"a  fine,  speedy  starch  who  makes  washday  a  fun  day! 


"We'll  whi/.z  throuf^h  our  work 
with  the  greatest  of  ease 
With  Linit  to  glide  us! 
Attention  please! 


'I  suds  and  I  rinse — then 
here's  Master  Linit! 

I'm  proud  to  present  the 
Starch  of  the  Minute ! 


'He  blends  water  and  Linit, 
each  half  in  a  cup. 

Then  adds  boiling  water. 
Just  a  minute  is  up! " 


Sad  Iron,  now  happy,  says, 
"My  work  will  be  bliss! 

60  seconds  with  Linit  makes 
a  wash  fit  to  Kiss!" 


LINIT  LIGHTENS 
LAUNDRY  LABOR 

I 

At    all    grocers 


vr/u.  >u^f>y  — 


or  a  stick  splinter,  as  George  or  one  of  his 
friends  sweated  and  swung  dog  and  rope  in  a 
crazy  circle.  But  Butch  just  dropped  his 
eyelids  in  an  expression  of  complete  satisfac- 
tion which  he  ordinarily  reserved  for  eating 
periods — and  hung  on.  No  ordinary  acci- 
dent could  make  him  let  go;  and  George, 
once  when  a  carelessly  rough  friend  swung 
Butch  full  tilt  into  a  tree  without  loosing  the 
hold,  decided  the  dog  was  unconscious  of 
pain  when  so  occupied. 

In  fact,  there  were  indications  that  he  was 
usually  unconscious.  The  toy  terrier  living 
in  a  house  across  the  road  made  a  game  of  it, 
slipping  up  stiff-legged  when  Butch  was  not 
looking,  and  rushing  at  him.  Sometimes  she 
ran  right  over  his  back  if  he  was  lying  down 
(he  usually  was)  or  crosswise  under  his  belly 
if  he  was  standing  staring  off  into  space  (he 
could  see  about  thirty  feet  on  a  clear  day). 
Usually,  the  terrier  made  her  rush  and  was 
halfway  home  again  before  Butch  came 
awake  enough  to  know  what  was  happening. 
At  other  times  she  ran  around  him  in 
circles,  avoiding  his  elephantine  and  playful 
runs  with  three-legged  ease,  finally  so  baffling 
him  that  he  would  simply  sit  down  and  look 
at  her  in  wonderment. 

A  mouse  had  his  number  too.  The  mouse 
lived  in  a  hole  under  the  kitchen  stove;  and 
Butch,  in  winter,  claimed  as  his  own  a  spot 
in  front  of  the  kitchen  hot-air  register.  He 
slept    there    hour     after 

hour,   awaking  only  now       

and  then  to  make  drugged 
sentry  trips  around  the 
property,  then  to  lie 
down  in  front  of  the 
heat  again.  The  first  time 
the  mouse  came  out  of 
his  hole  to  see  that  enor- 
mous head  prostrate  in 
front  of  him,  and  emit- 
ting horrific  snores,  he 
rushed  back  into  the  hole 
again.  Later  he  grew 
bolder,  finally  ignored 
the — to  a  mouse — moun- 
tain of  slumbering  flesh. 
Now  and  then  Butch 
would  wake  up  in  time  to 
see  the  mouse's  tail  going 
by,  but  it  was  never  a 
contest. 

One  night  the  mouse 
ventured  clear  into  the 
living  room  on  a  mission 
of  importance  to  him.  The 
liouse  was  quiet  and  the 
mouse  never  saw  Julie 
curled  up  on  the  daven- 
port until— never  a  help- 
less    female,     she— Julie 

threw  a  shoe  at  him.    She       

missed;  but  it  was  a  close 

thing,  and  the  mouse  took  out  for  home- 

under-the-stove. 

He  had  one  bad  lapse  in  flight.  He  forgot 
the  dog.  He  rounded  the  hardwood  corner 
at  a  skidding  gallop  and  kept  going.  He  was 
halfway  up  on  an  obstruction — how  could  a 
mouse  tell  that  it  was  a  wrinkled-up  nose 
instead  of  a  hill  ? — before  he  could  stop.  But 
stop  he  did,  changed  direction  and  took  off 
again  at  discretionary  speed. 

Fifty  compact  pounds  of  dog  were  so  mad 
that  they  could  do  nothing  except  to  sit 
outside  the  mousehole  the  rest  of  the  eve- 
ning, whining  in  outraged  dignity.  The 
mouse,  deep  in  his  hideout  and  very,  very 
safe,  did  not  even  listen. 

Ihings  in  the  house  by  the  little  stream 
were  fun  most  of  the  time,  but  not  invariably. 
For  example,  there  was  a  morning  in  Octo- 
ber. There  had  been  rain  in  the  night  and 
the  grass  smelled  of  autumn,  while  dead 
leaves  floated  in  the  brook  and  a  half-tamed 
duck,  knowing  perfectly  well  that  he  was 
eating  better  from  the  neighborhood  kitchens 
than  he  ever  had  before,  nonetheless  made 
nervous  circles  in  a  wide  spot  of  water, 
looked  off  to  the  south  and  muttered  to  him- 
self, now  and  then  testing  his  wings.  The 
duck  knew  his  wings  were  all  right;  further, 
that  he  would  not  go  south  and  leave  a  good 
thing,  winter  or  no  winter.  Nonetheless,  he 
made  gestures.   It  was  October. 


^iOME   PEOPLE 
THINK 

^  \X  hen  you  have  a  fight 
^  with  your  conscience  and 
get  licked,  you  win. 

—  NUGGETS: 
Quoted  in  The  Silver  Lining,  Published 
by  the  Port  Huron  Sulphite  &  Paper  Co. 

Happiness  is  not  sonietliing 

you  fin<L    ll  is  sofiielhing  you 

create.  —ANON: 

Quoted  in  Streamline  Your  Selling, 

M.  O.  Moughon.  (Olsen  Pub.  Co.) 


We    sh< 

generous 
ar«"  with  i 


always  give  the  lienefit  of  the 
hest  possihle  light. 

—  EMERSON: 

Quoted  in  Things  Beoutiful,  by  S.  Woolard. 

(Goldsmith- Woolard  Pub.  Co.) 

Don't  worry  ahoiit  what 
(•eople  are  thinking  ahotit 
you.  for  they  are  not  thinking 
ahout  you  hut  wonderingvt  hat 
you  are  thinking  ahout  them. 

—  ANON:  The  Speoker's  Desk  Book,  Edited 
by  Martha   Lupton.  (Maxwell  Droke.) 


February,  1945 

George  had  been  out  most  of  the  night 
helping  the  police  fail  to  solve  a  mysterious 
disappearance  (the  boy  had  come  home, 
having  spent  the  night  with  a  ch»m).  He 
came  from  the  bedroom  in  the  morning, 
yawning  and  friendly.  Julie  had  a  late 
breakfast,  and  pieces  of  waffle  dropped 
toward  Butch  even  more  frequently  than 
was  the  custom. 

George  said,  "By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  Art  Russell's  leaving.  Got  a  job  as 
press  agent  for  Amalgamated  Aircraft.  Free 
rides  and  good  money." 

Julie  put  more  batter  on  the  waffle  iron. 
"Art?"  she  said.  "Isn't  he  city  editor?" 

George  said  he  was. 

Julie  put  on  her  life-should-be-efficient 
expression.  She  said,  "George,  you  ought 
to  have  that  job." 

George  said  heck.  Art  wasn't  leaving  for 
another  week  yet.  He  admitted  that  nothing 
had  been  said  about  his  successor. 

"George,"  Julie  said,  "you're  the  logical 
man  for  the  job.  You  will  just  have  to  push 
yourself  a  little." 

George  said,  "Well,  heck,  Fred's  a  good 
guy.  If  he  wants  me  for  city  editor,  he'll 
say  so." 

Julie  said  he  might  never  think  about 

George.     He   might   think   George   wasn't 

interested.  "I'll  bet  you,"  she  said,  "that 

everybody     else    in    the 

office  has  talked  to  Fred 

about  getting  Art's  job  ex- 
cept you." 

George  said,  "Well, 
gosh,  what  would  you  say? 
He  knows  what  I  can 
do." 

Julie  said,  "You  ought 
to  walk  right  in  and  tell 
him  you  want  the  job. 
You'll  never  get  anyplace 
just  waiting  for  people  to 
think  about  you.  You  have 
to  tell  them." 

George  said  he'd  be 
embarrassed  asking  for  a 
thing  like  that.  He  hadn't 
ever  done  it. 

Julie  said,  "You  don't 
want  to  ask.  You  want  to 
go  in  and  tell  him  you're 
the  man  for  the  place.  Be 
positive  about  it.  Show 
him  you  have  confidence 
in  yourself." 

George  said  he  wasn't 
sure  that  he'd  be  a  good 
city  editor.  Julie  said  he 
knew  perfectly  well  he 
could  do  that  job  with  his 

eyes    shut.    George    said, 

"Well,. heck." 

After  a  while,  George  slipped  away,  leav- 
ing part  of  a  waffle,  against  all  precedent. 
The  last  thing  Julie  said  was,  "George, 
you've  just  got  to  start  thinking  of  things 
like  that.   Especially  now." 

So  George  and  Butch  went  for  a  walk. 
George  picked  up  a  slender  stick  and  Butch 
jumped  to  try  to  take  it  out  of  his  hand.  It 
was  an  old  game, 'but  neither  had  his  heart 
in  it  this  October  morning.  They  merely 
walked  and  neither  noticed  the  beauty  of  the 
autumn.  George  was  thinking  of  something 
else,  and  Butch  could  not  see  that  far. 

Perhaps  it  was  his  poor  eyesight  or  his 
absorption  in  the  jump-for-a-stick  game.  At 
any  rate.  Butch  never  saw  the  big  German 
shepherd  until  he  struck.  The  shepherd  out- 
weighed Butch  a  good  forty  pounds  and  had 
legage  and  reach  on  him.  He  also  worked  a 
shepherd  trick  by  sneaking  along  a  ditch  and 
attacking  from  behind  without  warning  or 
preliminary  growls.  His  first  rush  sliced  a 
four-inch  gash  in  the  loose  skin  on  Butch's 
skull.  The  shepherd  bowled  Butch  over  with 
that  first  charge  and  slashed  down  at  the 
smaller  dog  while  Butch  was  still  rolling.  He 
aimed  for  the  throat,  but  succeeded  only  in 
piercing  one  of  those  lovely  rosebud  ears 
and  ripping  it.  Butch  was  still  rolling,  more 
on  his  back  than  on  his  feet. 

The  shepherd,  perhaps,  had  not  noticed 
George,  or  he  had  been  misled  by  a  certain 
(Continued  on  Fagt  1 34) 


iild  always  he  as 
with  a  man  as  we 
1  picture,   v^hich   we 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


RELEASES  NEW  ENERGY 


AIDS  NERVES,  APPETITE,   GROWTH. 


AND   DELICIOUS  HOT  RALSTON 


THE  WARM-UP,  BUILD-UP  CEREAL 


^pIKH^ 

^nH^^^IS^HB|^_ 

HAS  IV2  TIMES  AS  MUCH 

w' 

r 

PROTECTIVE  WHEAT  GERM 

J 

AS  NATURAL  WHOLE  WHEAT. 

eoo/cs^N^^^^ 

^^^                                             GROWNUPS  AND  CHILDREN 

SSCO^DSj^ffl 

coofcsm 

wt 

^^^^^i^^fl  U 

.^^Aff/ifims 

^j^^JB                     LOVE  ITS  HEART-OF-WHEAT  FLAVOR 

TRY  IT  TOMORROW   MORNING! 


VHEAT      GERM      IS      THE      RICHEST      CEREAL      SOURCE      OF     PROTECTIVE      B-VITAMINS 
AOI     RALSTON     IS     WHOLE     WHEAT     PLUS     EXT  R  A     AMOU  NTS     OF     WH  EAT     GERM 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


lW»' 


\s 


^V.eV)<»^^°^oc»ots 


pte 


tet» 


edV>V 


A»o 


jr 


#: 


V 

*  4  times  as  many  doctors  prefer  Mennen  Antiseptic  Baby  Oil  as  any  other 
baby  oil  or  lotion. 

*  Over  4  times  as  many  hospitals  use  Mennen  Antiseptic  Baby  Oil  as  all  other 
baby  oils  and  lotions  combined. 

*  Mothers  prefer  it  by  far -Mennen  Antiseptic  Baby  Oil  outsells  all  other 
baby  oils  and  lotions  combined. 


* Aecording  to  surveys 


•  To  help  keep  your  baby's  skin  lovely  and 
smooth,  no  other  baby  oil  or  lotion  can  match 
the  wonderful  record  of  Mennen  Antiseptic 
Baby  Oil  — used  with  excellent  results  on 
millions  of  babies  for  the  past  12  years! 
Daily  use  of  Mennen  oil  on  your  baby  will 
help  prevent  diaper  rash,  scalded  buttocks, 
itching,  smarting,  impetigo  and  many  other 
skin  troubles.  There  is  only  one  best  oil  for 
your  baby's  delicate  skin  — 


n^nn^n  ^njis^PTK  b^bv  oil 

Most  baby  specialists  also  prefer  MENNEN  ANTISEPTIC  BABY  POWDER* 


I  (Continued  from  Page  132) 

gentleness  of  attitude  and  the  skinniness 
which  never  seemed  to  respond,  no  matter 
how  many  waffles  there  were.  Certainly  the 
big  dog  did  not  expect  to  have  two  long- 
fingered  hands  grab  his  throat  from  behind, 
throttle  him  neatly  and  then  pick  him  up 
bodily  and  throw  him  to  one  side.  No  ninety- 
pound  dog  expects  to  be  picked  up  in  the 
midst  of  a  battle,  and  the  shepherd  was  dis- 
concerted. He  was  further  pained  by  a 
heavy  walking  shoe — with  the  foot  still  in 
it — which  slugged  him  twice  in  the  ribs  be- 
fore he  could  get  on  his  feet.  The  shepherd, 
smart  but  never  very  brave  when  the  odds 
were  even,  high-tailed  and  was  still  yelping 
when  he  jumped  his  home  fence  and  headed 
for  a  dark  lair  under  a  porch. 

The  shepherd's  owner  was  not  tall,  but 
squarish.  He  came  through  the  gate  with  a 
certain  confidence  and  demanded,  "What  do 
you  mean  by  kicking  my  dog?" 

The  shepherd's  owner,  being  square  and 
confident,  at  first  could  not  believe  his  ears. 
"Listen,  fatty,"  said  a  voice,  "keep  your 
coyote  where  he  belongs  or  I'll  break  his 
neck  and  yours  too."  It  was  George  speak- 
ing, but  it  did  not  sound  like  George. 

No  necks  were  broken.  There  were  more 
words,  but  they  quieted  gradually;  and  in 
the  end  the  two  men  shook  hands. 

As  for  Butch,  he  never  did  understand 
what  all  the  excitement  was  about.  He'd 
intended  to  chew  the  shepherd  up  and  spit 
him  out,  but  he  just  hadn't  got  started  be- 
fore the  fight  was  over. 

At  home  things  were  considerably  better 
by  night.  George  went  to  the  office  and  came 
home  again,  a  little  early.  Julie  squealed 
when  he  picked  her  up  and  carried  her 
around  the  living  room  in  a  silly  dance,  but 
did  not  seem  really  angry. 

"  It  was  as  easy  as  pie,"  George  said.  "  I 
just  walked  into  the  office  and  took  the  job 
away  from  him.  It's  funny,  but  Fred  acted 
more  surprised  than  anything.  He  just  said, 
'Well,  sure,  George.  You  can  have  the  job. 
I  had  no  idea  you  felt  that  way  about  it.'" 

Julie  made  no  comment.  Neither  did 
Butch. 

He  did  add  one  chapter  to  the  affair,  how- 
ever. Butch  was  thinking  about  things  a 
couple  of  weeks  later — his  ear  was  healing 
and  the  skull  scar  only  made  him  look  more 
puzzled  than  usual — when  he  remembered 
the  shepherd.  On  that  smooth,  otherwise 
unoccupied  brain,  memory  made  a  surpris- 
ingly deep  impression.  No  hole  which  ever 
had  held  a  mountain  beaver  ever  was  for- 
gotten. No  tree  once  visited  was  ever  passed 
by,  no  enemy  ever  forgiven. 

Butch  remembered  the  shepherd  and  took 
a  little  walk  by  himself.  He  walked  slowly, 
rolling  from  the  shoulders,  with  his  head 
down  and  an  innocent  expression  in  his  eye. 
The  upper  lip  might  have  been  drawn  back 
enough  to  expose  a  couple  of  the  larger 
teeth,  but  that  could  have  been  an  accident. 
Quite  slowly,  as  if  expecting  nothing.  Butch 
rolled  over  toward  the  shepherd's  fence. 
There  he  examined  a  tree  and  insulted  it. 
He  was  insulting  to  a  bush  and  finally  to  a 
post  beside  the  shepherd's  gate. 

The  shepherd  was  fairly  smart,  but  he 
made  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  the  same 
trick  would  work  twice.  That  was  an  error. 
As  he  charged  up  from  the  ditch  and  behind 
Butch,  the  smaller  dog  rolled  over  as  before. 
But  the  shepherd  realized  too  late  that  this 
rolling  was  into  a  fighting  position  where 
heavy  paws  could  help  the  lethal  jaw.  The 
shepherd  was  unfamiliar  with  the  tradition 
by  which  bulldogs  had  been  fighting  up  at 
larger  opponents  for  generations. 

In  a  sharp  fifteen-second  engagement. 
Butch  acquired  another  long  scratch  on  his 
skull— and  the  shepherd's  front  leg  snapped 
like  a  pencil.  He  was  lucky  it  was  not  his 
jugular  vein.  Butch  rolled  home  again, 
bleeding  and  pleased. 

Sam,  the  owner  of  the  shepherd,  had  seen 
it  all ;  but  he  was  a  fair  man.  When  he  came 
over  to  the  house  by  the  creek  an  hour  or  so 
later,  he  attached  no  blame.  "It  was  my 
dog's  own  fault,"  he  said.  "The  veterinary 
says  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  couple  of  months. 


He  gets  more  good  from  a  contented  Jeeding  time 

Bottle -Colic 

Guard  jour  baby 
against  it 

He's  too  little  to  struggle  with  jerky^ 
spasmodic  feeding.  And  he  hasn't 
learned  not  to  swallow  air. 

Help  him,  mother  ...  by  giving  him 
his  food  from  Pyrex,  the  nursing  bottle 
with  the  Patented  Air  Vent  that  pre- 
vents nipple  collapse.  This  exclusive 
Pyrex  feature  assures  a  steady  flow  of 
milk  without  air.  Your  baby  takes  his 
food  easily  and  comfortably  .  .  .  you 
don't  have  to  worry  about  bottle-colic. 

All  Pyrex  nursers  have  flat  sides  to 
prevent  rolling.  And  the  rounded  inside 
makes  cleaning  easy.  They're  chill-re- 
sistant, and  heat-resistant  .  .  .  and  you 
can  equip  your  baby  with  the  complete 
6-unit  Layette  Set  for  only  $1.20.  Re- 
placement is  guaranteed  if  any  Pyrex 
nurser  is  broken  from  temperature  shock. 


i  PYREX 


BRAND 

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Million 
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When  colds  are  in  the  air  spreading  misen,', 
first  thought  of  increasing  millions  of  people 
is  Vicks  home-remedies  for  lessening  distress 
LET  THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  MILLIONS  BE  YOUR  GUIDE 


BABY  ON 

THE  WAY? 

START  HER 

RIGHT! 


Nurse  her,  if  you  can.  But  if  she's  a 
bottle-baby,  give  her  the  right  start 
with  the  Davol  "Anti- Colic"  brand 
"Sani-Tab"  nipple.  Designed  to  help 
develop  baby's  mouth,  jaw  and  tongue. 
Please  read  free  booklet  offer  below. 


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^^^m 


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NIPPLES 


FREE!  Mother,  send  for  this  booklet 
"Baby  Feeding  Made  Easy".  Tells  you  why 
and  how  the  Davol  "Anti-Colic"  nipple 
is  best  for  baby.  Other  helpful  informa- 
tion, too.  Write  Dept.  L2,  Davol  Rubber 
Company,   Providence  2,  Rhode  Island. 


J( 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


135 


VitA' 


"^"'ThV''*'^^ 


Be  sure  your  baby 
i.  comfortable  ^^^^ 

gowns-^Uke  P^  ingenious 
^arm.  ^°?  .^ps  over  baby's 

bead   easily^  yf-      ^.itefor 

our  tree  v^  conve- 


your  own  year  round   busin 
orders  leading  All  Occasion  Assort- 
.  Sells  only  $1 — coats  you  50^  up. 
onderfu!  modern  designs.  9  money 
king  boxes.  Friends,  fpllow  workers- 
prospects.  Experience  unneri--=,irv.  Write  for  samples  on  approval 
and  Special  Off .lt. HARRY  DOEHLA  CO,.Dept.L-l,Fitchburg,Mass. 


KNITTING  YARNS  MrrsTv*ic. 

Send  for  FREE  Samples 
COLONIAL  YARN  HOUSE,t231-RCherrySt.,Phila.7,Pa. 


START  HAIR  CARE 

Care  of  the  hair  should  begin  in 
babyhood  to  get  your  child's  hair 
off  to  a  good  start .  . .  help  assure 
lovely  hair  later  in  life. 

You  can't  use  a  finer,  safer,  more 
gentle  soap  than  Packer'sTar  Soap. 
Its  pine-cone  color,  piney  odor  and 
creamy  lather  have  made  it  a  fam- 
ily favorite  for  three  generations. 

And  shampoos  with  Packer's 
average  only  about  one-fourth  the 
cost  of  bottled  sham- 
poos. Get  a  large  25^ 
or  10^  cake  today. 


c/ha-m/uxa  ^1^  lea  i/ia/n  a.  /ictmit 


I  just  hope  it  teaches  him  not  to  pick  fights 
from  behind  any  more." 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  the  shep- 
herd's owner  did  not  understand  how  insult- 
ing an  insult  can  be. 

Butch  should  have  known  something  was 
afoot  when  George  began  taking  all  the 
golf  clubs  and  skis  out  of  the  spare  room  and 
storing  them  in  the  attic.  The  woodwork 
was  repainted  and  bright  rugs  and  a  small 
bed  arrived.  He  should  have  known;  but  it 
was  midsummer  and  he  was  very  busy  sleep- 
ing in  the  sun,  chasing  the  field  mice  and 
beavers  through  the  grass,  annoying  the 
duck  who  had  spent  the  winter  getting 
handouts  beside  the  brook. 

Butch  was,  in  fact,  oblivious  of  the  grow- 
ing tension  until  the  very  day  when  Julie, 
white  now  and  walking  slowly,  left  in  the 
coupe  toward  which  George  almost  carried 
her  in  his  solicitude.  He  knew  something 
was  wrong  that  day  because  Julie  did  not 
come  home  and  George  forgot  to  give  him 
any  supper. 

Things  were  definitely  out  of  kilter  for  a 
couple  of  weeks.  There  were  food  and  water 
on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen  every  day,  but 
George  seldom  came  home  until  bedtime. 
When  he  did  come,  he  brought  along  package 
after  package — bottles  to  be  stacked  on  the 
kitchen    drainboard,    blankets,    a    strange 

•  ••••••• 

By  Etbel  Romifi  Fuller 

Strange,  how  strange  and  often, 

Beauty's  very  life 
Depends  upon  the  skillful 

Wielding  of  a  knife! 

The  bush  that  most  severely 
Is  pruned  back,  largest  grows. 

And  where  no  bough  had 
burgeoned. 
Each  shall  flaunt  a  rose. 

The  slender  tool  of  mercy 

In  an  antiseptic  glove 
Reclaims  for  flesh  its  full  span 

Of  laughter,  toil  and  love. 

While  spirit  waxes  stronger 

In  courage  and  belief. 
For  the  almost  unbearable 

Surgery  of  grief. 

•  **••*•** 

rubber-and-wooden  stand  which  went  into 
the  bathroom,  where  it  was  in  the  way. 

Butch  did  not  approve  of  the  elderly 
woman  who  came  every  morning,  and  the 
sentiment  was  mutual.  She  cleaned  things 
continually  and  at  last  drove  Butch  clear 
out  of  the  house  from  the  time  George  left 
in  the  morning  until  he  came  back  after 
dark,  excited  and  without  time  for  any 
walks.  The  strange  woman  went  home  at 
nights,  which  was  the  only  thing  about  her 
which  Butch  thought  proper. 

On  the  day  Julie  came  home,  everybody 
was  insane.  Butch  meant  only  that  he  was 
glad  to  have  her  back,  but  George  pushed 
him  so  hard  it  was  almost  a  blow  when  he 
tried  to  leap  up  to  lick  her  hand  (people  had 
been  knocked  down  in  those  leaps  when  not 
looking).  There  were  all  sorts  of  people 
around,  and  the  entire  household  centered 
its  interest  in  the  larger  bedroom,  to  which 
the  new  small  bed  had  been  moved.  Butch 
never  could  even  get  in  to  see  Julie,  whose 
tired  voice  he  could  occasionally  hear. 

Even  George  would  not  let  him  near  her 
until  the  next  morning,  and  even  then  he 
acted  peculiarly  about  the  whole  thing.  He 
permitted  Butch  alongside  the  bed  where 
Julie  lay,  smiling  but  still  very  white,  but 
kept  a  hand  on  his  collar.  As  if  Butch  did  not 
know  enough  to  stay  off  beds— when  the 
family  was  home. 

(Continued  on  Page  137} 


One  Chance 
\q  Grow 

A  ,  Hot  oatmeal  Won  in 
No  Wonder  Hofv 
•        vote  of  2500  Authorities 


.i- 


{ 


«* 


-vj-vy 


You  can't  turn  back  the  clock  on  growth.  Now 
is  the  time  every  baby  and  growing  child 
must  have  three  basic  vitality  elements  natu- 
rally rich  in  Quaker  Oats. 

These  basic  elements  are  Protein,  Food- 
Energy,  Vitamin  Bi  ...  all  richer  in  true  oat- 
meal than   in    any  other 

natural  cereal.  All  three  vital  to  growth. 
All  three  are  important  for  the  vitality  that 

gives  inner  sparkle  to  beauty.  For  the  deep- 
down  stamina  that  makes  living  joy.  To  help 

you  fight  fatigue. 

The  natural  excellence  of  hot  oatmeal  is  so 

widely   recognized    by    authorities    that   just 

recently  true  oatmeal  was  the  overwhelming 

first   choice   in   a  nationwide  vote   of   2  500 

Dietitians,  Nurses  and  Home  Economists. 

What  other  cereal  gives  the  whole  family  so  much?  Remember 

to   enjoy  delicious  Quaker  Oats  tomorrow  morning  and  every 

morning. 

!fH.  •Oe^t4ftUi*Uf.  iUatei.  /lluKUf^.  Oh»  fiuUi.  BaAt  Mother's  Oats 


QUAKER 
OATS 


136 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


•The  problem  that  gave  me  V-Mail     ^ 
leLtrouble-buldoesnlanvmore 


1 .  Since  Tom,  my  husband,  has  been  overseas, 
I've  been  writing  him  almost  every  day.  Of 
course,  I  always  use  V-Mail,  because  it's  the 
safest,  surest  way  to  write.  And,  as  I  should,  I 
try  to  keep  my  letters  newsy  and  cheerful. 


Z.  T\\c  other  night,  thoufih,  it  was  hard  to  keep 
that  V-Alail  clicerful.  I'd  just  put  our  sou,  Pete, 
to  bed,  crying  his  eyes  out.  We'd  had  the  usual 
scene  over  the  laxative  he  hates,  and  in  spile  of 
his  loud  protests  I  had  to  force  it  down. 


»5.  I  finished  Tom's  letter  without  mentioning 
my  little  problem,  and  as  I  was  sealing  it,  my 
cousin  Jean  walked  in.  She  couhl  hear  Pete  still 
crying,  so  I  told  her  the  trouble.  Her  husband's  a 
doctor,  and  I  thought  maybe  she  could  help  me. 


4.  "Why  didn't  you  ask  me  before.'"  she  said. 
"You  shouldn't  force  bad-tasting  laxatives  on 
children!  Pete  would  love  Fletcher's  Castoria — 
it  tastes  good,  and  it's  gentle  and  effective.  Made 
especially  for  children,  it's  never  harsh." 


m- 


^ 


./<^ 


*'.j 


m' ■':'". 


%«<■ 


>iAa^ 


^.  Jean  \\a.-i  aiuuiul  the  next  time  Pete 
needed  a  laxative  and  I  gave  him  Fletcher's 
Castoria.  He  took  it— and  liked  it!  I  was  so 
pleased,  I  wrote  to  Tom,  telling  him  that 
his  son  even  loved  to  take  his  medicine! 


Look  for  these  features  on  the  new 
Fletcher's  Castoria  package: 

1.  Tfie  green  band  around  each  package  identi- 
fies the  new  .stocks  of  Fletcher's  Castoria. 

2.  Th£  Serial  Control  Number  is  visible  through 
a  "window"  in  the  package.  It  verifies  the  rigid 
tests— chemical,  bacteriological,  and  biological- 
made  on  each  batch  of  Fletcher's  Castoria. 


Always  take  a  laxative  only  as  directed  on  the  package  or  by  your  physician. 

oLa^h^^m^  castoria 

The  laxative  made  especially  for  children 


(Continued  from  Page  135) 

After  he  had  greeted  JuHe  again.  Butch 
ay  down  in  a  patch  of  sunhght  for  a  while. 

"Well,  he's  a  middle-aged  dog,"  George 
aid.  "I  guess  we'll  just  have  to  wait  and 
lee.  Maybe  if  he  finds  her  himself " 

Julie  said,  "  I  do  hope  he'll  be  all  right.  It 
vould  be  terrible  if  he  turned  out  to  be 
ealous." 

George  said,  well,  they  could  make  him 
;tay  outdoors  if  he  didn't  behave.  "He'll 
ust  have  to  get  used  to  it,"  George  said,  "if 
■  have  to  knock  some  sense  into  that  thick 
lead."  Very  strange  talk,  for  George.  He 
vent  out  of  the  room  and  came  back  with 
I  cigarette,  but  he  was  watching  all  the  time. 

Butch  remained  half  asleep  until  the  spot 
)f  sunlight  moved  and  left  him  in  the  shade. 
)ne  of  Butch's  ancestors  had  been  bom 
»ld,  and  he  never  could  get  enough  sun. 
fust  now,  the  single  bright  spot  in  the 
com  was  on  a  small  white  rug  beside  the 
ittle  bed  with  the  sides 

)n  it.  Butch  got  up  to       

valk  over  there;  and 
jcorge  came  after  him, 
iptoeing  strangely.  He 
vas  so  close  that  he 
;ould  reach  out  and 
;rab  Butch's  collar  in 
)ne  swift  movement, 
iutch  noticed  some- 
hing  stirring  in  the 
;rib  as  he  came  close 
mough  for  his  indif- 
erent  eyesight  to  spot 
he  movement.  He 
ooked  at  it  carefully, 
hen  walked  close  to 
he  slats,  rolling  from 
he  shoulders  and  drag- 
ing  his  toenails  on  the 
ardwood  floor.  His 
ose  was  too  wide  to 

0  through  the  bars, 

ut  he  could  get  close      

noughto  smellthe  wig- 
ling  thing.  The  thing  on  the  bed  had  an  odor 
f  sweet  milk  and  some  delicate  perfume, 
bmething  like  the  way  Julie's  best  clothes 

1  nelled  when  she  took  them  out  of  the  cedar 
I  last  for  special  occasions.  It  did  not  smell 
i  I  the  least  like  a  mountain  beaver  and  was 

Dt  very  interesting. 

!  Butch  stretched  out  on  the  white  rug  in 
le  sun  and  went  back  to  sleep. 
All  the  while  he  slept,  there  was  talk  in 
le  room.  Sometimes  he  would  open  an  eye, 

1  ■cognizing  a  neighbor's  voice;  but  he  did 
)t  think  it  worth  while  ever  to  get  up. 
lost  of  the  people  tiptoed  up  to  his  side  and 
|:ood  there  a  minute  before  they  left. 
Presently  he  slept  more  soundly,  dreaming 
an  enormous  bone,  red  with  beef  blood. 
Butch's  nose  was  not  good.  It  was,  for  a 
ig,  a  subnormal  nose.  But  what  it  did 
anage  to  smell  was  hooked  more  closely  to 
3  memory  of  smells  than  that  of  any  blood- 
lund  who  ever  lived.  So,  although  a  series 
voices  in  the  room  did  not  wake  him,  an 
or — when  it  came  close  and  fairly  inserted         Butch  was  much  too  dumb. 


TREES  FOR  SPOUSES 

^  A  rather  curious  custom  is  still 
^  alive  in  India's  orthodox  Hindu 
circles :  about  70.000  girls  are  married 
to  trees  every  year.  .According  to  an 
old  church  ruling,  younger  daugh- 
ters of  a  family  cannot  marry  before 
the  eldest  daughter  gets  a  chance  to 
marry;  and  if  the  elder  has  none, 
the  latter  is  married  to  a  tree — the 
law  is  obeyed.  There  is,  of  course, 
a  difficulty  if  later  on  the  eldest 
daughter  should  nevertheless  find  a 
suitor.  Fortunately  a  divorce  can  be 
obtained,  except  if  the  wooden  hus- 
band is  a  poplar  or  a  teak  tree.  These 
trees  are  sacred,  and  a  divorce  would 
mean  an  offense  which  the  gods 
would  avenge  on  the  man  and  all 
the  woman's  relatives. 

—  H.  G.  BEIGEL: 
Marriage:  Fables,  Facts  and  Figures. 


137 

itself  into  his  nostrils — rang  a  bell  in  his 
memory,  rang  an  alarm  in  his  brain. 

Butch's  growl  was  not  used  often,  but  it 
was  a  fearsome  bass  when  it  did  emerge. 
Butch  growled.  Then  he  felt  foolish.  The 
pair  of  trouser  legs  which  had  been  at  the 
edge  of  the  white  rug,  while  their  owner 
leaned  toward  the  crib,  now  retreated. 

There  was  a  flurry  of  voices,  but  it  did  not 
contain  quite  the  sound  Butch  expected. 
He  waited  for  harsh  sounds,  berating  him 
for  a  stupid  mistake. 

But  Trousers  did  not  even  sound  angry. 
He  backed  up.  He  said,  "Oh,  say,  now,  old 
boy,  it's  all  right.  I  wouldn't  do  any  harm. 
I  was  just  looking." 

Julie,  on  the  bed,  laughed  with  something 
between  nervousness  and  relief;  and  George, 
when  he  spoke,  sounded  fatuous.  He  said, 
"Sorry,  Sam;  but  it's  new,  you  know.  He's 
taking  his  responsibilities" — George  paused 
on  that  word  and  savored  it — "he's  taking 
his  responsibilities  a  lit- 

tie  too  seriously,  right 

at  first."  George 
sounded  pleased  and 
proud,  rather  than 
really  apologetic.  He 
said,  "Well,  you  can't 
really  blame  him,  Sam. 
I'm  taking  them  sort 
of  hard  myself." 

They  all  laughed. 
Butch  walked  over 
toward  Sam  and  wag- 
gled his  hind  end.  He 
thought  he'd  better 
make  up  for  the  mis- 
take. 

Sam  looked  down 
and  said  something 
placating,  but  he  did 
not  offer  to  pat  any 
heads — he  was  too  re- 
spectful   for    that.    It 

was  George  who  patted 

Butch's  head,  ran  proud 

fingers  around  the  edges  of  the  one  ear  which 
still  remained  a  perfect  rosebud. 

"It's  all  right.  Butch,"  he  said.  "It's  all 
right.  You  were  just  doing  your  duty,  but 
Sam  wouldn't  hurt  the  baby.  He  just 
wanted  to  see  how  pretty  she  is,  like  Julie." 

Butch  never  could  understand  more  than 
three  words  at  a  time,  so  all  this  meant 
nothing  to  him.  He  would  still  have  won- 
dered if  he  had  understood.  Going  out 
toward  the  back  porch — it  was  warmer 
there — he  still  was  surprised  that  he  had  not 
been  reprimanded  for  growling  in  his  sleep 
at  the  odor  of  the  shepherd  still  clinging  to 
Sam's  trousers  where  the  dog  had  rubbed 
against  them. 

He  was  further  surprised  when  his  dinner 
included  a  lump  of  candy,  ordinarily  for- 
bidden. He  did  not  understand  that  the 
baby  in  the  bedroom  had  represented  an- 
other crisis.  He  did  not  know  he  had  passed 
a  jealousy  test  with  flying  colors.  He  did  not 
even  know  he  had  been  on  trial. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

(Continued  from  Page  23) 


"I'll  take  it  down  tomorrow,"  he  said. 

Well,  see  that  you  do." 
There  was  just  enough  sharpness  there  to 
itate  Joe  Lucas,  half  asleep  as  he  was,  and 
thought.  Damn  if  I  tvill,  but  he  did  not 
'  anything.  Neither,  the  next  evening,  did 
take  down  the  tree. 

This  went  on  for  a  week.  He  told  her  to 
ow  it  out  herself  if  she  didn't  want  it 
;re,  and  she  said  it  was  man's  work  and  he 
dd  do  it,  or  it  could  stay  there  forever,  for 
of  her. 

'O.K.,"  he  said.  "If  that's  the  way  you 
nt  it,  O.K." 

■"or  the  next  two  weeks  they  hardly  said  a 
^  rd  to  each  other. 

Uter  a  while  the  tree  annoyed  her  less  and 
'  .  She  hardly  noticed  it.  It  was  like  the 
c  'y  of  the  genuine  oil  painting  of  cows  in  a 
'  ok  that  she  had  received  as  a  wedding 
r  sent  from  her  grandmother.  There  it  was 


on  the  parlor  wall,  and  had  been  ever  since 
she  was  married,  but  after  the  first  month  or 
so  she  hadn't  looked  at  it  once  except  to  dust 
it  every  spring.  If  somebody  had  taken  it 
away  she  might  have  noticed  that  it  was 
missing.  Otherwise  it  meant  no  more  than 
the  wallpaper. 

Toward  the  beginning  of  February,  she 
commenced  saying  "Good-by"  to  Joe  in  the 
morning  and  "Hello"  at  night.  Then  they 
progressed  to  discussing  the  weather,  and  on 
the  twelfth  he  mentioned  to  her  that  it  was 
Lincoln's  Birthday.  That  night  she  and  Joe 
lay  awake  in  bed  a  while  talking,  and  Sadie 
made  up  her  mind  that  every  night  she  was 
going  to  try  to  get  Joe  talking  after  supper, 
even  if  she  had  to  hear  about  his  work  at  the 
water  department.  She  felt  almost  sick  from 
loneliness. 

The  next  night  she  did  not  wash  the  dishes 
after  supper.    She  went  with  Joe  into  the 


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138 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


SEE  THIS  BABY  KITTEM?  It  has  blue  eyes...  and 
they're  for  just  one  person  .  .  .  baby!  When  baby's  asleep,  the 
kitten  sleeps  too.  (It  loves  to  sleep.)  And  when  baby's  awake, 
the  kitten  starts  to  play.  It's  soft  and  cuddly  and  it's  all  purr 
and  no  claws.  It  likes  baby's  Vanta  garments,  because  it  thinks 
they're  as  soft  as  it  is. 

AMD  THIS  IS  THE  KITTEM'S  BASY  .  ..the  center  of 
its  universe.  The  center  of  the  household,  too.  The  baby  likes  to 
watch  the  kitten,  and  to  touch  its  fur.  Just  the  way  it  likes  the 
way  its  soft-knit  Vanta  garments  feel,  so  firm  and  yet  stretchy 
so  the  baby  can  kick  and  clap  its  hands  and  grow. 


If  you  are  going  to  have  a  baby,  send  10  cents  for  Vanta's  famous  book,  "Baby's  Outfit".  80 
pages  of  up-to-date  help  for  expectant  mothers.  Address:  Earnshaw  Knitting  Company,  Dept.  L-2, 
Newton    58,  Massachusetts.  (In    Canada,    J.    R.   Moodie  Co.,  Ltd.,  Hamilton,  Ontario,  are  Licensees.) 


parlor.  He  lay  on  the  couch,  but  she  said 
right  away,  taking  up  the  evening  paper: 

"The  Russians  are  doing  fine,  aren't  they, 
Joe?" 

"They're  doing  all  right,"  he  said,  without 
interest,  settling  himself. 

"And  this  raid  on  Berlin.  The  Germans 
are  getting  it.  Now  they'll  see  how  they  like 
it,  won't  they?" 

"They're  catching  hell,"  he  agreed.  He 
closed  his  eyes. 

She  rattled  the  paper  grimly. "  I  see  there's 
been  a  murder,"  she  said. 

"Yeah,"  he  said.  "Nobody  amounts  to 
nothing.  Woman  trouble.  I  read  all  that 
'fore  supper.  Read  it  to  yourself,  will  you  ?  " 

In  a  few  seconds  he  was  snoring  gently, 
rhythmically.  She  put  down  the  paper. 
She  appraised  him  with  bitter  eyes. 

There  could  be  twenty  years  or  more  of 
this  if  she  didn't  do  something.  Even  a  di- 
vorce would  be  better.  Everybody  got  di- 
vorced nowadays.  It  was  no  more  than  going 
to  the  dentist.  But  Ella  would  be  heart- 
broken. 

Anyway,  Sadie  didn't  want  a  divorce. 
Joe  was  a  good  enough  man.  There  were 
worse.  She  didn't  know  who  they  were,  but 
she  supposed  there  must  be  some,  like  the 
fellow  murdered  in  the  newspaper.  She 
could  murder  Joe  sometimes,  as  now,  when 
he  lay  with  his  mouth  partly  open,  twitching 
occasionally,  the  groove  on  the  bridge  of  his 
nose  showing  where  his  spectacles  rested, 
and  the  gray  hair  fringing  over  his  ears. 
He  was  certainly  not  beautiful.  But  he 
brought  all  his  pay  home  and  they  had  had 
a  lot  of  fun  together  when  they  were  younger. 

Then  she  looked  at  the  Christmas  tree, 
brown  and  mangy  in  the  corner,  and  she 
could  have  cut  his  throat  with  a  dull  knife. 
Her  thoughts  went  round  and  round  the  idea 
of  murder  and  the  idea  of  divorce;  not  that 
she  intended  either,  but  it  relieved  her  to 
think  that  these  resorts  did  exist  and  people 
used  them,  if  they  were  pushed  hard  enough. 

About  nine  o'clock,  Joe  got  up  and  stag- 
gered toward  the  bedroom.  "Coming?"  he 
said. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

She  sat  there  in  silence,  and  after  a  while 
the  bedspring  crunched.  The  house  was  still 
again. 

Sadie  grimaced  at  the  Christmas  tree. 
Then  she  cried.  She  wiped  the  tears  on  her 
plump  forearm.  She  sniffed  and  blew  her 
nose.  The  Christmas  tree  no  longer  reminded 
her  of  pleasant  days.  It  made  her  think  of 
how  stubborn  Joe  was  and  how  she  was  fed 
up  with  him.  She  hated  Joe  and  she  hated 
the  tree.  They  had  become  inextricably 
tangled  in  her  thoughts. 

She  sat  there,  alternately  numb  and  rag- 
ing, until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Then 
she  got  up,  went  over  to  the  Christmas  tree 
and  kicked  it  with  all  her  might.  It  teetered 
on  its  base  for  a  moment,  and  settled  defi- 
antly upright  again. 
She  took  a  double  sheet 
from  the  newspaper 
lying  on  the  floor  and 
rolled  it  into  a  wand 
and  then  twisted  it.  On 
a  table  beside  the  sofa 
there  was  an  ash  tray 
fitted  with  a  clamp  that 
clutched  a  small  box  of 
matches.  Sadie 
scratched  a  match  and 
lighted  the  twisted  pa- 
per. She  touched  the 
flame  to  the  resinous 
tree. 

With  a  marvelous 
rush  and  roar,  the  slen- 
der light  developed  in- 
stantly into  a  tree  of 
fire.  The  flames 
scorched  the  wallpaper 
and  ran  nimbly  up  the 
curtains.  Sadie  stepped 
back.  Smoke  made  her 
eyes  water .  She  watched 
the  woodwork  around 
the  windows  begin  to 
smolder.  The  varnish 
blistered. 


Fascinated  but  not  frightened,  Sadie  took 
up  the  telephone.  When  the  operator  re- 
sponded, Sadie  said,  "Fire  at  Forty-eight 
Governor  Street.  Fire  at  Forty-asght  Gov- 
ernor Street."  Then  she  hung  up.  She  went 
into  the  bedroom  and  grasped  Joe  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Get  up,"  she  ordered.  "The  house  is 
afire." 

She  had  to  shake  him  several  times. 

"Put  on  your  pants!"  Sadie  said.  "Some- 
body's coming." 

Already  the  powerful  sputtering  of  the 
engines  and  the  stern  clanging  of  the  bells 
filled  the  neighborhood  with  excited  tumult 

Joe  could  not  find  his  pants.  He  could  not 
find  his  glasses.  Sadie  pulled  a  blanket  ofH 
the  bed  and  wrapped  him  like  an  Indian 
He  kept  saying,  "My  God !  My  God ! "  She 
pushed  him  into  the  kitchen. 

JHeavy  steps  thumped  on  the  porch.  The 
front  door  shook.  A  windowpane  crackec 
and  tinkled  into  fragments.  Firemen  ir 
helmets,  rubber  coats  and  boots  crouchec 
through  the  broken  window.  Chemical; 
hissed  into  flames.  Woodwork  groaned  as  ii 
was  pulled  away  by  the  roots.  The  firemei 
yelled  to  one  another  from  house  to  street. 

In  five  minutes  the  parlor  was  a  black 
soggy  ruin.  The  only  thing  undamaged  wa 
the  picture  of  cows  in  a  brook ;  it  hung  askew 
but  the  glass  was  whole. 

The  firemen  looked  about  with  a  sort  o 
bashful  pride  and  then  tramped  out.  A  po 
liceman  entered.  Then  two  reporters.  Then  ; 
photographer.  Then  an  air-raid  warder 
Then  other  neighbors,  in  overcoats  over  pa 
jamas. 

The  fire  captain  began  asking  about  thi 
Christmas  tree.  What  had  it  been  doin 
there?  Joe  mumbled,  "My  God!  M 
God!" 

Sadie  said  nothing.  She  sat  down  slowly  ii 
a  chair.  The  Christmas  tree  was  gone  at  last 
How  exciting  it  all  was !  How  good  to  hav 
people  around!  Joe  would  have  to  spen 
evening  after  evening  repairing  the  wooc 
work,  plastering,  papering.  She  would  mak 
him  paper  the  whole  house.  She  would  hel 
him.  A  whole  new  set  of  parlor  furnitui 
would  have  to  be  bought,  and  a  new  ruj 
But  no  sofa.  She  would  never  have  anotht 
sofa  for  Joe  to  nap  on. 

Her  face  worked  uncertainly.  She  bega 
to  laugh.  The  faded  brown  hair  shook  loo; 
over  her  face.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  bell 
as  though  it  hurt,  and  laughed  and  laughe 
as  though  she  could  never  stop. 

"A  doctor!"  one  of  the  lady  neighbo 
quavered.  "She's  hysterical.  Get  a  docto 
somebody.   Don't  just  stand  there!" 

But  they  all  just  stood  around,  astonishei 
not  knowing  what  to  do,  except  the  ph 
tographer,  who  stepped  forward  and,  with 
sudden,  awful  flash  of  light,  recorded  one  ■ 
those  faces  in  distress  or  ecstasy  that  appe: 
now  and  then  in  the  pages  of  the  newspaper 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


139 


TWome^  TYiuAt  l^4^otu  (f^^t — 


w/u  a  {V<xh.'cJk(maui  urtyJlxt 


WHEN  your  sleepy  baby  grasps  your  finger 
tight — you  know  you  want,  more  than 
anything  in  the  world,  to  keep  him  safe  from 
harm.  It's  a  big  job — and  bigger  than  ever  today. 
Now,  when  our  doctors'  and  nurses'  time  is 
limited,  you  must  know  how  to  keep  your  baby 
well  and  strong. 

His  greatest  danger — the  "other  fellow's  cold" 

To  your  baby,  an  oi  linary  cold,  passed  on  from 
an  adult  or  an  older  child,  can  be  the  beginning  of 
a  really  serious  illness.  No  other  illness  causes  so 
many  infant  fatalities  as  respiratory  infections 
and  their  resulting  complications.  The  best  and 
wisest  way  to  protect  him  from  the  "other  fellow's 
cold"  is  never  to  allow  him  to  come  in  contact  with 
it.  But  suppose  you  yourself  catch  a  cold — and 
there  is  no  one  else  to  take  care  of  your  baby? 

Cut  down  risk  with  protective  mask 

Even  when  it  is  impossible  to  keep  him  isolated 
from  a  person  with  a  cold,  you  can  still  greatly 
reduce  the  danger  by  insisting  on  a  protective 
mask.  Wear  it  without  fail  yourself,  if  you  have  a 
cold — whenever  you  are  with  your  baby.  And  see 
that  every  other  person  with  a  cold  does  the  same. 

Tissue  mask  easy  and  effective 

If  you  don't  have  a  supply  of  standard  hospital 
masks  on  hand,  you  can  quickly  and  easily  make 
an  emergency  mask  of  tissue.  Just  take  two  thick- 
nesses of  ScotTissue,  cover  your  nose  and  mouth, 
and  pin  it  at  the  back  of  your  head.  Fold  in  at  the 
sides  and  back,  if  you  find  it  more  comfortable. 

Clinical  tests  prove  that  two  thicknesses  of 
ScotTissue  effectively  trap  germs — and  greatly  re- 
duce the  risk  of  contagion.  Never  leave  a  used 
mask  around.  One  great  advantage  of  a  tissue 
mask  is  that  it  is  instantly  disposable. 

Remember — no  other  single  duty  to  your  baby 
is  more  important  than  guarding  him  faithfullv 
from  the  very  real  danger  of  respiratory  infection. 


A  dozen  times  a  day  your  tiny  baby  stirs  your  heart  with  his  great  need  for  you  — 
a  need  that  is  so  much  greater  today  because  medical  and  nursing  care  is  so  scarce. 


ITHE   CORRECT  CHOICE    OF   A   BATHROOM   TISSUE 
IS   IMPORTANT   FOR    COMFORT   AND    CLEANSING 

The  correct  choice  of  a  toilet  tissue  for  your  child  is  important, 
Itoo.  It  should  be  soft  enough  for  comfort  yet  strong  enough  for 
Thorough  cleansing.  ScotTissue  has  both  these  qualities.  You  will 
lind-it  is  soft  and  "nice"  to  use  even  against  the  face  as  an  emer- 
l;ency  mask.  And  with  1000  sheets  to  every  roll,  it  is  also  an  eco- 

llOmical  tissue  for  the  whole  family.    Trade  mark •■ScotTiasao-    RoB.U.S.Pat.Off 


-A-^" 


->*-H8 


*. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1943 


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llere  you  sit 
and  in  I  \ralk  and  say 

G^te^/lM^jM     \/       And  that's  a  mighty  happy  picture. 

9 

Chesterfields  never  fail  to  fit  in  with  your 
plans  ...  to  add  to  your  pleasure. 
Chesterfield's  exceptional  Mildness,  Better  Taste 
and  Coolness  are  built  on  the  only  foundation  you 
can  depend  on  in  a  cigarette  .  .  . 

RIGHT  COMBINATION   *   WORLD'S  BEST  TOBACCOS 


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BY   J.  r.  FURNA«>i 

WHEN  Eddie  happened  to  mention  he  might  like  some  Brussels  sprouts, 
Stella  knew  they  were  out  of  season,  but  she  tramped  all  over  town 
till  she  found  them — at  seventy-five  cents  a  quart.  That  night  she 
cooked  them  as  tender  and  rich  as  she  knew  how,  only  to  see  him  push 
his  plate  away  and  go  into  the  living  room  unhappily  supperless,  to  read 
the  paper  and  doze.  It  was  most  disappointing.  But  she  just  put  the  plate 
away  again,  and,  when  he  wanted  to  try  eating  once  more,  warmed  it  up 
without  any  comment  except  her  personally  generous  smile. 

When  they  try  a  movie,  Eddie  is  more  than  likely  to  get  up  in  the  middle 
and  march  out.  Stella  follows  without  question  and  makes  no  ill-timed  re- 
marks on  the  way  home.  Not  that  she  is  any  1945  version  of  Patient 
Griselda — sweet  as  her  temper  is,  you  would  be  wiser  not  to  try  walking 
over  her.  But  she  knows  what  the  score  is  with  Eddie.  It  was  his  thought- 
fulness  about  little  things  that  first  attracted  her  to  him.  and  the  apparently 
regardless  things  he  now  does,  she  knows,  aren't  his  fault.  They're  Hitler's 
fault,  if  anybody's. 

Edward  Savickas  is  a  "combat  fatigue"  case,  honorably  discharged  from 
the  Army  Engineers,  after  front-line  service  in  North  Africa  and  Sicily,  as 
a  neuropsychiatric  casualty  on  exactly  the  same  basis  of  disability  as  if  he 
had  lost  a  leg.  He  is  holding  down  his  present  job — flight-mechanic  trainee 

141 

PHOTOS    By    MUNKACSI,    INTERNATIONAL.    SIGNAL    CORPS,  EWINC    GALLOWAY.   ELISOFON.   KEYSTONE    VIEW 


'*W', 


'^'te<^^^'. 


\.    <-? 


^     ( 


^^<^ 


'^'^ 


?JM 


^*  *^U. 


JL 


"I  lu'  l>i)ys  <>r«';-.s<'<j.s  /j;<'\  on  lul's  mind,"  says  his  nif(\  Stella  (rifilitj.  "Some 
niglils  lie  raii'l  cat  a  mouthful.  I  try  to  keep  cheerful  and  nefer  mention  the 
ivar.    Tlten  some  stupid  friend  has  to  ask  him  hoic  many  (Germans  he  killed!'''' 


PHOTOS   BY   MUNKACSI 


J'he  Suvifkus  tried  living  u-ith  Stella's  mother(left)  ivlieii  Ed  was  discharged  a 
year  ago,  but  he  was  too  edgy,  lie  got  strange  yens  for  foods  like  water- 
melon in  midwinter.  iSights  he'd  prowl,  sleepless,  about,  waking  the  others  up. 


at  the  Eastern  Aircraft  plant  in  Linden,  New  Jersey— very 
well.  From  the  moment  she  rushed  out  to  meet  him  in  the 
Army  hospital  in  Cambridge,  Ohio,  where  he  was  recuper- 
atins  after  landing,  Stella  has  made  helping  him  back  to 
nonnal  her  prime  concern.  She  and  the  company  doctor, 
the  other  close  observer  of  the  case,  agree  that  his  emo- 
tional condition  is  on  the  upbeat.  But  he  isn't  altogether 
out  of  the  woods  yet  either. 

Eddie's  one  trip  alone,  into  New  '^'ork  from  Elizabeth, 
New  Jersey  where  the  Savickas  live—  to  look  around  sent 
him  home  early,  all  tensed  up  by  too  many  swarming 
people,  swearing  he  would  never  go  near  the  place  again. 
Bad  dreams  about  the  things  he  saw  happen  under  fire, 
sleeplessness  forcing  him  to  get  up  and  prowl  miserably 
about  the  little  apartment,  inability  to  stay  long  indoors 
still  reflect  the  emotional  damage  of  modern  war.  North 
Jersey  is  studded  with  airfields,  and  planes  frequently  buzz 
overhead.  The  sound  of  their  motors  doesn't  get  to  him 
when  he's  at  work  at  the  Eastern  Aircraft  airfield,  but  it's 
very  bad  at  home  during  the  night — it  was  one  high-level 
air  raid  too  many  that  made  him  a  casualty. 

This  combat  fatigue — "shell  shock"  w'as  last  war's  in- 
accurate term — can  hit  a  man  anywhere.  It  took  Eddie  in 
the  midriff.  He  finally  crawled  out  of  that  foxhole  all  dead 
and  numb  in  the  abdomen.  Those  mysterious  physical- 
emotional  factors  lying  back  of  such  cases  chose  his  ali- 
mentary tract  to  express  the  shock  of  seeing  men  you  know 
messily  slaughtered,  of  crouching  in  crumbly  earth  with  the 


back  of  your  neck  insisting  that  the  next  bomb  is  aimed 
precisely  at  you.  That  often  happens  to  people.  One  thing 
the  armed  services  have  learned  from  this  war  is  that,  given 
the  right  circumstances,  combat  fatigue  can  do  anybody  in, 
even  the  toughest  of  tough  marines  on  Guadalcanal. 

It  was  fifteen  days  before  Eddie  could  eat  a  mouthful. 
Sedatives  and  rest  did  him  good,  but  even  now,  over  a  year 
later,  his  appetite  still  ranges  from  absent  to  finicky  and  he 
is  distressingly  skinny.  He  weighed  164  when  inducted, 
none  too  much  for  a  man  just  under  six  feet.  The  best  he 
can  do  now  is  146.  More  meat  on  his  long  bones,  more  fat 
round  his  abused  nerve  ends  would  make  a  lot  of  difference 
toward  his  recovery.  But  that  requires  heartier  feeding 
and  more  thorough  relaxation— and  that  moment  of  icy- 
clamping  chill  did  do  queer  things  to  him. 

Stella,  unlike  many  civilians  up  against  the  re- 
turned serviceman's  problems,  has  managed  to  learn  from 
radio  and  newspapers  that,  though  there  is  no  impli- 
cation of  "going  crazy,"  the  n-p  casualty  is  as  real  as 
any  other,  and  sympathy  and  patience  are  vital.  She  is 
almost  as  disturbed  as  Eddie  when — "after  I've  tried  so 
hard  to  keep  his  mind  off  all  that" — stupid  people  ask 
him  what  it  was  like  doing  demolitions  under  fire  in 
Africa,  and  even  how  many  Germans  he  personally  killed. 
There  are  people  as  stupid  as  that. 

Stella  doesn't  want  to  know  any  such  things.  But  some- 
times, late  at  night  after  the  lights  are  off,  the  impulse  to 
talk  comes  over  Eddie  and  she  will  listen  till  dawn  if  neces- 


sary, with  the  indicated  little  sympathetic  noises  and  the 
right  questions  when  the  stream  of  recollection  clogs. 
Maybe  getting  it  all  spontaneously  olT  his  chest  will  help. 
He  is  taking  some  pills  supposed  to  help  his  appetite.  But 
Stella  says  with  great  shrewdness: 

"I  don't  think  any  medicine  will  really  help.  What  he 
needs  is  a  steady  life  and  getting  back  to  mingling  with 
people,  just  living  along  without  getting  stirred  up." 

With  that  in  mind,  she  is  planning  to  encourage  a  few 
well-chosen  friends  to  drop  in  evenings  for  a  hand  of  cards 
and  some  light  refreshments,  now  they're  settled  in  the  new 
apartment — the  first  place  of  their  own  they've  ever  had. 
Eddie  himself  is  showing  a  tendency  to  come  out  of  his  shell 
a  little  more  of  late  days,  promising  to  take  Stella  out  danc- 
ing one  of  these  nights  and  recollecting  that  she  always 
danced  a  lot  better  than  he  did. 

They  always  hit  it  off  well  together.  Six  years  ago  a  girl 
they  both  knew  wanted  to  get  them  acquainted  on  the 
theory  that  they  would.  She  had  a  hard  time  arranging  it 
because  Stella  was  alw'ays  in  church;  deeply  devout,  she 
was  then  planning  to  be  a  nun.  The  eventual  meeting  was 
such  a  success  that  next  day  Eddie  appeared  in  his  brand- 
new  car,  shyly  insisting  that  Stella  Kazanecki  be  the  first 
girl  to  ride  in  it.  He  was  persistent  as  well  as  shy.  Within 
three  months  they  were  engaged. 

Eddie  was  making  $1.20  an  hour  as  a  wheel  striper  at  the 
General  Motors  plant  where  he  now  works  under  the  ban- 
ner of  Eastern  Aircraft.    But  they  waited  three  years  tc 


142 


"Erf  is  a  bright,  hard-icorking  boy,^'  says  the  psychiatrist  at  Eastern 
Aircraft,  "/  see  him  about  once  a  month  and  he's  improving  all  the 
time.  We've  hired  219  veterans,  30 per  cent  of  them  war-nerve  cases." 


and  ioutK^y  ^ut  Steilci  mu^  ^ee 
tA^it  ^en.  ^u<iSa*tcC  CecatHC^  ma^tcfi 
a<tcl  act  ^^  0^  t^  Aacue^olds 


*  nimiiiriiinniBS  * 


Stella  hunted  for  six  months  for  an  apartment  in 
war-jammed  Elizabeth,  N.  J.  "Ed  was  too  jittery  to 
help."     A    new    son,    Joseph,    arrived   in    ISovember. 


While  Ed  ivas  overseas,  Stella  worked,  saved 
$375.  With  this, plus  Ed' s$300  mustering-out 
pay,  she  furnished  four  rooms,  secondhand. 


"Playing  tvith  the  baby  cheers  Ed  up."  A  devoted 
father,  he  sent  Ginny  pink  bootees  from  .\orth 
Africa.  He  first  saw  her  when  she  was  eight  months. 


r\ 


iri 


I 


A  new  tragedy  for  Stella  and  her  close-knit  funiily 
was  the  news  of  the  death  of  her  twin  brother  in  Ger- 
many two  mon  ths  ago.  Young  Ginny  holds  his  picture. 

"I  get  the  chills  whenever  a  plane  goes  over,"  says  Ed, 
who  got  his  "war  nerves"  during  bombing  raids.  Yet 
he  is  happy  as  a  plane  mechanic  at  Eastern  Aircraft, 


'"'Cr' 


\^ 


.-*< 


f 


^•^- 


'■■    I 


f 


\ 


"Ed  wants  me  to  handle  all  the  money,  says  it  makes  him  netvous."  He  also 
declines  to  help  Stella  buy  things  for  their  new  home.  Slowly,  however,  she  is 
persuading  him  to  shoulder  his  share  of  responsibilities.  "Whenever  he  dries  the 
dishes  or  helps  with  the  babies,  I  give  him  lots  of  praise.  That  seems  to  tickle  him." 


I 


marry  Stella  was  only  eighteen  and,  besides,  didn't 
want  to  run  out  on  her  widowed  mother,  who,  after 
rearing  nine  under  great  difficulties,  was  finally  start- 
ing to  get  on  her  feet.  Then  Eddie  was  drafted  a  few 
days  after  Pearl  Harbor.  Their  marriage  was  finally 
performed  by  the  chaplain  at  Fort  Belvoir,  Virginia, 
where  he  was  in  training  for  the  Engineers.  It  was  a 
very  rainy  afternoon  and  the  week  that  Stella  stayed 
near  camp  was  the  only  honeymoon  they  ever  had. 

Virginia  Marie  Savickas,  third  member  of  the  new 
family,  appeared  almost  two  years  ago— a  tactful  young 
woman,  not  the  type  to  wailingly  wake  daddy  every 
tiine  he  manages  to  drop  off  to  sleep.  Merely  looking 
at  her  should  have  therapeutic  value.  Plump,  gurgly 
and  merry,  just  as  blond  as  a  blond  Polish  mother  and 
a  blond  Lithuanian  father  could  manage,  she  already 
shows  much  of  her  mother's  warming  serenity.  A 
brother,  Joseph,  arrived  last  November.  "Now," 
proudly  smiles  Stella,  whose  Polish  parents  raised  nine 
children,  "we  have  a  boy  and  a  girl— a  real  American 
family."  It  took  six  months  to  find  an  apartment  for 
them.  Elizabeth  is  just  as  jammed  as  any  other  indus- 
trial town,  and  landlords  refused  to  guarantee  fuel  de- 
liveries to  keep  available  quarters  warm  enough  for 
small  babies. 

What  they  finally  got  is  far  from  perfect— the  upper 
floor  of  an  elderly  little  house,  one  of  a  scrawny  row 
on  the  edge  of  swampy  commons  stretching  down  to 
the  Kill  van  Kull  and  pasturing  a  few  disgruntled- 
looking  goats.  But  Stella  threw  her  heart  into  making 
the  place  Eddie  returns  to  after  work  as  cheery  as  pos- 
sible. Curtains  are  bright  and  ruflly,  white  paint  every- 
where is  immaculate,  colorful  tea  towels  and  pot 
holders,  gay  decalcomanias  and  strawberry-patterned 
china  are  on  display  in  the  kitchen-dining  room,  and 
the  housekeeping  is  meticulous  to  a  degree. 

With  sunlight  streaming  in  the  bedroom  windows  on 
all  this,  weedy  view  and  rattletrap  street  vanish  from 
the  mind.  Next  step  is  to  get  together  with  the  nice 
neighbor  downstairs  to  weed  and  clean  up  the  dingy 
little  back  yard  for  small  fry  to  play  in. 

The  neighborhood  was  far  nicer  back  ai.  Stella's 
mother's,  in  the  main  part  of  town,  where  she  lived 
while  Eddie  was  gone  and  where  they  all  stayed  after 
his  return  until  a  place  was  found.  They  might  still  be 
there  if  it  didn't  make  Eddie  more  nervous  to  live  with 
anybody  else,  even  so  hospitable  and  comfortable  a 
somebody  as  Mrs.  Kazanecki.  He  didn't  feel  right  get- 
ting up  to  stalk  about  in  the  middle  of  the  night  or  to 
raid  the  icebox  to  take  advantage  of  a  rare  and  valuable 
impulse  to  eat. 

Pictures  of  husky  young  men  in  uniform  are  thick  in 
the  tiny  living  room.  Eddie's  elder  brother  is  in  an 
armored  division  in  France,  the  younger  is  an  MP  over 
there  too.  Stella  had  three  brothers  in  service,  in 
Navy,  Coast  Guard  and  Army  respectively.  The  recent 
death  of  her  twin  brother  in  Germany  is  why,  even 
though  Eddie  is  home,  she  still  shrinks  from  listening 
to  war  news  on  the  radio. 

Much  of  the  furniture  that  they  had  to  buy,  mourn- 
fully because  prices  were  so  high  and  quality  low,  was 
paid  for  out  of  Stella's  savings  from  her  war  job.  She 
was  making  $1.24  an  hour  inspecting  at  Eastern  before 
Eddie's  arrival  determined  her  to  quit  and  devote  full 

144 


time  to  making  things  right  for  him.  Her  mother  taught 
her  expert  no-recipe  cooking  and  dressmaking  so  thor- 
oughly that  she  can  even  devise  her  own  patterns.  Then 
a  year  as  a  domestic  servant  just  after  she  left  high 
school  put  on  the  finishing  shipshape  touches.  Starting 
housekeeping  from  scratch  in  the  middle  of  war  short- 
ages, Stella  is  managing  better  than  most  with  only  a 
toaster  and  a  sandwich  grill  for  laborsaving  devices. 
The  missing  washing  machine  is  her  first-priority  post- 
war project. 

Eddie's  economic  past  bodes  fairly  well  for  their  fu- 
ture. As  a  kid  he  was  an  ardent  deep-sea  fisherman,  and 
his  first  job  was  deck-handing  on  party-fishing  boats  out 
of  Elizabeth.  At  seventeen  he  went  to  sea  on  freighters, 
first  on  coastal  runs  and  then  making  such  ports  as  Val- 
paraiso, Hamburg  and  Rio,  qualifying  for  A.  B.  rating. 
But  in  1938,  after  five  years  of  that  sandwiched  with 
winter  work  in  an  electric-fan  plant,  Eddie  was  firmly 
advised  by  his  elder  brother  that  he  ought  to  start 
settling  down.  Meeting  Stella  helped  greatly  to  make 
the  advice  stick.  He  went  to  General  Motors  to  start 
his  prewar  record  there  as  a  good,  steady  man. 

Now  his  job  is  bolstered  two  ways:  his  G.  M.  seniority 
carries  over  into  Eastern  Aircraft,  a  G.  M.  subsidiary; 
and  his  returned  serviceman's  standing  entitles  him  to 
his  old  job  or  as  good  a  one  automatically.  They  first 
set  him  to  cleaning  paint  sprayers  on  his  return,  but 
inside  work  gave  him  the  jitters  and  the  smell  of  thinner 
used  in  such  work  was  ruining  what  little  appetite  he 
could  work  up.  He  told  the  doctor  about  it  and  was 
immediately  moved  across  the  highway  to  the  airport. 


Food $1200.00 

Rent 360.00 

Electricity 25.00 

Gas 40.00 

Laundry  (sheets  and  work 

clothes  sent  out)     .    .    .  75.00 

Heating 50.00 

Hospitalization 

insurance 18.00 

Life  insurance 34.84 

Contributions 35.00 

Clothing 100.00 

Car  fuel,  upkeep, 

repairs 400.00 

Newspapers 18.20 

Withholding  tax  and 

Social  Security    ....  226.72 

War  Bonds 291.00 

Miscellaneous 

(gifts,  etc.) 38.24 

$2912.00 


His  work  there  is  outdoors  practically  all  the  time  and 
offers  emotional  rewards  too — since  the  pilot's  life  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  flight  mechanic  who  gives  his  plane  its 
final  check,  the  job  carries  big  prestige. 

Eddie  had  been  grossing  a  great  deal  more,  but  cut- 
backs in  Eastern's  production  of  Navy  fighter  planes 
and  the  subsequent  disappearance  of  Sunday  work  has 
reduced  his  income  to  about  $56  weekly.  One  of  the 
things  that  infuriate  him  these  days  is  the  wailing  he 
hears  round  the  plant  about  what'11-we-do-when-the- 
war-boom's-over? 

"Why,  some  of  'em,"  he  says,  "actually  talk  like 
they  want  the  war  to  go  on  and  a  lot  more  guys  get  shot 
up  and  killed  just  so  their  jobs  will  keep  going." 

That  ready  shift  from  indoors  to  airport  is  a  sample  of 
the  flexible  intelligence  with  which  his  employers  are 
approaching  the  retumed-veteran  problem  and  the  em- 
ployment of  n-p  casualties.  So  far,  219  have  come  back 
out  of  uniform  to  the  plant,  with  125  still  on  the  pay 
roll.  Only  three  were  discharged  for  cause,  the  rest 
quitting  either  to  go  back  into  uniform  or  to  take  up 
other  activity  voluntarily.  A  special  "veterans'  co- 
ordinator" from  the  personnel  staff  is  working  on  get- 
ting them  adjusted. 

Eddie's  kind  of  trouble  is  well  represented — 30  per 
cent  of  these  men  are  combat-fatigue  casualties.  It  is 
just  as  well  that,  with  real  foresight,  the  company 
medical  staff  includes  a  young  neuropsychiatrist  who 
trained  at  Johns  Hopkins  and  came  to  Linden  from  two 
years  at  the  Ford  Hospital  in  Detroit.  Eddie  thinks  the 
doc  is  a  real  nice  fellow,  which  is  fortunate,  since  much 
of  his  coming  adjustment  will  depend  on  how  well  he 
responds  to  the  doc's  ideas.  The  doc  in  turn  figures 
Eddie  a  likely  bet. 

"There  are  a  few  goldbricks  among  our  n-p's,"  he 
says.  After  all,  goldbricking  is  one  kind  of  unstable  be- 
havior. "I  bawl  the  pants  off  them  early  and  it  often 
works.  But  that  doesn't  include  Savickas.  He's  a 
bright,  reliable,  well-meaning  type,  and  the  prognosis 
is  good." 

Any  time  Eddie  feels  things  are  piling  up  on  him,  he 
can  go  talk  it  over  with  the  doc,  Snd  when  he  has  to 
come  to  the  clinic  for  a  minor  injury — which  happens 
every  few  weeks— he  usually  takes  the  opportunity  for 
a  psychiatric  checkover  at  the  same  time.  Nobody, 
least  of  all  the  doctors,  claims  that  this  setup  is  per- 
fect— after  all,  seventy-odd  cases  is  a  big  load,  and 
growing  all  the  time.  But  it  apparently  represents  a 
good  deal  more  than  many  plants  are  yet  doing,  to 
judge  from  the  number  of  men  from  other  industries 
now  coming  to  Linden  to  ask  questions  and  look  things 
over  for  methods  and  results. 

The  best  thing  any  employer  could  do  for  returned 
cases  of  combat  fatigue,  of  course,  would  be  to  supply 
each  with  a  wife  like  Stella,  aware  that  merely  loving 
your  guy  isn't  enough  to  help  him  get  squared  round. 
For  the  return  trip  from  the  dark  places  of  the  mind 
that  Eddie  had  to  explore,  he  must  have — and  has— a 
companion  intelligently  dedicated  to  his  needs  and 
wishes.  "You've  got  to  go  a  lot  farther  than  halfway 
with  him,"  Stella  says.  "Time  enough  after  he's  ad- 
justed to  worry  about  how  you  like  things  done  your- 
self. Right  now  everything  is  all  his,  and  it's  my  job 
to  keep  it  that  way." 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


^:^^M 


More  doctors  advise  Ivory 

mcva  oSt  tft^iZA,  Wwvtilb  tout  XogjiX^wk,  ! 


That's  why  ± 


use  it... 


That's  why  SHE 


uses  it... 


Wrj  have  that  Ivoiy  Look... 


I 


cKiZAfiX)  -ftjou)  yoa  caru  -ftoAie  Ac^sAj,  y^iuoo+^fi/u  /^^feim/,  tw 

There's  a  way  for  you  to  have  a  smoother,  softer 
complexion — starting  today !   A  way  to  have  that  glowing  Ivory  Look 
yourself.   An  easy  way — too.   Just  listen  to  baby's  beauty  hint, 
and  change  from  careless  skin  care  to  regular,  gentle  cleansings 
with  that  pure,  mild  cake  of  Ivory. 

Ivory  is  baby-gentle — no  facial  soap  on  earth  can  bring  you  more 
beauty.   Pure,  mild  Ivory  Soap  contains  no  coloring,  medication 
or  strong  perfume  that  might  irritate  tender  skin. 

More  doctors  advise  Ivory  than  all  other  brands  put  together! 
Do  you  need  a  better  reason  to  try  it — now?  99*%,o%  JpvJxJl/ 


TO  EVERY  CIVILIAN:  Soap  waste  is  war  waste— for  soap  is  a  necessity,  and  made  of  strategic  materials  as  well.  So  make  your  Ivory  lastl 


146 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  19' 


Oh  no, mother! 
Just  2  inches  from 
where  you  washed 
that  strainer 


your  sink  drain  is 
infested  with 
SEWER  GERMS! 


Survey  by  Molnar  Laboratories, 
New  York  City 


scrubbing  and 
scouring  the  sink 
won't  faze  these 
public  enemies 
down  in  the  drain! 

Actual  sewer  germs  magnified 
approx||nately  20,000  times 


but  Drano  boiJs 
SEWER  GERMS  out 
quicker  than  you 
can  say  "danger." 
Makes  your  sink 
safe,sanitaty! 


Yes,  and  Drano 

opens  clogged  drains  - 
drains  so  stopped  up 
that  even  water 
can't  trickle  through! 


Never  over  25{$  at  drug,  hardware,  and  grocery  stores 


I>rano 

CLEARS   oar  SEWER   GERMS 
OPENS  CLOGGED  DRAINS 


CODT.  1945.  The  Drackctt  Co. 


COMBAT  FATIGUE 

BY  LT.COMDR.  LESLIE   B.  HOBMAN,  M.C.,  ITSNR 

Associate  in  Psychiatry,  Johns  Hopkins  University 


I  LEFT  Ed  Savickas  after  my  visit  with 
him  and  his  war-plant  doctor  and  his 
radiant  wife,  Stella — just  three  days  the 
proud  mother  of  a  second  child,  a  son — 
with  a  personal  sense  of  calm  and  relief.  I 
had  seen  the  miracle  of  recovery  and  re- 
habilitation of  a  twenty-eight-year-old  vic- 
tim of  combat  fatigue,  gently  and  firmly 
being  guided  back  to  health  and  continued 
usefulness  for  the  war.  As  a  Navy  psy- 
chiatrist, treating  these  war-torn  nervous 
cases,  some  to  be  returned  to  continued  ac- 
tive duty  with  the  armed  forces,  and  others 
ultimately  to  be  discharged  to  take  up  war 
work  again  at  home,  it  was  tremendously 
heartening  to  see  that  it  was  possible  for 
these  men  to  find  a  world  that  could  under- 
stand them  and  help  speed  the  cure  that 
psychiatrists  can  predict  will  come  true. 

I  wish  that  all  wives  and  mothers  and  sis- 
ters could  go  to  school  to  calm,  patient,  jolly 
Stella  Savickas.  Where  she  got  the  wisdom 
and  patience  so  perfectly  to  handle  and  treat 
iier  devoted  but  difficult  combat-fatigue 
husband  I  could  not  discover.  Perhaps  it 
was  from  the  desire  and  the  impulse  to  serve, 
that  at  one  time  made  her  want  to  be  a  nun. 

As  soon  as  Stella  visited  her  husband  in 
January  of  1944  at  the  Army  hospital  in 
Ohio  and  saw  him  among  other  nervously 
sick  lads  who  had  been  returned  from  the 
combat  area,  she  suddenly  realized  that  her 
job  was  laid  out  for  her.  She  had  no  way  of 
knowing  how  this  combat-fatigue  nervous- 
ness would  change  the  tall,  shy,  blue-eyed 
boy  she  had  married  in  an  Army  chapel  just 
before  he  was  ready  to  go  overseas.  Neither 
she  nor  Ed  could  have  had  an  idea  that  the 
grueling  experience  of  combat  would  plunge 
him  into  nervous  illness.  Ed  himself  couldn't 
believe  that  it  had  got  him;  and  even  after 
he  began  to  shake  and  tremble  and  stammer 
and  not  be  able  to  eat,  he  still  asked  to 
stay  with  his  outfit  in  NOrth  Africa  and  see 
the  fight  through  to  the  end.  The  medical 
oflicer  knew  that  he  had  gone  to  his  limit  of 
tolerance  and  sent  him  back  to  the  United 
States  for  treatment  and  discharge. 

The  womenfolk  of  men  returned  from 
combat  experience  will  have,  in  many  cases, 
to  face  the  same  changes  in  their  sons  and 
husbands  and  sweethearts  that  Stella  found 
in  hers.  The  change  in  most  men  will  not  be 
so  severe  that  the  man  will  have  to  be  hos- 
pitalized or  discharged  from  the  service,  but 
the  problem  of  handling  these  battle- 
fatigued  men  will  be  hard,  and  it  will  be 
moi^e  difficult  or  even  heartbreaking  if 
women  do  not  develop  or  have  Stella's  un- 
derstanding and  patience. 

What  was  the  change  that  required  so 
much  patience  from  Stella,  and  will  demand 
it  from  many  of  the  other  women  who  receive 
their  men  back  from  combat?  Let  me  give 
you  a  list  of  things  with  which  you  are  likely 
to  have  to  cope.  The  first,  unreasonable  irri- 
tability, is  the  most  difficult  of  all  to  man- 
age. Your  returned  soldier  or  sailor  or  ma- 
rine will  become  resentful  or  short-tempered 
or  angry  over  nothing.  A  tone  of  voice,  the 
most  innocent,  harmless  remark  will  be 
taken  as  insult;  the  ration  board  that  denied 
him  as  much  gasoline  as  he  thinks  he  de- 
serves will  be  hated;  the  civilian  who  is  hav- 
ing a  good  time  or  whose  face  is  not  woebe- 
gone will  arouse  rage;  the  friend  who  asks 
about  the  war  or  the  man  who  jostles  him 
in  the  subway  will  arouse  a  fighting  attitude; 
all  these  and  anything  else  will  arouse  bursts 
of  antagonism  and  temper  and  rage  that  will 
astonish  and  bewilder  and  pain  the  family 
and  friends  and  the  man  himself. 

Make  no  mistake  that  this  irritability  is 
easy  to  handle.  Stella  has  two  rules  for  her- 
self which  all  relations  of  combat  men  will 
do  well  to  follow.  First:  Don't  try  to  argue 
about  the  imaginary  issue  which  has  pro- 
voked the  temper  outburst.   Recognize  it  as 


unreasonable  and  don't  try  to  reason  aboi 
something  that  is  not  reasonable.  You  w 
simply  be  pouring  oil  on  the  fire  if  you  c 
argue.  If  you  will  listen,  without  argumer 
the  spell  will  burn  itself  out  the  more  quick 
and  you  will  avoid  the  danger  of  meetir 
anger  with  anger  which  is  likely  to  stir  i 
more.  The  wife  of  an  officer  back  from  lot 
combat  in  the  South  Pacific  reported  to  n 
that  every  time  she  lost  her  own  contr 
when  her  husband  was  irritable,  it  took  se 
eral  days  to  get  him  back  to  a  normal  frierti 
liness.  She  finally  learned  the  trick  that 
she  just  listened,  he  quickly  forgot  the  pa 
ticular  resentment  and  was  apt  to  be  son 
for  his  outbursts. 

Stella's  second  rule  is  to  let  the  ang] 
things  her  husband  says  go  in  one  ear  ai 
out  the  other.  Stella  knows  that  Ed  lov( 
her  and  still  loves  her  devotedly.  Wh< 
something  sharp  or  disagreeable  or  temperis 
comes  out,  she  says  to  herself,  "That's  cor 
bat  fatigue  talking,  not  Ed."  Stella  told  n 
she  didn't  propose  to  let  her  marriage  end 
the  divorce  court,  as  did  those  of  three  of  h 
friends  because  they  didn't  have  enouj 
knowledge  and  control  to  be  able  to  igno 
their  husbands'  temporary  sick  quarr( 
someness.  She  has  seen  Ed's  temper  cor 
more  and  more  under  control  as  mont 
have  gone  by,  and  knows  that  before  long 
will  disappear  completely. 

The  second  change  that  will  be  noticed 
restlessness  and  changeableness.  These  i 
turned  men  find  it  very  difficult  to  stay  p 
and  to  settle  down.  A  good  dinner  may  1 
prepared  and  the  man  will  decide  that  1 
must  get  out  and  take  a  walk  and  you  m: 
not  see  him  again  for  two  hours.  Stella  fin 
that  if  she  plans  to  stay  at  home,  Ed  wan 
to  go  out.  If  she  plans  to  go  out,  Ed  is  like 
to  want  to  stay  home.  He  may  get  restle; 
whichever  plan  is  followed.  If  visitors  cor 
in,  he  wants  them  to  go  in  fifteen  minute 
and  fifteen  minutes  later  he  wants  to  S| 
somebody  else.  Everything  that  has  to  , 
done,  Ed  wants  to  do  in  a  hurry,  or  he  mii 
decide  that  he  won't  do  it  at  all.  You  mij 
find  your  returned  son  or  husband  wandt 
ing  around  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ai 
then  wanting  to  sleep  in  the  daytime.  I 
may  refuse  to  talk  about  his  experiences  ov< 
seas  if  anyone  asks  him  about  them,  a: 
walk  away,  and  then  suddenly  in  the  midc 
of  the  night  will  want  to  pour  out  the  whc 
story  and  get  it  off  his  chest. 

Stella  uses  good  judgment  in  handling  tl 
restlessness  and  changeability.  She  h 
studied  Ed  and  has  tried  to  aid  him  in  ovi 
coming  it.  She  uses  a  third  rule:  Gently  b 
firmly  force  the  use  of  personal  control 
the  man  as  soon  as  he  shows  signs  that 
can  help  himself.  Stella  knows  how  pro 
Ed  is  of  that,new  son,  but  she  gently  a 
jokingly  prodded  him  when  she  said,  "  Ed  « 
have  to  realize  that  he  has  a  wife  and  cf 
dren  and  learn  to  stay  at  home  more."  Oft 
the  man  must  be  made  to  realize  that 
can  use  more  self-control  if  he  is  willing  a 
cannot  be  allowed  to  run  wild.  The  arm 
forces  have  come  to  know  that  men  i 
themselves  together  more  quickly  if  th 
are  kept  under  military  discipline.  The  str 
insistence  that  even  a  sick  or  a  nervous  m 
has  responsibility  for  his  conduct  helps  th( 
to  help  themselves  and  to  think  twice  I 
fore  they  act  upon  a  restless  or  irritable  ii 
pulse. 

To  handle  the  need  to  spill  oyer  and  U 
about  combat  experience,  if  that  time  com' 
Stella  uses  a  modification  of  the  rule  s 
used  in  handling  irritability,  namely;  Listf 
but  do  not  ask  questions.  Let  the  man  c 
cide  how  much  or  how  long  he  wants  to  ta 
As  a  psychiatrist,  I  would  advise  that  t 
pouring  out  of  the  story  be  halted  only  if 
brings  too  much  tension  and  agitating  » 
row.  Most  men  know  if  they  get  relief  frc 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


147 


falking,  and  only  those  will  do  it  when  the 
need  comes. 

The  third  change  Stella  found,  and  you 
may  discover  in  your  soldier  or  sailor,  is  ex- 
treme moodiness.  It  is  not  the  ordinary 
downheartedness  or  sadness  or  blues  that  is 
experienced  by  nearly  everybody  in  the 
day's  work,  but  it  is  more  mournful  and 
more  brooding.  It  cannot  be  dispelled  by 
lighthearted  chatter  or  by  the  easy  distract- 
ing of  attention.  It  hangs  like  a  heavy  cloud 
and  dampens  interest  and  energy.  It  makes 
talking  and  thinking  effortful  and  robs 
everything  of  satisfaction  and  color.  It  makes 
the  man  want  to  crawl  off  by  himself  like  a 
wounded  animal  away  from  the  people  and 
even  from  those  whom  he  loves  best.  The 
future  seems  dark  to  him,  and  he  can  only 
look  back  to  the  terrors  of  war  at  those 
periods.  Stella  sensed  that  Ed  could  not 
avoid  this  brooding  depression,  and  she  had 
the  wisdom  not  to  get  alarmed  or  personally 
hurt  by  it.  She  used  a  fourth  rule:  Let  the 
man  be  by  himself  when  he  is  overwhelmed 
by  the  brooding  depression.  Stella  instinc- 
tively knows  what  is  true:  that  the  black 
mood  will  pass  by  and  lighten  and  then  again 
will  Ed  be  able  to  handle  and  control  the 
lessened  amount  of  brooding  without  having 
to  show  it.  The  average  woman  finds  it  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  when  a  man  is  depressed 
or  disgusted  (that  is  the  word  the  combat- 
fatigue  man  uses  to  express  his  irritable 
brooding),  it  isn't  because  of  something  she 
herself  has  done  or 

something    she    has       , 

said  which  has  of- 
fended. Stella  is 
instinctively  wise 
enough  to  under- 
stand that  Ed  is  de- 
pressed only  as  the 
result  of  his  combat 
experience  &nd  that 
she  cannot  be  of  serv- 
ice to  him  at  the 
time  that  the  depres- 
sion hits  him  except 
by  waiting  calmly 
and  patiently  and 
without  hurt  feelings 
until  Ed  is  ready 
again  to  respond  to 
her  cheerfulness.  She 
smart  enough  to 
get  the  baby  out  of 
the  way  when  noise 
md  confusion  upset 
Ed,  without  feeling 
that  he  doesn't  love 
lis  child  or  her  or 
lis  home. 

A  fourth  point  of  change  is  a  marked  sensi- 
iveness  and  startle  when  a  man  hears  a  loud 
)r  unexpected  noise.  Returning  soldiers  and 
ailors  have  been  made  so  sensitive  to  battle 
wunds  and  dangers  that  sudden  unexpected 
loises  or  the  continuous  noises  of  a  factory 
)r  airplanes  overhead  make  them  jump  and 
remble  the  way  an  unexpected  sound 
tartles  anyone,  only  much  more  severely 
md  violently.  The  fifth  rule  to  be  used  is: 
^ake  the  man  less  uncomfortable  and  less 
shamed  of  this  violent  reaction  by  pretend- 
ig  not  to  notice  it,  and  above  all  do  not 
lugh  at  him.  The  men  are  very  sensitive 
bout  having  to  act  instinctively  as  if  they 
'ere  ducking  into  foxholes  or  climbing  under 
bed  to  look  for  shelter,  or  suddenly  break- 
!ig  into  a  sweat  or  shaking  jitters  as  if  they 
•ere  violently  terrified.  The  spell  does  not 
St  long,  and  the  men  hate  to  be  watched 
joked  at  when  noise  suddenly  takes  them 
ick  in  memory  to  their  combat  reactions, 
the  man  wants  to  laugh  about  it  later, 
[hen  he  has  calmed  himself  again  and  the 
orm  has  passed,  then  let  him  decide  that, 
at  don't  try  to  kid  him  out  of  it.  The  warm 
iiderstanding  pressure  of  a  hand  is  infinitely 
ore  helpful  than  any  talk  or  joking,  in 
ilping  to  dispel  the  awful  revivified  fear. 

IHERE  is  a  fifth  change  that  takes  place 
Jat  may  baffle  the  family  and  may  even 

ike  it  feel  that  the  returned  man  is  un- 
irly  treated  by  the  doctors.  In  almost  all 
Ises,  the  tension  of  prolonged  combat  will 

feet  the  man's  body  so  that  he  will  have 


discomfort  in  the  stomach  or  in  his  head  or  in 
his  back,  or  will  think  that  he  has  some  other 
physical  illness.  Ed  lost  his  appetite  and 
couldn't  eat  and  food  would  not  digest  for 
him,  so  that  he  had  severe  pain  in  his 
abdomen.  Actually,  there  was  no  injury  to 
his  stomach.  It  was  just  upset  by  his  emo- 
tions. Ed  has  a  lot  of  strange,  untrue 
medical  explanations  about  his  stomach  and 
diet,  and  limits  his  food  in  a  way  that  pre- 
vents his  regaining  weight.  He  can't  force 
himself  to  eat  enough  nourishing  foods  to 
put  on  pounds.  Now  Stella  has  been  helpful 
here  and  follows  a  sixth  good  rule:  she  ac- 
cepts the  statements  of  the  doctors  when 
they  finally  decided  it  is  nerves  that  cause 
the  symptoms.  They  had  carefully  examined 
her  husband  and  found  no  organic  disease. 
She  is  willing  to  cater  to  Ed's  whimsical 
appetite  as  much  as  is  possible,  but  she  has 
gradually  weaned  him  from  his  false  ideas 
about  his  diet  and  has  gotten  him  to  eat  more 
and  more  of  the  proper  foods.  She  is  not 
encouraging  him  to  make  a  permanent 
invalid  or  dyspeptic  of  himself. 

Stella  has  a  seventh  rule  of  helpfulness,  that 
everyone  who  is  brought  into  personal  con- 
tact with  the  returned  combat-fatigued  man 
will  do  well  to  follow:  In  so  far  as  possible, 
treat  the  man  as  if  he  were  well  and  do  not 
sentimentalize  over  him.  Nervousness  that 
comes  as  the  result  of  combat  experience 
heals  in  time  and  leaves  a  man  mentally  and 
physically  well  again. 


"Some  of  the  boys  swore,  but 
most  of  them  prayed,"  tells 
this  Army  chaplain  who  leaped 
overboard  with  the  assault 
troops  on  subzero  Attu.  "  When 
they  were  hurt  bad,  they'd  beg 
me  to  sit  by  them  in  the  snow 
and  together  we'd  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer." 

The  heart-rending  story  of 
this  gentle  Carolina  preacher 
who  crawled  up  Alaska's  icy 
crags  and  into  the  teeth  of 
battle  with  your  G.L  comes  to 
you  in  How  America  Lives. 
In  the 
AIAHCH  .lOlTRIVAI. 


1^1 


There  is  no  more  dis- 
grace in  having  a 
"psycho"  diagnosis 
than  in  having  pneu- 
monia, but  in  re- 
verse there  is  no  more 
virtue  in  having  com- 
bat fatigue  than  in 
having  pneumonia, 
and  that  amount  of 
virtue  is  none.  The 
job  in  pneumonia  is 
to  get  well  as  fast  as 
possible.  The  job  in 
combat  fatigue  is  to 
get  well  as  fast  as 
possible.  The  best 
way  to  accomplish 
that  is  to  get  back  to 
work  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, to  learn  to  bring 
uncontrollable  irri- 
tability and  restless- 
ness and  changeable- 
ness  and  brooding 
depression  under 
self-control  and  not 
to  permit  these  traits  to  be  used  to  boss  and 
rule  or  bully  families  and  jobs  or  oneself. 
Industry  will  take  a  man  back  and  give  him 
more  than  the  even  break  because  he  is  a 
veteran,  but  it  cannot  and  should  not  try  to 
adapt  itself  indefinitely  to  temperish  whims 
and  lack  of  self-control. 

Ed  works  in  an  airplane  factory,  the 
Eastern  Aircraft  plant,  where  every  effort  is 
made  to  help  the  returned  combat  veteran 
to  help  himself.  Through  its  kind  and  wise 
and  understanding  medical  and  personnel 
staff,  it  tries  to  place  each  man  in  the  kind  of 
job  where  his  temporarily  changed  per- 
sonality can  be  adjusted  to  the  job.  Jobs  are 
changed  to  suit  the  man  and  his  illness,  and 
he  is  given  all  the  opportunity  he  needs  to 
get  medical  help  for  his  emotional  illness. 
Employers,  in  turn,  expect  the  man  to  do 
his  share  in  adjusting  as  rapidly  as  possible 
to  the  job.  Stella,  by  her  patience  and  wis- 
dom at  home,  has  done  her  job  so  well  that 
Eastern  Aircraft  quotes  Ed's  case  as  one  of 
their  best  examples  of  the  successfully 
handled  combat  veterans.  I  was  happy  to 
learn  that  combat  veterans  have  not  abused 
their  rights  and  the  "breaks"  industry  is 
giving  them,  but  are  turning  in  increasingly 
better  jobs  as  their  health  comes  back  to 
normality.  The  same  courage  and  strength 
that  made  them  remain  in  combat  until 
nerves  got  them  have  made  them  do  good 
jobs  when  they  go  back  to  war  plants  to 
finish  up  at  home  what  their  nervous  systems 
wouldn't  permit  them  to  finish  on  the  field 
of  battle. 


If  at  first  you 
don't  succeed 


{A  SEQUEL) 


IT  you've  got  a  little  grocer 
Who  is  worn  and  sad  and  gray 
And  you  ask  your  little  grocer 
For  Fels-Naptha  Soap  today  / 


IT  you  nag  him  and  you  scold  him 
Even  try  your  cutest  tricks 
Yet  in  spite  of  all  you've  told  him 
He  continues  to  say  "Nix." 


DOn  I  accuse  the  man  of  hoaxing 
Don't  mistrust  his  empty  shelf  — 
Think  of  Mrs.  Grocer  'coaxing' 
For  Fels-Naptha  Soap,  herself! 


Fels-Naptha 
Soap 

BAN/SHES  yATTLE-TAL£" GRAY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  1945 


vou<^ 


WHfi!f 


\ 


Of 


J 


Mort  VITAMIN  A 

than  X  servings  of  Peos 


Mort  CALCIUM  &  PMOSPMOnUS 

than  2H  servings  of 

American  Cheese 


IMort  mON 
than  1  servings  of 

Spinach 


JMore  VITAMIN  D 
than  10  ounces  of 

Butter 


More 
FOOD-CNERGY 

than  2  dishes  of 
Ice  Cream 


More  NIACIN 
than  S  siices  of 

Inrlched  Bread 


More  VITAMIN  B, 
than  3  servings  of 

Oatmeal 


More  VITAMIN  G 

than  H  pound  of 

Sirloin  Stealc 


Authorities  agree  ^vitamins  do  you  more  good 
in  combination  with  certain  other  food  elements! 


u  out  of  every  4  people  need 


^^^^ 


extra  vifamins  or  minerals — 
according  to  Government  re- 
ports.   Reasons  for  this  include 
ciencies  of  many  modern  foods 
vitamin-mineral  values  due  to  shi 
and  cooking/ 


If  taking  vitamins  doesn't  seem  to  be 
doing  you  as  much  good  as  you  hoped — 
this  may  be  the  reason!  Authorities  now 
know  Vitamins  do  not  work  alone!  They 
work  as  a  team  with  certain  other  food 
elements.  Therefore  scientists,  doctors, 
nutritionists  are  urging  "Take  your  vita- 
mins in  jood — for  best  results!" 

For  this  reason,  thousands  are  switch- 
ing to  Ovaltine.  Unlike  mere  "vitamin 
carriers" — Ovaltine  contains  not  only 
extra  vitamins,  but  nearly  <z// the  precious 
food  elements  necessary  for  peak  vital- 
ity. Especially  those  food  elements 
needed  for  vitamin  teamwork. 

For  example,  Vitamin  D,  Calcium  and 
Phosphorus  must  work  together — and 


vitamin  defi- 
— also  loss  of 
pping,  storing 


you  get  them  all  in  a  glass  of  Ovaltine 
made  with  milk.  Vitamin  A  and  Protein 
act  together  in  cell-building,  and  they're 
both  in  Ovaltine.  Vitamin  Bi  and  fuel- 
food  are  both  necessary  for  sparkling 
vitality — and  they're  combined  in  Oval- 
tine. 

Another  advantage — the  elements  ia 
Ovaltine  do  not  vary.  They  are  accurately 
measured  in  every  ounce.  That  is  why  it 
is  an  ideal  supplement  to  ordinary  foods 
which  lose  vitamin-values,  sometimes 
sharply,  especially  during  cooking. 

So  turn  to  Ovaltine,  as  thousands  are 
doing,  for  an  easy,  delicious  way  to  get 
the  extra  amounts  of  vitamins  and  min- 
erals you  need. 


PLAIN     AND     CHOCOLATE     FLAVORED 


l\ 


jply 

h 


k 


s,  Savickas  and  Ginny  know  that  milk  is  the  best  food  of  all  for  building  teeth. 


HERE  are  some  questions  that  dentists  hear  over 
and  over  again,  together  with  their  up-to-date  an- 
swers gathered  from  leading  authorities. 

*P<i  (4ete  OH^  aa^fe  eva<f  o^  ilea^A^n^  t^  teet^? 

No.  Any  product  which  claims  to  bleach  the  teeth 
should  be  looked  at  with  suspicion.  It  is  natural  for 
teeth  to  vary  in  color  from  pale  ivory  to  deep  cream,  and 
although  they  should  be  kept  scrupulously  clean,  no 
attempt  should  be  made  to  bleach  them  artificially. 

^A4(«0te*t  evte  toCet  "^eutcUf.  (a.  ^W  ^  (foctn. 

There  are  two  dangers  from  candy.  One  is  that  if 
eaten  frequently,  it  destroys  the  appetite  for  more  nec- 
essary foods.  The  other  is  that  when  it  is  eaten  between 
meals  the  teeth  are  not  brushed  afterward,  but  retain 
the  sugars  which  favor  the  growth  of  bacteria.  For 
this  reason,  the  "lollipop  habit"  is  a  vicious  one  from 
the  standpoint  of  dentistry,  since  the  candy  is  kept  in 
the  mouth  for  indefinite  periods.  The  ideal  time  for 
children  to  eat  candy  is  directly  after  meals,  when 
sweets  form  an  acceptable  supplement  to  basic  foods. 


DO  YOU  HAVE  MY  OF  THESE 
MISTAKEK  IDEAS  ADOUT  TEETH? 

If  so,  tvatch  out;  you  and  your  children 
may  be  heading  toward  tooth  trouble. 

UO  YOU  BELIEVE  THAT: 

9  It's  foolish  to  spend  money  on  baby  teeth  be- 
cause they're  only  temporary  anyway? 

0  There  is  a  satisfactory  way  of  bleaching  the 
teeth? 

9  It's  better  to  have  a  bad  tooth  out  and  "be 
done  with  it"? 

9  The  coarser  the  food,  the  more  it  strengthens 
and  polishes? 

9  A  dentifrice  isn't  really  doing  a  job  unless  it 
feels  gritty? 

#A  "tooth  or  two  out"  doesn't  matter  if  it  is 
in  the  back  where  it  doesn't  show? 

#Milk  drinking  for  tooth  strength  is  a  rule  ap- 
plying only  to  children? 

9  If  parents  have  poor  teeth,  the  children  are  apt 
to  be  handicapped,  too,  and  nothing  much  can 
be  done  about  it? 

%  Thumb-sucking  is  the  worst  possible  habit  for 
"spoiling  the  mouth"? 


and  when  toothbrushing  can  follow.    This  satisfies  the 
"sweet  tooth"  without  threatening  its  health. 

^^  t4«*Hd~a«c4^*e^  a.  aetcaeed   MCHace  ta  t^ 

While  it  is  not  a  desirable  habit,  it  is  no  longer  looked 
on  with  horror.  In  fact,  many  modern  authorities  be- 
lieve that  the  emotional  damage  done  by  using  drastic 
means  to  break  a  child  of  this  habit  is  worse  than  the 
possible  gain.  A  habit  which  is  really  more  dangerous, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  mouth  and  tooth  formation,  is 
that  of  leaning  the  jaw  heavily  on  the  arm  and  hand  as 
children  are  inclined  to  do  at  school  desks,  pushing  one 
side  of  the  face  out  of  line. 

tA^iK  eUdcue? 

Few,  if  any,  children  will  ever  use  a  brush  vigorously 
enough  to  do  damage.  A  small  brush  can  be  used  from 
two  years  of  age  on.  Teeth  and  gums  should  be  brushed 
at  least  twice  a  day,  preferably  after  morning  and  eve- 
ning meals.  First,  brush  the  grinding  surfaces,  then  the 
inside,  using  a  back-and-forth  stroke.  Brush  outside 
surfaces  last,  using  a  circular  sweep  that  includes  gums 
as  well  as  teeth.  A  dentifrice  should  clean  thoroughly 
and  may  be  mildly  abrasive,  but  should  never  be  gritty 
enough  to  injure  the  enamel. 

"Ui/e  one  eutvidecC  £b  c^etv  eaevt^c  ^««U.  'iO^Uc^ 

pHCd  eiftc  Ce4t?  .^^  -^ 

Raw  fruits  and  vegetables,  such  as  carrots,  celery, 
hearts  of  cabbage,  apples,  and  dry  toast  and  bread 
crusts  are  excellent  for  teeth  and  digestion.  It  does  not, 
however,  benefit  your  teeth  to  crack  nuts  or  crunch  hard 
candy,  and  may  injure  them  seriously. 

^d  £C  tfuie  tAat  UdfriH^  cottid  6e  cctned  6tf  c<n- 
teciive  eCcMtidtfUf? 

No  such  sweeping  claim  can  be  made,  but  it  is  undeni- 
ably true  that  many  speech  defects  have  been  improved 
by  oral  surgery.  A  child  whose  first  words  indicate  that 
he  may  have  a  speech  problem  should  have  a  dental 
examination  even  more  promptly  than  his  brothers  and 
sisters. 

^t  €v/Uit  if^  d/iacUeC  t/ie  4tna£^^teH£H^9^  teet^ 

6c  dtanted? 

Work  of  this  kind  can  be  undertaken  when  a  child  is 
ten  or  eleven  years  old.   If  the  child  is  too  young,  it  is 

149 


hard  to  get  him  to  co-operate  in  the  way  that  gives  best 
results.  There  are,  naturally,  individual  exceptions,  and 
each  case  must  be  decided  by  the  dentist  in  charge. 

"20^  *iot  fruU  out  a  eCeciUfed,  tootA.  c*tdteeuC  o^ 
^i(itc*t^  it,  i^  t^  leduCtcMf  ozvitcf.  iOKt  ^oitt^ 
t»  d/uMf? 

Because  you  not  only  lessen  your  chewing  ability,  but 
weaken  your  other  teeth,  for  this  reason:  your  remain- 
ing teeth  on  either  side  of  the  cavity  will  tend  t^move 
over  to  help  fill  the  gap.  This  means  they  no  longer  meet 
exactly  with  the  teeth  above  (or  below)  them.  This  un- 
even meeting  puts  a  strain  on  the  teeth  so  that  they  will 
not  last  as  long  as  they  would  under  normal  conditions. 
Always  save  a  tooth,  unless  your  dentist  advises  you 
to  have  it  out. 

70^  i4.  it  Kcceddontf  ta  ^  t^nau^  eut,e*Hj6an.- 

letdditt^  facn4od  a^  toot^iCcddttedd  ei^en.  teet^anc 

focMed  eutcC  6e^onc  a  fiiiitc  id  tttdented? 

As  a  tnatter  of  fact,  it  isn't  necessary  any  more.  The 
newest  method  is  to  fit  the  plate  in  place  while  the  gums 
are  still  soft  enough  to  adjust  themselves  absolutely  to 
the  shape  of  the  plate.  There  need  be  no  more  discom- 
fort than  there  is  in  adjusting  the  gums  to  the  plates  in 
the  old  way.  A  period  of  sensitivity  is  inevitable  in  either 
case,  but  the  new  thinking  is  that  the  sooner  this  transi- 
tion state  is  over  the  better,  psychologically  as  well  as 
physically.  There  have  been  cases  where  the  dentures 
were  put  in  place  within  twenty-four  hours  of  the  final 
extractions !  A  long  cry  from  the  day  when  it  was  neces- 
sary to  mumble  toothlessly  for  a  month  or  more.  But 
then,  all  of  dentistry  is  making  such  wonderful  strides 
forward  that  there  is  less  excuse  all  the  time  for  losing 
one's  natural  equipment  early  in  life,  and  none  at  all  for 
letting  it  go  unreplaced. 

There  is  an  experiment  now  under  way  which  is  being 
watched  with  great  hope  by  leading  dental  authorities. 
It  should  be  followed  even  more  eagerly  by  the  millions 
of  us  whom  it  is  intended  to  benefit.  For  if  it  works  out 
as  expected,  it  will  mean  better  teeth  for  the  whole  na- 
tion tomorrow,  better  teeth  for  all  our  babies  being  born 
today. 

This  is  not  a  remote  laboratory  experiment,  but  a 
practical  test  being  conducted  in  Newburgh,  New 
York.  Into  the  drinking  water  of  this  town  there  is  be- 
ing introduced  a  very  small,  expertly  controlled  amount 
of  a  tasteless  element  called  fluorine. 

What  does  fluorine  do?  Well,  it  is  by  way  of  being  a 
dental  miracle  worker,  for  it  is  now  an  established  fact 
that  in  communities  where  it       {Coniinued  on  Page  15S) 


Here  each  individual  dwelling  in  the  row-house  group  has  been 
given  a  plot  of  ground  only  thirty  feet  wide,  just  to  show  how 
much  can  be  done  by  skillful  designing  within  this  limited 
space.  The  tool  house,  which  can  also  be  used  for  play  and  for 
extra  storage  room,  helps  to  separate  lawn  and  drying  yard  from 
the  garden  patch  at  the  rear,  not  in  the  picture,  which  opens 
onto  the  community  park  and  playground  area.  The  row-house 
group  of  which  a  glimpse  can  be  had  in  the  bcu;kground  is  across 
the  roadway  that  serves  the  houses  inthis  section  of  the  development. 


Notice  how  the  exterior  treatments  vary  from  house  to  house, 
though  the  essential  structures,  for  economy  in  construction, 
remain  the  same.  The  roof  projection  shades  the  bedroom  win- 
dows from  the  high  summer  sun,  but  allows  the  low  winter 
sun  to  enter  and  help  warm  the  house.  The  second  floor,  as  you 
can  see,  projects  slightly  over  the  ground  floor,  partly  for  the 
same  reason,  and  partly  to  increase  the  privacy  of  the  terrace 
onto  which  the  dining  end  of  the  living  room  opens.  The 
seclusion  of  the  garden  is  merely  a  question  of  hedge  and  fence. 


151 


BY  RICHilllD  Py 


Architectural  Editor  of  the  Journal 


IT  TAKES  all  types  of  houses  to  make  the  homes  in 
which  America  Lives.  It  takes  everything  from  single 
dwellings,  which  are  most  Americans'  dream  of  home, 
to  vast  elevator  apartments  that  offer  the  utmost  in 
service.  For  greatest  economy  in  rental  living,  it  takes 
the  flats  of  various  kinds,  from  the  two-family  flat,  such 
as  that  in  which  the  Savickas  occupy  the  second  floor,  to 
the  many-family  flats  of  two  and  three  stories.  It  takes 
the  double  dwelling,  too,  with  its  saving  over  the  single 
house  on  the  cost  of  land  and  construction.  And  finally  it 
takes  one  of  the  most  familiar  types  of  all — the  row  house, 
which  offers  more  for  the  money  than  any  other  type  of 
house  in  the  whole  collection. 

That  being  the  case,  we  here  present  a  specially  de- 
signed row  house  by  Vernon  DeMars,  to  surprise  you  with 
its  unexpected  possibilities.  The  surprise  will  be  that  a 
row  house,  in  addition  to  its  lower  cost,  can  also  have 
privacy,  sunlight,  space,  individuality  and  beauty;  for 
those,  you  will  agree,  have  seldom  seemed  to  be  its  cus- 
tomary qualities.  When  you  come  right  down  to  it,  the 
reason  for  row  houses  is  to  give  people  a  whole  house  and 
a  whole  yard  of  their  own  for  considerably  less  than  a 
comparable  house  would  cost  off  by  itself.  And  in  a  prop- 
erly planned  community,  the  adjacent  land  thus  saved  by 
the  close  coupling  of  the  houses  is  then  devoted  to  the 
common  use  of  the  row-house  residents — for  playgrounds, 
greenery  and  outlook. 

The  principal  thing  to  provide  in  a  row  house  is  a  feeling 
of  privacy;  here,  by  reason  of  Mr.  DeMars'  design,  made 
practically  complete.  First,  the  party  walls  are  perfectly 
soundproof.  Furthermore,  these  party  walls  extend,  as 
you  can  see,  beyond  the  garden  face  of  the  building, 


MODERN  DESIGN 

MAKES  OPTIONAL  FLOOR 

PLANS  POSSIRLE 


FIRST  FLOOR 

.  The  flexibility,  and  thus  the  individuality,  of  each  floor  is  dent 
onstrated  here  by  the  fact  that  if  you  should  prefer  a  more  com- 
pact kitchen  unit,  alloiving  for  a  passage  through  from  roadway 
to  garden,  you  could  have  it  os  shown  on  small  kitchen  plan. 
Laxge  plan  shows  kitchen-laundry  scheme  as  pictured  on  page  153. 


TERRACE 


creating,  in  effect,  an  alcove  into  which  it  is  impossible  to 
see  from  next  door.  Then  on  into  the  garden  itself:  tall, 
tightly  woven  screening  fences  shield  the  sitting  terraces, 
while  high  hedges  or  vine-covered  trellises  enclose  the  rest 
of  the  yard. 

Rather  than  the  customary  sameness,  here  each  per- 
son's house  in  the  row  is  more  than  a  street  number.  Each 
has  been  given  its  definite  individuality,  not  only  by 
special  color  treatment  and  texture  outside,  but  by  occa- 
sional setbacks,  as  you  can  see  at  the  left  side  of  the  pic- 
ture. This  individuality  can  have  hardly  enough  effect  on 
the  cost  to  matter,  for  any  row-house  project  worth  talk- 
ing about  would  rightly  be  a  big-scale  undertaking,  and 
the  little  variations  in  finish  which  make  so  much  differ- 
ence in  looks  would  make  very  little  in  dollars. 

Speaking  of  individuality,  the  architect  suggests  a  novel 
idea  for  sales  demonstration  which  would  open  up  even 
further  opportunities  for  personal  tastes  and  family  re- 
quirements. Say  there  were  to  be  several  or  many  groups 
of  row  houses  in  the  development,  with  from  six  to  eight 
individual  dwellings  in  each  group.  Then  while  all  groups 
were  under  construction,  one  group  would  be  completely 
finished  for  demonstration  purposes;  and  in  that  finished 
group  each  individual  dwelling  would  have  a  different 
room  arrangement,  different  scheme  of  decoration,  and 
different  types  or  treatment  of  utility  units,  such  as 
kitchen,  laundry,  bathrooms.  All  this  would  be  possible 
by  reason  of  interchangeable  prebuilt  panels  and  units. 
And  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  purchasers,  who  could 
then  select  the  house  arrangement  as  well  as  the  location 
they  like,  the  famous  monotonous  repetition  of  row-house 
living  would  be  gone  forever. 


ENTRANCE  ROOF 


:p 


BOY5  r—       y, 

15'  X  12'  Q  J^— 


MM 


STORAGE 


PARINTS' 


;=i 


CIRL 


5TUDV/^0 

9X12/     ^ 


SECOND  FLOOR 

The  secoiul  floor,  because  of  the  clioice  made  possible  by  inter- 
changeable  partition  panels  and  prebuilt  closets,  can  havi 
anywhere  from  two  to  four  bedrooms  as  desired,  with  ntoreoi 
less  storage  space,  all  depending  on  individual  needs.  You  car 
even  alter  tiie  room  arrangemen  t  with  changing  requirements 


152 


U^ect/LhviA,  ^tMje/ttc<c : 


cu«xt 'rklfieo  luM  acte<C>  eve 


■"■  A   great    metropolitan    newspaper   requested   its 
women  readers  to  submit  a   ""Memo  to  Manu- 
facturers" telling  just  what  they  wanted  in  house- 
hold equipment  after  the  war. 

Particularly  interesting  to   Philco   is  the  fact  that  the  thing 

most   women  wanted  most  was  a  new  refrigerator.    Nearly 

30%  of  the  women   who  wrote  were 

hoping  for  a  new  refrigerator  .  .  .just 

about  double  the  desire  for  any  other 

appliance. 


And   these  women  had   very  definite     ,      ^  .^   ^  ^ 

ideas   on   what    they   wanted    in    that    ^^ijr^>^/\r^^^/^^" 
new  refrigerator !  They  wanted  a  sepa- 
rate compartment  for  freezing  fresh  meats,  poultry  and  ice 
and  ample  space  for  storing  frozen  foods. 


Philco's  post-war  contribution  to 
better  and  more  economical  living 
.  .  .  Philco's  completely  satisfactory 
answer  to  the  expressed  desire  of 
the  women  of  America. 


The  Freezer-Locker  will  be  just  one  of  many  Philco  develop- 
ments. This  is  not  the  time  to  speak  of  them  .  .  .  nor  the 
time  to  suggest  their  delivery  is  close  at  hand.  But  great 
things  are  coming  .  .  .  great  progress  is  being  made.  So,  Mrs. 
America,  look  to  Philco  for  the  most  advanced  types  of  post- 
war refrigerators  ! 

Tune  in  the  RADIO  HALL  OP  FAME  ...a  full  hour  of  Top  Hits  from 
all  f elds  of  entertamjnent.  Sunday,  6  to  7  P.M.,  EWT,  Blue  Network. 


cream 


Today  .  .  .  Philco  can  report  it  has  acted  on  that  recommenda- 
tion. Even  before  the  war,  several  Philco  Refrigerators  provided 
a  separate  compartment  for  frozen  food  storage  and  home 
freezing.  Some  day  . . .  the  date  depending  on  military  require- 
ments .  .  .  Philco  dealers  will  display  new,  modern,  greatly 
improved  refrigerators  .  .  .  featuring  the  Freezer- Locker  .. . 


PHILCO 


^ymncm^^^rQaa/^ 


IT  ALL  began  on  the  day  Mrs.  Savickas  first  came  to  call  on  us  here  at  the 
Journal.  Mrs.  Savickas  has  worked  in  a  factory,  seen  the  miracles  that 
can  emerge  from  a  production  line  and,  like  every  one  of  us,  has  an  awed 
respect  for  what  industry  is  able  to  achieve. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful,"  she  said  wistfully,  as  we  showed  her  the 
kitchens  we  work  with  here,  "if  they  could  do  something  about  kitchens?  If  a 
whole  kitchen,  with  a  washing  machine  folded  up  into  it  somehow,  would  just 
roll  off,  at  a  price  we  could  manage,  as  cars  used  to  do  before  the  war.  Edward 
could  buy  a  Ford,  but  I'd  certainly  buy  a  'Ford'  kitchen!" 

"H'm-m,"  breathed  the  Workshop  staff,  in  one  collective  voice,  while  a 
bright  gleam  of  interest  flashed  from  eye  to  eye.  And  proceeded  to  sit  down  and 
figure  how  it  might  be  worked  out,  if  it  could  happen. 

Isn't  it  conceivable  that  Mrs.  Savickas,  and  her  thousands  of  counterparts 
who  long  for  a  well-equipped  workable  kitchen  and  laundry,  would  be  able  to 
have  it  at  a  price  within  their  reach,  if  the  equipment  could  be  produced  "all 
of  a  piece"?  Modern  manufactured-house  makers  are  promising  a  lot  of  house 
for  the  money  in  postwar  years.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  great  saving  to  have  all 
"innards"  wrapped  in  one  all-encompassing  jacket,  with  resulting  economy  in 
plumbing,  wiring  and  retailing  costs,  rather  than  have  each  unit  wear  its  own 
little  separate  case?  Think  of  all  the  lovely  shiny  enamel  lost  to  sight  and  use 
at  the  sides,  when  separate  units  stand  cheek-by-jowl.  Think,  too,  of  the 
ornery  little  crevices  that  wouldn't  be  there  to  need  cleaning,  if  one  casing 
sheltered  everything ! 

Before  we  tell  you  more  about  our  recipe  for  this  particular  kind  of  kitchen 
a  la  Journal,  why  don't  you  flip  back  to  page  150  and  take  one  more  look  at 
the  "Good  Neighbor"  house,  for  we  pinned  our  wishing  down  to  fit  the 
probable  needs  of  this  proposed  postwar-type  of  manufactured  housing.  It 
worked  out  to  include  all  kitchen  and  laundry  units  in  one  capsule,  a  whopping 
big  capsule  eight  feet  long  by  four  feet  wide — complete  with  everything  to 


make  a  housewife  glow  with  pleasure  in  her  career.  This,  perhaps,  is  the  "Ford 
de  luxe"  model,  as  Mrs.  Savickas  suggested.  There  are  endless  possibilities  for 
Buick  and  Chrysler  variations. 

Will  i/mu  ennttf  into  thv  kHrht'it  noir — just  as  if  it  were  real?  Food  side 
first,  of  course.  Let's  say  the  grocery  boy's  gone  whistling  out;  or  more  likely 
you've  come  struggling  in.  with  arms  full  and  hat  sliding  over  one  car!  At 
any  rate,  your  groceries  are  there  at  the  end  of  the  counter.  The  plan  of  pro- 
cedure is  efficient  as  a  production  line,  and  it's  fun  to  work  that  way,  on  two 
counts:  partly  because  work  goes  so  smoothly;  partly  because  the  time  it  saves 
is  legitimately  yours,  for  reading,  playing  with  the  children— or  just  dreaming, 
if  you've  a  mind  to! 

Well,  there  you  are  standing  at  the  sink,  to  wash  and  prepare  vegetables. 
(Provision  has  been  made,  a  concealed  compartment  beneath  the  sink,  for 
garbage  disposal.)   Now  you're  ready  to  store  them. 

Thitt  is  irhtTf  »nu  kwp  fund  t'ttol  and  fn'Mh.  Directly  beneath  the  sink, 
just  where  it's  most  convenient,  is  fifteen  cubic  feet  of  refrigerated  storage 
space — actually  more  than  twice  the  amount  considered  enough  in  the  average 
prewar  refrigerator.  That  was  six  cubic  feet.  Compartments  are  drawers  that 
slide  out  slick  as  a  whistle,  so  you  don't  have  to  paw  like  a  puppy  to  get  at 
things  in  back.  They  have  rounded  corners  for  easy  cleaning.  Temperatures 
range  from  the  proper  degree  for  ordinary  things  to  the  frosty  cold  needed  for 
storage  of  frozen  foods,  with  a  humidified  drawer  for  vegetables.  Praise  be, 
there's  a  special  tall  space  for  tall  bottles  other  than  milk  bottles,  which  go 
with  the  dairy  products  in  their  own  compartment,  nearest  the  preparation 
space  where  you're  most  likely  to  use  them. 

ThtM  in  trhvrv  fond  in  fixed  and  wnlxvd.  Left  of  the  sink,  on  five  long 
lovely  feet  of  clear  counter  space,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  whip  up  a  dream 
cake.  Directly  above  is  the  outlet  for  your  (Continued  on  Page  166) 


153 


HOW  AMERICA  LIVI'lN 


154 


^/wdic  cmlf^  ^aaii 


/ 


Yes,  those  aristocrats  of  the  deep  — 
Birds  Eye  Fish  Fillets — are  on  the  way 
back  to  your  dinner  plate! 

Not  in  either  the  numbers  or  the  vari- 
eties you  used  to  see.  But  any  Birds  Eye 
Fish  will  make  you  a  delicious  Lenten 
Dinner!  Take,  for  instance,  the  "mis- 
understood Cod".  .  . 


fillet  them.  We  do  the  time-consuming, 
messy  kitchen  work  for  you. 


Too  many  know  him  as  a  salted,  rock- 
hard  individual.  Whereas  any  trawler- 
man  will  tell  you  "the  ocean-fresh  Cod 
is  the  king  of  all  eating  fish!"  Note  that 
word  "ocean-fresh".  .  . 

Birds  Eye  captures  it! 

Now,  quick-freezing  captures  that 
marvelous  ocean  tang  and  freshness. 
And  .  . . 

Birds  Eye  does  it !  We  nab  the  Cod  in 
the  cold  New  England  waters,  rush  them 
to  port.  There,  we  clean,  bone,  wash,  and 

BIRDS  EYE 
FROSTED  FOODS 


Then  the  fillets  are  wrapped  in  cello- 
phane, packaged,  and  quick-frozen — 
within  4  hours  after  docking!  Sealed  in 
is  that  grand,  just-caught  freshness, 
held  for  you! 

Just  unwrap,  cook,  and  serve.  And  be- 
cause every  ounceyou  pay  for  reaches 
your  table,  these  fillets  are  really  eco- 
nomical. Look  for  Birds  Eye  Cod  Fillets 
in  your  nearest  Birds  Eye  Store — and 
try  some  the  first  chance  you  get! 


SU'lla   cheerfully  purees    the   string    beans,    strains    the    soup. 
Some  for  Giiiny,  some  for  Ed,  u7io's  eating  "light''  these  days. 

Food  for  Fidgety  Folks 


18    ^OUK   weight   taking  a  nose  dive?    Afraid  to  eat? 
Does  your  tummy  have  the  jitters?  Appetite  leave  you 

at  the  mere  sight  of  food?   If  you  are  or  ever  have  been 
in  this  upsetting  condition,  you  can  well  understand  what, 
Ed  Savickas  has  been  going  through. 

Back  from  overseas — with  the  reality  of  war  still  too 
vivid — Ed  is  restless  and  nervous.  Indigestion  heckles 
him;  restful  sleep  is  impossible  at  times:  those  dreams — 
you've  had  them,  if  not  on  the  same  subject.  Now  and 
then  he  goes  on  a  self-imposed  liquid  diet,  believing  that 
any  solid  food  at  all  will  disagree  wit|i  him.  Doctors  at 
the  plant  prescribe  no  special  diet.  "Just  soft-pedal  the 
fats,"  they  say.  A  daily  "take"  of  vitamin  B-complex  for 
appetite  and  nerves  is  the  "medicine." 

Stella  is  doing  her  imderstanding  best  to  cope  with 
the  situation — really  works  at  it.  Her  calm,  gentle  dis- 
position is  much  of  the  cure. 


mi 


Oni»KIKS  FIKOM  IIEADCIIIARTERS 

Washington,  D.  C. 

BUILD  UP  WITH  Bi.  People  who  get  too  little  thiamine 
have  poor  appetite:  it  aids  digestion,  steadies  the  nerves  and 
keeps  you  on  the  up  and  up.  Breakfast  cereals,  whole-grain  and  en- 
riched breads  and  dried  brewer's  yeast  are  important  firsts.  Dried 
peas,  lentils,  and  all  forms  of  beans,  spinach,  asparagus,  corn, 
tomatoes,  baked  potatoes  and  citrus  fruits  add  their  bit.  The  yolks 
of  2  eggs  provide  as  much  as  a  medium-sized  baked  potato;  1  pint  of 
milk  as  much  as  3  eggs.  Pork,  liver,  kidney — best  bets  of  meats. 


f?W  ^9Henie^  ^coed 


155 


Remt  Mt>ark»  wonder  a.  If  sheep 
counting  doesn't  help — and  it  really 
doesn't — if  you're  keyed  up,  you  might 
try  keeping  a  plate  of  crackers  or  a  cov- 
ered glass  of  milk  along  with  it  in 
handy  reach  for  middle-of-the-night 
nibbles.  Ed  has  taken  to  roaming  the 
house  at  night— usually  ends  up  at  the 
refrigerator. 

Eat  aftener  and  not  »o  much.  Four 
or  five  light  meals  instead  of  three 
squares  are  far  better  for  fidgety  folks. 
Avoid  all  racily  seasoned  foods  like  the 
plague;  coarse-textured  vegetables — 
unless  you  sieve  them — and  strong- 
flavored  vegetables  only  invite  trouble. 
Fatty  foods  and  rich  desserts  can  be  un- 
pleasant after-dinner  companions.  Bet- 
ter forget  them.  Strong  tea  and  coffee 
are  not  for  you.  Weaken  them  with  hot 
milk  if  you're  not  a  milk  drinker 
straight. 

it  you're  taking  over  the  job  of 

bringing  someone  in  your  family  back 
on  an  even  keel,  remember  to  serve 
food  as  attractive  as  you  can  make  it. 
Daintiness  appeals  to  men  as  well  as  to 
women.  Plain  puree  of  spinach,  for  in- 
stance, is  slushy  and  dull  on  a  plate. 
Add  white  sauce  to  lighten  it  in  color. 
Serve  in  a  yellow  casserole  with  a  frill 
of  mashed  potato  all  round  and  it 
looks  like  something  really  meant  to  be 
eaten. 

Xot  hunaru  for  breahfastf  Ar- 
range the  rising  hour  long  enough  ahead 
so  there's  time  for  a  leisurely  breakfast. 
That's  easier  said  than  done,  I  know, 
but  you  might  set  the  clock  ahead  if 
you  can  pretend  to  disbelieve  it.  A  short 
walk  with  the  dog  or  a  made-up  errand 
ior  the  no-breakfast  eater  will  give  him 
a  sniff  of  fresh  air,  and  you  know  what 
ithat  does  to  the  appetite.  Put  a  slice  of 
Dacon  to  sizzling.  Even  if  you  have  to 
;at  it  yourself,  the  smell  of  it  may  put 
lim  in  the  mood  to  drink  some  orange 
nice  or  nibble  at  a  piece  of  toast.  Once 
you've  got  him  to  the  fruit,  toast  and 
lot-milk-and-coffee  stage,  work  up  to 
\  more  balanced  breakfast  gradually, 
hange  your  menu  every  day. 

Breakfast  brief m.  Serve  fruits  that 
:>lip  down  easily :  juices;  mashed  banana; 
i:ooked  prune  or  apricot  puree — some- 
;imes  serve  it  in  an  orange  shell  for 
ooks;  applesauce  or  a  skinned  baked 
ipple. 

Cereal — a  six-letter  word  meaning 
'appetite."  It's  packed  with  vitamin 
3i,  with  energy,  and  so  on.  Hot  cooked 
mes  that  are  smooth  can  be  served  as 
s.  Sieve  coarser  ones.  Dress  them  up 
vith  a  fruit  garnish  or  brown  sugar. 
idake  "milk  toast"  out  of  shredded 
irheat  and  hot  milk.  Many  other  ready- 
o-eats,  if  soaked  up  with  hot  milk,  fit 
tito  the  "soft"  list  too. 

Shirr  the  eggs  with  milk  in  little  oven- 
»roof  dishes  as  a  change  from  soft- 
ooked,  poached  and  scrambled. 

luncheon     or    dinner.      You     can 

volve  appetizing  menus  out  of  the 
mooth,  bland,  easy-to-digest  foods, 
jlere  are  some  suggestions.  Keep  meals 
mall,  as  the  between  hours  are — or 
hould  be — occasionally  punctuated 
'ith  milk  drinks.  Serve  dry  toast  for 
bread."  Remove  all  membrane  and 
from  fruits.  You  know  best 
'hether  your  "patient"  can  or  can't 
rink  beverages  other  than  milk.  Raw- 
egetable  salads  are  not  usually  right 
)r  semi-invalids. 

.,       *     *     * 

Creamed  Eggs  and  Cress 
on  Toasted  Johnnycake 

Scalloped  Tomatoes 

pplesauce  Pudding — Custard  Sauce 


Broiled  Chopped  Beef 

Mashed  Potatoes  with  Carrot 

Puree  of  Green  Beans 

Chilled  Cooked  Rice  with 
Crushed  Berries 

•  *      * 

Strained  Chicken-and-Celery  Broth 

Scalloped  Noodles  and  Spinach 

Baked  Squash 

Grapefruit  Sections  with 
Lemon  and  Honey 

Small  Cream  Puffs 

■A-    *    • 

Strained  Cream-of-Celery  Soup 

Tomato  Omelet  Pureed  Peas 

Orange  Sherbet 

■*      •      * 

Baked  Chicken  in  Milk 

Baked  Sweet  Potato 

Spinach  Timbales 

Crushed  Pineapple  and 

Orange  Sections — 

Oilless  Cooked-Fruit  Dressing 

Meringue  Custard  Pudding 

•  •     * 

Potato  Soup 

Shirred  Egg  with  Tomato  Sauce 

Baked  Apple  without  Skin 

*  •      • 

Tomato  Soup  with  Croutons 

Poached  Eggs  Florentine 

Lemon  Milk  Sherbet  with 
Pureed  Apricot  Sauce 

*  *      • 

Halibut  Souffle  with  Egg  Sauce 

Mashed  Carrot  Ring — 
Puree  of  Peas  in  Center 

Jellied  Rhubarb  Juice 

*  •     • 

Hamburger-Stuffed  Potatoes 

Mashed  Carrots  on  Toast — 
Finely  Chopped  Parsley 

Tomato  Aspic — Mild  Seasoning, 
No  Dressing 

Floating  Island 

*  •     * 

Bouillon 

Creamed  Sweetbreads  in  Toast  B^kets 

Puree  of  Peas 

Baked  Honey  Custard  with 
Orange  Sections 

•  •      • 

Clear  Hot  Vegetable  Juices 

Flounder  Birds  Asparagus  Puree 

Baked-Potato  Halves 

Jam  Bavarian  Cream 

•  *      -A- 

Strained  Mushroom  Soup 
Broiled  Lamb  Chop — 
Water-Cress  Garnish 

Stewed  Tomatoes  with 
Croutons  in  Small  Casserole 

Vanilla  Ice  Cream 


Darfng' 

IRON 

6\/ecy  da/  / 


./i 


M  s,^ 


^% 


vaa^?^ 


/: 


>rJ 


■  m. 


Vh  BOSCO  and  make  milk  a  treat 
Add  iron-r.ch  BOSCO  ^^^^.^^_ 


No  need  to  "bribe"  your  chiV 
dren  to  drir^k  milk.  Just  add 
de  icious   chocolate-flavored 
Bosco,ar.dn.ilkdrtr.king  be- 
comes a  treat.  Ar.d  remember 
BOSCO  is  so  rich  m  Iron  and 
Vitamin  D  that  four  tea- 
spoonfuls  in  milk  supply  the 


full  minimum  daily  require 

ment  of  these  two  important 

elements. 

•  VVar    condiHons    may    prevent 

tour    .roce.    .jn^^V-^,^;','i! 

BOSCO  you  want  '^''^"         „  g^j 

ol  stock.    _„a-«jp?«-BS- 


4 


CHOCOUATe  FLAVORBO 
BOSCO  SUR£  MAK5S 
/V»(tK  TASTE  WONDERFUL 


0m 


^:e^ 


This  is  the  living  room  of  tiie  Good  Neighbor 
house  designed  for  the  Savickas  family .  Todays 
modern  rooms  are  friendlier,  the  furniture  is 
better  and  more  comfortable,  the  colors  gayer. 
Sectional  pieces  arrange  to  economize  spate, 
making  the  room  look  more  spacious.  Sunlight  and 
a  uindiiH    lii'u    become  part  of  the  decoration. 


EVERYTHING  about  the  living  room  photographed 
above  suggests  new  living  techniques.  This  is  one 
reason  Ed  and  Stella  Savickas  were  so  excited  about 
it,  and  about  the  Good  Neighbor  house  especially 
planned  for  them  on  pages  100  and  101.  Since  you  will 
be  seeing  so  many  new  developments  in  modern  inte- 
riors from  now  on,  a  few  pointers  will  help  you  to  under- 
stand and  enjoy  them  as  they  come  along. 
Modern  liafharounds  are  plain,  partly  because  the 
walls  are  made  of  newly  developed  materials,  often  put 
up  in  sections  or  units,  like  the  one  in  the  photograph. 
The  surface  is  usually  textured  and  looks  velvety  when 
painted.  Windows  are  few  and  large,  or  grouped  so  that 
there  is  plenty  of  room  for  built-in  cabinets,  shelves  and 
other  conveniences  along  the  walls.  These  built-ins,  by 
the  way,  eliminate  the  necessity  for  small  stands,  maga- 
zine racks,  and  so  forth,  which  clutter  the  average  room 
and  complicate  housekeeping. 

Light,  air  and  sun  become  part  of  the  room  atmos- 
phere, and  you  accommodate  your  furnishings  to  them 
instead  of  shutting  them  out  in  the  old  way.  A  big  win- 
dow view  is  part  of  the  decoration,  so  you  leave  it  un- 
covered. A  curtain  draws  when  you  want  privacy — all 
easier  and  better  than  cell-like  seclusion.  Floors  are 
often  of  poured  materials  or  fitted  sections  of  new  com- 
positions—no cracks — and  you  may  use  rugs  or  carpets, 
or  just  leave  the  floors  bare  if  you  like. 
IHodvrn  Furniture  is  not  a  Style,  like  Sheraton  or 
Victorian,  to  be  matched  up  in  a  correct  way,  but  is  the 


Interior  Decoration  Editor  of  the  Journal 

name  given  to  many  kinds  of  simple  furniture,  most  of 
which  emphasizes  its  angular  construction  and  natural- 
wood  finishes.  Comfortable  cushioning  for  chairs  and 
sofas  is  an  appealing  feature  of  modern  furniture,  and 
great  care  is  taken  to  have  seating  pieces  fit  and  sup- 
port the  human  form.  ^ 

The  best  modern  is  medium  in  scale,  so  conservative 
that  you  are  often  not  sure  it  really  is  modern,  and  com- 
bines well  with  any  traditional  pieces  you  wish  to  put 
into  the  room.  The  furniture  used  in  the  room  photo- 
graphed is  this  kind  of  modern. 

Sectional  furniture  is  a  happy  development  of  mod- 
ern. Sofas  which  come  in  three,  four  or  five  units,  which 
you  can  arrange  togethet  or  separate  to  use  as^chairs, 
are  particularly  usable.  Chests,  cabinets,  corner  tables 
and  shelves  come  in  matching  woods  such  as  blond 
mahogany,  sycamore  and  maple,  and  of  uniform  height 
so  that  you  can  turn  a  corner  and  extend  them  in  any 
direction,  fill  a  gap  or  round  out  a  grouping. 

Plate  glass  is  used  for  table  tops  in  many  cases,  and 
for  style  and  protection  over  utility  surfaces  such  as 
desks,  dining  tables  and  servers.  Glass  is  to  be  consid- 
ered a  modern  structural  material  also. 

Modern  Color  Sehemen  show  light  plain  background 
and  clear  fresh  colors  such  as  emerald  green,  gold, 
watermelon  pink  and  larkspur  blue.  The  textures  of 
fabrics  are  rough  or  homespun  in  effect,  and  most  dra- 
peries are  styled  simply.  The  fashion  of  a  modern 
room,  by  the  way,  is  often  in  its  color  scheme.    Right 


now  we  are  indulging  our  taste  for  really  beautiful  and 
even  exotic  colors,  such  as  the  japonica  pink  in  the  room 
photographed.  If  the  wall  colors  are  neutral,  you  need 
not  be  afraid  to  dramatize  your  own  particular  color 
favorite  in  your  decorations. 

Modern  Arrangement  groups  the  furniture  SO  that 
open  spaces  are  left.  This  often  means  placing  pieces  at 
right  angles.  But  we  don't  fill  in  "empty  spots"  as  we 
used  to  do.  We  push  the  furniture  back  and  place  the 
emphasis  on  the  empty  spaces!  It  is  a  good  tonic  for 
any  family  room,  modern  or  not — try  it. 
Modern  Suagestiona.  The  charm  of  the  all-out 
modern  room  is  in  its  simplicity  and  obvious  suitability 
to  certain  types  of  American  families.  But  you  do  not 
have  to  go  all-out  modern  to  enjoy  its  refreshing  quali- 
ties in  a  traditional  house.  Try  modern  arrangement  for 
a  change.  Or  introduce  a  modern  color  scheme  to  give  a 
lift  to  your  beloved  antiques — quite  oddly,  they  look 
modern,  too,  with  the  borrowed  glamour. 

If  you  have  courage  and  like  style,  do  your  walls  over 
in  elegantly  plain  modern — aqua,  pink,  chartreuse  or 
platinum— and  hang  long,  straight  draperies  of  the 
same  color.   Modern  touches  give  old  rooms  a  lift. 

If  you  are  planning  a  modern  postwar  house,  don't  be 
disturbed  about  using  the  furnishings  you  now  have,  if 
you  prefer  them.  You  may  need  a  new  color  scheme,  and 
some  of  the  older  pieces  may  require  slip-covering,  but 
you  will  find  that  modern  backgrounds  arc  versatile  and 
do  not  contrast  any  style  of  furnishings  unfavorably. 


156 


■■Aiir     laannl/ii     ■limn 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Lite  far  approoch  of  Spring  unlocks  the  brook  heliind  tJte  /to  use 
We  hear  it  mur?nur  once  again  as  the  ice  thins  and  falls  aivay  .  .  . 

The  friendly  voices  of  the  brook,  the  stirring  trees  .  .  . 
the  cheerful  blaze  tipon  the  hearth,  soft  light  gloiving  on  the fwhiily 
dinner  table,  complete  and  perfect  ivith  its  lovely  Sterling  .  .  ;     C 
50  many  things  make  home... 

TowLE  Sterling  has  contributed  its  grace  and  beauty  to  happy  homes  for 
generations.  Fashioned  true  to  craft  traditions  that  began  in  1690,  this  solid 
silver  in  exquisite  Towle  patterns  has  been  the  choice  of  many,  many  brides. 

For  all  its  rich  heritage  and  its  careful  modern  crafting,  To\Vle  Sterling  is 
not  expensive  ...  a  place  setting —  a  knife,  fork,  teaspoon,  salad  fork,  cream 
soup  spoon,  and  a  butter  spreader  —  can  cost  as  little  as  $22.70,  including 
the  20%  Federal  Tax.  Start  your  Towle  pattern  now,  add  to  it  ^s  you  wish 
.  .  .  your  jeweler  can  show  you  today  the  pattern  that  will  become  a  part 
of  your  tomorrow's  living. 


Wtite  for  a  free  copy  of  "The  Bride  in  Wartime  —  and 
her  Towle  SterUng" ...  to  help  you  select  your  pattern 
from  the  wealth  of  lovely  Towle  patterns,  fashioned  in 
both  the  traditional  and  the  modern  manner  . . .  and  to 
help  you  care  for  your  Sterling  once  it  htis  become  a 
precidus  possession  in  your  home.  Address;  The  Towle 
Silversmiths,  Department  J-2,  Newburyport,  Mass. 


CANDLELIGHT 


OLD    LACE 


OLD    COLONIAL 


SILVER    FLUTES  ROYAL   WINDSOR 


CHIPPENDALE 


OWLE 


STERLING 


158 


LADIES'  HOME  JOLKNAL 


februar% 


C;OOD  TEETH  FOR  EVERYBODY 

(C'/nlinueii  from  Page  149) 


is  a  natural  ingredient  in  the  drinking  water 
the  citizenry  have  markedly  strong  teeth.  A 
school  survey  in  five  communities  near  Chi- 
cago showed,  for  instance,  that  the  children 
who  were  lucky  enough  to  have  fluorine  in 
their  regular  drinking  water  had  only  about 
one  third  as  much  tooth  trouble  as  the 
others!  If  the  fluorine  content  is  high,  the 
teeth  may  become  mottled  as  well  as  strong, 
but  when  the  percentage  of  fluorine  is  held 
down  to  one  part  per  million  parts  of  water, 
the  teeth  develop  resistance  to  decay  with 
less  likelihood  of  mottling.  Even  if  the 
spots  do  appear  it  is  not  serious,  as  they  can 
be  removed. 

For  the  next  ten  years  all  school  chil- 
dren between  the  ages  of  five  and  twelve 
in  Newburgh  will  have  an  annual  dental 
checkup  under  the  direction  of  the  New 
York  State  Health  Department.  For  pur- 
poses of  comjjarison,  the  school  children  of 
Kingston,  New  York,  a  similar  community 
not  undergoing  the  fluorine  experiment,  will 
also  be  examined. 

If  this  wonder-working  chemical  accom- 
plishes what  forward-looking  dentists  believe 
it  will,  based  on  their  preliminary  experi- 
ments, it  will  be  a  simple  matter  to  extend 
the  Newburgh  program  across  the  nation. 
When  that  happy  day  comes,  a  health  treat- 
ment for  your  teeth  will  be  no  more  difficult, 
literally,  than  drinking  a  glass  of  water! 

In  the  meantime,  while  we  are  awaiting 
the  outcome  of  this  test,  we  can't  let  the 
American  dental  situation  slip  from  bad  to 
worse,  as  it  has  certainly  b<(n  doing.  You 
have  probably  heard  the  dismaying  fact  that 
22  per  cent  of  the  first  men  called  up  by  the 
draft  were  rejected  on  teeth  alone.  But  did 
you  alsc)  realize  this  high  figure  was  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  all  those  men  were  required  to 
have,  to  get  by,  were  twelve  leelh  that  met-' 

vol   «  .\.>*T  Bi..\>ii-:  vol  II 

A.\4  KSTOIIS  F4»ll   V«M  11  TKKTH 

With  the  exception  of  that  very  imnTediate 
ancestor,  your  mother,  you  can't  blame  poor 
teeth  on  your  fr>rebears.  Your  teeth  are  not 
a  family  heritage,  like  a  Roman  nose  or  red 
hair.  They  are  made  to  order  just  for  you, 
beginning  with  that  moment  six  months  be- 
fore your  birth  when  the  first  jellylike  bodies 
are  formed  in  embryo  gums.  Whether  they 
develop  projx;rly  depends  on  whether  they 
get  a  sufficient  supply  of  calcium  and  phos- 
phorus; in  other  words,  on  whether  your 
mother-to-be  is  eating  and  assimilating  prop- 
erly. Starting  with  that  impfjrtant  prenatal 
period,  here  is  a  summary  of  the  program 
urged  by  dfKtors  and  dentists  for  the  prf>- 
ducvion,  and  preservation,  of  sound  teeth: 

Prfmaial  Too/A  larf.  The  diet  and 
general  health  of  an  expectant  mother  have 
a  direct  effect  on  her  baby's  teeth.  If  she 
skimps  on  the  necessary  food  elements,  she  is 
not  only  handicapping  her  child,  but  laying 
up  trouble  for  herself.  This  results  from  the 
fact  that  Nature,  who  is  always  more  inter- 
ested in  the  coming  generation  than  the 
present  one,  will  ruthlessly  draw  on  every 
available  element  she  needs  for  tooth  build- 
mg  and  will  deprive  the  mother  of  calcium 
lo  help  her  baby,  if  there  is  not  enough  for 
bfjth.  This  explains  why  so  many  women 
have  unusual  dental  difificulties  during  and 
after  pregnancy.  It  is  impf>rtant  that  the 
intake  be  sufficient  to  protect  b<jth  mother 
and  baby.  Here  are  facts  to  remember: 

Milk  is  a  must  in  the  diet:  preferably  a 
quart  a  day,  because  there  is  nothing  quite  so 
good  for  building  teeth. 

In  addition,  fresh  fruits  and  vegetables, 
pfitatoes,  whole-grain  or  enriched  cereals 
and  bread,  fish,  pf>ultry  or  meat,  eggs,  butter 
or  enriched  oleomargarine  are  needed. 

But  even  this  ample  diet  may  need  to  be 
supplemented  by  cod-liver  oil,  containing 
vitamin  D,  which  enables  the  teeth  to  absfjrb 
calcium  and  phosphorus  more  freely.  Your 
doctor  will  decide  about  this,  and  also  about 
the  desirability  of  calcium  tablets,  which  are 
excellent  in  some  cases  but  are  not  a  uni- 


versal necessity.  Don't  prescribe  for  y 
self.  Ask  your  physician  what  you  need 
Have  your  own  teeth  checked  as  soo 
you  know  you  are  pregnant.  It  is  par 
larly  important  at  this  time  that  you 
teeth  capable  of  chewing  your  food  prop 
Furthermore,  diseased  teeth  affect  your 
eral  health,  and  therefore  the  well-beir 
your  baby.  There  is  no  reason  at  all  t 
afraid  of  having  your  dental  work  done 
ing  pregnancy  because  of  possible  ner 
strain.  Modem  dentistry  takes  your  a 
tion  into  consideration  and  has  found 
to  minimize  or  eliminate  pain  that  r 
shock  the  system. 

A  thild'm  Firmt  Trigt  to  the  I 
tint.  Once  a  child  has  arrived  in 
world  and  is  equipped  with  his  first 
how  soon  should  he  be  taken  to  the  den 
Should  mother  wait  until  a  wail  annou 
a  toothache? 

"Emphatically,  no!"  say  modem 
tists.  A  child's  first  visit  to  the  dental  ( 
affects  his  lifetime  attitude  about  the 
of  his  teeth.  If  he  is  dragged  screamir 
an  office  where  his  original  pain  is  fui 
aggravated,  to  his  way  of  thinking,  i 
white-coated  gentleman  who  starts  prod 
around  in  his  sensitive  mouth,  he  may 
acfjuire  a  permanent  loathing  of  ever>-t 
connected  with  tooth  repair. 

The  wise  mother  doesn't  wait  unti 
child  is  in  distress,  but  takes  him  wit; 
on  one  of  her  own  perir>dical  checkups.  ■ 
he  is  between  two  and  three  years  old. 
gives  the  dentist  a  chance  to  make  fr; 
with  the  child  under  pleasant  circumsta 
His  office  becomes  an  interesting  plac 
visit  and  he  himself  appears  as  a  kindly 
son  instead  of  a  fearsome  ogre. 

Thf  Impnrtant'f  ut  Itabfi  Twth. 

many  mothers  still  accept  the  mistakt ' 
tion  that  first  teeth  don't  require  an . 
ticular  attention.  "Since  they  fall  out, 
way,  why  spend  money  on  them?" 

That  unfortunate  idea  is  to  blanv 
many  a  toothache  and  unhealthy  r. 
and  even,  in  some  cases,  for  badly  pi 
second  teeth.  There  are  very  important 
sons  for  preserving  baby  teeth,  as  follow 

First,  a  small  child  needs  teeth  to  c 
his  food  properly.  If  his  first  teeth  ar 
lowed  to  crumble  before  his  second  t 
come  in,  there  may  be  a  period  of  on 
two  years  when  it  is  actually  impossibli^ 
him  to  masticate  properly.  Food  is  s 
lowed  half  chewed.  Bad  digestion  res 
And  all  this  at  an  age  when  his  growing! 
needs  to  get  the  most  nourishment  po9 
from  a  variety  of  substantial  foods,  am 
jaws  need  to  be  strengthened  and  develi 
through  the  exercise  of  honest  chewing. 

This  development  of  the  jaw,  and  pr 
vation  of  the  first  teeth,  also  helps  to  g 
the  permanent  teeth  into  position. 

Finally,  decaying  teeth  are  as  offensr 
young  mouths  as  older  ones.  The  hel; 
child  whose»mouth  is  not  clean,  and  w 
system  is  filling  up  with  poison  draining 
his  teeth,  is  entitled  to  be  irritable.  It 
pity  he  cannot  lay  the  blame  for  his 
behavior  on  his  parents,  where  it  belonf 

There  is  every  reason  for  examining  I 
teeth  and  having  all  cavities  filled  promj 

What  \fxty  If  a  child's  first  teeth 
well  cared  for  and  a  happy  relationship 
his  dentist  is  established,  the  dental  rul 
the  rest  of  his  life  is  simple:  periodic  chec 
and  obedierKe  lo  the  dentist's  instruc 
Twice-a-year  inspections  are  enough  ex 
in  cases  of  "problem  teeth,"  or  after  se 
illness.  Teeth,  like  hair,  are  a  health  ban 
ter,  and  suffer  during  disease.  Any  roi 
that  keeps  the  body  in  top  form  make 
tooth  strength  too.  For  that  reason 
tists  today  check  patients'  diet  and  h« 
habits  along  with  their  mouths,  and 
likely  to  prescribe  fo<xls  as  well  as  fill 
Your  teeth  are  willing  to  work  for  yoi 
longer  if  you  will  give  them  the  right 
of  fo(jd  to  work  on,  and  with. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


159 


J    I    i 


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FRANKFURTERS  AND  WIENERS  — THE  NO-WASTE  FOOD 


"■"TOW  that  our  New  England  is  like  an 
W  icebox  that  somebody  went  away  and 

■  left  too  long.  I  often  wish  I  could  turn 
11  the  month  to  defrost— just  long  enough, 
please,  for  a  breathing  spell  between  sleet 
and  sleet.  A  defrosted  fifth  of  February,  for 
example,  and  then  wash  the  whole  landscape 
with  soda  and  warm  water  and  start  over. 
Instead,  the  wind  is  beating  a  hollow  drum 
and  the  sleet  hissing  against  the  storm  win- 
dows. I  am  always  surprised  to  realize  that 
sleet  does  actually  hiss,  because  hissing 
should  be  a  hot  sound. 

E^me  and  Tigger  sit  right  smack  on  the 
radiators,  and  when  we  pick  them  up  their 
fur  is  like  hot  embers.  Esme  has  a  remote 
and  dreamy  blue  gaze:  part  of  her  spirit  has 
gone  away  to  a  tropic  land  where  a  pink- 
luster  moon  shines  and  little  silver  fish  play 
in  the  warm  shallows  of  a  blue  lagoon.  \'er\- 
few  things  give  one  such  a  sense  of  comfort 
as  a  cat  on  a  hot  radiator  or  sitting  in  the 
aslies  in  the  fireplace,  though  I  hardl\"  know 
why  it  should  be  so.  I  feel  fortified  against 
February  just  by  looking  at  her. 

Melody  and  Hildegarde  skip  over  the 
crusty  snow  like  winter  butterflies.  Melody 
blacker  than  satin  and  Hildegarde  marked 
snow  on  velvet.  Something  gay  and  wild 
comes  to  their  little  hearts  with  .winter 
weather:  I  believe  their  mother  told  them 
legends  about  the  land  of  everlasting  ice 
and  snow  before  they  were  bom. 

Even  the  older  dogs  get  spells  of  dashing 
hither  and  yon.  promising  one  another  a  nice 
large  moose  or  a  brace  of  reindeer  for  dinner. 
Saxon  has  such  a  heavy  gold  coat  now,  he 
does  look  as  if  he  wore  a  parka. 

Sister  Jill  says  this  is  the  time  of  year  to 
reorganize  the  house  in  terms  of  what  is 
oftenest  used  and  where  it  is  kept.  She  is 
certainly  right,  and  if  I  were  an  organizing 
person  I  should  instantly  wrestle  with  the 
jammed-up  china  cupboards  and  pack  away 
those  dishes  never  picked  up  except  to  dust. 
.\lso  sorting  out  old  letters  and  bills,  and 
straightening  the  sewing  basket — yes.  this  is 
the  month  to  review  the  whole  inside  of  the 
house  of  Stillmeadow. 

Building  additional  shelves  here  and  there, 
and  then  filling  them,  is  a  February  job. 


Though  Jill  often  lays  down  the  hammer 
say  despondently.  "It  isn't  much  good 
you  stand  right  behind  me  with  armlo; 
more  of  junk  to  park  on  them  before  I  e\ 
get  'em  painted!" 

The  trouble  is  that  as  I  pick  up  a  crad 
ironstone  plate.  I  get  to  admiring  the  gl; 
and  the  way  the  edge  is  scalloped,  anc 
think  it  is  nice  to  look  at  with  candlelij 
glimmering  on  the  soft  finish — and  be 
goes  the  plate  in  the  same  old  spot. 

"Have  you  used  this  in  five  years?"  . 
says  in  an  executive  tone. 

"No."  I  admit  feebly,  "but  you  know 
might  put  peanuts  or  something  in  it.  I 
had  it  to  hand." 

"Peanuts."  says  Jill. 

Very  often,  after  one  of  these  reorganiz 
bouts.  I  will  be  able  to  pack  away  t 
chipped  butter  plates,  one  broken  fork  ; 
ten  of  the  fifty  meat  skewers  from  the  sil 
drawer.  Then  I  relax  happily  with  some 
book  that  ought  to  be  thrown  out  for  sc 
and  say.  "Isn't  it  nice  to  get  all  organ! 
before  the  outside  work  begins?" 

Jill  usually  does  not  answer.  She  is  re 
ing  seed  catalogues.  So  I  suggest  brig! 
that  she  thrqw  away  all  the  old  ones. 

"I  need  them  to  refer  to."  she  s 
haughtily,  "to  know  what  we  planted 
past  years.   I  write  in  the  margins." 

I  do  love  to  read  every  magazine  article 
planning  the  housework  and  saxing  time  i 
budgeting  it.  .\nd  ever  since  1  read  abl 
that  senator's  wife  who  made  fourteen  bt 
every  day  in  nothing  flat,  I  never  mak! 
bed  without  feeling  very  inferior.   I  alwl 
have  to  skip  from  side  to  side.   I  see  hei 
my  mind's  eye.  standing  like  a  lovely  Jt 
in  one  spot  and  just  flicking  the  whole  ll 
together  in  one  graceful  swoop.   I  am  gl 
that  senator  has  her  for  his  wife;  it  shouW 
him  good  when  he  comes  in  from  coping  » 
a  confused  governmental  project  squiirel 
all  over  the  map.   He  can  relax  in  his 
knowing  his  wife  made  it  in  five  seconds  f 

With  regard  to  bills.  I  am  happy  to  kr 
the  world  is  full  of  wonderfully  honest 
upright  people.   I  have  been  known  to  l 
the  same  rent  bill  three  times,  dreamily  w 
ing  checks  three  days  in  succession.  Ev 


little  while  I  get  the  nicest  letter  from  the  in- 
surance people,  too,  a  little  puzzled  that  I 
am  trying  to  pay  them  again  for  the  same 
premium,  but  so  amiable  about  the  whole 
thing.  No  doubt  if  I  were  well  organized.  I 
should  not  guess  how  kind  and  thoughtful 
business  people  are. 

One  thing,  though,  that  has  helped  a 
great  deal  in  these  hectically  busy  war  days, 
is  that  we  have  now  put  all  the  cleaning 
things  in  an  old  tin  lunch  box  which  we  carry 
from  room  to  room.  Polish  and  wax  and 
dustcloths  and  a  whisk  broom  and  the  extra 
parts  for  the  vacuum  cleaner — which  I  never 
use — and  a  small  can  of  cleaning  fluid.  This 
saves  miles  enough  of  running  back  and 
forth  for  a  hike  to  Texas.  I  am  sure.  We  have 
found  that  liquid  wax  rubbed  over  furniture, 
and  followed  by  paste,  gives  a  clean  and  well- 
polished  look.  We  use  the  liquid  wax  in  this 
instance  for  a  cleaner. 

Winter  sandwiches  for  my  husband's 
lunch  box  used  to  be  a  problem.  Then  a 
friend  wrote  me  how  to  make  lettuce  crisp. 
She  soaks  her  lettuce  in  ice  water,  not  for  a 
little  while,  but  for  a  couple  of  hours  before 
storing  in  the  icebox.  I  tried  it  and  was  de- 
lighted to  find  the  lettuce  as  crisp  as  fresh 
garden  lettuce,  almost.  She  says  it  is  be- 
cause the  lettuce  has  time  to  absorb  enough 
moisture  from  the  slow  soaking.  It  stays 
crisp  longer  too.  I  miss  being  able  to  dash 
to  the  garden  for  a  panful  of  four  kinds  of 
lettuce  and  for  crunchy  spinach  and  chard 
leaves.  Bob  is  now  able  to  carry  soup  to 
heat  after  he  gets  to  the  plant.  He  uses  the 
small  tins  of  prepared  soup,  or  takes  an  old 
mayonnaise  jar  of  homemade.  On  cold  win- 
ter nights  a  hot  soup  added  to  the  sand- 
wiches is  very  heartening. 

When  I  was  a  child,  cooking  was  a  major 
occupation.  Mamma  thought  nothing  of 
recipes  that  called  for  hours  of  work.  She 
managed  by  rising  with  those  proverbial 
early  birds  and  rarely  sitting  down  unless 
she  had  some  sewing  to  do.  I  often  wish  she 
could  have  had  half  the  packaged  mixes  and 
dehydrated  dinners  to  use  that  we  have  now. 
I  find  them  excellent,  and  when  my  con- 
servative friends  turn  up  their  noses,  I  in- 
vite them  for  supper  and  serve  golden  nutty 
hot  mufiins  or  crisp  corn-b.  ead  sticks,  a 
fluffy  gingerbread  cake  topped  with  beaten 
cream  cheese — if  I  have  the  cheese.  Then 
possibly  I  use  a  boxed  chili  dinner  with  a  jar 
of  tamales  added.  The  secret  of  using  the 
dried  products  or  the  mixes  is  not  to  be  lim- 
ited by  them  as  they  are,  but  combine  them 
and  vary  them  and  add  extra  seasoning. 
The  makers,  I  think,  give  you  more  than 
your  money's  worth;  but  if  you  use  your 
imagination,  the  dish  becomes  your  own. 

1  GENERALLY  add  a  beaten  egg,  a  bit  of  sugar 
and  more  salad  oil  or  margarine  to  the  mufifin 
or  biscuit  or  pancake  mixes.  I  combine  two 
or  more  dehydrated  soups — the  dried 
chicken-and-noodle  mixes  are  especially  good 
in  combinations.  I  also  find  that  many 
canned  soups  get  a  superb  flavor  if  they  have 
a  package  of  dried  soup  mix  added  as  they 
simmer.  When  I  make  mufifins,  I  often  drop 
a  teaspoonful  of  tart  jelly  in  the  bottom  of 
the  tins  and  then  add  the  batter.  And  when 
I  make  soup  on  the  big  old  range  I  usually 
'add  a  complete  soup  mix  to  the  big  kettle. 

We  use  a  good  deal  of  soup  in  February, 
served  boiling  hot  always  in  pottery  bowls. 
I  keep  the  iron  kettle  on  the  back  of  the 
range  and  let  it  simmer  a  long  time.  Beef 
bones  or  chicken  bones  or  ham  bones  or  bits 
of  any  leftover  roast  make  the  beginning.  I 
season  with  onion,  parsley,  green  pepper, 
celery  seed,  four  or  five  whole  cloves,  a  bay 
leaf,  a  pinch  of  mixed  herbs,  an  extra  pinch 
of  sage  if  the  bones  are  fowl.  Then  I  soak 
overnight  in  cold  water  some  Lima  beans  or 
dried  lentils  or  dried  kidney  beans.  I  add 
these  in  the  morning,  and  also  put  in  carrots, 
turnips,  tomatoes,  rice  or  spaghetti — almost 
anything  on  hand  except  parsnips.  I  think 
parsnips  are  too  sweet  for  soup,  but  like 
them  in  lamb  stew.  The  secret  of  a  perfect 
soup  is  a  slow  blending  of  a  thousand  flavors. 
If  you  have  a  range,  the  soup  can  cook  all 
night  at  the  back  of  the  stove. 

But  even  a  businesswoman  can  have  an 
elegant  soup  if  she  keeps  her  herb  shelf 


nicely  filled  and  the  package  soups  at  hand. 
Many  of  my  friends  come  home  from  work 
around  six,  and  have  dinner  to  get.  It  can 
be  done  well,  with  planning  and  ingenuity. 
For  instance,  Fay  Clark's  creamed  potatoes 
are  delicious,  and  incredibly  quick.  She 
cooks  the  potatoes  the  night  before  and  puts 
them  in  a  greased  casserole.  Then  when  she 
dashes  home  to  get  supper,  she  takes  the 
casserole  and  sprinkles  flour  and  grated 
cheese  directly  over  the  potatoes,  turning 
them  well  and  mixing  it  in  with  a  spoon.  She 
adds  the  milk,  salt  and  pepper  and  pops  the 
casserole  over  the  simmering  part  of  the 
stove.  It  is  a  quick  dish,  but  seems  like  one 
cooked  a  long  time. 

Another  business-girl  friend  of  mine  takes 
one  evening  a  week  to  cook  beets,  bake 
squash,  bake  potatoes,  make  salad  dressing. 
Then  she  stores  them  in  the  icebox  in  cov- 
ered containers  and  serves  them  in  different 
ways.  Beets  are  buttered  one  night,  pickled 
once,  served  Harvard  style  once.  Squash 
may  be  stuff^ed  with  sausage,  reheated  with 
brown  sugar  or  mashed.  Potatoes  may  be 
plain  baked,  scalloped,  creamed. 

My  own  favorite  quickie  is  my  gravy.  All 
gravy  directions  I  have  read  say  "Pour  off 
most  of  the  fat  from  the  roast."  I  never 
pour  off  any.  I  simply  make  up  every  bit  of 
it  into  gravy.  I  sprinkle  on  flour,  stir  until  a 
smooth  Toux  is  obtained,  add  boiling  water 
recklessly,  or  milk  if  it  is  a  pork  fat,  add 
gravy  seasoning,  and  Worcestershire  sauce, 
salt  and  pepper.  Then  I  put  the  extra  gravy 
in  a  sterile  glass  jar  and  put  on  the  rubber 
and  seal  it. 

The  rest  of  the  week  I  can  have  a  casserole 
with  the  gravy  instead  of  sauce,  or  add  more 
liquid  and  make  a  base  for  a  meat  pie,  or  add 
tomato  sauce  and  pour  it  over  macaroni.  Or 
just  heat  up  cold  potatoes  in  it  and  sprinkle 
cheese  and  parsley  over  the  top.  To  date,  I 
have  never  had  any  gravy  spoil  this  way. 

This  month  we  have  to  expect  to  be 
snowed  in  part  of  the  time.  When  the  road 
to  the  mailbox  is  an  unbroken  glaze  in  the 
morning,  I  know  we  are  in  for  it.  The  fire  is 
leaping  on  the  hearth  and  the  kitchen  is 
warm  and  pleasant.  I  think  of  all  the  women 
on  the  farms  on  such  a  morning,  working 
away,  shut  off  from  the  outside  world  for  a 
time. 

I  like  to  feel  the  house  snug  and  quiet  and 
clean  around  me,  firelight  on  the  books,  win- 
dows blurred  with  silver.  I  really  have  time 
to  look  at  my  Heritage  books  with  the  lovely 
illustrations,  or  reread  Keats'  Letters.  I  sat 
down  the  other  night  to  look  at  the  Heritage 
Treasure  Island,  and  found  myself  reading 
the  whole  book,  simply  enchanted  all  over 
again  with  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

When  I  was  very  small,  someone  asked  me 
what  I  was  going  to  do  when  I  grew  up.  "I 
am  going  to  live  in  the  British  Museum,"  I 
said  promptly,  "because  I  have  heard  they 
have  a  copy  of  every  book  in  the  world." 

It  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  incredible 
things  the  enemies  of  liberty  have  done  is  to 
destroy  books.  The  great  and  lovely  vol- 
umes from  past  times  could  neither  fire  guns 
nor  sink  ships  nor  commit  sabotage.  And 
yet,  who  knows?  Beauty  and  courage  and 
loyalty  and  love  and  great  sorrows  and  great 
hopes  and  the  best  of  our  philosophy  are 
cradled  in  books.  And  as  long  as  men  can 
read,  they  will  be  free  in  the  end.  After  all, 
there  is  no  weapon  against  the  powers  of 
darkness  like  the  Bible.  The  ancient  im- 
mortal words  will  yet  save  our  tired  world. 
"Comfort  ye  my  people." 

Our  generation  has  been  a  generation  of 
war.  None  of  us  but  has  lost  loved  ones.  We 
are  all  concerned,  in  the  midst  of  chaos, 
with  the  most  stupendous  concepts.  We 
no  longer  want  just  our  own  home  and 
our  own  city  and  our  own  state  to  be  safe. 
We  want  all  the  homes  all  over  the  world 
secured  against  the  evils  we  fight  against. 

Right  here  on  forty  acres  of  snow-swept 
New  England  hill  and  meadow,  we  are  not 
isolated.  We  shall  never  be  isolated  again, 
even  though  the  road  to  the  mailbox  is  now 
deep  with  drifts.  I  may  not  walk  up  the  hill 
today,  but  my  heart  walks  up  many  hills 
with  many  women  who  have  faith  in  a  world 
of  peace  and  good  will  for  our  children. 


what  a  stieetheart  of  a  parry  cake  .  .  .  the 
layers  made  of  fluffy,  spic>'  gingerbread, 
so  lusciously  tender  it  melts  in  your 
mouth!  Mrs.  Washington's  famous  ginger- 
bread recipe  is  all  precision-blended  in 
Dromedary  Mix.  Simply  add  water  and 


bake!  To  top  (only):  Mix  3  oz.  pkge 
cream  cheese  with  1  tbsp.  milk,  I  tbsp. 
orange  juice,  2  tsp.  sugar,  V^  tsp.  grated 
orange  rind.  Beat  till  fluffy.  Decorate  with 
cranberry  or  jelly  hearts.  Serves  8.  For 
larger  loaf,  use  2  pkgs.  of  Dromedary  Mix. 


^£OR0£  mS^//VerO/V^  C//£/^/^/  SQ(/AR£S 


Rich,  brown,  flavory  squares  of  Drome- 
dary Gingerbread,  served  warm  and  fra- 
grant .  .  .  just  like  George  Washington 
loved  it!  A  party-treat  with  ice  cream  and 
cherries.  So  easy  to  do,  so  sure  to  be  per- 
fect, you  can  pop  it  in  the  oven  for  com- 


pany just  before  you  put  the  coffee  on! 
Try  crunchy  ginger  cookies  too,  from 
•wonderful  Dromedary  Gingerbread  Mix. 
Done  in  10  minutes!  Extra  delicious  with 
added  bits  of  chocolate  or  any  dry  cereal 
flakes.  (Thrifty!  Highly  nutritious  too!) 


BACK  SOON    .  .  . 

Right  now  luscious,  fruity  Drome- 
dary Dotes  are  feeding  our  fight- 
ing forces  overseas!  But  soon,  we 
hope,  we'll  all  be  reunited. 


"Have  a  date!"  Eat  Dromedai 
Dates  like  candy,  right  out  of  tf 
package.  Wonderfully  rich  in  mi 
erals  ...  in  natural  food-energ 


DROMEDARY  £  PASTEURIZED  DATE 


Jj^UlILO       LlKJiMEj    J  \J  \J  1\  L^  ."XLj 


reoruary,  ivia 


-■Lii". 


l>l  ««  >  ■  . 
•••>»•■  ! ; 

-•r  »«  I-' 

>»»  -  .   -•  - 

.    •  t  »     «  ■  •  - 


■*■ 

,.,"»>. 

i*. 

:'.,'.' 

r;.'."-" 

* 

A*  . 

v\»v;. 


4  » 

^  ■    '• 

••  ^<  « • 
Vi  4'  •**■: 

St    k  ..   ► 

:van      •  , 


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SANITONE 


1  •  •  • 


CLEANERS 


The  way  you  look  is  important 
...  to  you  and  to  your  Sani- 
tone  drycleaner.  He  is  meticulous 
about  the  little  tilings  that  keep 
an  outfit  looking  new  .  .  .  the 
hang  of  the  garment,  the  rich 
warmth  of  the  color,  the  soft, 
firm  feel  of  the  fabric.  That  is 
Sanitone  service.  Use  it  regularly. 
EMERY  INDUSTRIES.  INC..  CINCINNATI  2.  OHIO 


^ACJOK    UP..Y.OUR   SANI.TONE'.CLEAflER   IN   THE  'CLASSIFIED   PHQN.E   pQOK 


SUCH  LITTLE  FAITH 

(Continued  from  Page  31) 


would   you  tell   me   your 
I  could  say  who  needs  a 


and  all.  "Oh, 
name — so  that 
cooky?" 

"Peter,"  he  said  with  ease,  "and  I'm 
almost  five."  Although  he  didn't  smile,  a 
twinkle  of  communion  flashed  between 
them;  and  they  both  knew  that  now  they 
were  friends. 

Fortified  with  a  plate  of  cookies,  a  glass  of 
milk,  a  large  pad  and  a  pencil,  Mrs.  Allen 
went  back  to  the  waiting  room. 

"Here,  Peter,"  she  said,  setting  the 
tray  down  beside  him.  "I  thought  maybe 
you'd  like  to  draw  a  picture  to  send  to  your 
daddy.  I'll  be  back.  I'm  going  to  see  your 
mummy." 

Mrs.  Allen  liked  the  way  he  settled  him- 
self under  the  window  to  eat  and  draw.  He 
was  an  appealing  youngster,  despite  the  dark 
hair  spilling  over  his  forehead,  crying  for  a 
barber's  shears.  Fleetingly  she  wondered 
who  had  neglected  him,  and  why.  It  was 
obvious  that  his  clothes  had  been  bought 
with  care,  but  his  striped  polo  shirt  lay 
bunched  around  his  waist  and  a  missing  but- 
ton left  one  strap  of  his  wrinkled  jersey  shorts 
hanging  behind  him  like  a  droopy  tail.  She 
watched  him  for  a  moment,  then  hurried 
down  the  corridor  to  find  Scotty,  the  head 
nurse. 

"That's  a  case  for  you!"  said  Scotty. 
"And,  by  the  way,  Doctor  Griffin  wants  you 
assigned  to  it.  The  mother  is  in  labor,  the 
child  hasn't  a  place  in  the  world  to  go — and, 
to  cap  the  climax,  the  daddy  was  reported 
missing  in  action  yesterday."  Scotty  shook 
her  head.  "Premature  birth— going  hard. 
The  shock  brought  it  on,  I  guess.  Better  see 
if  she's  all  right,  Mrs.  Allen.  We  took  her  out 
of  the  ward.  She's  alone 
in   Three-oh-five."    Then 


Scotty  hurried  away,  over- 
burdened with  the  duties 
in  an  overburdened  hos- 
pital. 

Mrs.  Allen  could  feel 
her  heart  jouncing  in  her 
chest.  "This  is  supposed 

to  be  some  sort  of  therapy      

forme.  Doctor  Griffin, "she 

muttered  under  her  breath,  "you  old  fox!" 

She  braced  her  shoulders.    Dread  it  as  she 

did,  there  was  no  way  to  evade  the  meeting. 

"Poor  Peter,"  she  whispered,  "poor  little 

guy." 

She  knocked  on  the  door  of  305  and, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  walked  in. 
The  room  was  dim,  the  blinds  drawn. 

"Hello  there,  any  good  pains  coming 
yet?"  asked  Mrs.  Allen  in  a  professional 
tone. 

Peter's  mother  stirred  and  opened  her 
eyes  to  answer.  "No,  not  yet,"  she  said,  and 
you  could  see  that  she  was  afraid. 

Mrs.  Allen  pretended  not  to  notice  the 
tear-stained  face,  the  grief-stricken  eyes  or 
the  fear.  "You  look  just  like  Peter,"  she 
said.  "He's  not  much  younger  than  his 
mummy  either,  I  suspect." 

A  sudden  stiffening  and  a  low  moan  were 
the  only  response.  Mrs.  Allen  glanced  at  her 
watch  to  keep  track  of  the  pain. 

Again  a  curious  quiet  gathered  in  the 
room.  Mrs.  Allen  felt  panic  creep  over  her. 
What  a  stupid  idea,  to  plunge  me  into  this! 
I'm  afraid,  too,  she  thought  angrily,  we're 
both  afraid.  I  can't  comfort  her!  I  can't! 
She  watched  the  girl's  hurt  and  bewildered 
face,  whiter  than  the  pillows  on  which  she 
lay.  She  was  pretty  even  now,  so  young  and 
so  forlorn. 

Suddenly  a  shudder  quivered  through 
Mrs.  Allen's  body,  and  an  impulse  too  strong 
to  reason  or  understand  flooded  the  older 
woman.  She  leaned  over  the  bed,  no  longer 
fighting  to  remain  impersonal. 

"Talk  to  me,"  she  pleaded.  "You  can. 
I'll  understand.  You  see,  my  son  is  missing — 
missing  in  the  East." 

The  captain's  wife  looked  at  the  lieuten- 
ant's mother  and  saw  that  it  was  true.  She 
raised  her  arms  like  a  child,  and  suddenly 
Mrs.  Allen  was  holding  her  close. 


^  I'rayer  of  a  little  girl:  O 
^  (>(><1,  niakr  the  had  people 
goo<l     aii<l     the     ^ood     i>eople 

""■*'•  —THE  BEST  DIGEST  OF  ALL: 

(Leisure  Age  Pub.  Co.  Pty.  Ltd.) 


"  I  don't  want  this  baby ! "  Peter's  mother 
sobbed.  "I'm  not  brave  like  you.  I  loved 
Rob  so!  He  may  be  dead!  Dead!"*  Her 
voice  rose  to  a  shriek.  "I  can't  stand  it!" 

"Hush,  dear,"  murmured  Mrs.  Allen. 
"Of  course  you'll  stand  it.  Don't  you  realize 
that  we  have  to  stand  it?  That  we  must  be 
brave?  That  far  away  a  captain  and  a  lieu- 
tenant expect  us  to  carry  on  and  have  faith? 
He'll  be  back  soon.  He'll  be  back."  Mrs. 
Allen  hated  saying  such  things;  things  that 
she  herself  wanted  to  believe  about  Dan,  but 
couldn't. 

1  WISH  I  were  like  you,"  whispered 
Peter's  mother  between  clenched  teeth. 
" Don't  leave  me !  Please  stay!" 

"No  family,  Mrs.  Michaels?"  asked  Mrs. 
Allen,  stroking  the  girl's  hair. 

"My  name  is  Pat."  A  shy  smile  played 
across  her  tired  face.  "I  was  on  my  way  to 
Rob's  sister.  There  isn't  anyone  else.  I've 
never  met  her.  She's  in  Florida." 

Florida !  So  many,  many  miles  from  Con- 
necticut. Mrs.  Allen  thought  of  her  own 
home,  of  Tom  waiting  there,  loving  and 
sympathetic.  Sudden  gratitude  welled  in 
her  being.  And  then  she  remembered  little 
Peter,  in  the  waiting  room. 

"Listen,  Pat,"  she  said.  "I  think  we'll  be 
able  to  help  each  other.  May  I  take  Peter 
home  with  me?   May  I?" 

The  urgency  in  her  voice  reached  Peter's 
mother,  gasping  under  a  wave  of  pain. 
"Would  you — oh,  would  you?"  Hope 
sprang  in  the  dark  young  eyes. 

"I  will.  But  you  must  promise  me  that 
you'll  buck  up  and  try  to  do  a  good  job. 
Promise  me  you'll  try!"  she  begged.  "Miss- 
ing doesn't  always  mean 
the  end.  Remember  that ! 
And  don't  you  worry 
about  Peter.  I'll  take 
care  of  everything.  We 
have  a  swell  yard  for  him, 
and  I'm  an  exceptional 
cook . "  She  leaned  over  to 
press  the  call  bell  and  kiss 

Pat  Michaels  on  the  cheek. 

"Remember,  dear,  you'll 
be  helping  me  too,"  she  whispered.  "I'll 
get  him  settled  and  hurry  back  to  you." 

"You  ring,  Mrs.  Allen?"  Scotty  spoke 
from  the  door. 

"Scotty,  our  patient  is  ready  for  you 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Allen.  "Pains  coming  fast. 
Mrs.  Michaels  is  lending  Peter  to  me  while 
she's  here.  May  I  take  him  home?  I'll  be 
back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Scotty  studied  the  eager  -faces  and,  with 
an  understanding  that  comes  from  years  of 
experience,  read  the  whole  story  in  that 
long  glance.  "Shoot  along,  Mrs.  Allen,"  she 
said.  "I'll  call  Doctor  Griffin  to  come  imme- 
diately." Then  she  closed  the  door  softly — 
carrying  the  picture  of  Patricia  Michaels 
gazing  at  Sara  Allen  with  clear,  happy  eyes 
and  a  new  shining  faith. 

Peter's  control  was  at  the  breaking  point 
when  Mrs.  Allen  went  back  to  him.  "I'm 
getting  worrieder  and  worrieder,"  he  said, 
his  lower  lip  pushed  out  and  trembling. 

"Why,  darling,  what  are  you  worried 
about?  Maybe  I  can  help." 

"That's  the  trouble — I  don't  know,"  he 
said.  "I  want  mummy!" 

"Listen,  Peter,  you  and  I  have  a  special 
job  to  do.  Sort  of  like  war  work." 

"A  make-a-believe  job  or  real?  "  he  asked, 
lower  lip  a  bit  firmer. 

"A  real  job.  But  fun.  We'll  go  to  my 
house  and  then  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"Will  mummy  meet  us  there?" 

"Why— yes — yes,  that's  it!"  said  Mrs. 
Allen,  as  though  it  were  all  arranged.  "Your 
mummy  will  come  home  to  us  with  the  new 
baby  and  stay  until " 

"Until  daddy  comes  home?"  Peter  in- 
terrupted. 

"  I  hope  so ! "  said  Mrs.  Allen,  praying  the 
hope. 

Then  Peter  and  Mrs.  Allen  left  the  hos- 
pital   and    strolled    through    town.    They 


qniiiri^MHi 


'I  have 

bought  all 

my  clothes 

from  you  for 

EIGHT 

years" 


•  •  •  •  • 


writes  acustoTnerqf 


A 


I  have  bought  all  my  clothes  from 
you  for  the  past  8  j'cars,  and  I  cannot 
praise  you  too  highly.  Lane  Bryant 
is  a  godsend  for  stout  ladies.  I  enclose 
another  order  for  hosiery  and  a  dress. 
Mrs.  Andrew  Burns,  Chagrin  Falls,  0. 


"My  neighbors 

compliment 

me  on  my 

slimmer 

appearance." 


I  am  stout,  but  all  my  neighbors 
pay  me  compliments  on  my  slimmer, 
smarter  appearance  when  I  wear  my 
Lane  Bryant  dresses.  Everything  fits 
me  as  though  fitted  on  me  when  it 
was  made.  Of  course  I  am  also  much 
pleased  with  the  very  fine  wear. 

Mrs.  Eartlee  Clutter,  Poplar  Bluff,  Mo. 


<?- 


"The  best 

place  for  any 

large  woman 

to  buy  her 

clothing." 


I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  have 
been  pleased  with  your  clothing. 
Several  of  my  friends  are  also  good 
Lane  Bryant  customers  and  they 
also,  are  satisfied.  They  all  say  your 
company  is  the  very  best  place  for 
any  large  woman  to  buy  her  clothing. 
Mrs.  Franklin  H.  Edwards,  Troy,  0. 


752  E.  MARKET  ST.,  DEPT.  56 
INDIANAPOLIS  17,  INDIANA 


chatted  about  their  plans,  and  stopped  to 
have  a  barber  scissor  the  forgotten  hair  into 
a  smooth  cap  against  Peter's  head.  Again 
they  marched  toward  home. 

"Look,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Allen.  "See 
through  the  trees — that  white  house  with 
the  green  roof  and  the  green  shutters? 
That's  our  house.  Oh,  and  see  that  man 
waving  to  us?  That's  Tom,  my  husband;  he 
wants  us  to  hurry.  Come  on,  let's  run!" 

"Hello,  you  two,"  called  Tom.  "Scotty 
just  phoned,  and  I  understand  we  have  a 
house  guest."  He  turned  to  Peter  with  a 
smile.  "Peter,  you  have  a  baby  brother — 
five  pounds!" 

"I  have  a  baby?"  asked  Peter.  "The 
baby's  a  boy?" 

"Just  think,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  "you're 
such  a  big  boy  and  you  know  so  much. 
You'll  have  lots  to  teach  that  baby." 

"And  I'll  play  soldiers  with  him,"  said 
Peter  happily. 

"  Tom,  I'd  like  to  have  Peter's  mother  and 
the  baby  for  a  while  too.  Maybe  a  long 
while,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  in  an  undertone. 

"Good  idea,"  said  Tom,  watching  his 
wife's  expression. 

loM  and  Sara  Allen  led  the  way  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs.  At  Danny's  room 
she  stopped,  but  just  for  a  fraction  of  a 
second,  then  flung  open  the  door;  the  door 
that  she  hadn't  opened  in  two  endless 
weeks.  Peter  scampered  in,  enchanted  by 
the  colored  pennants,  the  plane  models,  the 
radio. 

"Tom — why,  Tom,"  Mrs.  Allen  ex- 
claimed, "you  cleaned  it!" 

"I've  been  cleaning  it  right  along,"  he 
said  sheepishly.  "Just  on  the  chance,  you 
know.  But  somehow  today — well,  call  it  a 
hunch  if  you  like,  but  I " 

Peter  looked  up  quickly.  "Will  I  sleep  in 
the  lieutenant's  bed?" 

"Y-yes,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Allen. 

"What'U  I  do  when  he  comes  home?" 

"He's  fighting  the  Japs,  Peter.  He  won't 
be  home,"  said  Mrs.  Allen. 

"Oh,  sure  he  will !  He's  smarter'n  any  old 
Jap,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes — yes,  that's  right,  he  is,  isn't  he?" 
And  Sara  Allen  was  deeply  comforted  by 
the  thought,  though  she  knew  not  why. 

"My  daddy  is  coming  home  for  my  birth- 
day. He  promised  me."  Peter  wrinkled  his 
button  nose  in  thought.  "'Course  he  didn't 
say  which  birthday.  But  I  know  he'll  come ! " 

"Just  keep  knowing  that,  Peter,"  said 
Tom,  but  he  was  saying  the  words  to  Sara 
Allen,  not  to  Peter. 

"I  want  him  to  bring  the  Distinguished 
Circus  Cross,"  said  Peter. 

And  Tom  and  Sara  Allen  laughed  until  the 
sound  filled  the  room.  And  Peter  laughed, 
too,  because  they  were  all  laughing  to- 
gether. And  Tom  went  over  to  Sara  and 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  tight. 

Then  he  turned  to  Peter.  "Want  to  see 
my  workbench?  We  can  put  legs  and  wheels 
on  a  washbasket  and  make  it  into  a  bed  for 
your  baby  brother." 

"Yippee!"  yelled  Peter.  "See  you  later, 
Mrs.  Allen,"  he  said,  slipping  his  hand 
firmly  into  Tom's. 

"Don't  call  her  that,  Peter,"  said  Tom, 
his  gray  eyes  twinkling  into  Sara's  brown 
ones.  "Call  her  'mom' — everybody  does." 

Mrs.  Allen  ran  to  Peter  and  swooped  him 
up  in  her  arms.  He  clung  to  her,  giggling 
happily  when  she  kissed  the  ticklish  spot 
under  his  ear. 

"While  you  men  are  busy  in  the  cellar," 
she  said,  setting  Peter  gently  on  the  floor, 
"I'll  run  over  and  see  how  mummy  is  doing. 
I  want  to  be  there  when  she  wakes  up." 

"Okay,"  said  Peter.  "'By,  mom." 

Sara  Allen  stood  and  listened  to  their  foot- 
steps growing  fainter  down  the  hall.  Then 
she  walked  over  and  touched  Danny's  pic- 
ture. "You're  smarter'n  any  old  Jap,"  she 
said  softly.  "Yes,  Peter's  right.  You  are 
smarter'n  any  old  Jap."  And  she  laughed,, 
thinking  of  the  funny  way  Peter  said  things. 
A  tear  fell  and  splashed  on  her  hand.  For  it 
was  a  strange  kind  of  happy  laughter. 

She  leaned  forward  with  a  new  smiling 
confidence,  her  eyes  clear  and  unafraid.  "I'll 
be  seeing  you,  son,"  she  said. 


^■\- 


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U  c         .fabulous  fabric,  must 

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SUB-DEB  FASHIOIViS 


This  year's  version  of  last 
year's  dress.  Material  for 
bows  comes  from  worn 
sleeves     cut   from    dress. 


Bows  at  the  waistline  of  a 
sweater-vest.  Knit  logo 
ivith  trim  blouses,  tail- 
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taffeta  lined  in  red;  hag 
to   match.   l\o.   2157,   5c. 


Bonnet,  belt  and  bag. 
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contrasting  ribbon  trim. 
Directions   i\o,   2158,   5c. 


Crosgrainribbonsandfelt 
soles  to  make  pretty  slip- 
pers. Ribbons  tie  around 
ankles.  No.  2160,  5c. 


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COPYRIGHT    I  944   ASSOC  I  AT  CO   DISTRIBUTOHS.   INC.,   DISTRIBUTORS.  CHICAGO  •   NEW  YORK  OFF  ICE— FRENCH   BUILDING.   ROCKEFELLER  CENTf  R. 
IN   SOUTH   AMERICA.   ADDRESS   CHEN   YU.  SANTA   FE   802^    BUENOS   AIRES.   ARGENTINA 


TB6^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


February,  19451 


/  h\o%  (r 


hei 


w%\w{\ewme... 


Indeed  you  are!  And  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  things  are 
different  today  tluni  if  you'd  arrived  a  few  years  ago. 

" Different?"  How  do  you  mean? 

Take  telephones,  as  an  example.  Before  the  war,  we 
were  glad  to  install  one  for  everybody  who  asked.  Now 
there  are  few  available,  and  folks  must  wait  their  turn 
.  .  .  because  manpower  and  manufacturing  facilities  are 
needed  to  make  communications  and  electronic  equip- 
ment for  our  fighting  men. 


Oh,  yes  .  .  .  the  war 
hearing  about  that! 


.  I've  been 


So  long  as  it  has  first  claim  on  everything  we  can  turn 
out,  delays  at  home  just  can't  be  helped.  But  we  are  doing 
our  level  best  to  make  the  delay  as  short  as  possible. 


BELL     fELEPHONE      SYSTEM 


IF  WISHES  WERE  KITCHENS 

(Continued  from  Page  153) 


electric  mixer,  and  a  shallow  shelf  just  right 
for  spices.  From  the  "dry  foods"  cupboard 
above,  dispensers  for  sugar  and  flour  and 
such  smile  down  approvingly  on  your  cake. 
Beneath  the  counter  is  drawer  space  for 
pans,  mixing  bowls,  cooky  sheets — ample 
space  so  none  should  have  to  be  "nested." 
Above  the  sink  counter,  where  you  dry 
dishes,  cupboard  space  is  capacious,  too,  ar- 
ranged with  racks  for  plates  and  platters, 
hooks  for  cups  to  hang  from,  so  nerves  may 
never  be  shattered  by  trying  to  balance  a 
pile  of  little  plates  while  you  wriggle  big  ones 
out  from  under !  Another  occupational  haz- 
ard of  housewifery — cupboard  doors  that 
clop  you  on  the  forehead — has  been  re- 
moved, too,  for  all  these  doors  are  the  slid- 
ing kind. 

And  now  that  the  food  is  ready  for  its 
home  on  the  range  • 

Thi»  t»  where  you  eook  it.  No  steps 
wasted — preparation  space  blends  happily 
into  the  range.  See  how  the  top  burners  are 
arranged,  in  a  curve  graceful  as  the  bend  of 
a  lazy  river?  There's  sound  common  sense 
behind  this  grace,  for  it  means  you'll  never 
have  to  reach  across  a  steaming  pan  and 
burn  your  wrist,  in  order  to  get  at  another 
burner.  If  you  have  small  fry  who  consider 
handles  sticking  out  a  challenge,  you'll  be 
doubly  glad  that  three  burners  are  set  well 
back  on  the  range.  The  front  one's  planned 
for  something  that  must  be  stirred  as  it 
cooks.  This  bend  of  the  burner-river  .makes 
a  nice  little  cove  for  setting  down  serving 
dishes,  doesn't  it?  ' 

Red  switches  are  for  oven  and  broiler,  and 
yellow  ones  take  all  guesswork  out  of  the 
burner  game,  for  each  is  lined  up  with  the 
burner  to  which  it  belongs.  Oven  and 
broiler  are  the  pull-out-drawer  kind— both 
high  enough  so  you  don't  have  to  bend 
double  to  see  how  the  steak  is  doing.  Oh,  of 
course  you  remember  steak ! 

Below  the  broiler  is  a  warming  oven, 
where  dad's  dinner  keeps  cozy  when  he's 
working  very  late,  and  at  the  bottom 
"slotted"  space  for  lid  covers  to  stand  up, 
neat  and  orderly,  like  little  gentlemen.  The 
range,  of  course,  is  vented  to  carry  off  smoke 
and  fumes. 

Now  let's  come  back  around  the  end  to 
see  what's  on  the  "other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain." 

Most  everyone  agrees  that  a  laundry  is 
more  likable  up  where  it  sees  the  light  of 
day,  where  it's  get-at-able,  where  the  laun- 
dress—you or  I,  usually— doesn't  feel  like  a 
grub  buried  in  a  hole  beneath  the  ground. 
Yet  a  degree  of  sheltered  feeling  is  desirable, 
too— so  that  pies  to  bake  and  shirts  to  scrub 
don't  get  tangled  up  with  one  another.  So, 
in  our  wash  kitchen 

Thi»  i»  where  you  launder  and  iron. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  capsule— a  part 
of  the  kitchen,  yet  apart  from  the  place 
where  food  is  the  first  considera- 
tion. Where  sun  from  the  glass 
wall  streams  in  and  makes  it 
cheery,  where  you  can  hear  the 
telephone  ring  or  baby  cry,  and 
be  right  on  hand  to  do  something 
about  it,  without  racing  up  and 
down  stairs.  (Of  course,  this 
"Good  Neighbor"  house,  like  so 
many  houses  of  the  future,  has 
no  basement.) 

First  stop  is  the  washing  ma- 
chine, which  we'd  like  to  have 
include  an  automatic  drier,  so  it 
will  hand  clothes  over  to  you, 
sudsed,  rinsed,  tumble  dried, 
ready  and  willing  to  be  ironed. 

Next,  a  deep  sink,  for  washing 
stockings  and  extra-special  un- 
derwear, soaking  badly  soiled 
clothes  or  stains  that  need  special 
treatment.  The  faucet  here,  like 
its  twin  on  the  dishwashing  sink, 
has  one  handle  that  regulates 
temperature  and  flow  of  water, 
depending  on  which   way    you 


turn  it.    Here,  you'll  find,  is  the  ideal  spot 
to  cut  and  arrange  blooms  you  gather  from  I 
your  garden.  ( Only  a  step  from  the  garden  | 
door,  you  see!) 

Beneath  the  sink,  removable  bins,  four  of  I 
them,  make  laundry  sorting  easy.    One  is 
for  very  dirty  duds,  overalls  and  such.  One 
is  for  white  clothes,  one  for  bright  colors,  the  I 
fourth  for  rayons,  underwear,  and  so  on. 

Tucked  under  the  counter  top,  while  it's 
resting,  is  the  ironer.  Comes  the  time  for 
action— it  swings  out  at  a  right  angle.  You 
sit  behind  it  in  your  comfortable  adjustable 
chair,  facing  that  heavenly  glass  wall — so 
you  can  watch  the  lilac  bushes  turning  softly 
green  while  you  iron,  or  possibly  watch  your 
Johnnie  punch  the  nose  of  the  small  boy. 
next  door! 

Above  this  section  is  shelved  storage 
space  for  soaps,  bleaches,  stain  removers, 
vases;  and  better  include  a  first-aid  kit,  in 
case  it's  Johnnie's  nose  that's  punched! 

This  i»  a  surprise.  That  tall  Stately 
closet  at  the  end  is  full  of  treasure.  Slide  the 
door  back,  and  there's  your  sewing  machine 
sitting  on  its  own  little  roll-out  table — living 
in  peace  with  its  natural  affinity,  the  ironing 
board,  hinged  to  the  closet  wall  behind  it. 
No  excuse  in  our  wish  kitchen  for  not  press- 
ing seams  tidily  as  you  sew,  or  mending  rips 
before  you  wash. 

The  whole  family  of  cleaning- things  occu- 
pies another  section  of  this  double  closet. 
There  are  tall  places  for  tall  members,  like 
mops,  broom  and  vacuum ;  ample  shelves  for 
short  fat  ones  like  wax,  cleaners,  glass  jars 
with  dustcloths  curled  up  inside. 

While  we  were  wishing,  we  gave  our 
kitchen  color — the  clear  soft  aquamarine  so 
becoming  to  most  women,  accented  with 
floor  and  counter  coverings  of  sunny  terra 
cotta.  Wouldn't  anyone  feel  prettier,  even 
when  her  permanent  had  reached  the  ragged 
edge,  with  this  happy  color  as  a  background? 

IVow  about  the  settlny  where  we've  placed 
this  jewel.  The  base  it  rests  upon  for  toe 
space  would  be  adjustable,  depending  on 
how  tall  you  are.  If  you're  little,  you'd  have 
a  low  base.  If  you're  tall,  you'd  get  a  higher 
one,  so  that  counter  height  would  fit  you 
comfortably. 

As  it's  set  in  this  kitchen,  you  see,  the 
food  side  is  only  a  skip  from  the  "demi- 
table,"  perfect  place  for  feeding  the  children, 
enjoying  breakfast  or  a  bite  of  lunch.  Over 
the  demi-table  are  opaque  glass  partitions 
which  slide  back  if  you  ever  want  the  kitchen 
to  feel  one  with  the  living  room. 

Opposite  the  laundry  side,  more  cupboards 
for  canned  goods  and  "extras,"  a  closet  for 
the  children's  outdoor  play  clothes,  perhaps; 
and  your  desk,  bathed  in  light  from  the  glass 
wall.  Here's  where  you'll  sit  to  plan  meals, 
pay  bills,  write  a  quickie  letter  while  your 
cake  is  baking. 

Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful? 


ADVICE 

TO  THE 

LOVELOKNl 

BEffTc 

IMA  VALENTINE 

EDITOR 


?^^ 


< 


^AJ 


"T/iere's  a  man  to  see  you.  Miss  Valentine. 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


THK   WA«;%«I^E  WOMK.-^i   BKLIEVE   ty, 


\     i 


'^ 


\   w 


T^>U 


^  i.. 


DOROTHY  THOMA^i,  author  of  We 
Cot  Back,  writes,  "I'm  the  sixth  child 
and  the  second  daughter  in  a  family 
of  ten.  When  I  was  seven,  we  moved 
to  Alberta,  Canada,  from  Kansas  and 
homesteaded  in  the  brush  country 
forty-five  miles  from  the  railroad.  My 
father  taught  me  to  read  and  made 
all  my  playthings.  After  his  death  my 
brothers,  who  were  mere  boys,  brought 
in  a  sawmill  and  worked  what  timber 
the  forest  fires  had  left  us.  Eventually 
we  moved  back  to  Nebraska,  where  I 
taught  school,  clerked  in  stores  and 
started  writing.  I've  always  been  a 
restless  wanderer,  moving  about  the 
country,  but  no^v  I  think  I  shall  stay 
put  in  New  Mexico."  We  Got  Back 
has   just    been    bought    by    M-G-M. 


PLUCER,  who  photographed  the 
Fashions  on  pages  36  and  37,  says,  "In 
prewar  Paris  I  was  a  fashion  illus- 
trator; since  coming  to  America  I've 
changed  to  photography.  I  make  no 
distinction  between  blondes,  bru- 
nettes and  redheads  as  the  best  pho- 
tographic type,  only  insist  that  the 
costume  and  the  lady's  coloring  blend. 
But  I  prefer  models  who  look  like,  and 
pose  like,  ladies — not  models."  Plu- 
cer's  ideal  would  be  a  Franco-Amer- 
ican combination.  "French  women 
have  real  chic,  but  American  women 
have  something  better:  a  freshness, 
a  sparkle,   a  vigorous  sportiveness!" 


HERMINE  HAI.L,  author  ^t(  Red 
is  for  Laughter,  says,  "I  learned  to 
read  at  the  age  of  three,  knew  the 
multiplication  tables  by  five  and  ma- 
jored in  philosophy  at  Radcliffe.  As  a 
result,  I've  spent  the  best  years  of 
my  life  trying  to  evade  being  called 
'intellectual.'  Success  came  after  I 
convinced  three  lieutenants  I  once 
met  on  a  train  that  I  had  majored  in 
home  economics!  I've  been  writing 
boy-meets-girl  stories  since  I  was  ten 
and  learned  most  about  the  art  from 
my  composition  instructor,  who 
vowed  I'd  never  eat  three  square  meals 
a  day  from  my  efforts.  He  changed 
his  tune  after  six  months.  I  like 
thunderstorms,  good  puns  and  Stra- 
vinsky; dislike  bad  puns  and  cynics." 


JUimLiL 


MilRCH,  1945 


Vol.  LXII.  No.  3 

IVOVEL  COMPLETE  IN  THIS   ISSUE  page 

WE  GOT  BACK Dorothy  Thomas  17 

FICTIOIV 

RED  IS  FOR  LAUGHTER Hermine  Hall  20 

MY  LOVE  IS  YOU Alexis  Brunton  24 

TURNABOUT Margaret  Weymouth  Jackson  28 

TIME  TO  GO Gordon  Malherbe  Hillman  30 

THEY  SHALL  NOT  GROW  OLD Roald  Dahl  40 

THE  WHITE  DRESS  (Second  part  of  five)  .     .     .     .     Mignon  G.  Eberliart  42 

SPECIAL  FEATURES 

I  GOTTA  FLY Nell  Giles  4 

HOW  LONG  SHOULD  YOU  WAIT  BETWEEN  BABIES? 6 

EDUCATION  FOR  DEMOCRACY Dorothy  Thompson  6 

ROMANTIC  PAINTING  IN   AMERICA: 

THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN Albert  Pinkham  Ryder  22_ 

-s,TOO  YOUNG  TO  MARRY? Hubbard  Hoover  \    23     > 

WE  HAVE  LOST  OUR  GRIP  ON   EDUCATION  .      .  Sir  Richard  Livingstone  26 

IF  YOU  ASK  ME Eleanor  Roosevelt  39 

HOW  CAN  I  HELP  THE  WAR-BLINDED  SOLDIER?      ....  Enid  Griffis  62 
HOW  AMERICA  LIVES:  MEET  AN  ARMY  CHAPLAIN 

Betty  Hannah  Hoffman  133 

GENERAL   FEATURES 

HOW  TO  WAGE  WAR  (The  Sub-Deb) Elizabeth  Woodward  8 

OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 10 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL 15 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 15 

ASK  ANY  WOMAN Marcelene  Cox  84 

THIS  IS  A  WON'T-HEAR Munro  Leaf  123 

NEVER  UNDERESTIMATE  MEASLES.      .     .     .      Dr.  Herman  /V.  Bundesen  126 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  Taber  151 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 160 

FASHIONS  AND   BEAUTY 

SPRING  ENCHANTMENT Wilhela  Cushman  32 

I  CAN  MAKE  SOMETHING  LOVELY ISora  O'Leary  34 

SPRING  FASHION   .    .    .    HIGH  AND  LOW Wilhela  Cushman  36 

MISS  SUSAN  SUB-DEB Datvn  Croivell  38 

FIFTY-DOLLAR  PHILOSOPHY Ruth  Mary  Packard  138 

ARE  YOU  A  BACK  NUMBER? Louise  Paine  Benjamin  141 

GARDEN,  ARCHITECTURE,  INTERIOR   DECORATION 

THE  rug's  THE  REASON Henrietta  Murdoch  144 

HOUSE-AND-A-HALF Richard  Pratt  154 

PRODUCTION  FOR  USE The  Gardener's  Assistant  165 


FOOD  AND   HOMEMAKING 

THE  lid's  OFF -4""  Batchelder 

LINE  A  DAY -4""  Batchelder 

PUT  ON  AN  EXTRA  PLATE Louella  G.  Shatter 

IRONING  BORED? Jurfy  Barry 

WINS  ORDERS  FKOIH  HEADQUARTERS 

POETRY 

GIRL  OF  TEN Thomas  W.  Duncan 

THEREFORE  EACH  SPRING Joseph  Auslander 

OLD-FASHIONED  BOUQUET I\alhanicl  Burt 

H^jjy  Joseph  Freeman 

ALL  GENTLE  THINGS Jehanne  de  Mare 

SCRAPBOOK  MINDS Bianca  Bradbury 

WE  ARE  THE  YOUNG Jesse  Stuart 

Cover  Desiltn  by  Wilhela  CuNhnian 


44 

46 

142 

147 

101 


51 
64 
72 
90 
95 
105 
113 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL  (The  Homo  Journal)  is 
published  on  last  Friday  of  month  preii-ding  its  date. 

The  names  of  all  characters  In  all  Journal  fiction 
are  fictitious.  Any  resemblance  to  actual  persons, 
living  or  dead,  is  a  coincidence. 

LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL  PRICES 
U.  S.  and  Possessions,  Cunada,  Newfoundland,  Lab- 
rador, Costa  Rice,  Cuba,  Nicaragua,  Dominican  Re- 
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<: 


1 


March,  1945 


IN  MY  Pilot's  Logbook  it's  written: 
"Soloed  at  5:00.  Good  landing.  Good 
pattern."  But  that's  as  flat  an  under- 
statement as  "  Sighted  sub.  Sank  same." 
What  those  words  really  mean  is  that  I — not 
an  Army  pilot,  not  a  Jacquelin  Cochran, 
not  even  a  gal  who  can  drive  a  car  well 
enough  to  get  a  license— I  can  fly  a  plane. 
And  after  only  five  hours  of  instruction,  I 
flew  it  wilh  no  one  silling  in  the  olher  seal! 

People  who  have  been  in  the  air  for  years 
say  that  the  time  is  long  gone  when  I  could 
have  felt  like  a  pioneer — or  even  a  heroine. 
I  disbelieve  them.  I  know  that  what  I  did 
was  wonderful,  and  I  am  not  tossing  it  off  as 
nothing  at  all  even  for  the  sake  of  Air  Corps 
approval  in  my  private  life. 

Naturally,  when  the  war  is  over,  I  don't 
expect  to  be  doing  take-offs  from  the  roof 
of  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company.  Our  roof 
is  too  rough.  Also,  there  is  something  called 
the  Civil  Aeronautics  lioard  which  compli- 
cates air  traffic  the  way  Mr.  Morgenthau's 
boys  have  complicated  the  coming  and  going 
of  money.  liut  when  somebody  has  worked 
out  a  simple  way  to  own  a  plane  and  fly  one 
to  work,  I'll  be  there,  Charlie.  (The  boy 
in  the  air  parking  lot  on  the  corner.) 

liut  anyway,  I've  been  to  Air  College- 
Parks,  in  F^ast  St.  Louis— and  the  plane  I 
learned  to  fly  in  five  hours  is  a  sweet  baby 
called  the  Ercoupe.  Not  fooljjrcxjf,  they  told 
us,  but  fool-resistant.  Pilot  Instructor 
Jerry  Terrell  wasn't  even  sure  of  that,  the 
day  I  did  my  solo. 


go  up.  I  looked  frantically  at  the  speedorfi 
eter.  It  was  dizzying  around  to  100  mp! 
before  another  little  gadget  said  we  were  50 
feet  high.  I  was  sure  something  was  wrong 
We  were  going  too  fast.  Mr.  Terrell  couldn 
save  us.  Nobody  could  save  us.  We  made 
turn  that  slapped  the  ground  up  in  my  fao 
My  eyes  were  glued  on  Mr.  Terrell.  "Sto 
lookin'  at  me!"  he  yelled.  "Look  at  th 
ground!"  But  my  head  wouldn't  turn, 
was  frozen  in  an  angle  that  I  later  learne 
was  90  degrees.  "Now,  ma'am,  if  you'll  jus 
release  my  leg,  we'll  get  goin'."  I  saw  witi 
some  embarrassment  that  my  right  han 
was  gripping  not  the  throttle,  but  Mr.  Tei 
rell's  thigh! 

The  exact  moment  The  Fear  left  me 
marked  with  an  X.  In  ground  school  orl 
professor  had  an  engine  which  was  sawed  i 
two,  to  show  all  the  parts,  hanging  out  an 
exposed.  With  this  he  tried  to  explain  wh; 
makes  an  engine  work.  The  exhaust  valve 
pistons  and  crankshafts  are  a  pretty  ligl 
mixture  in  my  mind,  but  one  thing  he  sai 
stuck  with  me:  "The  Ercoupe  won't  spin, 
he  said.  It  won't?  You  mean  I  can't  go  dow 
in  a  spinning  crasli?  Then  thai  clianges  ever) 
thing !  There  are  some  things  you  have  to  tak 
on  faith:  for  instance,  that  Virtue  is  its  ow 
Reward.  Well,  this  was  just  another  sue 
case.  I  don't  know  why  an  Ercoupe  won 
spin,  but  if  the  professor  said  it,  it  must  t 
true. 


"Once  more  around  the  pattern,"  he  said. 
So  I  gave  it  the  gun,  lifted  the  wheel,  flew  a 
rectangle  around  the  airport  and  landed.' 
Then  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  Jerry 
reach  up  and  take  the  blue  garter  off  the 
knobs  which  hold  the  top  shut.  (We  were 
the  only  ones  who  used  blue  garters.)  He 
peeled  back  his  side  of  the  cockpit  cover, 
unfastened  his  safety  belt  and  got  out.  He 
gave  me  a  long  anxious  look.  "Thaink  you 
can  remember  all  I  told  you?"  I  said  yes. 
"Once  you  get  down  it's  just  like  driving  a 
car.  .  .  .  Hey,  ma'am,  you  know  how  to 
drive  a  car,  don't  you?" 

But  I  let  him  think  the  noise  drowned  that 
one.  No  use  to  tell  him  I'd  once  had  clutch 
trouble.  I  knew  I  could  fly,  because  a  plane 
doesn't  have  a  clutch. 

There  are  really  only  two  parts  to  learning 
to  fly:  The  Fear  and  The  Feeling.  In  be- 
tween, there  is  ground  school  (all  about 
engines,  aerodynamics,  weather  and  naviga- 
tion). 'V'es,  there  is  ground  school.  And 
then  there  is  a  light  emotional  rash  called 
"pilot  fever."  But  that  comes  later. 

I  will  probably  go  down  in  Mr.  Terrell's 
reports  as  Most  Terrified  Student  on  the 
First  Day.  He  said,  "I'll  do  the  flying.  You 
keep  your  hands  on  the  dual  controls  and 
follow  through.  You  got  to  get  so  you  can 
feel  it."  We  taxied  down  the  runway.  We 
turned  out  toward  the  open  field  and  the 
very  open  sky.  Mr.  Terrell  jammed  in  a 
knob  marked  "Throttle."  Latter,  I  learned 
to  say  "gave  it  the  gun."  He  lifted  his  wheel 
back  and  I  felt  mine  lift  back  and  the  plane 


r/^B 


"THE  fEAR 


THEFtEUtiG" 


The  aerodynamics  professor  added  to  th 
that  air  is  like  molasses:  it  resists  flow.  l'\ 
seen  a  bug  try  to  get  through  molasses,  an 
I  know  it  must  be  darned  hard.  If  I'm  in 
plane  with  air  all  around  mc  like  molasse 
you  see,  don't  you,  there's  small  chance 
falling  out  of  the  sky? 

With  these  two  ideas  firmly  planted,  tY 
rest  was  easy.  The  mechanics  of  flying  a 
Ercoupe  are  nothing  at  all:  you  just  tui 
the  wheel  to  the  right  when  you  want  to  p 
right,  and  vice  versa.  If  you  want  to  go  u 
or  down,  you  know  what  you  can  do:  lift  tl 
wheel,  of  courje,  or  press  it  down.  And  tl 
throttle  is  what  feeds  the  gas,  so  you  ju 
push  it  in  or  out. 

And  it's  about  then  you  get  pilot  feve 
you  feel  toward  your  instructor  the  sort 
doglike  devotion  you  have  for  your  doctor  ( 
for  a  public  hero — General  Eisenhower,  f( 
instance.  And  you  try  to  hide  it,  thinkir 
you  are  the  only  one  blessed  with  having 
public  hero  to  teach  you  to  fly.  At  first,  I  w; 
so  scared  of  Mr.  Terrell  that  I  jumped 
noticeably — when  he  spoke  to  me.  But  ev( 
later  there  was  awe  mixed  like  sand  in  n 
devotion.  Pilot  fever  is  psychological 
sound,  and  as  much  a  part  of  learning  to  ( 
as  is  ground  school.  Just  remember  th 
your  instructor  does  it  all  on  purpose. 

And  when  he  gets  you  to  the  acute  sta 
of  hero  worship,  he  yells  at  you.  "Keep  Ih 
left  wing  up!"  Jerry  would  roar  at  me,  ju 
when  I  thought  I'd  done  everything  the  w; 
he  wanted  it.  "Keep  that  nose  up — up — 11 
I  say!"  over  and  over  he  said,  until 
sounded  like  an  Ella  Mae  Morse  recor 
"Keej)  that  left  wing  up,  babe!  Keep  th 
left  wing  up ! " 


hY  NELL 
GILES 


EMrth couldn't  hold  me:  I'd  m<tde d solo! 

And  then  suddenly  you  get  The  Feel  of 
flying,  and  up  to  this  point  your  life  has  been 
a  desert  in  search  of  an  oasis.  You  are  at  the 
controls  and  your  instructor  is  pretending  to 
snooze.  You  are  trying  to  remember  RPM, 
to  keep  the  dial  at  2100;  and  the  altimeter, 
to  keep  the  dial  at  500;  and  keep  that  left 
wing  up.  Then  suddenly,  as  though  the 
earth  turned,  you  forget  the  mechanics  and 
you're  "flying  by  the  seat  of  your  pants!" 
You've  got  it !  You've  got  the  feeling.  You 
feel  the  solid  sky  beneath  you,  and  you  look 
at  the  earth  below.  You  see  two  black  mules 
standing  by  a  rail  fence  and  you  feel  tender 
as  God  leaning  down  to  throw  them  an 
extra  bale  of  hay.  And  your  blood  has  sud- 
denly become  Mumm's  Champagne,  class 
of  1928. 

Technically,  what  you  have  learned  is  to 
feel  the  Angle  of  Attack ;  but  who  cares  about 
technically?  You  pull  back  the  wheel  and  feel 
the  air  rush  over  and  under  the  wings  and  lift 
them  up.  Then  you  pull  back  the  wheel  more 
and  something  happens.  The  wings  lift  too 
much  and  the  plane  doesn't  climb.  The  angle 
is  wrong.  So  you  let  the  nose  down  a  little 
and  feel  that  reassuring  flow  of  air — like 
molasses.  "And  that,  baby,"  you  say  to 
yourself,  "that  is  Angle  of  Attack."  You've 
got  it. 

We  were  flying  around  one  day  (Jerry 
always  pretended  to  go  to  sleep)  while  I  did 
climbing  and  gliding  turns.  Over  and  over 
until  I  could  hold  level  both  the  speed  and 
the  altitude,  tip  a  wing  and  pivot  on  it.  Once/- 
more  and  then  once  more,  and  then  there 


FNB 


(pi LOr  AFTER  ONLY 
HOURS  FLIGHT  TRAIN- 


IHG'SOMYIOG  SOOXSAYS) 

I  walked  over  to  the  little  Ercoupe  I  was 
to  solo  the  next  day — Friday — and  gave  it 
a  sort  of  pat  on  the  back.  It  looked  terribly 
small  and  snub-nosed,  like  the  junior  mail 
plane  that  got  lost  in  Disney  'sSaludosAmigos. 

Friday  was  dazzling  clear,  just  as  the 
ticker  tape  had  said  it  would  be.  The  big 
empty  sky  was  just  up  there  waiting. 

Jerry  said,  "Once  more  around  the  pat- 
tern." I  flew  a  rectangle  around  the  airport 
and  made  a  landing  smooth  as  melted  silk. 
Then  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  Jerry 
glance  at  his  watch:  my  flight  instruction 
had  added  up  to  five  hours.  He  reached  up 
and  took  the  blue  garter  off  the  knobs  which 
hold  the  top  together,  and  peeled  back  his 
side  of  the  cockpit  cover,  unfastened  his 
safety  belt,  got  out  and  gave  me  a  long 
anxious  look.  "Thaink  you  can  remember 
all  I  told  you?"  I  said  yes. 

Straight  to  the  pattern  I  flew;  gave  it  the 
gun,  pulled  back  the  wheel  .  .  .  300  feet  over 
the  schoolhouse  .  .  .  90-degree  turn  .  .  . 
chmbed  to  500  feet  in  a  line  straight  with 
that  factory  .  .  .  leveled  off  .  .  .  another 


Pa  NTS 


was  a  plane  ahead  and  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do.  Jerry  woke  up  like  greased  lightning. 
But  when  it  was  over  he  was  more  like 
thunder.  "You're  jes'  as  lazy  as  a  houn' 
dawg!"  he  yelled,  and  his  Missouri  drawl 
stretched  every  word  on  a  rack.  "Jes'  like  a 
houn'  dawg,  you  don't  look  where  you're  gain' ! 
Ma'am,  sometimes  I  think  you  don't  hold  a 
thing  I  tell  you  in  your  head!"  To  the  very 
end  I  was  only  "ma'am"  to  him. 

On  the  day  scheduled  for  the  solo  flight, 
the  weather  closed  down — not  with  a  bang, 
but  a  whimper  of  wind  and  low  clouds.  The 
invisibility  was  unlimited.  The  ceiling  was 
knee-high.  In  the  meteorology  lab,  the 
thick,  unvoweled  messages  on  the  ticker  tape 
said  we'd  be  grounded  for  at  least  three  days. 

We  spent  the  time  at  the  airport,  of 
course.  Where  else  do  fliers  go?  Around  the 
coffee  the  talk  was  air  talk  about  the  planes 
coming  in  for  the  big  meeting  Friday. 

A  Thunderbolt  buzzed  us  and  came  down 
out  of  the  soup.  Everybody  rushed  out  to 
see  it. 

Jerry  said,  "Look  out  for  those  cheese- 
choppers,"  and  we  gave  the  propellers  a 
wide  berth. 

The  Thunderbolt  is  a  very  nice  plane  in- 
deed. But  I  imagine  that  dashboard  of  in- 
struments is  quite  confusing.  There  is  prob- 
ably even  a  clutch  tucked  away  somewhere. 
I  walked  around  and  under  the  wings, 
examined  the  tail,  read  the  printing  on  the 
outside,  which  I  knew  must  be  an  under- 
statement for  military  reasons:  US  ARMY 
P-47.  Wt.  22.000,  HPR  220.  Very  impres- 
sive indeed.  But  uncomfortable. 


XHE  AIR  «OLX)S 

You  op/ 


turn.  And  that's  when  I  saw  the  Thunder- 
bolt. He  was  doing  aerobatics  over  the  field 
and  coming  down  in  a  power  dive  at  some- 
thing like  700  miles  an  hour.  Now  isn't  that 
just  like  one  of  those  Army  planes — trying 
to  take  Jerry's  attention  away  from  my 
solo?  I  could  just  imagine  Jerry  down  on 
the  field,  thinking  maybe  he  should  watch 
his  pupil,  but  really  watching  that  show-off, 
the  Thunderbolt.  I  was  tempted  to  speed 
up,  but  then  I  noticed  I  was  going  over  the 
railroad  tracks  and  down  below  me  on  the 
other  side  were  the  two  black  mules  standing 
by  the  rail  fence.  That  meant  time  for  the 
third  turn.  The  Thunderbolt  pulled  out 
over  me  in  a  deafening  roar.  I  ignored  him 
as  completely  as  I  could.  I  hoped  that  Jerry, 
down  on  the  field,  was  doing  the  same. 
Watch  me,  Jerry!  I  cut  the  gun,  dropped  to 
400  feet,  made  a  sweet  gliding  turn,  nestled 
down  over  the  power  lines  .  .  .  down  .  .  . 
down  .  .   .  gentle  as  a  baby  I  put  it  down. 

I  reached  up,  took  the  blue  garter  off  the 
cockpit  cover  and  peeled  down  my  side  to 
hear  Jerry's  congratulations.  He  was  run- 
ning toward  me,  white  as  a  sheet,  and  with 
flashes  coming  out  of  his  eyes. 

In  front  of  us,  the  Thunderbolt  purred 
and  sat  down.  Jerry  taxied  us  off  the  field 
and  around  to  the  hangar  where  everyone 
crowded  close.  I  had  made  a  solo  and  the 
earth  wouldn't  hold  me.  My  boots  clumped 
the  pavement,  but  I  was  not  even  conscious 
of  making  noise  until  someone  in  the  crowd 
said ,"  What 's  she  got  on  ?  " 
I  yelled  back,  "Ski  boots!" 
It  was  Jerry  who  had  to  tell 
me.  They  weren't  talking  "^ 
about  me.  They  meant  the  »^  I 
Thunderbolt.  And  they 
weren't  talking  boots. 
They  meant   horsepower. 

Learning  to  fly?  Noth- 
ing to  it.  Get  up  there  and 
fly  your  head  off  and  what 
happens?  Nobody  even 
looks  at  you,  because  fly- 
ing is  something  anybody 
can  do.  You  don't  even  have 
to  know  how  to  drive  a  car. 


OXYDOL  Washes  So  Clean 

your  biqqest  wash  comes 

'"iiite  Without  Bleaching 

See  The  Proof  With  Your  Own  Eyes!  Next  washday  use 
Oxydol  instead  of  your  present  soap.  See  if  you  aren't  delighted 
the  way  Oxydol  gets  even  your  grimiest  wash  sparkling  white  and 
clean!  That's  because  Oxydol's  new  "Hustle-Bubble"  suds  are  so 
active  they  ////  dirt  out.  Sheets,  towels,  shirts — all  your  white  things, 
except  of  course  for  unusual  stains,  come  white  without  bleaching. 

Saves  Clothes  In  Wartime!  With  Oxydol  there's  no  need  for 
hard  rubbing,  so  naturally  clothes  last  longer.  And  Oxydol's  so  safe 
— safe  for  wash  colors,  rayons  and  your  own  precious  hands.  Use 
Oxydol  for  a  wash  that's  white  without  bleaching! 


OXYDOL  Washes 
WHITE  Without  Bleaching 


AVOID  SOAP  WASTE!  Soap  is  made  of  vital  war  materials,  so  soap  v^aste 
is  war  ^aste.  Make  your  Oxydol  go  farther! 


i\: 


Bnuce  eouLj}  and  beatrics  blackmar  goulp 

hililors 


MARY  COOKMAN 
Executive  Editor 


LAURA  LOU   BROOKMAN 
Managing  Editor 


Associate  Erfi/ors;  HUGH  MAC  NAIR  KAHLER  •  JOHN  SCOTT  MABON  •  BERNARDINE 
KIELTY  •  ANN  BATCHELDER  •  WILHELA  CUSHMAN  »  FRANK  ELTONHEAD 
ALICE  BUNN  •  LOUISE  PAINE  BENJAMIN  .  ELIZABETH  WOODWARD  •  RICHARD 
PRATT      •     HENRIETTA  MURDOCK      •     lOUELLA  G.  SHOUER      .      MARY  LEA  PAGE 

Assistant  Editors:  JOHN  WERNER  •  CHARLOTTE  JOHNSON  •  ROBERT  ATHERTON 
DONALD  STUART  •  EUGENIA  WHITMORE  BROWN  •  RUTH  MARY  PACKARD  •  BETTY 
HANNAH  HOFFMAN  •  DAWN  CROWELL  •  RUTH  MATTHEWS  .  NELL  GILES  •  NORA  O'LEARY 
ALICE  CONKLING    •    MILDRED  ARNOLD    •    JUDY  BARRY    •    NOEL  SMYTH  BUTCHER 


> 


lluw  Liin^r  Nliiiiild  You  Wail 
Mmm  Uhmt 


WAIT  two  years  between  babies"  is  a  familiar 
maxim  among  doctors.  Tlie  idea  that  frequent 
childbearing  is  dangerous  for  both  motlier  and  child  has 
been  widely  held  ever  since  Dr.  R.  W.  Woodbury's  sur- 
vey of  the  subject  thirty  years  ago.  Now  a  new  and 
far  more  extensive  study  contradicts  his  findings  in  a 
way  to  affect  profoundly  millions  of  American  families 
yet  unborn. 

The  woman  who  carefully  spaces  her  children  a  num- 
ber of  years  apart  is  not  decreasing  the  risks  of  ciiild- 
birth,  as  she  believes,  but  may  be  even  increasing  tiiem. 
"Child  spacing,"  says  Dr.  Nicholson  Eastman,  professor 
of  obstetrics  at  Johns  Hopkins,  and  author  of  the  new- 
survey*,  "means  maternal  aging.  ...  It  would  seem 
almost  inconceivable  that  a  mere  difference  of  four 
years  or  so  could  have  any  appreciable  effect  on  child- 
bearing,  yet  it  manifests  its  influence  unmistakably; 
and  whatever  advantage  is  gained  by  a  rest  period  of 
several  years  seems  to  be  offset,  and  in  some  respects 
more  than  counterbalanced,  by  the  aging  factor." 

Doctor  Eastman,  who  believes  that  the  many  life- 
saving  advances  in  obstetrics  since  1915  invalidate  the 
Woodbury  report,  offers  these  four  "clear-cut  and  in- 
escapable" conclusions,  based  upon  two  separate  inves- 
tigations of  forty  thousand  maternity  cases: 

1.  Babies  born  twelve  to  twenty-four  months  after  a 
live  delivery  have  at  least  as  low  a  mortality  rate  as 
babies  born  after  longer  intervals. 

2.  The  longer  the  interval  between  births,  the  more 
likely  the  mother  is  to  suffer  from  some  form  of  toxemia 
of  pregnancy  (such  as  high  blood  pressure,  albumin  in 
the  urine,  kidney  trouble  and  the  like). 

3.  If  the  mother  suffers  from  toxemia  during  one  preg- 
nancy, a  repetition  becomes  more  probable  the  longer 
she  puts  off  having  her  next  baby. 

4.  Mothers  having  their  babies  twelve  to  twenty-four 
months  apart  are  no  more  likely  to  have  premature 
labor,  anemia,  postpartum  hemorrhage  or  childbirth 
fever  than  if  their  babies  were  spaced  at  longer  inter- 
vals, nor  are  they  less  able  to  nurse  their  babies. 

Youth,  it  seems,  is  woman's  greatest  ally  in  produc- 
ing husky  babies  at  a  minimum  of  risk  to  herself.  The 
mother  who  has  all  her  babies  at  once  may  find  herself 
swamped  with  diapers,  feedmg  schedules  and  the  dis- 
comforts of  pregnancy  for  what  seems  an  endless  length 
of  time,  but  at  least  these  irksome  restrictions  are  over 
once  and  for  all.  Baby  clothes  and  pens  and  carriages 
can  be  passed  at  no  expense  from  child  to  child,  and  the 
children  themselves  revel  in  a  companionship  which 
seems  to  blossom  fullest  among  closely  spaced  brothers 
and  sisters.  The  woman  who  waits  for  enough  money 
or  time  for  more  children  may  find  some  tragic  day 
that  she  has  postponed  too  long  the  big  family  she 
planned. 

'Published  in  the  American  Journal  of  Obstetrics  and  Gynecology, 
April.  1V44. 


mmm 
FOR  mmmu 


M"OT  long  ago  I  w-as  called  into  an  informal  conference  by  a  group 

■  of  educators,  social  workers  and  others  directly  concerned  with 

■  problems  of  youth,  to  discuss  how  we  could  improve  education 
ll  for  democracy;  education  being  broadly  interpreted  to  include 
not  only  the  schools,  but  other  institutions  of  group  life. 

The  men  and  women,  all  of  whom  had  various  professional  expe- 
rienc'es,  expres.sed  distress  that  other  ideologies  were  contending  for 
the  min<ls  of  American  youth,  some  of  them  Fascist  in  tendency, 
others  Communist.  They  felt  that  the  schools  were  not  "teaching 
democracy,"  but  that  democracy  was,  instead,  really  .supplying  the 
platform  on  which  its  enemies  were  debating  against  each  other. 
They  pointed  to  growing  racial  and  social  tensions  in  our  society; 
to  the  lack  of  morale  in  young  people,  leading  to  juvenile  delin- 
(|uency  and  less  noticeable  manifestations  that  "something  is 
wrong,"  such  as  inconsiderate  .school  deportment,  relaxation  of 
parental  control,  unwillingness  adecjuately  to  perform  school  work 
requiring  a  fairly  high  degree  of  concentration. 

Some  attril)ule<l  these  phenomena  to  the  war,  but  more  of  the 
educators  present  believed  that  the  war  had,  instead,  merely  deep- 
ened and  accelerated  tendencies  that  were  there  already. 

Many  suggestions  were  made  for  improving  teaching,  providing 
l)ctter  recreation,  better  food,  better  homes,  and  so  on,  for  American 
cliildren,  and  many  of  these  suggestions  have  long  been  advocated 
b\-  the  L.\i)iKs'  HoMK  JouKN.\L,  and  in  these  editorials. 

IJiit  the  conversation  left  me  deejily  dissatisfied  and  questioning. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  the  fundamental  question  had  not  been  rai.sed, 
and  therefore  not  answered.  Yet  it  is  the  focal  question,  namely: 
Whut  iji  the  pi/rpofie  of  democracy? 

Obviously,  if  one  cannot  clearly  .see  the  goal  of  democracy,  it  is 
impossible  to  educate  children  for  it.  .\merican  democracy,  of  course, 
is  based  on  the  twin  priiici|)les  of  freedom  and  equality.  But  what 
does  freedom  mean — and  what  is  equality? 

Now  I  submit  that  both  concepts  derive  from  a  religious  base 
and  conception;  namely,  that  man  is  a  child  of  God,  made  in  His 
image,  and  thus  is  "endowed  by  his  Creator  with  certain  unalienable 
rights."  But  if  these  rights  are  endowed  by  God,  then  they  carry 
with  them  the  inexorable  commandment  to  use  them  to  serve  God, 
or  goodness.  Man  should  be  free,  in  order  to  become  his  best  self. 
It  is  incompatible  with  the  great  dignity  of  man,  whose  mind  and 
soul  are  capable  of  Godlike  attriijutes,  that  he  should  be  treated  as 
a  beast,  however  benevolently,  or  governed  witliout  his  consulta- 
tion or  consent;  or  pimished,  excejjt  before  an  impartial  and  equal 
law,  based  ujjon  whatever  divination  and  experience  we  may  have 
of  what  is  good  and  evil  in  this  life.  But  it  is  also  incompatible  with 
his  role  on  earth  that  he  should  throw  away  his  birthright. 

If  one  abandons  this  deeply  religious  conception  of  the  meariiing 
and  being  of  man,  as  a  creature  endowed  with  reason  and  with  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  therefore  competent  to  make  a 
choice;  if  one  believes  that  man  is  just  another  animal,  whose  being 
is  determined  by  economic  conditioning  or  inexorable  biological 
urges,  then  there  is  no  justification  for  his  freedom.  The  problem 
then  bec'omes  that  of  so  controlling  forces  as  to  serve  some  end 
apart  from  individual  man;  he  becomes  merely  an  instrument  for 
exploitation  or  power,  and  life  is  Ijut  a  meaningless  jungle,  in  which 
the  strong  triumph  over  the  weak,  for  the  transitory  rewards  which 
life  may  bring  to  the  strongest,  smartest  or  most  ruthless. 

And  also,  regarding  equality:  If  the  conception  defies  all  the 
laws  of  nature,  if  it  disregards  the  myriad  manifestations  of  tlie  hu- 
man type,  if  it  leads  to  the  attempt  to  level  all  men  to  the  average, 
then  it  ends  in  slavery-^for,  as  Dostoievski  observed,  all  men  can  be 
exactly  equal  in  slavery  and  nowhere  el.se.        (Continued  on  Page  166) 

•        •        UrY  MOKE  WAR   UOIVII^i       •        ^ 


I     ^$     JL^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


\\o//ers  to  t/ie 


rescue 


It  takes  more  than  a  heavy  load  to  stop  ingenious 
American  youngsters,  Thef  II  find  a  couple  of 
round  logs  —  slip  them  under  that  dinghy  — 
and  in  no  time  at  all  have  it  high  and  dry. 
That's  the  simple  principle  General  Motors  long 
has  used  to  ease  heavy  burdens  —  both  in  peace 
and  in  war.     hike  this: 


Oince  the  earliest  days  of  General  Motors, 
its  engineers  have  worked  continuously  to 
cut  down  friction  and  multiply  power.  Not 
only  in  cars  and  trucks,  but  wherever  shafts 
turn  and  wheels  roll. 

And  one  of  the  short  cuts  in  carrying  bigger 
loads  at  less  cost  proved  to  lie  in  the  devel- 
opment and  expansion  of  the  roller  bearixig. 


Always  trying  to  make  more  and  better  things 
for  more  people,  GM  engineers  speeded  up 
the  wheels,  and  incidentally  cut  the  operat- 
ing costs,  of  many  American  industries  with 
these  spinning  steel  rollers.  Automobiles, 
planes,  trucks  —  practically  every  modern 
form  of  transportation  owes  something  of  its 
speed  and  smoothness  to  their  research  in 
this  field. 


Th 


.hen    war,    a    mechanized   war,    swamped 
them  with  a  flood  of  unheard  of  demands. 

Could  they  make  huge  roller  bearings  to 
take  million-pound  weights  for  Navy  cata- 
pults? Could  they  make  a  little  roller  bear- 
ing for  a  supercharger  that  would  work  at 
25,000  revolutions  per  minute?  (Yes,  that's 
right  — per  minute!)  Could  they  design 
and  manufacture  roller  bearings  in 
enormous  quantities  for  fast  new 
planes,  swift  new  tanks,  new 


types   of  ships?    Starting  from   scratch? 

Yes,  they  could.  And  they  did.  The  planes  in 
the  skies,  the  convoys  on  the  seas,  the  tank  and 
truck  columns  striking  out  on  land  bear  wit- 
ness that  the  great  emergency  was  well  met. 

Once  more,  American  techniques  built  up  in 
peacetime  proved  their  value  in  war. 

The  nation's  vast  reservoir  of  industrial  skills 
and  knowledge  was  more  than  ready  when 
the  time  for  action  came.  It  was  ready  be- 
cause of  the  American  way  of  providing  op- 
portunity and  rewarding  the  enterprise  of 
men  who  wanted  to  build  a  better  land. 

For  the  same  reason,  this  skill  and  knowl- 
edge will  be  ready  for  the  great  job  of  help- 
ing to  build  the  better  world  for  which 
America  has  worked  and  fought. 


VICTORY   IS   OUR    BUSINESS" 

CHEVROLET      .      PONTIAC      .      OLDSMOBILE     .     BUICK 

CADILLAC      .      BODY     BY     FISHER      .      FRIGIDAIRE 

CMC    TRUCK    A^D    COACH 

Every  Sunday  Afternoon 

GENERAL  MOTORS  SYMPHONY  OP  THE  AIR 

NBC  Network 


■ITOU'RE  so  mad  you  cQuld  spit.  So  you  pop  your 
W  valves,  and  splutter  your  ire  in  all  directions.  If 
I  you're  within  reaching  distance,  you  lay  a  fast  one 
-M-  alongside  the  beak  of  the  offender.  You  yank  a  braid 
or  twist  a  tuft  of  hair;  you  gouge  an  eye,  or  land  a  well- 
placed  kick  where  it  will  do  the  most  good.  You  go 
violent,  flaying  with  your  tongue,  your  arms  and  legs 
until  one  or  the  other  of  you  is  mortally  wounded. 
Which  may  make  you  feel  better. 

Or  you  go  marble  Venus.  And  just  as  cold.  Your 
blood  turned  to  ice  water,  your  mouth  a  slit,  your  eyes 
two  lumi)s  of  stone,  your  emotions  and  your  motions 
congealed.  And  it  takes  days  to  thaw  you  out. 

Either  way,  hot  or  cold,  you're  hound  to  suffer.  You 
can't  help  getting  annoyed  at  people  and  things  occa- 
sionally. And  how  you  act  when  you're  mad  is  your  own 
business.   So  here  we  go  meddling  in  it 


'Vici€(^s<!ur 


For  months  you've  been  singing  a  duet  with  the  in- 
separable Sally.  Where  one  of  you  was,  the  other  was 
also.  It's  been  swell,  past  tense.  You're  now  seething 
over  Sally.  You  cut  her  dead.  You  ignore  her  notes  of 
apology.  You  turn  away  her  go-betweens.  You're  not 
at  home  when  she  phones.  You're  cutting  her  off— and 
your  own  nose  too.  You're  indulging  in  a  solo  freeze- 
out.  Sally  may  be  wondering  what  on  earth  she  did  to 
hurt  you.  And  why  you  won't  give  her  a  chance  to 
explain,  to  be  forgiven. 

A  minor  explosion  is  the  satisfactory  war  to  wage  with 
Sally.  Tell  her,  without  benefit  of  audience,  exactly  how 
you  feel  about  things.  And  cool  off  long  enough  to  get 
her  side  of  the  story.  Putting  both  views  on  display  will 
help  to  clear  the  air. 

But  remember,  Sal  is  the  gal  who  is  watching  you 
mad.  And  she  may  rejoice  at  discovering  that  you're 
a  bombshell,  and  it's  wise  to  dive  for  a  foxhole  until 
you've  spent  your  fury.  All  of  which  may  convince  her 
that  you're  dangerous  to  play  with,  and  it's  just  as  well 
your  friendship  has  come  to  an  end.  Or  it  may  con- 
vince jyon  that  you're  acting  your  age — a  furious  three! 


.I*LAIV'   YOlJIt  4:AMI*AI<pN 

Passive  rcrtistancc  ia  one  way  to  make  yourself  felt.  Ilnl 
it^8  not  6o  po\v<'rfiiI  a  weapon  as  an  ag^reHsive  offensive. 
Arm  >ourNrlf  \siih  ilie  inaterirl  of  liatllr,  the  Suh-Deb 
booklets,  and  pitch  in  —  ibe  reftull  to  be  a  better-looking, 
more  popular,  more  fun-to-be-with  youl  Send  to  tbe 
Reference  Library,  Ladies'  U<)MP>  Journal,  Pbiladcl 
phia  5,  Pennsylvania,  for  the  complete  free  list  of  Siib- 
Oeb  booklets.  No.  169S.    It's  a  wise  girl  who's  forearmetl. 


Being  related  sometimes  makes  feuds  more  violent. 
Because  you  know  what  hurts.  Your  kid  brother  tells 
on  you,  so  you  step  on  his  model  airplane.  Your  sister 
wears  your  new  skirt  just  when  you  need  it,  so  you  point 
out  in  accents  acid  exactly  what  a  drool  you  think  her 
new  love  is.  It's  harder  to  hit  at  father,  so  you  avoid 
him  and  sulk.  With  mother,  you  wax  wordy.  If  you're 
annoyed  at  her  or  anyone  else  in  the  house,  you  tell 
her  all  about  it.  Loud  and  hot ! 

Living  with  you  is  fairly  permanent.  Holding  your 
temper  in  check  and  coolly  rationalizing  your  mads  will 
make  it  easier.  Screaming  your  fury,  kicking  the  floor, 
and  batting  your  head  against  walls  will  only  pro- 
long the  reprisals.  And  bring  mother  and  dad  to  the 
rescue  of  the  rest,  and  put  you  in  the  doghouse  where 
you  belong.  And  they're  big  enough  to  do  it  too! 


'"Doti.  '^ou'xe  a 


/" 


You  shake  with  anger,  you  splutter,  you  forget  your 
feminine  wiles,  and  you  lash  out  with  a  strong  right  at 
Don,  in  the  only  language  you  think  he  understands. 
It's  a  helpless  rage  that  relies  on  brute  force  and  denies 
the  strength  of  reason. 

You  can  fight  with  men  in  more  subtle  ways.  Ways 
which  pique  their  interest,  ways  which  foil  their  strat- 
egy, ways  which  increase  their  desire  to  get  back  into 
your  good  graces. 

First  of  all,  decide  whether  you  have  the  right  to  get 
mad  at  Don.  If  you're  going  steady,  and  everything  he 
does  is  supposed  to  please  you,  perhaps  yes.  If  he 
doesn't  mean  a  thing  in  your  life,  what  he  does  doesn't 


matter  either.  If,  however,  he  takes  a  poke  at  you  with 
intent  to  draw  blood,  don't  let  his  challenge  go  un- 
answered. Declare  war — but  make  it  your  kind  of  war. 
Tease  him  when  he's  taking  bows.  Needle  him  con- 
stantly and  good-naturedly  and  slither  away  before  he 
can  talk  back.  Disbelieve  with  surprised  eyes  every- 
thing he  says.  Question  all  his  good  intentions.  Forgive 
him  in  a  big  way  for  his  childish  errors.  Be  utterly 
elusive  when  he  beseeches  you  to  call  ofif  your  dogs. 
Your  campaign  of  torture  smites  his  pride  and  his  ego 
and  his  male  superiority.  If  he  didn't  matter  to  you  be- 
fore you  fought  with  him,  he'll  rapidly  want  to.  If  he 
did  matter,  you'll  not  widen  an  open  break  to  the  point 
where  you  don't  matter  to  him. 

The  man  who  jabbed  his  elbow  in  your  ear,  mussed 
your  hair,  knocked  your  hat  askew  and  then  dove  into 
the  empty  seat  you  were  making  for!  That  woman  who 
swept  past  your  table,  brushing  your  soup  right  into 
your  lap!  And  that  girl  who  spiked  your  instep  in  the 
elevator ! 

You  can  be  a  mouse  and  let  all  strangers  persecute 
you  in  silence.  You  can  whip  out  your  tongue  and  give 
an  audience  of  other  strangers  a  good  show  for  free.  Or 
you  can  register  a  protest  and  relieve  your  hurt  with  one 
little  remark  uttered  in  appropriate  tones  of  voice. 
"I'm  so  sorry!"  can  be  a  knife  or  a  soothing  hand. 
Sung  out  loud  and  strong,  it's  a  reminder  that  some- 
one owes  someone  an  apology.  If  they  won't,  you 
make  it  for  'em.  It  puts  you  in  the  clear.  You're  sorry 
you  were  in  the  way.  For  it  might  be  that  you  were 
wrong,  making  the  others  want  to  declare  war  on  you ! 


mxmmmmmm   • 


ikahuinSi 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


JL  me  udi  wai^t  act  vu 


hat  Madame  La  Couturiere  (nee  Minnie  Mooney)  whis- 
pered about  Barbara — now  trying  on  her  fourteenth  hat — was 
cruel,  but  it  was  the  truth.  Everybody  in  town  knew  what 
Barbara'' s  trouble  was  except  Barbara  herself.  .  .  why  men  fell 
over  themselves  to  meet  her,  then  turned  suddenly  indifferent 
.  .  .  why  she  was  the  "last  resort"  when  a  fourth  at  bridge  or 
an  extra  girl  was  needed  to  fill  out  a  party. 

How  About  You? 

Clothes,  charm,  good  looks  can  count  for  little  when  your 
breath  is  off-color.  You  perhaps  do  not  realize  that  halitosis 
(bad  breath)  is  so  common  and  that  anyone  may  be  guilty 
at  some  time  or  other — without  knoiving  it.  It's  wise  to  be 
always  on  guard  against  this  condition,  which  can  put  you 
in  such  a  bad  light  so  quickly. 

Listerine  Antiseptic,  used  as  a  mouth  rinse  and  gargle, 
offers  you  a  simple  and  wholly  delightful  precaution  that 
so  many  popular  people  rarely  omit.  Use  it  always  before 
any  "date"  where  you  want  to  be  at  your  best. 

Listerine's  rapid  germicidal  action  halts  food  fermentation 
in  the  mouth  and  the  odors  it  causes.  And,  although  halitosis 
is  sometimes  systemic,  this  food  fermentation,  in  the  opinion 
of  some  authorities,  is  a  major  cause  of  unpleasant  breath. 
Almost  at  once,  in  such  cases,  your  breath  becomes  sweeter, 
purer,  less  likely  to  offend.  Lambert  Pharmacal  Company, 
St.  Louis,  Missouri. 


/^-  <==>.  A  little  loving  care  is  what  your  teeth  need,  and  this  delightful  dentifrice  helps  give  it.  LISTERINE  TOOTH  PASTE 


10 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Hei/,  no! 


Use  Vrano! 


I  AY  that  plunger  down,  lady,  lay  that 
-/  plunger  down.  When  drains  are 
clogged,  clear  them  out  with  Drano! 
Drano  opens  drains  that  are  so  stopped 
up  even  water  can't  trickle  through! 
But  don't  wait  for  trouble  like 
this !  Put  one-  tablespoon  of  Drano 


Drano 


Never  over  25(*  at  drug,  grocery,  and 
hardware  stores 


into  your  sink  drain  twice  a  week, 
and  keep  your  sink  free-running. 
Drano  also  clears  out  dangerous 
sewer  germs  that  breed  in  every 
sink — only  2  inches  from  where  you 
wash  dishes  and  prepare  food.  Play 
safe.  Use  Drano  twice  a  week! 


CLEARS  OUT 


SEWER  GERMS 


CLOGGED  DRAINS 


Copr.  1945,  Tho  DrackoCt  Co. 


fliir  Readers  Write  Us 


Britishers  Take  a  Oander 
at  American  Girl 

Navy  Yard,  Philadelphia. 

Dear  Editors :  Since  our  stay  in  America 
we  have  often  been  asked  to  give  our  im- 
pressions of  the  American  girl.  The  dan- 
gerous and  difficult  task  of  dissecting  and 
analyzing  the  American  girl  was  per- 
formed by  three  fathers  whose  temporary 
profession  is  that  of  British  naval  officers. 
Since  the  authors  have  been  out  of  touch 
with  land  and  ladies  for  some  time,  the 
views  expressed  herein  may  be  justly  con- 
sidered unbalanced.  Certainly  not  to  be 
taken  too  seriously. 

The  American  girl  dresses  well  and  al- 
ways to  her  best  advantage.  Her  care- 
fully chosen  accessories — bag,  hat,  shoes, 
gloves — certainly  add  the  ultimate  touch 
of  perfection  to  an  attractive  appearance. 
She  carries  herself  beautifully  and  unself- 
consciously. But  we  note  also  (this  is  the 
opinion  of  only  one  of  us)  that  her  center 
section  (a  more  nautical  term  being 
"midships,")  is  more  generously  molded 
than  we  had  previously  thought  an  aver- 
age. 

It  does  seem  that  "make-up"  is  gener- 
ally a  trifle  overdone. 

The  average  ankle,  and  what  may  be 
seen  above  it  on  a  quiet  windless  day,  is 
of  a  very  high  standard.  The  standard  is 
definitely  above  our  previously  accepted 
average. 

There  is  a  big  difference,  we  have  no- 
ticed, between  the  junior  miss  here  and  at 
home.  The  superficially  sophisticated 
teen-aged  girls  contrast  strongly  with  the 
games-playing,  out-of-doors,  undecorated 
^irls  at  home.  But  basically  they  are 
much  the  same.  We  have  often  been 
baffled  by  the  problem  and  equally  amazed 
by  the  solution,  when  trying  to  estimate 
the  age  of  any  American  girl  between 
seventeen  and  twenty-seven.  To  sum  up 
our  composite  picture  of  the  "American 
figure,"  it  reaches  a  high  level  in  our  esti- 
mation, and  the  clothes  worn  (we  can't 
separate  the  two,  can  we?)  appear  to  be 
as  much  of  an  adornment  as  a  conceal- 
ment, thereby  exhibiting  a  less  self-con- 
scious and  franker  acceptance  of  natural 
interests  and  laws. 

The  American  girl's  attitude  to  men  is 
on  a  definitely  freer  and  franker  plane  than 
in  Britain,  possibly  explained  by  the 
prevalence  of  coeducation.  This  easy  and 
.sensible  approach  to  the  opposite  sex,  we 
admire.  The  comparative  lack  of  formal- 
ity, and  reliance  on  the  good  sense  of  the 
girls  them.selves,  strikes  us  as  a  sound  and 
healthy  outlook. 

We  find,  on  meeting  the  American  girl 
for  the  first  time,  that  we  know  almost 
immediately  whether  we  are  liked  or 
disliked.  This  is  an  excellent  thing, 
though  sometimes  the  results  are  rather 
stunning.  On  the  other  hand,  it  does  cut 
out  a  pack  of  polite  artificiality  and  near 
hj^pocrisy. 

Another  characteristic  we  have  noticed 
is  the  independence  and  poise  of  the  Amer- 
ican girl  in  hailing  a  cab,  catching  the 
waiter's  eye,  crossing  the  street,  driving 
the  car,  and  so  on.  All  things  which  we 
regard  as  requiring  the  masculine  touch 
are  quite  likely  to  be  taken  out  of  our 
hands,  unless  very  swift  action  is  taken. 
Again  there  are  obvious  reasons  for  this, 
with  so  many  girls  fending  for  themselves, 
and  probably  the  somewhat  slow  results 
obtained  by  those  not  familiar  with  the 
American  "drill"  for  these  occasions.  We 
have  noticed  that  even  to  American  men, 
this  independence  tends  to  offend  the 
deeply  rooted  protective  instinct  of  a 
gentleman. 

In  conclusion,  our  impressions  of  the 
fascinating  American  girl  are  even  more 
interesting  than  all  the  other  natural  and 
mechanical  marvels  of  this  country.  She 
is  a  high-powered,  cocktail  of  equal  parts 
dynamite  and  honey,  frankness  and  inde- 
pendence, asserting  the  age-old  dom- 
inance over  the  male  in  a  much  more  ob- 
vious fashion  than  we  have  found  to  be 
the  case  at  home. 

Sincerely  yours, 

A  LONDONER, 

MIDLANDER 

AND  YORKSHIREMAN. 


She's  Teliine  Us! 

San  Antonio,  Texas. 
Dear  Editor:  Being  an  average  girl  of 
seventeen,  I  am  impressed  by  your  con- 
cern  over   the   so-called   problem   of   the 
younger  generation.  Why  don't  you  have 
an  article  written  by  an  honest,  forthright 
teen-ager  instead  of  all  those  people  with 
hygienic  titles?    I  think  it  would  help. 
Yours  very  truly, 
VALERIE  PACKARD. 

f  Miss  Packard  evidently  did  not  see  our 
report  from  teen-agers  in  the  December 
article,  We're  Telling  You !   ED. 

Robin  Isn't  Typical  ... 

Lynn,  Massachusetts. 

Dear  Sirs:  We  protest!  So  the  typical 
girl  of  sixteen  smokes  openly,  swears  a 
little  and  has  come  home  at  times  with  a 
slight  odor  of  liquor  on  her  breath!  At 
nineteen,  we  must  be  sadly  behind  the 
times.  The  crowd's  favorite  drink  is  a 
Cola,  and  smoking,  in  our  opinion,  is 
taboo  for  "ladies."    As  for  swearing! 

We're  a  crowd  who  grew  up  together, 
but  the  phase  you  describe  seems  to  be 
one  we  missed.  Oh,  we  were  silly  enough. 
We  wore  gobs  of  lipstick,  blinding  bangs, 
glamorous  long  bobs,  and  clothes  that 
reeked  of  sharpness.  We  loved  parties, 
sports  and  the  dates  we  were  allowed,  and 
we  still  do. 

We  are  completely  amazed  at  how  little 
the  war  seems  to  upset  your  typical  sub- 
deb's  life.  For  a  girl  of  sixteen,  she  seems 
to  have  matured  only  too  quickly,  in  all 
but  things  that  really  matter.  We  don't 
hold  ourselves  up  as  shining  examples,  but 
we  do  deem  ourselves  typical.  All  of  us,  at 
one  time  or  another,  have  worked  in  war 
plants  without  the  slightest  hindrance  in 
carrying  on  our  education,  have  bought 
"War  Bonds  with  our  own  money,  have 
given  blood,  taken  first-aid  courses  and, 
of  late,  with  the  full  backing  of  our  par- 
ents, have  run  a  private  canteen  for  serv- 
icemen. 

Our  literature  has  not  been  censored, 
but  we  have  learned  to  choose  it  wisely. 
We  firmly  believe  in  the  God  for  whom 
your  sub-deb  is  groping  so  blindly. 

In  all  sincerity, 
MARG.A.RET  DALY,  CLAIRE  BRES- 
NAHAN.    MARGARET    J.    CONLON, 
GLORIA     TAYLOR,     ELEANOR     M. 
GREALISH.    MILDRED    DONAHUE. 

She's  Super-Swell!  ■ 

Fort  Worth,  Texas. 

Dear  Editors:  I  couldn't  wait  any 
longer  to  tell  you  how  much  we  high- 
school  girls  like  the  L.  H.  J.  It  was  not  at 
all  surprising  to  find  it  first  on  the  list  of 
favorite  magazines  of  teen-agers.  Robin 
Roberts  must  be  a  super-swell  girl.  We 
think  the  L.  H.  J.  did  right  by  us  in  choos- 
ing her. 

Your  December  issue  treated  the  "teen- 
age problem"  as  we  like  to  have  it 
treated.  So  many  people  seem  to  think 
that  adolescence  is  a  sort  of  disease.  (In- 
cidentally, we  hate  the  term  "adoles- 
cence," but  there  are  times  when  it  has  to 
be  used.)  Why  don't  older  people  realize 
that  being  young  is  something  we  can't 
help  at  all?  S.N. 

She's  Not  Like  lis 

Olivet,  Michigan. 

Dear  Editor:  We,  as  a  group,  do  not 
feel  truly  represented  by  Robin  Roberts. 
We  took  a  survey  of  all  high-school  girls 
here.  The  results  follow: 

Out  of  92  girls,  8  smoke.  Out  of  those 
8,  5  do  it  secretly.  Out  of  the  same  92.  3 
drink;  48  go  to  church  regularly,  or  are 
members.  At  home,  all  but  7  have  their 
own  regular  duties. 

If  we  are  wrong  in  assuming  that  Robin 
Roberts  was  to  represent  a  typical  high- 
school  girl,  then  no  offense  is  taken.  But 
we  very  definitely  feel  that  even  though 
the  modern  generation  has  changed,  it 
has  not  taken  to  all  the  things  that  are  a 
part  of  Robin's  life.      Sincerely, 

GIRLS  OF  HOMEMAKING  III, 
Walton  Township  Unit  School. 

(Continued  on  Page  13) 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


11 


UY  WAR  BONDS  AN  I 


New  milk  factory  being  built 


The  other  fellow's  job  often  looks  easier  than 
your  own.  Like  the  city  man  who  said  to  the 
dairy  farmer,  "All  you  do  is  put  fodder  in  one 
end  of  the  cow  and  take  milk  out  of  the  other !" 

Actually,  of  course,  dairying  is  a  complex 
business.  It  takes  careful  breeding,  feeding 
and  about  two  years'  time  before  a  four- 
legged  milk  factory  even  begins  to  produce. 
It  takes  hard  work,  constant  cleanliness  and 
every  scientific  safeguard  to  kee-p  cows  healthy 
and  productive. 

Getting  the  milk  to  you  is  equally  exacting. 
It  calls  for  skilful  handling,  speed  and  refrig- 
eration. It  calls  for  endless  tests  and  clean, 
sterile  equipment.  Even  bottles  go  through  a 


twenty  to  thirty  minute  soaking,  rinsing  and 
sterilizing  process.  It  calls  for  dependable 
delivery  in  any  weather. 

Because  the  dairy  industry  does  its  difficult 
job  so  well,  the  production  of  milk — nature's 
most  nearly  perfect  food  —  has  reached  all- 
time  highs  and  America,  even  in  war,  is  the 
best-fed  nation  in  the  world. 

Much  of  this  progress  has  been  made  possi- 
ble by  National  Dairy  research.  Our  labora- 
tories have  improved  the  processing  of  milk, 
cheese,  butter,  ice  cream  .  .  .  developed  new 
dairy  products  . . .  guarded  quality  and  purity 
.  .  .  and  so  helped  the  health  of  your  family, 
your  nation. 


Dedicated  to  the  wider  tise  and  better  under- 
standing of  dairy  products  as  human  food 
.  .  .  as  a  base  for  the  development  of  new 
products  and  materials  .  .  .  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and   in   the   towns   and   cities   of  America. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS      CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


^ 


12 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Among  America's  leading  favorites  there  is  always 
one  pattern  of  Gorham's  century-famous  sterling  that  a  hostess  loves  above  all. 
Choose  yours  .  .  .  order  now.  Place-settings  comprise  luncheon  knife  and  fork,  cream  soup  spoon, 
teaspoon,  butter  spreader,  salad  fork.  Average  cost,  including  Federal  Tax,  about  $23. 
Send  10^  for  booklet,  '^Entertaining  the  Sterling  Way 


PROVIDENCE       7.       RHODE       ISLAND^ 


Left  to  right:  English  cadroon,  greenbrier, 
KING  EDWARD.  Bottom,  left  to  right:  LYRIC, 
SOVEREIGN,   CAMELLIA.   CHANTILLY 


L-VDIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


iCcmtiuMfJ  from  P»gf  10) 
We  Like  Her, 


Xtebrose.  ilassofhrnsetls. 

Dfcr  E^ti^w:  I  just  had  to  tell  you  how 

uch    we    aii    enjo>-ed    ibe    December 

^"RN.\i. — especially    thai    super    ^ang 

-  ■  lich  we'\-e  quickly  added  lo  our  "45 "' 

\.-abuIaries).  That  was  a  grand  article  on 

How  America  Li\-es  by  Maun?en  Daly. 

.-.nvi  vre  certainly  managed  to  find  some 

■'inters  in  the  story  oi  Robin  and 

...is!  Your  friend. 

MARILYN"  SARGENT. 

Bat  Babsi  Is  BUfereMt! 

SfottU.  Waskimgfcm. 
Dear  Editor:  It  ga\"e  me  a  sinking  feel- 
ing to  read  Youth  in  \Vaninie,  We're  Tell- 
ing You !  and  Meet  a  Sub-Deb.  Is  this  the 
America  that  our  bo>-s — and  I  ha\-e  iwx)  in 
ser\-ice — are  dving  for? 

Just  when  my  feelings  had  reached  a 

low  stage,  in  dashed  my  next-door  neigh- 

rs  sub-deb  daughter.   Partly  to  get  h^' 

-■-otion.  I  sketched  TOur  article  on  Robin 

berts.    ""What   a   drool!"   said    Babs. 

How  could  she  live  in  America  and  not 

rn  about  God  and  the  Bible?    Won't 

r  be  a  drip  of  a  wife?    I  can  cook,  sew 

■    keep  house" — and   Babs  can.     She 

.'.aaged  their  big  home  this  past  summer 

lie  her  mother  was  ill.  Then  she  added. 

■  don't  smoke,  drink  or  neck,  and 
.:her  does  my  gang — and  I'll  bet  we 
■e  more  fun  than  Robin  and  her  rough- 
ess."  Sincerely. 

M.\RY  .N.WGLE. 

Handii  .\frttsi9i  the  !!iea  t* 
Spaak  l»«roth>-  Blark^ 

ChicasQ.  Illinois. 
Jfnilirmfii:  Since  this  is  my  first   fan 
;;er  lo  you,  I'll  try  to  cover  everynliing. 
.\nn  Baichelder  taught  me  to  cook.    I 
.^■o\"ered  her  the  j"ear  I  was  married. 
is»o!o.  when  my  husband  and  I  were  try- 
ing to  wTest  a  living  from  a  sterile  Okla- 
homa farm.   I  used  to  daydream  ox'er  the 
luscious  recipes  and  wonder  if  we'd  ever 
taste  food  like  that  again. 

Gladys   Taber,   Louise   Benjamin   and 

Leslie    B.    Hohman    ^Lieutenant    Com- 

-inder  Hohman  to  me^ — I  got  chummy 

:h  them  all.   But  with  this  I'm  sending 

.-.a  open  letter  to  Dorothy  Black,  which 

I  hope  is  selI-explanator\-. 

Yours  truly. 
>LVRY  SH.YNK. 

Dear  Mrs.  Black:  This  morning  I  woke 

early  and  leaped  out  of  bed.   \l  thought 

:    rather   strange,   since   I    usually  drag 

:h  groaning.)    I  dressed  in  my  lo\"ely 

;  .  eed  suit  and  my  comfortable  walking 

s -.oes    and     walked     dowiistairs.       (Old 

"S::sy.  our  Colored  Family  Retainer,  usu- 

■•  ser\-es  my  breakfast  in  bed.)   After  a 

x.uious     breakfast     and     cigarette.     I 

■  .ked  as  far  as  the  garage.  I  dro\-e  one 
?ur  cars  to  the  grocery  and  meat  mar- 

.-vet,  where  I  was  met  by  a  smiting  staff 
singing  "Good  Morning  to  You,"  The 
butcher  waved  a  thick  steak  at  me  and 
held  aloft  a  crown  roast  of  pork  and  a 
pound  of  bacon.    I  pointed  out  the  other 

"IS  I  wanted.  "Just  deli\"er  them."  I 
i  airily.  "I'm  going  on  to  town." 

.-Vfier  an  hour  or  so  at  a  beauty  parlor.  I 

spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  drifting  in 

aTid  out  of  the  North   Michigan  shops, 

ere  my  wild  spending  made  hardly  a 

"i  in  our  huge  bank  account,  which  has 
-   ;  huger  since  the  war. 

.\nd  so  to  Helen's  for  an  afternoon  of 
bridge  and  girlisli  gossip.  We  were  having 
a  wonderful  time  chatting  about  the  ballet 
and  the  opera  and  wondering  if  Stella 
knew  Dick  was  taking  liis  secretary  to 
lunch  every  day — when  all  of  a  sudden 
.-Mice  (she's  alwa\-s  been  a  bit  balmy) 
spoke  up. 

"Look,  girls,"  she  said.  "Tell  me  what 
to  have  for  dinner  tonight.  We've  had 
steak  so  much  even  Fred  is  tired  of  iu 
Do  you  think " 

We  didn't  stop  to  think.  We  started 
throwing  our  cards  at  her.  .\nd  all  of  a 
sudden  /  was  .\lice.  and  in  Wonderland, 
and  the  alarm  clock  was  ringing,  and  I 
knew.  Dorothy,  I  had  had  that  dream  be- 
caus>»  I  read  your  stor\"  in  the  JofRN.vi. 
just  before  going  to  bed. 

It's  really  too  bad  I  read  Grounds  for 
Marriage.  Normally.  I'd  ha\-e  thought  it 
sweet  and  gay.  But  not  after  the  day  I'd 
really  spent.  Trekking  from  store  to  store 
in  the  Loop  all  morning  looking  for  ga- 


loshes for  son  Jon  and  shoes  for.  m>°s>el;. 
Just  any  kind  oi  shoes.  Of  course,  it  isn't 
Hitter's  or  Hirohito's  fault  that  I  \k'ear 
siie  ten  with  an  extremely  narrow  last. 
But  I  coitU  get  shod  before  the  war  and  I 
can't  now.  Don't  ask  me  why.  I  could 
have  my  shoes  custom-made — if  I  had  the 
money.  No  galoshes  for  Jon.  but  a  prom- 
ise "in  the  next  week  or  so." 

Nest  a  thirty-minute  sub\\"ay  ride  home 
and  the  afternoon  spent  in  looking  for — 
yes! — something  to  eat.  At  the  butcher's 
I  held  card  No.  25 — and  held  it  and  held  it 
and  held  it.  Usually  I  smoke  while 
"queuing."  but  I  haven't  tasted  a  ciga- 
rette for  ages.  Finally  my  number  is 
called  and  I  ask  for  a  pot  roast.  There  is 
none.  No  bacon,  no  pork  of  any  kind. 
There  is  U\'er.  My  husband  and  child 
hate  Ii\-er.  And  wiy  husband  can  recogniae 
it  even  in  a  palf!  I  think  longingly  of 
o\-sters,  but  they  are  prohibiti\"eiy  high. 
Chicken  is  no  longer  sold  by  the  piece,  and 
I  can't  afford  a  whole  one.  There  is  rib 
roast,  but  I  ha\-e  not  enough  points  for  it. 
I  settle  on  a  pound  of  hamburger  meat 
(groimd  scrap  beef)  and  cheese.  The 
dieese  cleans  up  my  points  for  the  week. 

I  go  to  the  Greek's  on  the  comer  and 
hand  over  a  king's  ransom  for  a  few  green 
tilings  and  some  fruit.  Oh,  yes,  I  had  to 
lake  a  number  in  here,  too,  and  waited 
and  waited  and  waited. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Black,  we  know  it  could  he 
worse;  and  I,  for  one.  am  not  cr\ing.  Wlien 
Jon  comes  home  wiih  his  less-than-a- 
monih-old  shoes  swleless:  when  I  fell  dow^l! 
the  "el"  steps  because  my  four-\"ear-olo 
dress  pumps  wouldn't  support  me  and  1 
couldn't  find  any  other  slioes;  when  my 
husljand  suffers  toothache  because  he 
can't  find  time  to  go  to  the  dentist;  when 
I  had  rtu  and  there  was  nobody  lo  come  in 
and  keep  house  and  give  Jon  his  lunches — 
I  honestly  don't  feel  like  a  martyr. 

I  know  when  Jon  goes  off  to  school  each 
morning,  he'll  be  back  safe  each  after- 
noon. I  know  when  I  get  back  to  our 
apartment,  the  building  will  be  standing. 
The  only  robot  bomb  I"\-e  ever  seen  was  a 
small  model  I  bought  the  other  day  for 
my  young  nephew's  birthday. 

But,  Mrs.  Black,  we  loo  jolly  the 
butcher  and  the  laundryman  and  the 
dairyman,  and  "queue"  and  "think  up 
wa\"s  of  cooking  offal."  That's  really  all  I 
had  to  say. 

And  this:  I've  enjoyed  \<>ur  letters  to 
the  Goulds  and  feel  almost  that  you're  one 
of  the  family.  S<"  you  mustn't  mind  my 
scolding.  Sincerely. 

^!.\RY  SHANK. 

.\ri  fur  Journal  *lilH«Ti 

OiikloMd.  Califomia. 
To  Ikf  Cnrtis  Piihlishing  Co.:  Pleasse 
may  we  have  an  advenisaement  on  the 
back  of  the  paintings,  the  new  feature  in 
the  Joi"RN.\L?  They  would  make  lovely 
framed  pictures  if  one  would  not  be  tear- 
ing out  a  page  of  some  \"er\-  good  stor\-  in 
order  to  remo\"e  iheni. 

I  pass  my  Jomx.u.  on  to  others  in  tliese 
da>-s.  but  would  like  to  haw  the  picture. 
Sincerely. 
MRS.  JOHN  CLAPP. 

►  Although  many  readers  do  tear  out 
{Xiges  of  the  Jovrx.\l  for  framing,  or 
for  scrapbooks,  it  is  against  jx>stal  regu- 
lations for  the  magazine  to  suggest  that 
this  be  done,  or  to  pierforate  pages  to 
make  them  easy  to  tear  out.        ED. 

Baliimorf.  ilaryiaiJ. 
Dear  Editor:  The  Fine  .\rts  Section  of 
the  Woman's  Club  of  Catonsville,  Mary- 
land, has  asked  me,  as  chairman,  to  write 
you  our  \-ery  deep  appreciation  of  the 
lovely  reprvxluciions  of  Romantic  .-Vmer- 
ican  paintings  appearing  in  your  maga- 
zine. We  ha\"e  mounted  them  in  our  art 
file  in*the  public  librarx-,  and  hope  that 
you  will  continue  tlie  series, 

Yerv  trulv. 
lX~TAYL\  A.  iCEEN. 

►  The  JovRX.u,  first  began  reproducing 
famous  paintings  for  its  millions  of 
readers  in  Januarx".  1"*I0,  when  its 
circulation  was  1,285,441,  and  its  edi- 
tor famed  Edward  Bok,  Since  lOlO. 
the  Joi'RN.KL  has  brought  to  its  millions 
masterpieces  by  as  diverse  artists  as 
Raphael.  Wlasquez,  Rembrandt,  WTiis- 
tler.  Homer,  (.iranl  Wood  and  James 
Hopper.   ED. 

nCoHlintieti  on  Page  14Si 


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heirloom  «>t,i„.s-.u"h\^     '"'r,'^   ?»'J-pJa.e;i 

.vou  feel  aJi  dr^^sed  up.        "  "  '''"^''  *=  ">«, 

Ba?s  and   morv   Kas^     ,11    .. 

."'^n.h«-<e  of  other  S^,„rThf.V  ^'"   "^^^^' 
'-e  <.;„„,„.  f,,„,  „,/„;";f^-[':'^«-»'""^.v  affair  will 

^^1-  black  or  broKn  \7.  "  '"''"■"^'  arms-i„ 

-.^MA„ddoe-a::!cSi;t:it-''-^( 

chocolates  preferred  hv  J.-  '^"^  ''"^  ^^^  «he 
chocolate  has  .hrtjl  J  "'"''.'""""'^  »*"''''^' T'''^ 
-hen,henan.eis\Vhi,„'in'  Tl"^'  "'""  '""''  ^"^ 
.-"....  of  gas,r.>„omicrde,;Jhr"'""r'""">^ 
creams,   crispy   nut*     ^T         ^  ^'~""'"'h-melii„» 


--.-SSSORIES        f«c 


^# 


""^ec, 


'^. 


favorite  Sampler,  remember 
it's  be<-juse  millions  <«f  |Hiund< 
of  ^  liilnian's   Chocolales   are 


ill  I 


fi^litiii::  frtiiil^ 


/ 


CHOCOLATES 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Jimerica's  Lest- It  keel  ham 


^Best  by  national  vofe.'  The  superb  qua 
ity  of  Swift's  Premium  —  strictly  guarded 
for    50   years  —  makes    it    America's 
favorite,   preferred   to   the   next   8 
leading  brands  combined. 


GELATIN    EASTER   EGGS! 

A  Salad-Garnish  so  novel 

it  will  set  'em  all  talking 

Recipes.  For  a  grand  Easter  din- 
ner, serve  any  part  of  a  Swift's 
Premium  Ham  adorned  with  Gela- 
tin Eggs.  Here's  how  Martha  Logan, 
Swift's  chief  Home  Economist,  fixes 
the  eggs.  Break  shells  at  one  end, 
making  an  opening  about  size  of  a 
penny.  Pour  eggs  into  a  bowl;  save 
to  use  in  recipes  below  (or  start  sav- 
ing shells  ahead  of  time).  Wash  shells 
in  cold  water;  put  back  in  carton. 

Soak  1  envelope  (1  tbsp.)  plain 
gelatin  in  >2  c.  cold  water  for  5  min. 
Dissolve  in  1  c.  boiling  water.  Add 
yi  tsp.  salt,  %  c.  sugar,  ^i  c.  vine- 
gar, j/i  tsp.  onion  salt,  J4  c.  each, 
finely  chopped  pimiento,  green  pep- 
per, sweet  pickles,  and  1  c.  finely 
chopped  cabbage.  Divide  mixture 
into  3  bowls.  Color  with  red,  green, 
and  yellow  food  coloring. 

Fill  empty  shells,  pouring  mix- 
ture from  a  pitcher.  Put  filled  shells 
back  into  carton  and  chill  over  night 
in  refrigerator.  Peel  off  shells,  serve 
on  parsley  or  watercress. 


Ham  and  L^g  Dinner.  Beat  5 

eggs  (about  1  c.)  slightly.  Add  IK  c. 
cooled,  scalded  milk,  K  tsp.  salt,  yi 
tsp.  pepper,  1  tbsp.  grated  onion. 
Bake  in  greased  casserole  in  mod. 
oven  (350°)  for  about  30  min.  5 
min.  before  removing  from  oven,  top 
with  slices  of  baked  ham.  (Serves  3) 


BROWN- 
Bluelabc 
red  label 
buying  a 
word  SWIFT  down  the  side. 


Ham    and  Egg  Lunch.    To  5 

slightly  beaten  eggs,  (about  1  c.) 
add  K  tsp.  salt;  yk  tsp.  pepper,  1  c. 
cubed  baked  Swift's  Premium  Ham, 
2  tbsp.  chopped  onion,  X  c  chopped 
celery,  Yi  c.  chopped  green  pepper. 
Cook  over  low  heat,  in  warm  greased 
skillet,  stirring  constantly.  Serve 
on  toast.  (Serves  3) 
Your  first  duty  to  your  country-.  BUY  WAR  BONDS! 


Fifty  Years  Ago 
in  the  Journai 


THE  social  event  of  March,  1895, 
was  the  marriage  of  Anna  Gould 
and  the  Count  de  Castellane  in  the 
Moorish  Room  of  her  father's  Fifth 
Avenue  home,  before  a  fireplace  of 
ebony  and  pearl.  The  Japanese- 
Chinese  war  ended,  couturier  Worth 
of  Paris  died,  and  Richard  Harding 
Davis  wrote  The  Princess  Aline. 
"The  ladies  of  the  tale,  like  all  of 
Mr.  Davis'  creations,  have  an  in- 
definable air  which  birth  and  breed- 
ing alone  can  give,"  applauded  Har- 
per's Bazaar. 

"Unless  a  child  is  unusually  large 
for  his  age,  it  is  better  to  keep  him 
in  skirts  until  he  is  four  years  old,"^ 
advises  the  March,  1895,  LADIES' 

Home  journal. 

"Nearly  all  men  like  music,"  re- 
marks Eva  Kinney  Griffith  in  a 
piece  called  The  Art  of  Pleasing 
Men.  "Therefore,  if  you  have  a 
talent  in  that  line,  learn  to  sing 
and  play  simple  songs,  taking  care 
to  enunciate  plainly." 

"Marie:  It  is  not  necessary  to  help  a 
man  on  with  his  coat  at  any  time  or 
any  place." 

Advertisements  in  this  thirty- 
eight-page  issue  of  the  JOURNAL 
include  a  steel  baby  carriage  for 
$2.75,  silk  umbrellas  for  98c.  a 
boy's  double-breasted  twill  suit 
with  extra  trousers  and  cap  to 
match,  sizes  5  to  15,  for  $4;  but  a 
Victoria  or  Columbia  bicycle  cost 
$100. 

"Harry:  In  making  an  afternoon 
call,  the  topcoat  should  be  left  in 
the  hall,  but  your  silk  hat  and  stick 
may  be  carried  into  the  drawing 
room.''^ 

"Ogden:  Potatoes,  no  matter  how 
thinly  sliced,  should  be  eaten  with 
a  fork  and  not  from  the  fingers." 

"My  dear  girl,  there  are  more  ways 
of  serving  God  than  by  going  to 
church,"  advises  Ruth  Ashmore. 
"Deny  yourself  this  pleasure  one 
Sunday  and  let  your  mother  go, 
while  you  stay  behind  and  put  the 
house  in  order." 

"Miss  Leslie:  A  woman  only  five 
feet  in  height  cannot  wear  a  skirt 
over  four  and  a  half  yards  wide 
without  causing  a  laughable  ef- 
fect." 

Fashion  notes  for  Easter,  1895: 
"Pipings  of  fur  and  heads  of  small 
animals  like  the  s^al  or  mink  will 
obtain  on  spring  tcraps,"  writes 
the  Journal's  fashion  expert. 
"Capes  are  of  crepon  or  chiffon, 
trimmed  with  jet  or  lace  and  sprigs 
of  violets  or  forget-me-nots." 

"Ambitious  stenog- 
rapher: Patent- 
leather  slippers  are 
not  worn  on  the 
street." 

Beauty  advice: 
"Jane:  I  certainly 
cannot  recom- 
mend the  use  of 
belladonna  to  in- 
crease the  size  of 
your  eyes." 


u 


''Gossip  about  people  you 
knoiCf  editors  you  like  and 
irhat  yoes  on  in  IVew  Yorle, 


DOWN  at  the  entrance  of  the  build- 
ing next  door  two  wings  are 
standing,  from  a  Japanese  plane, 
labeled  "Betty."  And  pausing  for  a 
glance  the  other  day,  itivhard Pratt 
listened  while  two  boys,  about  twelve, 
conversed  learnedly  of  Nipponese  air- 
craft. It  seems,  Mr.  P.  discovered, 
that  Betty  is  the  code  name  we  give 
to  one  type  of  the  enemy's  twin- 
engine  torpedo  bomber.  Lily  is 
lighter;  Sally's  a  medium  bomber: 
Tony,  Tojo,  Oscar,  Zeke  and  Hamp 
are  single-engine  fighters,  according 
to  the  two  boys,  and  Emily  is  a  big 
four-engine  bomber  for  patrol.  This 
sort  of  information  is  typical  among 
the  small  fry.  What  about  girls?  Well, 
girls  don't  rate.  They  give  their  great- 
est attention  to  the  Air  Forces  men 
stationed  at  the  show — particularly 
the  handsome  ones,  with  medals. 

Hearing  this,  and  remembering  a  cer- 
tain apathetic  attitude  as  a  child  toward 
exhibits  of  any  kind,  we  phoned  around 
the  city  for  further  information  on  the 
cultural  curiosity  of  kids.  You'd  be  sur- 
prised— it's  terrific.  Up  at  the  Metro- 
politan, for  instance,  for  the  youngest 
visitors  they  have  treasure  hunts— give 
them  mimeographed  sheets  of  clues  and 


Art  critics  in  the  making. 

let  them  wander  around  among  the 
painting,  sculpture  and  other  exhibits, 
looking  for  the  various  objects  listed,  and 
picking  up  appreciation  as  they  go.  At 
the  Museum  of  Natural  History  they 
get  almost  8000  children  over  a  week 
end;  have  to  put  them  in  platoons  with 
trained  instructors  who  say  that  a  lot  of 
the  young  ones  who  come  there  regu- 
larly can  soon  tell  tfiem  a  thing  or  two. 
And  over  at  the  Museum  of  Modern 
Art,  where  they  have  a  Young  People's 
Gallery,  and  give  shows  of  their  work, 
and  have  viewing  machines  for  ani- 
mated drawings,  which  you  turn  with  a 
crank,  they  also  take  down  youthful 
criticism  of  modern  masterpieces. 


ANGELA   CALoMl 

iouiiijul  visitors  in  the  niitsentns  soon  instruct  the  instructors. 


Everybody's  heard  about  Harvey,  and 
knows  that  Harvey  is  a  big  six-foot  rabbit 
who  never  appears  on  the  stage.  But 
hardly  anybody  knows  that  the  rabbit  did 
appear  at  a  few  opening  performances  in 
Boston,  where  they  figured  the  show  ivould 
be  funnier  if  he  remained  imaginary.  The 
queer  thing  about  the  illusion,  according 
to  Ann  itatrhi'Mfr,  is  that  a  lot  of 
people  who've  seen  the  play  really  think 
they've  seen  the  rabbit.  But  his  costume, 
which  cost  $650,  is  buried  in  tnoth  balls  in 
the  basement  of  the  48th  Street  Theater — 
waiting  for  the  movies,  maybe. 

If  you  listen  to  the  Aldrich  Family,  you 
may  be  interested  to  hear  they've  had 
to  make  a  big  bas-relief  map  of  Henry's 
home  town,  so  the  author,  lliltord 
OoldsnUtb,  can  keep  it  Straight  where 
everybody  lives  and  works.  Too  many 
people  complained  that  one  time  De 
Haven's  drugstore  would  be  right 
around  the  corner  from  Henry's,  and 
sometimes  a  bike  ride  away,  together 
with  other  discrepancies. 

March  is  always^  good  book  month: 
there's  l'!pbraini  Tiitt  again  in  INlK. 
TU  IT  I'INIJS  AWAY,  hy  ArlhurTrnin: 
a  sli(»rl.  biograpliii'al  n<»\«'l  of  l)c:in 
Swift  in  those  years  >tlii<'li  involved 
Stella  and  Vanessa— THE  MOLENT 
Friends,  by  lUintitnn  #'l<>ir<*N:  Uirh- 
ard  Writiht's  autobiography  of 
ehildhootl.  ItLACK  ItOV,  an  ania/.ingly 
vivi«l  i>lctiire  of  Deep  South  tragedy; 
and  a  souikI  book  wlii<'h  concerns  our 
national  future— SOLUTION  IN  .VSIA, 
by  Oircn  l.altiwnorv, 

Alirf  lUinn'H  been  talking  about 
shopping  conditions  t<^  some  of  the 
heads  of  the  big  grocery  chains  here  in 
town,  and  one  thing  she  turned  up  was 
that  25  per  cent  more  men  do  market- 
ing now  than  ever  before.  Men  are  more 
adventurous,  they'll  try  something  new 
that  attracts  them,  even  though  it  isn't 
on  their  list.  They  buy  more  quickly, 
and  hardly  ever  ask  the  price,  which 
women  do  as  a  matter  of  course.  Clerks 


prefer  men  customers,  but  the  manager 
who  made  that  remark  asked  Miss  B. 
not  to  quote  him.  "After  all,"  he  said, 
"it's  the  women  who'll  always  keep  us 
going." 

Just  before  Hvatrit'i'  Itlarhmar 
tinuid  and  3lari/  I'uuliman  left  on 
tlicir  (light  to  Europe,  as  guests  of  the 
Army  Air  I'orccs,  lo  see  at  firsthand 
how  tin-  libcratetl  people  of  Europe  are 
living,  we  looked  over  their  parapher- 
nalia for  the  trip.  Except  for  their 
clothes,  which  were  minimum,  and 
regulation,  but  very  becoming,  as  the 
picture  of  Mrs.  Cookinan  shows,  they 
took  nothing,  of  course,  but  the  most 
essential  of  supplies  and  e<|iiipment, 
all  as  compact  and  <-oiicenlrated  as 


Europe-lHHind  for  the  Journal. 

modern  ingenuity  «-an  make  Ihcni. 
N«»  more  than  they  <-an  <-arry  them- 
selves. A  collapsible  stove,  for  instance, 
you  <-<Mil«l  put  in  your  p«<-kel,  with 
<'hcmical  tablets  for  fuel,  an<l  various 
<'on<-cnl  rates  lo  <-ooK  on  it;  booklets 
of  soap  leaves,  an<l  llaslilights.  They 
won't  even  have  to  ask  lor  a  pin,  in 
places  where  pins  arc  rarities.  They 
will,  however,  ask  for  information, 
an<l  later  on  you'll  be  getting  it  from 
Ihcm. 


'^«  t^  ^utune  t»e  tnu^  H€ven.  ^>n^€t  t^  Ua^ok  t^^  eve  ^'Cuac  UoAttecC — t/iat  ctfc  *kcmC 


—FRANKLIN    D    ROn<:FVPI  T 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1941 


-mh  (/>  Dcdf^u. BelT^ 


(s//e  HAS  m) 


(^  l6  §\J>ti/v  Sag/ 


1^  LE)  uAcit  kapp^mjuH 

^>^/Tf /?  SH£  &OT  (T/) 


rr /S  THAT l\/OR/  LOOK... you  CAN  HAV£  /T,TOO... 

It's  a  promise!   Your  complexion  can  be  smoother, 
softer,  lovelier.   Look  at  Baby  Betty's  kissable  cheek — 
and  take  her  beauty  tip.   Just  change  from  careless 
complexion  care  to  regular,  gentle  cleanings  with  that 
pure,  mild  cake  of  Ivory  Soap. 

More  doctors  advise  Ivory  for  your  complexion 
than  all  other  brands  put  together!   No  facial  soap  on  eart 
can  bring  you  more  beauty.   Ivory  contains  no  coloring, 
medication  or  strong  perfume  that  might  irritate 


tender  skin.   Try  Ivory  care  today  ...  and  watch  you 
skin  start  to  glow — with  that  Ivory  Look! 


Wxyifi/  cAooC5^6  <xAini)e  luo^tA.- 


X  iT  flOATs, 


99^00%  ^x^nsLf 


Help  save  vital  war  materials — make  soap  go 
further.   The  ingredients  that  go  into  soap  hav  i  ^ 
important  war  uses,  too — so  don't  waste  Ivory. 


If  Kim  was  lost,  she  was  lost  too.   "Oh,  Kinimy,  I  love 
you  so  much.    Dip  me  your  wing.   Say  something!" 

BY  DOROTHY  THOMAS 

IULIANNE  left  the  narrow  bright  blue  boardwalk  and 
found  her  way  among  the  beach  chairs  and  down 
across  the  sand  to  a  place  nearer  the  water  where 
there  were  fewer  people  and  where  the  sand  was  wet 
and  smelled  strongly  of  the  sea.  She  lay  down  and 
looked  up  through  her  sunglasses  into  a  pale,  August 
sky  where  two  planes  moved.  It  was  time  she  was  alone 
awhile,  outdoors  in  the  sun;  time  she  had  a  chance  to  think 
with  purpose  and  without  panic  of  her  marriage  and  what 
was  to  come  of  it,  now  that  Kim  was  home  from  flying  a  B-24 
in  the  Southwest  Pacific,  and  they  had  come,  together,  for 
his  stay  at  the  Army  Air  Forces'  Redistribution  Station  at 
Atlantic  City. 

There  was  something  in  the  insistence  of  the  wind  that 
blew  her  dark  hair  across  her  forehead  and  fluttered  the 
brief  skirt  of  her  white-and-crimson  bathing  suit  against  her 
thighs,  and  in  the  yielding  sand  under  the  length  of  her  body, 
that  made  her  think  of  home  and  wish  much,  for  the  moment, 
that  she  could  be  back  in  Albuquerque,  in  her  father's  house 
on  the  hill  above  the  campus,  and  have  the  comfort  of 
her  parents'  kindness  and  their  belief  in  her  good  sense  and 

17 


THEIR  WIVES  COULDN'T  REACH  THEM.  THEY  LAY  IN  THEIR  ARMS  AT  NIGHT  AND  FELT  SEPA- 
RATED BY  GULFS  OF  TIME,  OF  SILENCE,  OF  INDIFFERENCE.  "DO  THEY  EVER  REALLY  COME 
SACK?"  THE  WIVES  WONDERED.      *       *         THE  JOURNAL'S  COMPLETE-IN-ONE-ISSUE  NOVEL. 


courage.  So  many  times  in  the  eighteen  months  past, 
while  she  was  making  her  home  with  Kim's  parents 
in  Indiana,  she  had  longed  to  get  away  to  the  moun- 
tains for  even  a  day.  Now,  perhaps,  the  ocean,  when 
she  began  to  know  it,  and  the  changes  that  day  and 
night,  wind  and  cloud  brought  over  it,  might  give 
her  the  belonging  strength  she  missed,  so  long  away 
from  the  mountains. 

"How  grand,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Waters,  Kim's 
mother,  had  said,  "that  Kim  can  take  you  with  him 
there.  Now  you'll  have  some  time  to  yourselves. 
It's  a  shame  we've  managed,  among  us,  to  give  you 
so  little  time  together,  since  he's  got  home.  People 
forget  how  little  time  you  were  married  before  he 
went.  You've  never  seen  the  ocean,  have  you?" 

They  were  in  the  kitchen  together  that  morning, 
Julianne  and  her  mother-in-law.  Julianne  was  press- 
ing her  dresses  and  then  folding  them  carefully, 
between  sheets  of  tissue  paper,  in  the  opened  suit- 
case on  the  kitchen  table.  Mrs.  Waters  was  letting 
down  a  hem.  They  had  come  to  know  each  other 
very  well  in  the  year  and  a  half  they  had  kept  house 
and  waited  for  Kim's  letters  together.  Now  they 
needed,  wanted,  before  Julianne  and  Kim  went 
away,  to  talk  about  Kim  and  the  changes  war  had 
worked  in  him. 

"He  went  downtown  this  morning,"  Mrs.  Waters 
said,  "not  because  he  wanted  to,  but  to  humor  his 
father.  I'm  sure  you've  noticed.  Julie,  that  since  the 
first  two  mornings,  Kim  hasn't  wanted  to  go  down- 
town at  all.  And  when  people  come,  when  the  Bakers 
came  yesterday,  he  wasn't  asleep,  out  there  in  the 
sun  porch,  lie  was  inlaying  possum.  They  said, 'No, 
don't  disturb  him!'  and  that  rascal  lay  there  and 
let  them  tiptoe  away  and  never  opened  an  eye.  And 
he  really  likes  the  Bakers,  too,  always  did." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Julianne  said.  "But  he  still  needs 
sleep." 

"Kim's  so  quiet,"  his  mother  said,  and  laid  the 
garment  she  was  basting  a  new  hem  in  across  her 
short  lap  and  folded  her  plump  hands  over  it,  for  a 
moment's  respite.  "He  acts  so  kind  of  palienl  with 
both  dad  and  me,  in  something  the  same  way  he  did 
the  summer  he  was  nine  and  we  held  out  he  couldn't 
have  iiis  bicycle  until  he  was  ten.  The  way  he  wan- 
ders around  this  house,  now,  upstairs  and  down, 
like  he  was  penned  up!  There's  a  kind  of  reproach 
in  his  look,  and  I  don't  understand  it.  Do  you  think, 
Julianne,  we've  failed  him  in  some  way,  failed  to  do 
something  he  counted  on  our  doing?" 

I  don't  know,"  Julianne  said,  and  turned  her  head 
away  so  that  Kim's  mother  could  not  see  how 
troubled  and  frightened  she  was.  "  I  think  it's  just  all 
he's  been  through.  Mother  Waters:  seeing  friends 
go  down  or  just  not  come  back,  and  that  he's  still 
tired,  that  makes  him  so  quiet.  Maybe,  though, 
he's  needed,  wanted  so  much  to  come  home,  the 
change  is  too  quick  from  there  to  here." 

"But  it's  not  just  that  he's  not  used  to  being  home 
yet,"  Mrs.  Waters  said.  "It's  more  than  that!  I 
heard  hirr  say  to  his  father,  yesterday,  when  they 
didn't  know  I  was  in  hearing,  'When  I  was  down 
there  I  thought  this  town,  and  the  States,  was  some- 
thing I'd  dreamed,  and  now  I'm  home  I  know  it 
was.  Only  it's  not  a  good  dream,  but  a  slow  night- 
mare you  fight  to  wake  up  from ! ' " 

Julianne  was  thinking,  //  only  it  ivas  jiist  the  toivn, 
the  country,  he  felt  that  way  about,  I  could  wait.  I 
could  help  him  to  see  it  as  it  really  is,  that  it's  not  all 
selfish  and  heedless,  that  only  a  little  of  it  is  like  that. 
The  trouble  is,  he  looks  at  me  as  though  he  thought  me, 
and  our  marriage,  less  than  perfect  too.  He  doesn't  say 
that,  but  it  is  in  his  eyes.  Aloud  she  said,  "All  the  men 
must  think  of  home  as  being  perfect,  the  way  boys 
away  from  home  at  school  for  the  first  time  do,  and 
then,  when  they  come  home,  get  a  jolt." 

Mrs.  Waters  said,  "You're  right.  He  misses  those 
other  boys,  the  ones  gone  and  the  ones  of  his  crew, 
misses  them  in  somewhat  the  way  he  used  to  miss 
the  basketball-team  boys,  summers,  only  differently. 
Now  Kim's  seen  these  other  boys  really  fighting. 


some  of  them  dying,  and  it  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  world.  Yesterday  he  said  to  his  father,  in  one 
of  the  few  times  he's  wanted  to  talk  about  that 
fighting,  'When  they  got  Van,  bad  as  it  was,  I 
thought  I  could  take  it,  that  I  was  taking  it.  And 
then  when  I  got  out  of  the  plane  and  started  to  walk 
toward  the  operations  tent,  my  knees  all  but  buckled 
under  me,  and  when  I  started  to  tell  them,  in  Inter- 
rogation, I  stood  there  and  heard  my  voice  stammer, 
and  it  wasn't  my  voice  at  all.'  He's  talked  with  dad 
more  than  he  has  with  me,  and  he's  not  felt  like 
saying  much  to  dad.  Has  he  wanted  to  talk  with 
you  about  it,  Julie?" 
"No,  not  yet." 

iiis  mother  looked  at  Julianne.  "War's  just  too 
much,  even  for  a  levelheaded  boy  like  Kim,  even 
though  no  bodily  harm  came  to  him.  They  take  and 
train  those  boys,  so  they  can  do  everything  they're 
to  have  to  do  in  a  bomber,  all  working  together,  and 
still,  you  can't  tell  me,  when  they're  up  there  drop- 
ping those  bombs,  fighting  those  Zeros,  they  feel 
that's  what  they  were  made  for,  that's  what  we 
brought  them  into  the  world  for!  There's  no  real 
sense  in  war.   It's  so— so  unnatural." 

Julianne  slid  the  skirt  of  her  yellow  play  suit  over 
the  end  of  the  ironing  board  before  she  said,  "Still, 
there  is  war,  and  Kim's  been  in  it,  and  it's  made  a 
difTerent  man  of  him,  for  now  at  least.  Maybe,  when 
I  get  to  Atlantic  City,  when  I  meet  other  men,  other 
pilots  who've  known  all  Kim's  known,  I  can  under- 
stand better,  can  help  him  to  get  used  to  things  here 
at  home."  She  stopped  and  kept  from  adding,  Get 
used  to  me,  and  find  his  way  back  to  being  in  love  with 
me  as  he  was  in  the  little  while  we  were  friends,  in  the 
little  while  we  were  married,  too,  before  he  went  away. 

"Let's  hope  so,"  her  mother-in-law  said.  "Getting 
used  to  anything  takes  time,  and  time's  what  there's 
not  been.  They  train  those  boys,  and  then  give  them 
a  whole  lifetime  of  fighting  and  awful  hard  work 
pressed  into  months  and  missions.  They  expect  them 
to  endure  the  unendurable  and  then,  when  they're 
dead  tired,  they  send  them  home,  and  unless  this 
redistribution  station  they're  sending  Kim  to  is  to 
tackle  it,  there's  no  place  for  them,  no  place  for  a 
too-tight  spring  to  unwind,  easy.  I'm  glad  you're 
going  along,  Julie.  He  goes  striding  along  on  those 
long  legs  of  his— all  his  father's  people  are  built  like 
that,  like  greyhounds,  strong,  wide  chests  like  his, 
lean  in  the  thighs,  and  long  legs — and  nobody'd 
know,  nobody  but  you  and  me,  there's  anything 
about  the  shape  this  war's  got  him  in,  for  a  mother 
to  be  aching  her  heart  about,  and  a  wife  to  be 
anxious.  Since  I  can't,  I'm  glad  you're  going  with 
him." 

Lying  in  the  sand,  idly  watching  the  planes  over- 
head, Julianne  remembered  that  talk  with  Kim's 
mother,  and  thought  about  her  marriage.  She  wished 
she  might  be  as  sure  as  Kim's  mother  was  that  she 
should  have  come  with  him,  that  he  needed  and 
wanted  her  with  him. 

By  some  miracle  they  had  been  wondrously  happy 
in  the  few  days  they  were  married,  before  he  went 
overseas.  Even  though  they  had  been  alone  only  in 
the  night  hours,  in  the  room  that  had  been  his  all  his 
life,  they  had  felt  that  they  had  been  together  always. 

She  remembered  Kim  saying,  a  morning  in  his 
father's  house,  "You're  my  little  cinnamon  bear, 
found  again !  There  he  sits,  in  the  red  chair,  but  he's 
not  the  same  bear  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  without.  I 
lost  him  about  the  time  I  started  to  school.  But  you 
know,  I've  got  something  the  same  feeling  for  you, 
Julie.  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  without  him;  don't  want 
to  wake  up  without  you!  I  can't  remember  when  I 
didn't  have  him,  to  go  to  sleep  with.  Now,  it's  a 
funny  thing — we've  been  married  eight  days,  and  I 
can't  remember  when  I  didn't  have  you,  to  wake  up 
with,  can't  remember  how  it  was,  even.  Seems  like 
I've  had  you  always,  like  my  bear!" 

Now  had  she,  because  of  the  war's  work  in  him, 
been  relegated,  like  the  little  bear,  to  a  chair  in  the 
corner,  never  to  be  really  his  again?  Could  it  be  that 

18 


he  no  longer  felt  his  belonging  to  her,  her  belonging 
to  him?  That  morning  in  the  kitchen,  his  mother, 
whom  she  had  counted  on  to  give  her  understanding 
of  Kim,  as  the  man  she  had  seen  him  grow  to  be,  had 
turned  to  her,  to  help  him.  It  was  as  though  she  had 
said,  "  You're  his  wife.  If  he's  to  gel  back,  it's  up 
to  you!" 

Now  she  had  to  own  that  Kim  belonged  first  to 
the  war,  to  the  Lady  Be  Good  and  her  crew,  and  to 
being  with  men  like  Pete  Copeland,  who  was  dead 
and  yet  lived  again.  If  she  was  ever  to  have  him 
back,  in  the  nearness  they  had  known  before  he  went 
away,  she  must  know  what  it  was  he  needed  now; 
that,  while  he  fought,  he  had  found  in  the  compan- 
ionship and  understanding  of  other  men.  She  must 
know  what  it  was  they  had  said  to  one  another,  what 
they  said  now,  remembering,  and  how  they  felt.  Only 
then  could  she  know  the  man  Kim  had  become. 

Near  Julianne  two  boys  were  playing  a  game  of 
horseshoes,  throwing  clamshells  instead  of  shoes. 
They  had  made  circles  in  the  sand  with  holes  in 
their  centers  instead  of  stakes. 

A  girl  in  a  green  bathing  suit  came  by  and  stopped 
to  ask,  "  Is  that  something  you  played,  wherever  you 
were,  or  is  it  something  you  made  up  just  now?" 

"We  made  it  up,  here  and  now,"  the  taller  of  the 
boys  said. 

"Want  to  play?  "  the  other  asked,  and  stooped  and 
picked  up  two  smaller  shells  and  held  them  out  to  her. 

"Thanks.  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  the  girl  said,  and 
tossed  her  bright,  ginger-colored  hair,  squinting  up 
at  them,  in  the  sunshine,  with  a  happy  ease  that 
made  Julianne  like  her. 

"Say,  what  you  doing  with  a  dog  tag  on?"  the 
shorter  boy  asked. 

"Wac,"  the  girl  said.  "I  work  here.  Lieutenant 
Betsy  Weston.  This  is  my  day  ofY." 

Two  soldiers,  wet  from  the  waves,  ran,  shouting, 
between  Julianne  and  the  horseshoe  players  so  that 
she  did  not  hear  their  names  when  they  spoke  them. 
She  hoped  that  they  might  be  names  she  had  heard 
Kim  mention. 

"I  like  to  watch  a  girl  throw  something,"  the 
taller  boy  was  saying.  "They  throw  so  funny!" 

"That  so  funny?"  the  girl  asked,  when  the  shell 
had  landed  in  the  sand.  "  Ringer,  or  I'll  eat  my  hat ! " 

"What  sort  of  accent  is  that?"  the  shorter  boy 
asked.  "And  what  sort  of  talk  is  that— 'I'll  eat  my 
hat!'" 

"  It  depends  on  where  you're  from,  whether  that's 
an  accent  or  not.  It's  pure  Nebraskan,  and  so  is  'or 
I'll  eat  my  hat.'  I'm  beginning  to  be  touchy  about 
my  talk.  You  can  take  Brooklyn,  the  deep  South 
and  Texas,  and  think  they're  fine.  What's  wrong 
with  the  Midwest?" 

"Nothing's  wrong  with  it.  I  like  to  hear  you  talk 
it,"  the  taller  boy  said.  "Are  you  really  from  Ne- 
braska? If  you  are,  is  there  really  a  place  there,  a 
town,  named  Wahoo?  Would  you  happen  to  know 
a  pilot  from  there,  named  Jelinek?" 

"There  are  a  lot  of  Jelineks.  BoKemian." 

"Where  did  you  live?" 

"Little  place  out  beyond  Hastings.  You  wouldn't 
have  heard  of  it." 

"Hastings?  Say,  Curly,  was  that  Wahoo's  school, 
Hastings?" 

"Not  so  likely,"  the  girl  said.  "Crete,  more 
likely." 

"That's  it.  Hastings  was  a  school  Wahoo's  school 
played.  Played  tackle.  You  didn't  ever  see  him 
play,  did  you?" 

"Likely,"  she  said.  "But  I  didn't  know  him." 
Standing  with  the  other  shell  raised,  her  fingers 
curled  expertly  about  the  rim  of  it,  she  asked  slowly, 
"Where  were  you?" 

"South  Pacific." 

"Was  Wahoo  the  only  man  from  Nebraska  you 
knew?" 

"Guess  he  was." 

"You  wouldn't  happen — you  didn't  know  a  pilot 
named  Dave  Alberts,  did  (Continued  on  Page  66) 


ILLUSTRATED      BY      ROBEBT     C.    HARRIS 


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I/diyii  l/^  -w^  /u|<t/ .   /  u/Oi)  X^  O/nA 


HE  WAS  standing  on  the  corner  with 
the  boys  when  the  girl  walked  by. 
She  was  walking  fast,  so  fast  that  the 
wind  flattened  her  white  dress  against 
her  body,  and  lifted  her  hair  off  the  back  of 
her  neck.  She  was  holding  her  head  a  shade 
too  high,  and  the  hand  at  her  side  was 
clenched. 

Joey  saw  her  too.  His  eyes  always 
swung  with  compass  precision  to  the  near- 
est [iretty  girl  in  the  vicinity.  "Look  at 
tins,"  Joey  said,  and  gave  the  usual  G.I. 
\\  histle  as  she  came  abreast  of  them. 

It  was  then  that  he  noticed  what  was 
(lilferent  about  her.  She  was  crying.  Her 
eyes  were  open  wide  and  staring  straight 
ahead,  but  tears  clung  to  her  lashes.  She 
walked  past  the  five  soldiers  on  the  corner 
as  if  they  didn't  exist. 

He  threw  away  his  cigarette.  "See  you 
fellows  later,"  he  said. 

"I3on't  you  know  a  brush-off  when  you 
get  one?"  Joey  asked. 

He  ignored  Joey  and  crossed  the  street. 
It  was  the  middle  of  the  block  before  he 
caught  up  with  her.  She  turned  her  head, 
pretending  to  look  in  the  store  window. 
After  a  while  she  realized  he  wasn't  going 
to  pass  her. 

"Leave  me  alone,"  she  said  tightly,  and 
still  she  didn't  look  at  him. 

"  It's  none  of  my  business "  he  be- 
gan. 

"You're  right.  It's  none  of  your  busi- 
ness." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "when  you're  crying  on 
the  street,  it  is  my  business." 

"  I  have  a  roommate  at  home,"  she  said. 
"She  has  troubles  of  her  own.  That's  why 
I'm  out  walking.   So  now  you  know." 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "But  there's  a  lot  more." 

"You  don't  want  to  hear  about  it.  Why 
don't  you  get  yourself  a  gay  girl?  You 
have  enough  grief  coming  to  you." 

"There  are  always  gay  girls." 

He  pulled  her  back  sharply  to  the  curb 
as  a  taxi  cut  in  front  of  her,  and  felt  the 
sudden  convulsive  start  of  her  body  against 
his  arm.  But  when  the  light  changed  she 
strode  ahead  as  fast  as  before. 

"  It  won't  do  any  good  to  blink  the  tears 
back,"  he  said.  "It  just  makes  your  throat 
ache." 

She  swallowed.  "You  think  you  know 
everything,  don't  you?"  she  said  then. 


"I  know  what  crying  feels  like,"  he  said. 
"And  I  know  what  it  feels  like  not  to  cry." 

She  didn't  say  anything.  She  wiped  the 
wetness  off  her  cheek  with  the  back  of  her 
hand.  "You  know,"  she  said,  "it  isn't  as  if 
I  didn't  know.  It  doesn't  do  any  good  to 
cry.  It's  just  no  use.  And  I  know  that 
better  than  I  know  anything.  But  it  comes 
all  the  same." 

"Let  it  come.   It's  good  for  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  He  saw  her  trying 
to  make  a  smile.  "It  isn't  constructive," 
she  said.  The  smile  broke  up  completely 
then  and  her  face  crumpled.  She  turned 
away  from  him  and  walked  a  little  faster. 

"Take  it  easy.  You  don't  have  to  be 
smart,  when  you're  not  feeling  smart." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  rep- 
utation to  keep  up.  The  gayest  girl  in  Oak- 
ridge  County.  That's  me.  Honest.  For 
years  and  years." 

"Well,  maybe  you  are,"  he  said.  "But 
even  the  gay  ones  have  to  cry  sometime." 

"You  don't  get  it,"  she  said.  "You  think 
I'm  crying  because  I  have  something  to  cry 
about.  Something  that's  happened.  Well, 
you're  wrong.  Nothing's  happened.  There's 
nothing  for  me  to  cry  about — nothing  I 
couldn't  cry  about  every  day  in  the  year." 

"Are  you  sure  it's  as  bad  as  that?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered.  "I'm  sure." 

They  were  out  on  the  highway  now,  the 
lights  of  the  town  dimming  behind  them. 
She  broke  a  branch  off  a  hedge  they  passed 
and  flicked  it  aimlessly  against  the  pebbles 
in  her  path. 

"Why  do  you  have  to  walk  so  fast?" 

"It  isn't  fast  enough,"  she  said.  "If  I 
had  a  car,  or  if  I  could  ride  a  horse — any- 
thing. But  just  walking — it  doesn't  help." 

"Help?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  long  moment. 
"Do  you  know  what  it's  like  to  feel  the 
walls  closing  in  on  you?  Eight  hours  a  day 
you  sit  in  an  office  with  the  walls  around 
you,  and  you  go  home  and  the  walls  are 
there,  too,  and  you  have  twelve  feet  by 
sixteen  feet  to  move  around  in.  So  you  go 
out,  and  there's  Main  Street,  and  two 
movie  houses,  and  a  bowling  alley  and 
three  saloons  and  a  meat  market.  There  are 
people  out  walking,  and  there's  lots  of 
space,  but  the  walls  are  still  there,  and  no 
matter  how  far  you  go  or  how  fast  you 
walk,   you  can't  get  away.  You're  still 


20 


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no  redSOTi  at  all-Tfi/Bi^ 

*  BY  mmm  hall  * 


locked  up  inside.  There's  nothing  to  do,  no  one 
to  talk  to."  She  stumbled  a  little  and  the 
breath  caught  in  her  throat,  but  she  tossed  her 
head  back  angrily  and  kept  on  walking. 

"Maybe  you're  homesick,"  he  said.  "Couldn't 
you  go  back  home?"... 

"Yes,  I'm  homesicjv,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  was  so  low  he  could  hardly  make  out  the 
words.  "But  home  is  a  time,  not  a  place.  It's 
gone  now,  and  it  won't  come  back.  I've  been 
walking  the  world  for  four  years  looking  for 
home." 

"There  are  a  lot  of  other  people  looking, 
too,"  he  said.  "For  a  longer  time  than  that." 

"I  know."  She  bit  her  lip.  "I  don't  really 
have  a  right  to  be  crying,  do  I?  When  you 
think  of  the  people  in  Europe,  of  the  soldiers. 
I  think  of  them.  But  the  worst  thing  that  can 
happen  to  you  isn't  being  starved,  or  losing 
your  family,  or  even  being  shot  in  a  fo.xhole. 
You  can  laugh  if  you  like,  because  you've 
probably  been  through  those  things  and  I 
haven't,  but  all  the  same  I  know." 

"The  worst  thing?"  he  said.  "Tell  me." 

"The  worst  thing  that  can  happen  to  you," 
she  said  slowly,  "is  to  be  wasted.  To  have 
your  life  make  no  difference  to  anyone  in  the 
world,  not  even  yourself.  To  have  a  roof  over 
your  head,  and  food  to  eat,  and  to  know  you 
can  spend  the  rest  of  your  life  getting  these 
things,  so  you  can  stay  alive,  so  you  can  keep 
on  getting  them,  and  on  and  on  and  on,  and 
never  a  better  reason." 

So  she  had  figured  that  out  too.  So  many 
people  didn't  until  they  were  so  old  it  didn't 
matter.  But  she  was  young  to  have  found  it 
out — too  young.   No  wonder  she  was  scared. 

"You're  tired,"  he  said.  "  If  you're  on  a  war 
job  you  probably  haven't  had  a  vacation  for 
years,  and  forty-eight  hours  a  week  is  a  heavy 
grind." 

She  shook  her  head.  "That's  not  why  I'm 
tired.  I  lived  a  twenty-five-hour  day  for  four 
years  to  put  myself  through  college  and  I  was 
never  tired.  But  I  had  something  worth  work- 
ing for  then." 

"  Don't  you  think  the  war  is  worth  working 
for?" 

He  heard  her  take  a  deep  breath.  "No." 
She  didn't  look  at  him.  She  ran  the  branch  in 
her  hand  along  the  fence  by  the  roadway. 
"It's  too  big,"  she  said,  after  a  while.  "I  know 
what  I  do  is  necessary,  and  I'm  glad  I'm  help- 
ing, but  I  never  feel  as  though  it's  really  me 
they  need.  {Continued  cm  Page  101) 


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€1  4cUtcfMe  frofiti&i  t^OK  cifie  t^  ^i^&c€iU  af  cautt^u^  iXfomCeKCC.      *      *     BY  UU  it  BARD  HOOVER 


J 


ULIET  had  exchanged  fewer  than  a  hundred 
words  with  Romeo.  She  had  had  one  dance  and  a 
kiss.  She  said  to  her  nurse:  'i 

"Go,  ask  his  name.   If  he  be  married. 
My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding-bed." 

When  she  heard  the  name,  she  knew  that  she  had 
fallen  in  love  with  a  man  whose  family  were  traditional 
enemies  of  her  family.  She  was  disturbed  but  not 
shaken.  She  could  see  that  great  difficulties  stood 
between  her  and  a  successful  marriage  with  Romeo, 
but  she  felt  within  herself  the  will  and  the  strength  to 
overcome  them  all.  Juliet  was  very  young,  but  not 
too  young  to  marry. 

No  one  is  too  young  to  marry  who  loves  like  that. 
No  one  is  too  young  to  marry  who  loves  enough.  Young 
people  often  try  to  justify  their  wish  to  marry  on  the 
sole  basis  of  their  loving  each  other.  This  is  not  suffi- 
cient justification  unless  they  love  each  other  enough. 
But  what  is  enough? 

There  can  be,  of  course,  no  accurate  yardstick  for 
measuring  love,  but  there  are  some  useful  guiding 
principles: 

1.  Has  love  given  these  two  the  realization  that  a 
major  experience  like  marriage  is  bound  to  bring  its 
pain  as  well  as  its  happiness?  When  the  pain  comes, 
will  they  go  through  it  hand  in  hand,  or  will  they  sud- 
denly discover  that  they  are  no  longer  in  love? 

2.  Do  they  think  of  this  marriage  as  something  per- 
manent— a  magnificent  adventure  that  will  take  the 
whole  of  a  long  life  to  complete?  Or  do  they  think  of 
it  as  an  exciting  experiment — a  sort  of  superduper 
house  party? 


y  Albert  Finkbam  Ryder ...1B47-1917 

yder  was  perhaps  the  purest  romantic  in  all 
merican  art.  He  lived  almost  entirety  in  the 
irld  of  his  imagination.  He  worked  in  a  dirty, 
itteredroom  in  New  York  City,  and  sometimes 
'ent  as  much  as  twenty  years  on  a  single  canvas, 
e  paid  little  attention  to  the  world  about  him. 
It  instead  created  a  mysterious  world  of  his  own, 
oiling  with  rich  color  and  filled  with  poetic 
mosphere.  The  Forest  of  Arden  is  one  of 
s  most  beautiful  canvases.  It  shows  a  scene 
magic  escape  from  the  hard  realities  of 
e — a  vision  of  untroubled  and  idyllic  e.vi.tt- 
ce,  a  pastoral  wonderland  peopled  with  fig- 
•es   of  grace  and  ease  and  contentment. 

Reproduced    through    the    courtesy    of 
Stephen  C.  Clark  Collection,  New  York. 


3.  Are  they  willing  to  live  in  a  modest  way  so  that 
they  can  have  a  home  of  their  own?  Can  they  visual- 
ize the  economies  and  the  deprivations?  Have  they 
a  practical  plan  for  making  the  required  amount  of 
money? 

4.  Has  his  love  made  him  immune  to  a  romantic 
interest  in  other  women?  Has  he  become  the  whole 
world  of  men  to  her? 

5.  Does  their  love  include  liking?  Are  they  good 
companions?  If  they  were  of  the  same  sex,  would  they 
seek  each  other  out  and  take  pleasure  in  being  to- 
gether? 

6.  Do  they  think  of  each  other  as  equal  partners, 
each  contributing  something  special  and  important  to 
the  success  of  this  joint  enterprise? 

7.  Does  each  think  of  marriage  as  an  opportunity 
for  making  the  other  happy?  Or  does  either  regard 
the  other  simply  as  a  source  of  comfort,  convenience 
or  entertainment? 

8.  Does  their  love  give  them  the  wish  and  the  cour- 
age to  be  on  the  level  with  each  other?  About  their 
ages,  their  money,  their  faults? 

These  are  searching  questions  and  a  severe  test.  No 
one  can  be  expected  to  score  100  per  cent.  Many 
oldsters  who  are  very  supercilious  about  the  young 
will  flunk  out  entirely.  Some  couples  who  have  been 
married  for  twenty  years  will  have  a  hard  time  mak- 
ing a  passing  grade.  They  are  still  too  young  to  marry. 

Take  the  case  of  Madeline,  who  pouts  if  she  can't 
have  a  new  dress  for  every  party,  sulks  every  time  her 
husband  brings  home  an  evening's  work  in  his  brief 
case,  and  is  outraged  when  he  wants  to  spend  a  week 
of  his  vacation  on  a  hunting  trip.  It  is  only  when  the 
children  go  off  on  their  own  that  she  begins  to  cater  to 
him.  It  is  only  when  he  becomes  very  sick  that  she 
realizes  he  is  perishable  and  begins  to  make  his  happi- 
ness her  first  consideration.  Now  she  is  no  longer  con- 
tent to  be  a  mere  adjunct  to  her  husband;  she  has 
grown  up  to  be  an  equal  partner.  At  last  she  is  old 
enough  to  marry.  Luckily,  she  is  married,  and  to  the 
right  man.  But  many  precious  years  have  been  less 
than  they  might  have  been. 

The  fault  is  often  with  the  man.  Many  train  their 
wives  to  be  soft  and  dependent.  You  remember  Nora 
in  A  Doll's  House,  and  how  she  was  encouraged  not  to 
bother  about  great  big  things  that  were  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  her.  Nora  was  always  capable  of  grow- 
ing up  to  be  a  full-time  wife,  but  her  husband  kept  her 
as  long  as  he  could  on  the  level  of  an  ornament.  After 
years  of  marriage  a  tragic  situation  made  Nora  grow 
up,  but  her  husband  still  remained  too  young  to  marry. 

There  is  some  statistical  evidence  which  seems  to 
show  that  the  middle  twenties  is  the  most  favorable 
time  for  marriage^  but  when  you  come  to  individual 
cases  calendar  age  counts  for  very  little.  Some  couples 
in  their  late  teens  are  old  enough;  some  couples  of 
forty  are  still  too  young.  Everything  depends  on  the 
ability  to  love  enough,  and  that  comes  only  when  the 


heart  has  matured  its  special  wisdom.  In  the  past 
twenty  years  the  Little  Church  Around  the  Corner  has 
witnessed  upwards  of  fifty  thousand  marriages,  but 
in  a  single  year  the  Rev.  Randolph  Ray  has  refused 
to  marry  almost  five  hundred  couples  because  in  his 
judgment  they  showed  no  evidence  of  sincerely  wish- 
ing or  expecting  their  marriage  to  last.  This  frivolous 
attitude  toward  marriage — no  matter  what  the  cal- 
endar age — means  unripe,  juvenile  emotions. 

Young  lovers  usually  want  to  do  the  right  thing  and 
welcome  good  advice.  Most  adults  are  able  to  recog- 
nize gross  cases  of  emotional  immaturity  and  to  give 
good  advice.  Unfortunately,  many  adults  bungle 
badly  the  borderline  cases — those  who  have  obvious 
deficiencies  but  good  fundamental  character,  those 
whom  the  experience  of  marriage  itself  would  soon 
bring  to  full  maturity. 

The  finer  and  more  sensitive  the  young  people,  the 
greater  the  danger  of  an  overemphasis  on  the  respon- 
sibilities of  married  life.  Even  if  they  have  the  cour- 
age to  marry  in  spite  of  all  the  inappropriate  advice 
they  are  getting,  they  are  likely  to  enter  upon  mar- 
riage with  anxiety  and  misgiving  instead  of  with  joy 
and  confidence. 

Except  in  the  obvious  cases  of  emotional  immatu- 
rity, the  best  advice  is  the  least  advice.  In  case  of 
doubt,  the  safe  course  is  not  to  say,  "Better  not 
marry."  The  safe  course  is  to  say,  "What  are  you 
waiting  for?" 

It  is  a  heavy  responsibility  to  advise  a  person  to 
postpone  marriage  until  everything  is  perfect. 

Harriet  is  still  a  beautiful  woman,  and  in  college  she 
had  many  suitors.  But  it  was  Harriet's  misfortune 
to  be  brought  up  by  two  foolish,  meddlesome,  well- 
meaning  aunts,  who  had  a  great  deal  of  advice  to  give 
her  whenever  she  seemed  about  to  fall  in  love.  One 
aunt  kept  telling  her  about  the  "demands"  that  men 
make  and  the  other  kept  telling  her  that  one  so 
lovely  and  so  fine  should  hold  herself  proudly  aloof 
until  someone  really  worthy  came  along.  Harriet  has 
now  turned  thirty  and  the  aunts  are  not  entirely 
happy  with  their  handiwork.  Aunt  Bertha  says.  "I 
wonder  what's  wrong  with  Harriet."  Aunt  Maude 
says,  in  a  speculative  tone,  "How  old  is  Harriet  now?" 
Both  aunts  are  saying  to  themselves,  "I  hope  the 
poor  child  didn't  take  my  advice  too  seriously." 
Harriet  is  saying  to  herself,  "What's  wrong  with  me, 
anyhow?"  Harriet  is  saying  out  loud.  "Nothing  like 
a  cozy  evening  with  a  good  book."  Harriet  is  saying 
out  loud  and  defiantly,  "I  live  alone  and  like  it." 
Harriet's  occasional  dates  are  saying,  "Has  every- 
thing— but  sort  of  gives  me  the  creeps.  Just  when  I 
think  I'm  getting  somewhere,  she  goes  bristly  on  me." 
Harriet  has  lost  the  knack  of  getting  on  easily  and 
naturally  with  men. 

Much  harm  can  be  done  to  young  people  of  the 
more  sensitive  aad  docile  sort  by  the  constant  stream 
of  irresponsible  niiddle-aged      (Continued  on  Page  166) 


BY  ALEXIS  UMm 


KATHIE  left  the  bus  at  her  usual  comer,  wishing 
the  ball  of  string  in  her  middle  would  stop  its 
awful  winding  and  whirling.  Her  reflection 
-glanced  back  at  her  momentarily  from  a  store 
window,  and  she  smiled  a  bit  one-sidedly.  At  least,  it 
wasn't  showing  in  her  face  yet.   Or  was  it? 

Inside  the  supermarket,  she  took  a  second  to  tick 
off  the  items  on  her  mental  list.  For  five  days  she'd 
known  exactly  what  this  reunion  dinner  would  be. 
Everything  Dirk  liked,  with  particular  emphasis  on 
the  cream  of  mushroom,  steak,  frothy  potatoes,  and 
cheese  dressing  for  the  salad.  The  strawberry  short- 
cake, to  top  off,  was  a  must. 

The  ball  of  string  started  tightening  again,  and 
Kathie  paused  at  the  frosted-foods  cabinet,  biting 
her  lip,  no  longer  able  to  check  the  doubts.  Yes,  that's 
what  she  was  dreading.  This  first  night  home  together. 
No  use  pretending  it  wasn't,  when  only  a  matter  of 
minutes  separated  them  now. 

If  only  everyone  hadn't  been  so  understanding  all 
at  once.  Mr.  Wetherby,  for  instance.  She'd  been 
taking  his  dictation  when  her  mother  phoned.  He'd 
seen  her  face,  too,  as  she  hung  up.      "He's— home?" 

Kathie  just  nodded,  horribly  inarticulate  now  that 
the  time  had  come. 

Mr.  Wetherby  took  off  his  glasses  and  polished  them 
elaborately.  "Why  not  take  your  vacation  now,  my 
dear?  Give  you  a  little  extra  time  together,  wouldn't 
it?   After  all,  he's  been  overseas— how  long?" 

Kathie's  lips  barely  moved  in  answer.  "Twenty- 
eight  months." 

Mr.  Wetherby's  nod  was  wistful.  "Um-h'm!  So 
you're  going  home  right  this  minute.  No  buts,  please." 
He  meant  it  as  a  nice  gesture,  of  course.  He  couldn't 
possibly  dream  how  Kathie  felt. 

Nor  did  her  mother,  apparently.  Certainly  there'd 
been  no  hint  when  she  called  to  say  Dirk  had  arrived. 
"He  wants  to  let  you  come  home  as  usual  and  sur- 
prise you.  But  I'm  a  female,  too,  so  I  knew  you'd 
rather  know  at  once."  If  that  wasn't  just  like  muth, 
Kathie  thought  gratefully,  as  the  cheerful,  familiar 
voice  at  the  far  end  talked  on  easily.  "You  two  are 
going  to  have  this  leave  together,  in  a  place  of  your 
own,  as  it  should  be.  I'm  on  my  way  now  to  stay 
at  Aunt  Jessie's." 

Kathie's  eyes  softened.  Darn  it.  Why  was  every- 
body being  so  swell?  It  was  only  that  much  harder 
to  face.  Even  the  girls  at  the  office — patting  her 
shoulder,  looking  wistful,  sighing! 

In  a  way,  it  was  like  being  a  bride  all  over  again. 
The  same  queer  excitement  holding  you — a  sort  of 


breathless  expectancy.  But  different  too.  Then  there'd 
still  been  time  to  change  her  mind.  If  she'd  wanted  to. 
She  hadn't.  She'd  been  so  very  sure. 

But  in  so  many  months,  things  could  happen  to 
people.  How  could  Dirk  be  the  same?  she  was  thinking. 
After  all  he's  been  through.  Maybe  I've  changed  loo. 
Yes,  I  have.  I'm  not  the  girl  Dirk  thinks  he  married  at  all. 

Why  had  she  been  so  sure  then?  When  they  first 
met,  his  easy,  quick-smiling  nonchalance  captured  her 
attention.  She'd'  played  up  to  it  with  her  own  brand 
of  dry  humor.  Mostly  corn,  he'd  grinned,  but  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  it.  Soon  they  were  laughing  together, 
poking  fun  at  this  and  that.  Never  too  serious  about 
anything.  Very  casual.  Never  sentimental.  Because 
that's  what  he  specially  liked  about  her.  Dirk  said 
once.    Feet  on  the  ground  and  no  wool  in  her  eyes. 

So  sentiment  was  out,  with  Dirk.  He  never  guessed, 
of  course,  that  her  laughter  often  covered  the  very 
qualities  he  disliked;  that  sometimes  Kathie  was  as 
quick  to  tears  as  to  joy.  No;  at  first  she  hadn't  been 
deliberately  deceiving.  She'd  simply  been  in  love  and 
tried  to  be  the  girl  Dirk  wanted. 

It  hadn't  seemed  so  terribly  important,  then,  to 
turn  her  back  on  sentiment.  To  be  brave-eyed,  smiling 
and  unclinging  each  time  they  said  good-by.  As  though 
it  didn't  matter  too  much,  and  they'd  see  each  other 
tomorrow — or  soon.  At  what  cost.  Dirk  never  knew. 

Her  letters,  she  made  certain,  were  always  in  that 
same  careless,  not-too-serious  vein.  Because  his  had 
been  that  way.  So  very  cheerful  and  unsentimental 
that  now  Kathie  wondered  if  Dirk  still  cared. 

Yet  she  had  hope.  Hope  in  two  small  memories. 
Or  you  might  call  them  three.  One  was  the  V-mail 
valentine  he'd  sent  from  England.  Only  a  mimeo- 
graphed affair  of  hearts  and  flowers  around  a  bit  of 
doggerel  that  went: 

Roses  are  red,  violets  blue. 

Believe  this,  sweet:  My  love  is  You. 

One  of  his  buddies  designed  it.  Dirk  said,  so 
the  whole  outfit  was  sending  them  home.  But  it 
was  something  to  cling  to  because  of  the  other 
two  moments. 

The  one  that  counted  most  was  the  evening  of  the 
house  party  when  she  was  playing  for  the  singsong. 
Without  thinking,  her  fingers  had  drifted  into  an  old 
favorite  of  her  dad's:  My  Love  is  Like  a  Red,  Red 
Rose.  Kathie's  glance  had  lifted  to  Dirk's,  as  he 
leaned  over  the  piano.  His  nose  wrinkled  and  his 
lips  said,  "Mush!"  But  even  as  he  spoke,  something 
in  his  eyes  belied  the  word.  And  that  was  the  moment 


she  had  known  for  sure.  That  this  was  her  man.  Now 
and  forever. 

The  third  moment  was  unexpected.  Wandering 
slowly  through  the  dusk,  that  last  evening  together, 
out  of  nowhere  a  vender  thrust  something  under 
Dirk's  nose.  "A  rose  for  the  lady,  sir?"  Dirk  looked 
startled  for  a  second,  then  smiled  and  gave  the  woman 
a  coin.  Without  a  word,  he  handed  the  flower  to 
Kathie,  but  as  they  walked  along  he'd  started  to  hum, 

very  softly,   "My  love  is  like  a  red,  red  rose  " 

Kathie  had  been  grateful,  suddenly,  for  the  dimness. 
Because  it  was  hiding  her  tears. 

Abruptly,  she  found  herself  at  home,  breathless 
from  struggling  with  the  bundles.  She  let  herself  in, 
calling  lightly,  "Anyone  here?"  But  the  house  was 
empty  and  quiet.  Puzzled,  she  carried  the  bags  on  into 
the  kitchen  and  set  them  down.  All  was  neat  and 
tidy.  And  no  sign  of  Dirk. 

A  glance  at  her  watch  said  there  was  time  for  a  shower 
and  change  before  starting  dinner.  With  studied  com- 
posure she  went  on  upstairs,  wondering  what  to  wear. 
In  the  doorway  of  her  room  she  halted,  breath  caught. 
Signs  of  Dirk  here,  all  right.  Stuff  all  over  the  place 
and  on  her  dresser  too.  She  forced  a  smile,  ignoring  the 
limpness  in  her  knees.  "The  masculine  touch,"  she  ob- 
served to  the  room  at  large.   But  where  was  he? 

She  had  bathed  and  put  on  a  crisp  pinafore  when 
the  lock  on  the  front  door  rattled.  Kathie  froze  in 
mid-gesture,  just  listening  as  firm  steps  crossed  the 
threshold.  When,  finally,  she  could  walk  downstairs, 
she  wasn't  even  breathing.  Hearing  her.  Dirk  glanced 
up,  surprised.  "Kathie!"  He  didn't  move,  but  kept 
staring  at  her,  his  eyes  lighting  and  a  strange  look  on 
his  face. 

Kathie  arranged  her  nicest  smile,  thinking.  He 
doesn't  even  remember  me,  and  pushed  herself  the  rest 
of  the  way. 

Surprisingly,  he  didn't  kiss  her,  although  he  took 
her  in  his  arms.  His  cheek  was  cool  and  firm  against 
her  own  warmer  one.  "I  can't  believe  it,"  he  was 
saying.    "It's    so    much    like    a    dream   " 

"Uh-huh.    That  same  old  nightmare!"    Her 
nose  crinkled  at  him  in  the  familiar  way  as  she 
took  his  arm.  "Come  on  in  here,"  she  said, 
drawing  him  into  the  living  room,  "where  I 
can  really  see  you."  She  stood  back,  head  on 
one  side,  trying  to  be  casual,  as  though  this 
happened  any  day,  any  time.  Dirk  mustn't 
know  yet  what  was  going  on  under  the  calm, 
frilly  pinafore.         (Continued  on  Page  168) 


a44r. 


It  seeaieii  thla  «r«8  wbat 
U»  waated  to  do— Just 
■tore  ■■4l  Miore  of  thLi. 


X  ■  U.r'-'L'-' i^ 


III.  USTHtTED       BT       JON        WHtTCOMI 


When  your  editors,  aware  as  so  many  parents  are  aware  nowadays  that  something  fundamental  is 
wrong  with  the  education  of  our  children  and  ourselves,  asked  Walter  Lippmann  to  write  a  series  of 
articles  on  the  situation,  his  reply  was  that  everything  had  been  said,  and  better  said  than  he  would  be 
able  to  say  it,  by  Sir  Richard  Livingstone  in  his  book  ON  EDUCATION,    (Macmillan,  $1.75.) 

After  reading  ON  EDUCATION,  we  passed  it  around  to  our  various  editors,  every  one  of  whom 
found  it  helpful  in  his  thinking.  We  are  here  presenting  a  7500-word  digest  of  the  first  half  of  Sir 
Richard's  book. 

We  are  under  no  delusion  that  our  digest  is  better  than,  or  even  as  good  as,  the  original  in  full.  But 
we  believe  every  person  interested  in  the  education  of  citizens  in  our  democratized  republic  should  read 
Sir  Richard's  book.   We  are  hopeful  that  this  digest  will  stimulate  an  appetite  for  the  book  as  a  whole. 

—  The  Editors. 


rilY  are  we  an  uneducated  nation  and  how  can  we  become  an  edu- 
cated one?  We  have  compulsory  education,  magnificent  schools  and 
an  enormous  educational  budget.  Yet  tlie  newspapers  and  films  of  a 
country  are  the  best  index  of  wliat  appeals  to  its  masses.  Vi  hat  view 
would  posterity  form  of  our  civilization  from  these  manifestations  of  its 
taste  and  intelligence? 

Listen  to  a  description  of  modern  education  and  its  effects  by  Mr. 
Walter  Lippmunn: 

"There  is  an  enormous  vacuum  where  until  a  few  decades  ago  there 
was  the  .substance  of  education.  And  with  what  is  that  vacuum  filled'.'' 
It  is  filled  with  the  elective,  eclei'tic,  the  specialized,  the  accidental  and 
incidental  improvisations  and  sjjontaiieous  curiosities  of  teachers  and  stu- 
dents. There  is  no  common  faith,  no  common  body  of  principle,  no  com- 
mon moral  and  intelicrlual  disci|)liii<'.  ^  et  the  graduates  of  tiiese  modern 
schools  are  ex|)ected  to  form  a  civiliz<-d  community.  They  are  expected  to 
govern  themselves.  They  are  expected  to  have  a  social  conscience.  They 
are  expected  to  arrive  by  discussion  at  common  purpose.  When  one 
realizes  that  they  have  no  common  culture,  is  it  astounding  that  they  have 
no  common  pm-|K)sey  That  they  worship  false  gods?  That  only  in  war 
do  tli«'y  unite?  That  in  the  fierce  struggle  for  existence  they  are  tearing 
Western  society  to  pieces?  .  .  .  We  have  estahlished  a  system  of  educa- 
tion in  which  we  insist  that  while  everyone  must  be  educated,  yet  there  is 
nothing  in  particular  that  an  educated  man  should  know." 

If  you  taught  a  child  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  and  then  stopped,  you 
would  probably  consider  that  you  had  thrown  time  away  in  teaching  him 
the  A  U  C's.  Yet  that  is  what  we  tlo  in  our  elementary  education.  Ele- 
mentary education  is  not  com|)lete  in  itself.  It  prepares  the  pupil  to  go  on 
to  something  else,  and  puts  his  foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  ladder  of 
knowledge.    Hut  in  fa<'t  the  vast  majority  go  on  to  notiiing  else. 

The  chief  uses  of  our  present  elementary  system  are  to  enable  a  minor- 
ity to  proceed  to  further  education  and  the  rest  to  read  the  cheap  press.  I 
am  not  criticizing  our  elementary  schools  or  their  teachers,  or  denying  the 
necessity  of  elejnentary  educati«)n  for  all.  Hut  unless  it  leads  on  to  some- 
thing else,  it  is  as  useless  as  a  ladder  which  has  no  rungs  beyond  one  or 
two  at  the  bottom.  To  cease  education  at  fourteen  is  as  unnatural  as  to 
die  at  fourteen. 

We  have,  I  believe,  wholly  overlooked  a  vital  principle.  Its  neglect  is 
largely  responsible  for  the  limited  success  of  the  education  we  have.  The 
principle  is:  That  almost  any  subject  is  studied  with  much  more  interest 
and  intelligence  by  those  who  know  something  of  its  subject  matter  than 
by  those  who  do  not;  and,  conversely,  that  it  is  not  profitable  to  study 
theory  without  some  practical  experience  of  the  facts  to  which  it  relates. 

In  some  fields  this  is  recognized.  Medical  students  walk  the  wards 
while  they  study  surgery  and  medicine.  So  with  engineering:  practical 
experience  in  the  workshop  is  sandwiched  with  study  of  the  theory.  The 
most  interesting — not  necessarily  the  ablest — pupils  I  ever  had  came  to 


*  'Jfoi^'Uf  tvA«  A*u  4€€M  tAe  %e4*titA  9^  com- 
(^  Tincttd  Sttttei  ti^iU  it  utuCe%  Uc  deUt- 

the  university  not  direct  from  school,  but  after  a  period  in  the  army  or 
business  or  some  other  practical  pursuit.  Unlike  the  great  majority  of 
undergraduates  who  study  history  and  literature,  and  even  politics  and 
ethics,  when  they  know  hardly  anything  of  the  subjects  with  which  these 

From  Sir  Richard  Livingstone's  ON  EDUCATION  (Cambridge  Univ.  Press,  England). 
By  permission  of  The  Macmillan  Company,  publishers,  U.  S. 


deal — human  nature  and  life — these  other  students  had 'seen  something 
of  both  and  were  better  prepared  to  think  about  them. 

If  certain  subjects  need  experience  of  life  for  full  and  fruitful  study, 
how  will  this  affect  our  educational  practice? 

First,  note  that  certain  subjects  need  no  experience  of  life  for  their  full 
comprehension:  among  these  are  mathematics,  languages,  the  sciences  and 
some  aspects^  of  geography.  They  are  like  predigested  foods,  complete  in 
themselves.  Individuals  may  have  no  natural  capacity  for  some  of  them — 
some  children  seem  incapable  of  learning  foreign  languages,  others  in- 
capable of  any  mathematics  except  the  simplest — but  these  subjects  are 
normally  indicated  for  the  young. 

But  there  are  other  subjects  in  the  curriculum  than  mathematics,  lan- 
guages, science.  There  are  literature,  history,  economics  and  politics.  In 
them  the  pupil  studies  life  and  human  nature,  of  which  he  knows  so  little. 
Are  they  to  be  excluded  from  the  schools?  Do  the  boy  and  the  adolescent 
profit  little  or  nothing  from  their  study;  and  if  so,  what  profit  do  they  get? 

Studies  lead  to  specific  knowledge,  but,  quite  apart  from  that,  they  are 
a  training   in  the   art  of  using  the  mind.    A  schoolboy,  who  may  know 


27 


"^T 


nothing  of  the  reahties  ■with  which  history  or  Hterature  or 

politics  or  economics  deal,  can  get  this  training  from  their 

study;    their  facts  and  theories  are  to  him  counters  with 

which  he  learns  to  use  his  brain    in  these   and   related  subjects.    It  is 

an  excellent  and  healthy  occupation,  and  on   it  is  founded  the  saying 

that  education  is  what  remains  after  we  have  forgotten  all  that  we  have 

learned. 

What  else  does  a  pupil  learn  by  studying  history  or  literature  at  school? 
My  own  tentative  answer  would  be  this:  The  child  and  the  adolescent  can 
learn  facts — details  of  biography  and  history,  the  hard  skeleton  of  knowl- 
edge. They  can  enjoy,  too,  the  pictures  of  literature  and  history — and  how- 
much  of  both  is  picture! — because  for  this  appreciation  they  have  the 
necessary  experience.  Further,  and  even  more  important,  if  a  child  reads 
great  literature  or  great  history,  their  greatness  forms  his  mind  uncon- 
sciously. 

What,  then,  should  we  do?  If  we  lived  in  Utopia,  the  ideal  plan  might 
be  for  everyone  to  leave  school  at  fifteen,  and  pass  into  a  system  where 
part  of  the  week  was  allotted  to  school,  part  to  earning  a  living  in  some 
practical  occupation.  Theory  would  be  illuminated  by  practice,  and  prac- 
tice by  theory.  At  present  the  two  are  nearly  always  divorced.  We  lead  a 
life  of  action  without  thought;  or  we  think  in  a  vacuum,  without  contact 
with  the  realities  and  problems  of  the  world.  Neither  form  of  isolation  is 
satisfactory. 

Meanwhile,  there  remains  the  problem  of  the  greater  part  of  the  nation 
who  leave  school  at  fourteen  or  fifteen.  Some  people  think  that  the  ma- 
jority are  designed  forever  to  be  exiles  from  all  but  the  outermost  court  of 
education,  incapable  of  any  humanistic  or  cultural  interest.  But  this  is 
not  so.  The  poorest  home  has  pictures,  however  cheap,  on  the  walls,  and 
gives  thereby  proof  that  art  of  some  kind  appeals  to  all  and  that  no  one 
feels  his  life  complete  without  it.  Almost  everyone  enjoys  some  kind  of 
music,  even  if  it  is  only  crooning.  Just  as  a  baby's  cries  show  the  power  of 
speech,  waiting  to  be  developed,  so  in  all  humans  there  is  the  latent  taste 
for  art,  literature  and  music,  capable  of  being  trained  to  understand  and 
enjoy  the  best.    But  how  can  it  be  done? 

Theories  are  more  common  than  achievements  in  the  history  of  educa- 
tion. Now  in  the  past  hundred  years  there  have  been  four  notable  achieve- 
ments. These  are  the  prewar  German  university,  the  English  public  school, 
the  Danish  people's  high  school,  and  the  Scout  and  Guide  movements.  Of 
these,  the  third,  the  Danish  people's  high  school,  should  be  of  peculiar 
interest  to  us,  for  it  is  the  only  great,  successful  experiment  in  educating 
the  masses  of  a  nation. 

We  find  it  difficult  to  think  of  Denmark  as  a  poverty-stricken  country, 
lacking  in  energy  or  enterprise;  but  such  it  was  in  the  early  nineteenth 
century,  and  its  transformation  into  one  of  the  most  progressive  and  pros- 
perous democracies  of  Europe  was  largely  the  work  of  the  education  given 
in  these  schools. 

The  creators  of  the  movement  were  a  clergyman,  Grundtvig,  and  a 
working  cobbler  called  Kold.  The  ideas  and  inspiration  came  from 
Grundtvig;  Kold,  a  man  of  the  people,  founded  schools,  taught  and  drew 
men  after  him  by  strength  of  character  and  spiritual  force.  The  first 
Danish  people's  high  school  was  founded  in  1844  to  combat  German 
propaganda  in  Schleswig-Holstein.  Others  followed.  In  1864  came  the 
disastrous  war  with  Germany.  The  Danish  reply  to  defeat  was  to  create 
more  high  schools. 

They  are  nearly  all  residential,  with  a  summer  term  of  three  months, 
chiefly  for  women,  and  a  winter  term  of  five  months,  chiefly  for  men.  They 
are  private  ventures,  owned  either  by  the  principal  or  by  a  number  of  per- 
sons who  form  a  company.  The  government  gives  grants  in  aid.  The  pupils 
are  mostly  farmers  and  small  holders  and,  in  a  less  degree,  laborers.  All 
students  are  over  eighteen.  Only  25  per  cent  have  had  anything  more 
than  elementary  education;  the  rest  have  spent  the  years  between  fourteen 
and  eighteen  in  farming  or  other  work. 

There  is  no  compulsion  to  attend,  and  no  reward  in  the  form  of  a  degree 
or  a  diploma.  The  cost  of  living  and  education  is  about  £4  per  month  for 
women  and  a  little  more  for  men,  and  is  paid  by  the  student,  but  the 
government  offers  scholarships  which  pay  half  the  fees  of  those  who  could 
not  afford  to  attend  wkhout  such  help.  Yet  though  all  the  cost  in  most 
cases,  and  half  the  cost  in  the  rest,  falls  on  the  students,  it  is  reckoned  that 
about  30  per  cent  of  the  agricultural  community  attend  a  high  school. 
Though  nearly  all  the  students  are  and  will  continue  to  be  workers  on  the 


land,  there  is  nothing  vocational  in  the  high-school  curriculum.  Its  main  sub- 
jects are  literature  and  history.  To  these  are  added  composition  in  Danish, 
mathematics,  elementary  science,  gymnastics  and  (for  the  women)  sewing. 

This  Danish  national  education  has  three  secrets  of  success:  it  is  given 
to  adults;  it  is  residential;  it  is  essentially  a  spiritual  force.  Let  us  glance 
at  these  in  turn. 

The  P.H.S.  is  a  school  for  adults.  The  Danes  have  never  attempted  to 
solve  the  problem  of  national  education  by  raising  the  school  age,  and 
most  Danes  leave  school  at  fourteen,  resuming  their  education  in  the 
P.H.S.  after  the  age  of  eighteen.  Grundtvig  refused  to  admit  anyone  into 
his  schools  before  that  age.  This  decision  was  not  based  merely  on  theory. 
Both  methods  were  tried,  and  the  younger  pupils  showed  neither  the 
intelligence  nor  the  interest  of  the  elder. 

The  second  feature  of  the  P.H.S.  is  its  residential  life.  Our  adult  edu- 
cation is  part-time,  an  hour  or  two  snatched  from  the  routine  of  life  by 
men  and  women  who  have  already  borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  a  day  of 
work.  The  Dane  lays  the  task  of  breadwinning  aside  and  lives  for  three  or 
five  months  wholly  steeped  in  the  atmosphere  of  education;  the  dye  sinks 
deeper  and  takes  a  more  lasting  hold. 

Another  contrast.  Danish  adult  education  is  essentially  social.  "Every 
high  school  is,  in  a  sense,  a  home."  Such  is  the  effect  of  the  common  life. 
Living  together,  the  pupils  learn  from  one  another's  views  and  personali- 
ties, from  contiguity  and  personal  talk.  I  do  not  think  that  we  shall  suc- 
ceed in  developing  adult  education  unless  we  make  it  more  social.  The 
P.H.S.  is  attractive  because  it  is  residential  and  because  tlie  residences 
are  pleasant  places.  It  is  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  of  the  poor 
man,  and  the  more  attractive  because  for  its  students  the  high-school 
course  is  a  rare  oasis  in  a  life  of  hard  work  and  comparative  isolation. 

The  third  feature  of  the  P.H.S.  is  equally  important.  To  us.  adult 
education  is  primarily 

intellectual.   To   the  ^^^^  ^^H  'Otu  9^  C/ie  ^neot  frtoUemi  O^  C^  «t^ 

Danes  it  is  primarily   ^^       ^  U^toiUtfot/U  *HuUU-<l^U <,^KtKf.  . 

'p9t  €Ac/ltut/ko4CA  o^ti^e.  t^  midcUc-€i^ 


axe  mo^c  im/ka^Cattt  tAoK  tAe  ^o*<h^ 


'*)  iA««d«C  (i^  t»  tec  totxif  eAdcC  eatx^  tuva^  ^r****  <icA«oi 

cA^itactct.  '?HifO€imU4tt¥9*dtC{neiudcC^U4(AtuCS»ena€e4 
'p^tUK44  «Md  ettiai^tf  'PtciidcHt  "TH^u^x*^. 


a  moral  and  spiritual 
force.  The  two  aims 
can  never  be  dis- 
sociated: education 
must  always  in  some  degree  affect  tlie  outlook  and  through  it  character 
and  conduct,  for  a  man's  actions  depend  partly  on  what  he  knows  of  life 
and  sees  in  it;  nor  are  ideals  worth  much  unless  they  are  based  on  and 
reinforced  by  knowledge.  But  the  intellectual  or  the  spiritual  element 
predominates,  according  as  we  study  in  order  to  know  or  in  order  to  act. 
The  emphasis  of  the  P.H.S.  is  on  the  latter. 

This  idealism  has  its  practical  uses.  In  the  second  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  Denmark,  with  no  economic  advantages,  passed  from  depression 
to  prosperity  and  became  a  pioneer  and  model  of  agricultural  methods. 
The  regeneration  of  a  j)eople  is  worth  study,  and  this  instance  is  of  s[)ecial 
interest  to  educationists,  for  it  is  generally  agreed  that  the  people's  high 
school  was  one  of  the  chief  instruments  in  the  economic  progress  of  Den- 
mark. And  yet  the  schools  gave  no  vocational  courses  and  their  backbone 
was  the  study  of  history  and  literature.  How  strange  that  such  subjects 
should  produce  better  farming! 

That  is  the  natural  criticism  to  make,  and  our  readiness  to  make  it 
explains  why  the  results  of  education  are  so  often  disappointing.  We  give 
knowledge  to  our  pupils  and  are  surprised  that  some  do  not  want  it  and 
that  many  others  make  a  halfhearted  use  of  it.  Our  error  is  that  we  have 
given  them  the  food  and  do  not  trouble  about  the  a|)petite  without  which 
they  will  not  digest  it.  Our  education,  like  our  civilization,  is  penetrated 
with  an  uuititelligent  utilitarianism,  which  makes  us  feel  that  we  ought  to 
be  studving  something  "useful" — economics,  administration,  modern  lan- 
guages, technology,  and  so  on.  No  one  would  (juestion  the  indis|)ensabiiity 
of  such  subjects,  but  the  prior  task  of  t'ducation  is  to  inspire,  and  to  give  a 
sense  of  values  and  the  power  of  distinguishing  in  life,  as  in  lesser  things, 
what  is  first-rate  and  what  is  not.  ' 

That  truth,  often  hidden  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  the  makers  of  the 
P.H..S.  diviru'd.  They  did  not  teach  their  pupils  how  to  farm  well,  but  they 
produced  in  them  a  passionate  desire  to  do  it.  Their  aim  was  not  to  impart 
knowledge,  but  to  awaken  intelligence  and  idealism. 

So  the  Danes  avoided  the  great  defects  of  our  civilization,  lack 

(Continued  on  Page  117) 


^M  of  aim  and  driving  power.  The 


■% 


M 


.i^, 


BY  MlKlilltET  IVEYifllllTH  JirKNIIAI 


^ 


Si> 


I 


LLIE  met  David  at  the  bus,  and  his  heart 
jumped  when  he  saw  her  standing  on  the  cor- 
ner where  the  old  gravel  road  led  away  from 
the  pavement,  back  to  the  farm.  She  looked 
g)  just  the  same,  only  that  now  she  wasn't  a  girl,  but 

a  woman.  She  was  slender,  but  not  so  reedy ;  her 
**■'  fair  cobwebby  hair  was  rolled  neatly  back  from  her 

face  instead  of  flying  in  the  wind.  But  her  dark 
blue  eyes  were  unchanged  and  she  still  had  a  few 
small  freckles  on  her  nose. 

"David!"  she  said. 

She  gave  him  a  very  cousinly  kiss  and  that 
stopped  him  a  little.  All  the  way  across  the  Pacific 
he  had  been  taking  increasing  comfort  in  the  fact 
that  Ellie  really  wasn't  his  cousin.  She  was  Aunt 
June's  stepdaughter,  and  just  because  they  had 
grown  up  together  as  cousins  didn't  really  make 
her  one. 

It  was  strange  that  this  fact  had  never  bothered 
David  until  he  started  home.  He  had  loved  Ellie 
as  simply  and  naturally  as  he  had  loved  Andre  and 
Mark,  and  his  Cousin  .June.  He  had  written  to  her 
once  a  week  all  the  time  he  was  gone,  and  he  had 
depended  on  her  cheerful  letters  as  the  big  thing  in 
his  life  as  a  soldier.  But  when  he  started  home  and 
knew  that  the  place  he  wanted  to  go  to  most  of  all 
was  the  farm,  he  began  to  realize  with  mounting 
excitement  that  Ellie  was  there,  and  that  she  was 
not  really  one  of  the  Boss  cousins. 

The  bus  rolled  away  and  they  stood  awkwardly 
grinning  at  each  other. 

Then  Ellie  said,  flushing  a  little,  "Oh,  David! 
Your  hand!  I  thought  it  was  well.  You  said  it  was 
all  well." 

"It  is,"  said  David.  "But  they  put  this  guard 
on  it  to  protect  it."  He  lifted  his  hand  in  its  metal 
ring,  with  the  wires  along  each  finger.  "I  take  this 
ofT  night  and  morning  and  exercise  my  hand.  It's 
just  something  to  wear  until  I  go  back  to  the 
hospital  after  my  leave,  and  then  they'll  take  it  off. 
By  the  first  of  the  year  my  hand  will  be  in  full  use 
again.  Honestly.  Meanwhile,  it  looks  kind  of 
romantic,  don't  you  think?  It  gets  me  all  kinds  of 
favors,  free  drinks  and  everything!" 

This  was  the  tone  he  had  decided  on  months  ago 
when  his  hand  was  burned  and  broken.  But  Ellie 
was  not  deceived  by  his  attitude.  She  would  have 


picked  up  his  bag  if  he  had  let  her.  But  he  said  to 
her,  suddenly  serious: 

"Look,  Ellie — you  and  I  always  understood  each 
other.  When  I  can't  do  anything,  when  I  need  help, 
I'll  holler.  Otherwise,  let  me  go  on  my  own.  I've 
worked  out  quite  a  technique.  I  can  do  everything 
with  one  hand  except  tie  my  shoes  and  cut  my 
meat.   So  don't  wait  on  me." 

Ellie  looked  at  him  soberly  with  her  blue  eyes. 
Her  mouth  was  so  sweet  he  longed  to  kiss  her — and 
not  in  a  cousinly  fashion.  She  accepted  him  at  his 
word  and  got  into  the  little  old  car  that  Aunt  Milly 
had  driven  all  these  years.  He  put  his  bag  in  the 
back  and  got  into  the  seat  beside  her  and  closed 
the  door  with  his  good  hand.  Ellie  started  the  car 
and  turned*  into  the  graveled  road. 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  that  you  wanted 
to  come  to  the  farm,"  she  said.  "Grandfather  and 
grandmother  are  so  pleased — and  Aunt  Milly! 
Well,  it  just  means  everything  to  her." 

"The  folks  came  to  San  Francisco  to  see  me  when 
I  got  to  the  States,"  said  David.  "They've  been 
there  all  this  month  and  came  across  country  with 
me  and  went  on  home.  They  know  how  I  feel  about 
the  farm,  how  we  all  feel.  Ellie,  there  were  times 
out  there  when  I  couldn't  believe  the  farm  was  real. 
I  knew  it  was— and  it  seemed  like  a  dream;  not  like 
a  storybook,  but  like  all  the  storybooks  in  the 
world.  To  think  of  it,  the  spring  and  the  orchard 
and  the  hill  back  of  the  orchard,  and  the  meadow 
and  the  hay  and  the  fruit  sheds  when  the  apples 
were  picked,  and  the  food  and  the  love— as  though 
grandmother  was  Demeter  herself,  and  grandfather 
the  dispenser  of  largesse — well,  I  longed  to  see  it 
again.  And  here  I  am !  I  still  can't  believe  it.  Tell 
me,  how  are  the  old  folks?" 

She  didn't  answer  for  a  moment.  He  looked  at 
her  and  it  seemed  to  him  she  was  very  sober.  She 
said,  slowly,  "Of  course,  nothing  changes.  The  farm 
is  the  same,  the  house  is  the  same.  The  spring  is 
just  as  clear  and  clean,  and  the  trees  have  had  to  be 
propped  so  the  fruit  won't  break  the  boughs.  But 
you  must  remember,  David,  that  grandmother  is 
eighty-five  years  old  now  and  grandfather  is  ninety. 
It  seems  to  me  that  they  didn't  change  at  all  for 
many  years,  but  now  they  have  changed.  They  are 
really  very  old.    Grandmother  has  changed  more 


than  grandfather.  But  if  you  allow  for  that,  every- 
thing is  the  same  and  you  will  love  it." 

"How  come  you  are  here?"  he  said.  "Most  of 
the  girls  I  know,  your  age,  are  either  dating  and 
dancing  or  going  in  for  careers.  I've  wondered  why 
you  were  here." 

"I  came  last  summer  to  stay  with  Milly  for  a 
while.  I  was  lonesome,  too,  for  the  farm,  and — well, 
I  just  stayed.  They  like  to  have  me  and  I  like  it 
here.  I  guess  I'm  not  ambitious,  David.  A  lot  of 
the  girls  I  know  are  married  to  men  in  the  services 
and  they  have  babies  or  small  children." 

She  sounded  vague  and  David  felt  a  sense  of  dis- 
appointment. When  they  were  youngsters  at  the 
farm,  in  the  long  hot  summers,  and  were  so  per- 
fectly, so  ideally,  so  incredibly  happy,  Ellie  had 
the  biggest,  wildest  dreams  of  all.  It  was  Ellie  who 
was  going  to  be  an  explorer — that  was  the  summer 
they  all  made  maps  of  the  farm  and  camped  out 
overnight  above  the  spring.  It  was  Ellie  who  was 
going  to  be  an  aviator,  Ellie  who  was  going  to  be 
an  actress.  Of  course,  June  and  Mollie  were  going 
to  be  actresses,  too,  but  Ellie  really  got  kind  of  a 
start.  It  was  Ellie  who  was  going  to  write  plays, 
Ellie  who  was  going  to  do  all  the  glamorous  things. 
She  could  think  up  the  most  wonderful  things  to 
do.  And  here  she  was — not  on  the  farm  for  summer 
vacations,  as  they  had  all  been  year  after  year,  but 
just  living  here,  doing  housework  and  feeding 
chickens.  It  was  not  very  imaginative  of  her,  he 
thought.  Then  he  checked  himself.  He  looked  at 
her  clear  profile  again  and  any  feeling  except  love 
left  him.  Whatever  Ellie  did  was  proper.  He  knew 
that! 

They  were  at  the  gate.  David  got  out  and  opened 
it  for  her  and  Ellie  chugged  through  in  the  old  bus. 
//  must  be  twenty  years  old,  he  thought  in  astonish- 
ment, and  wondered  why  Aunt  Milly  had  never 
bought  a  better  car.  She  was  the  oldest  of  his 
father's  brothers  and  sisters.  She  was  the  one  who 
had  always  stayed  at  home,  teaching  school  in  the 
winter,  looking  after  the  cousins  in  the  summer. 
Now  she  had  taught  her  thirty-five  years  and  was 
on  pension.  To  his  mind  she  had  never  changed, 
year  in,  year  out.  There  was  oo  one,  in  all  his  life, 
who  had  roused  in  him  such  feelings  of  respect  as 
his  Aunt  Milly — except  (Continued  on  Page  157) 


You'd  think  a  hcanlilnl  young  girl  would  waul 

lo  riaiT  u|)  and  \m,  David  just  didn't  get  it!        Sl  f 


'%.' 


V 


If  • .  - 


a.. 


C^l 


:3k§0'\ 


,/    /  V  _ 


'        *■,        ]^k  ILLUSTBATEn      BT 


AL      PAHKEB 


.      ^ 


y, 


m  GORDON  MilLUERBE  HILLMJIV 

THIS  morning  the  whole  quality  of  the  world  had 
changed.  This  morning  everything  had  a  sudden 
sharpness  and  even  the  smallest  trifle  seemed  im- 
portant. Yet  the  day  had  no  outward  difference  at 
all.  The  maple  tree  still  tapped  on  the  window,  and 
through  it  the  sun  shone  greenish  gold  to  fall  in  little 
liquid  patterns  on  the  floor.  A  fair  day,  a  fine  day,  but 
with  an  air  of  strangeness  on  it. 

There  was  a  thump  in  the  ne.xt  room,  and  that  would 
be  dad  getting  up.  dazed  as  always,  his  hair  a  tangle  on 
his  head,  his  gaze  vacant  as  if  he  were  still  halfway  be- 
tween waking  and  sleep.  Johnny  rubbed  his  eyes,  and 
he'd  never  thought  of  dad  that  way  before;  as  a  separate 
sort  of  person  instead  of  just  a  father.  Now  he  knew 
that  dad  had  thoughts  and  desires  as  well  as  anyone 
else,  and  so  did  mum. 

Mum  would  be  downstairs  making  breakfast  with 
that  clear,  cool  little-girl  look  on  her  face.  Mum  had 
never  really  grown  up:  mum  still  took  intense  delight  in 
small,  simple  things;  and  he'd  never  known  that  till 
now  either. 

It  was  strange  how  many  things  he'd  never  known, 
and  now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  realized  that  he 
didn't  know  anything  really.  It  was  a  queer  sensation, 
for  he'd  always  felt  sure  of  himself;  he'd  always  felt  he 
was  someone  important  named  Johnny  Swain.  And  now 
he  knew  he  wasn't  and  never  had  been. 

He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  Seventeen  and  a 
half,  with  a  long  pleasant  face,  rather  vague  this  morn- 
ing. Blue  eyes  that  might  have  belonged  to  anyone  and 
light  hair  that  had  a  habit  of  belling  out  above  his  fore- 
head. Mouth  and  chin  that  certainly  weren't  deter- 
mined. A  very  ordinary  young  man,  a  most  bewildered 
young  man.  And  I  lhoiig,hi  I  was  good-looking,,  he  said 
half  to  himself  and  half  to  the  maple  tree  that  had 
tapped  on  the  window  ever  since  he'd  been  born.  It  was 
a  big  tree,  a  handsome  tree,  and  it  would  still  be  here 
when  he  wouldn't. 

Time  was  tightening  about  him,  for  there  was  hardly 
any  time  now.  But  he  had  no  capacity  for  hurry,  be- 
cause suddenly  what  he  did  or  said  was  of  no  importance 
at  all. 

This  new  feeling,  this  extremely  curious  feeling,  had 
begun  at  the  party  last  night.  Halfway  through,  the 
party  had  gone  dry  and  dead— or  he  had.  At  one  mo- 
ment it  had  all  been  marvelous;  at  the  next  he'd  wished 
he  were  home  again,  out  of  the  talk  and  the  laughter 
and  the  noise. 

Dad  had  been  smart :  dad  had  flatly  refused  to  go,  and 
so  had  mum.  Dad  had  said,  "  It's  your  party,  son.  Why 
should  the  dull  and  elderly  clutter  it  up?" 

Perhaps  that  was  what  had  been  the  matter,  for  the 
elderly  had  turned  out  in  full  force.  They  hadn't  been 
really  elderly,  of  course— forty,  forty-five,  fifty— but 
there  is  a  great  gap  between  that  and  seventeen  and  a 
half.  Audrey's  parents  had  to  have  them,  of  course,  be- 
cause there  were  nearly  no  young  men  left. 

And  Audrey's  father,  Mr.  Hammond,  had  gone  boom- 
ing about  in  that  big,  hearty  way  of  his.  "I  wish  I  had 
your  chance,  young  fellow.  Don't  I  wish  I  was  you! 
Greatest  war  in  history  and  I'm  going  to  miss  all  the 
fun."  A  slap  on  the  back  had  gone  with  it,  and  it  had 
all  seemed  false  and  hollow. 

This  morning  he  knew  why.  He  remembered  that 
Mr.  Hammond  had  spent  the  last  war,  that  old  dim 
war  of  1917,  sitting  at  a  desk  in  Washington.  Mr. 
Hammond  didn't  want  to  go  now,  either.  He  wanted  to 
stay  where  he  was  in  the  big,  pseudo-Colonial  house  on 
the  Ridge,  talking  a  little  too  much,  drinking  a  little  too 
much,  putting  pins  in  maps,  damning  the  Germans  and 
the  Japanese,  who  probably  had  their  own  Mr.  Ham- 
monds too. 

Johnny  wondered  why  he  was  thinking  this  way 
about  Mr.  Hammond,  for  he'd  always  considered  him  a 
great,  good  man;  even  a  goal  to  attain  to,  with  the  big 
house  and  the  cars  and  the  horses.  How  could  he  have 
thought  anything  else  of  him  when  he  was  Audrey's 
father? 

It  certainly  was  a  curious  morning,  for  his  senses  had 
always  seemed  to  leap  when  Audrey  came  into  his  mind, 
but  they  didn't  now.  The  very  memory  of  her  was 
blurred  and  indistinct,  and  that  was  extraordinary.  For 
Audrey  was  vivid,  vivid  with  her  bright  sweep  of  golden 
hair,  her  deep  blue  eyes,  her  heart-shaped  face.  Audrey 
burned  with  an  intense  vitality.  Audrey  was  never  still — 
not  for  a  second.  And  such  vivacity  abode  in  her  that 
one  forgot  she  wasn't  a  big  girl,  but  short  and  diminu- 
tive. Audrey  was  like  the  wind:  unquiet,  veering  swiftly 

30 


• 


from  one  gusty  mood  to  the  next.  Even  her  walk  was 
quick  and  impatient.  Audrey  drove  her  bright  red  car 
like  a  demon.  Audrey  rode  her  horses  hard.  She  was 
exciting,  too.  so  exciting  that  it  seemed  as  if  some  hot 
pulse  ceaselessly  beat  inside  her. 

Or  so  Johnny  had  always  thought  until  he  woke  this 
morning  and  everything  was  a  little  dififerent,  just  so 
different  that  his  senses  didn't  leap  any  more  to  meet 
her  image  in  his  mind.  He  could  call  up  the  images 
easily:  Audrey  in  black  boots  and  white  breeches  astride 
a  plunging  horse;  Audrey  in  bright  blue  shorts  and  halter 
serving  hard  from  the  base  line  of  some  ocher-colored 
tennis  court;  Audrey  in  a  long,  pale  evening  gown  with 
a  scarlet  flower  in  her  hair  and  the  moon's  light  strong 
on  her  creamy  skin.  But  none  of  the  images  held  that 
sultry  magic  any  more— the  magic  that  had  kept  him 
in  thrall  so  he  had  been  her  slave.  And  now  that  was  all 
gone  and  it  left  a  curious  emptiness  in  his  heart  and 
head. 

He  looked  around  his  room  and  everything  had  a 
sharpness  it  had  never  had  before.  Even  the  rows  of 
books  were  brighter,  though  their  bindings  had  dimmed 
down  the  years.  Even  the  big  globe  he'd  owned  ever 
since  he  was  quite  small  had  a  sudden  importance  all 
its  own. 

He  went  slowly  downstairs  and  the  house— the  old 
familiar  house— had  changed,  too,  as  if  some  hard  light, 
diamond  clear,  were  playing  over  it.  All  the  things— the 
old  things,  the  shabby  things— seemed  to  be  attempting 
to  fix  themselves  in  his  mind  so  he  would  remember 
them  just  as  they  were. 

Dad  was  standing  at  the  dining-room  door,  looking  at 
the  paper  in  such  a  dim,  abstracted  way  that  it  was 
probable  he  wasn't  seeing  it  at  all.  "Good  grief,  you 
look  terrible,"  dad  said.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why 
one's  family  is  such  a  dreadful  sight  so  early  in  the 
morning."  Dad  stood  there,  tall  and  a  trifle  stooped, 
nice  and  brown  all  over,  brown  hair,  brown  eyes,  with 
that  slightly  amused  look  on  his  face,  as  if  there  was  al- 
ways something  to  laugh  at  in  the  world  if  you  could 
only  find  it.  It  was  a  kind,  quiet  face,  too,  and  Johnny'd 
never  noticed  that  before. 

"Do  stop  staring  at  that  paper,  Dick,"  mum  said. 
"Breakfast's  been  on  for  ages,  your  coffee's  getting  cold, 
and  I  don't  think  you  have  the  remotest  idea  what 
you're  reading  anyway." 

"Haven't,"  said  dad  and  promptly  sat  down.  "How 
was  the  party,  Johnadab?" 

"It  wasn't  very  good.   I  don't  know  why." 

Dad  drank  his  coffee  sleepily.  He  seemed  about  to 
put  a  piece  of  toast  in  his  eye.  "Going-away  parties 
never  are.  Especially  not  for  the  victim.  I  hope  I'll 
never  go  away,  so  no  one  will  have  an. excuse  for  giving 
me  one." 

Mum,  with  her  bright  hair  and  her  bright  cheeks  and 
her  apron  over  her  blue  dress,  looked  more  than  ever 
like  a  little  girl  playing  house.  "Your  father,  Johnny,, 
made  a  very  distinguished  success  at  one  given  in  his . 
honor  in  1917.  At  its  very  height,  when  everyone  was 
about  to  drink  a  toast  to  him,  it  was  discovered  he'd 
gone  home  and  gone  to  bed.  Why  I  ever  married  him 
after  that,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"My  irresistible  charm,"  said  Mr.  Swain.  "Your 
mother  was  mad,  Johnadab — boiling  mad.  Her  eyes 
snapped  when  I  saw  her  next  morning.  Her  language 
was  unsuitable  to  a  lady.  I  was  obliged  to  kiss  her  a 
great  deal  before  she  became  sensible  again." 

Mum  pushed  back  her  hair.  "On  the  rare  occasions 
when  I  swore  at  your  father,  Johnny,  it  had  a  most 
•extraordinary  effect." 

"So  I  married  your  mother  to  reform  her,"  Mr.  Swain 
said  and  rapidly  ate  his  bacon.  "I  signally  failed.  And 
how  is  the  adorable  Audrey,  if  I  may  ask?" 

Yesterday,  Johnny  would  have  taken  deep  offense  at 
his  father's  tone;  today  he  didn't.  "All  right,  I  guess." 

Mum  was  looking  out  the  window  at  the  sun  and 
shade  of  the  maple  tree.  "  I  do  wish  she  weren't  so  dull." 
She  caught  herself  up.  "Oh,  dear,  I  shouldn't  have  said 
that,  should  I?" 

"Dropped  a  brick,"  said  Mr.  Swain.  "Don't  do  it 
again  or  I'll  beat  you." 

Something  seemed  to  move  in  Johnny's  mind  with  an 
almost  audible  click.  For  mum  had  put  her  finger  on  it. 
Audrey  was  awfully  stupid.  (Continued  on  Page  106) 


"I  suppose  Yoii^rc  simplv  rushed  to  deatli.^''  she 
said.  .  .  .  "i\V<-o,"  said  Johnny.  "This  morning 
Vm  doing  just  a  few  things   I  really  want  to  do." 


ILLUSTHATEIl 


I  Y     MICHAEL 


w^(!ififsmmmmmmm>^^ 


V 


#" 


SPRIIG  MCHMTIIEIT 


iVUITE  MAUIC:  me  iUue  Muiot^  in  a  inood  lo  encnanl,  (Mm  (i/mle  n>iei  €iMC^ veiuna 


JOHN  FKEUliRlcS'  FLOWER  HATS  —  PEARL  DOG  COLLARS  BY  ARPAD  —  BRACELETS  BY  MIRIAM  HASKELL 


-;^..ivMi;ij* 


:  C/ai/u  lic/bri  A'yoiO'y^iifcaungifraw  voHHcltocw  la^icla  oc 


FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 


ETERNAL  ENCHANTMENT  :  :  :  what  is  there  about  a  neAv  spring  hat  that 
does  this  lovely  thing  for  a  woman?  Every  year  the  fashion  is  different,  but 
the  spell  never  faUs.  Spring  '45  brings  a  flock  of  little  sailors — white  magic  in 
their  white  straw,  veiUng  and  roses.  Shiny  straw  bonnets  with  big  taffeta  bows 
tilt  your  head  to  the  sim,  make  you  disarming  and  very  yoiuig.  Garlands  of 
flowers  encircle  new  higher  crowns  and  fall  softly  down  the  side  of  a  peach- 
basket  straw.  A  roll  of  brilliant  silk  becomes  a  halo  above  your  brow.  In  sharp 
contrast  to  blossoms  and  bows,  the  sleek  untrimmed  straw,  worn  with  a  coarse 
mesh  veil,  takes  its  own  confident  position.  Your  hats  this  season  are  as  varied 
and  as  lovely  as  the  flowers  of  spring.  BY  WILHELA  CIJSHMAW 

32 


Fashion  Editor  of  the  Journal 


SIKKKN   HA 


LO:  ui€m  a  via  iilk  roie;  Tiewe^ na^-naf,  uahl  ana  io/l  M  tmit. 


PLATTER  OF  FLO^VERS 


S:  a  mM'^-i.fi'am  iallor-  imtn  mneat  and daiM£i. 


LATTICE 


STRAW:  anaclo't^ne^/ and io/ifuili€/i^; •^ruaauawi'i  nem  o^^ 


SKET  OF  DREAMS:  naloru/i^i'ua*  eo€l/triM4>n,^y«^anduom&/>i. 
liVREATH:  nieud^t^  floafe^  atwit/nd  (Ae  ne44f  nian  nul  in  il(^^ 


W  ithout  its  cape,  the  coat  becomes  a  simple 
princess-line  reefer.  Hollywood  Pattern  1543,25c. 


Make  your  (iflcrnoon  dress  in  a  print  or  a  color  you  adore,  and  give  it  the 
distinguished  touch  of  matching  gloves.   Hollywood  Pattern  1515,  15c. 


I'HOTtK.KAlMIS    HY    I'H'CivR 


Iw  cape  coal  is  a  leading  spring  fashion  ;  neutral  heige,  a  leading  color.  By  making  the  cape  detach- 
lie,  you  have  tivo  versions — a  coat  that  goes  with  everything.    Hollywood  Pattern  1543,  25c. 


'1  CM  MIKE  SOMETHIK  imi\ 


.  .  .  THAT  WOULD  BE  EXTRAVAGANT  TO  BUY."  Quote  from  a  lady  who  has  just  found 
a  beautiful  piece  of  material  or  a  fine  remnant  and  has  a  quick  mental  picture  of  something  she 
can  make — with  no  additional  cost  except  a  Hollywood  Pattern,  a  few  buttons  or  a  piece  of 
trimming.  Thousands  of  women  who  have  specialty-shop  tastes  and  a  demanding  budget  can 
still  have  the  kind  of  clothes  they  love  because  they  make  them.  The  cape  coat  has  the  custom- 
order  look  because  of  fine  fabric  and  workmanship;  the  peplum  dress  is  made  of  jersey  found  only 
in  most  expensive  clothes;  any  suit  or  dress  pattern  becomes  your  personal,  one-of-a-kind  fashion. 
Wardrobe  or  single  costume — everything  you  make  today  is  priceless  because  you  can  select  for 
quality,  color  or  cut.   Extravagance  converted  into  economy!    ....     BY   IVOIIA   OTEAKY 

Buy  Hollywood  Patterns  at  the  store  which  sells  them  in  your  city.  Or  order  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  from 
Hollywood  Pattern  Service,  Putnam  Avenue,  Greenwich,  Conn.,  or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario,  Canada. 


(FOR  BACK  VIKWS  (»K  THESE  PATTEKNS.  SEE  PAGE  168). 


35 


The  soft  shirtutiist  dress  has  the  long  full  sleeves  you  'le  bee. 
wanting:  in  jersey  or  surah.  Hollvuood  Pattern  1544,  25c 


You  can  make  the  shirt  dress  in  plain  crepe  or 
wool;  dress  it  up  or  down  as  the  hour  demands. 


The  peplum  dress  is  young  and  springlike  in  gray  wool  jersey  with 
white  pique,  or  in  two-tone  crepe.    Hollywood  Pattern  1546,  25c.    / 


Fine  lightweight  tvool  for  this  suit,  surah  for  afternoon, 
Hollywood  Pattern   1545,  25c.   Koret^  snakeskin  hag. 


Plain -a  rid -polka -dot  jacket  ensemble  in  brown  and  ivhite,a  de- 
tachable cape,  about  $25.  Matching  crepe  gloves  can  be  made. 


SPRIIIiFlSHIOI... 


FASHION  is  a  treasure  hunt  that  every  woman  loves  because 
taste  and  intelHgence  count  more  than  money.  Fashion  has 
no  price  in  America.  Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Jones — one  count- 
ing pennies,  the  other  with  a  free  hand — can  go  shopping  the  same 
day  in  tlie  same  city  and  each  find  a  new  suit  or  dress  that 
makes  her  look  and  feel  like  a  million.  The  two  will  not  be 
identical,  but — provided  Mrs.  S.  and  Mrs.  J.  have  their  wits 
about  them — both  will  be  in  fashion,  equally  becoming  and 
suitable  for  the  same  purpose. 


lilts  black -and-ivhitc  lailotcd  touii  drt'ss  is  niyoii  jersey, 
jumper  fashion,  around  $23;  worn  with  a  pique  cloche. 


Black-and-white  surah  dress,  around  $60,  also  has  a  town 
life.    Designed  by  Adele  Simpson,  worn  with  straw  sailor. 


Great  elegance  for  afternoon :  the  pastel  polka-dot  crepe  dress 
by  Rose  Barrack,  around  $70,  matching  gloves  and  fan. 


HIGH  MD  LOW 


WE  HAVE  chosen  four  fashion  alternates:  the  plain-and- 
printed  jacket  type  of  spring  ensemble;  the  woolen  suit  or 
cape  dress;  the  tailored,  one-piece  dress;  the  soft  after- 
noon dress — at  prices  ranging  from  $23  to  $140.  Notice  the 
fashion  themes:  mandarin  shoulders;  matching  gloves;  shoulder 
capes;  bow  necklines;  slimly  buttoned,  belted  or  tied  waist- 
lines; polka  dots;  combination  of  plain  colors  with  patterned 
fabrics.  For  proof  of  the  principle  and  for  fun,  see  if  you  can 
guess — high,  low  or  medium  prices,     by  ivilhela  cijsiimaiw 

Fashion  Editor  of  the  Journal 


"^^'^  beloved  f     ^^ 


'""■'^  ^ho:it!''''^  black 


'  "^^"^'^  ilT""  '^antun.  o 

''  P'9ue  hat. 


Spring  costume  for  many  occasions:  the  princess-line  wool 
coat  dress  with  shoulder  cape;  around  $55;  diminutive  sizes. 


Spring  suit  for  many  occasions :  in  soft  green  wool,  a  Ben  Reig  orig- 
inal designed  by  Omar  Kiam,  $125,  worn  imth  a  peach-basket  hal. 


PHU1<J<_,KA1-U^  UY  BAtJMAN  CRKENE 

iter  Sii  nduY  al  Sl.Pal  rirk's :  left ,  crisp  you  ng  wool  bolero  suit, 
ite  dickey;  right,  double-breasted  reefer  in  your  favorite  color. 


*//i 


fti 


'^ 


""'^-'It?." 


mM\ 


^d-yiir 


My  new  spring  wardrobe  is  as  exciting  as  my  first  trip  to  New 
York,  as  practical  as  a  penny  post  card!  What  could  be  smarter  than  a  three-piece 
bolero  to  nii\  and  nialcli  \<,\i\\  idouses  and  skirts,  a  double-breasted  reefer  for  a  double-duty 
coat?  Is  anything  prettier  than  a  bouffant  flowered  dancing  dress,  anything  newer  than  a 
white  eyelet  blouse  with  a  flared  peplum?  Here  are  six  post -card  views  of  eight  new  spring 
fashions;  select  your  favorites  and  I  will  tell  you  where  to  buy!    Love  and  kisses.    .    .    . 


ycujini  Cmrii( 


•poleonic potinit's  iriin  u  liuld  sliuntung  dress;  Post-card    vieui    of    Statue    of    Liberty:     three-pUcv 


"'•'  A   '"'•it". 


W^h 


What  do  you  do  about  home  gatherings 
with  your  ex-in-laws?  Do  they  all  love  you? 
Ours  evidently  do  not,  and  ive  are  in  a  quan- 
dary,for  we  would  like  to  see  our  grandchildren. 

I  have  always  made  every  effort  to  stay  on 
friendly  terms  with  our  grandchildren's  parents  and 
their  relatives.  Sometimes,  even  when  a  break  comes 
between  two  people,  if  you  have  loved  not  only  your 
own  child  but  the  other  person  involved,  it  is  possible 
to  understand  what  has  happened.  In  that  case  you 
can  continue  a  fairly  close  relationship.  Sometimes 
this  may  not  be  possible,  but  with  courtesy  and  con- 
sideration and  a  real  desire  to  be  on  friendly  terms  I 
think  an  arrangement  can  be  made  whereby  the  chil- 
dren in  the  family  can  grow  up  with  affection  for  the 
relativ£t5ton  both  sides  of  the  family. 

Jr 

^^  Why  don't  boys  who  have  been  overseas 
for  two  years  and  more  get  furloughs  home? 

Because  furloughs  depend  on  military  necessity 
and  the  shipping  which  may  be  available  both  ways. 
For  instance,  it  is  easier  to  bring  boys  home  from  the 
European  area  than  it  is  from  the  Pacific  area.  The 
distances  are  so  much  greater  in  the  Pacific,  and  so  far 
materials  that  we  have  had  to  ship  have  required  all 
the  shipping  space  that  was  available.  Therefore,  the 
established  policy  of  rotation  of  both  Army  and  Navy 
hasn't  always  worked. 


What  do  you  think  should  be  done  in  this 
country  to  encourage  larger  families? 

In  European  countries  bonuses  have  been  paid, 
but  I  should  think  in  this  country  that  cheaper  medical 
and  hospital  care,  higher  wages,  better  farm  income — 
in  fact,  more  economic  security — would  mean  a  lessen- 
ing of  maternal  and  infancy  mortality  and  would  prob- 
ably ^^the  American  answer  to  the  question. 


Can  an  Italian  prisoner  of  war  in  this  coun- 
try become  a  United  States  citizen? 

The  Geneva  Convention  relating  to  prisoners  of 
war— Article  75— states  that  when  the  belligerents 
conclude  a  convention  of  armistice  they  must,  in  prin- 
ciple, have  appear  therein  a  stipulation  regarding  the 
repatriation  of  prisoners  of  war.  At  the  termination  of 
hostilities  and  following  repatriation,  the  individual 
would  first  have  to  make  arrangements  to  come  to  the 
United  States  under  the  immigration  laws  and  then 
could  seek  naturalization. 


If  you  had  it  all  to  do  over  again,  and  the 
man  being  the  same,  would  you  prefer  to  fall  in 
lore  with  a  man  tvhose  career  kept  you  out  of 
the  limelight? 

I  really  haven't  an  idea,  and  I  do  not  suppose 
anybody  ever  calculated  beforehand  what  her  prefer- 
ence would  be !  Most  of  us  learn  to  accept  whatever 
we  have  and  make  use  of  it  as  we  live  our  lives.  The 
limelight  is  something  I  would  never  have  sought,  but 
I  cannot  say  that  I  worry  about  it  particularly  now 
that  I  have  had  it.    I  just  don't  think  about  it. 


^TDo 


Do  you  think  it  is  true  that  men  are  more 
sentimental  than  women? 

Of  course  this  is  one  of  those  generalizations  that 
cannot  be  proved  either  way.  From  my  own  experi- 
ence, I  should  say  that  men,  on  the  whole,  are  more 
sentimental  than  women.  I  do  not  mean  that  they 
have  more  sentiment,  however. 


W^  Wt 


Why  do  you  so  strongly  advocate  a  year  of 
training  to  discipline  the  youth  of  our  nation? 

I  do  not  advocate  a  year  of  training  to  discipline 
the  youth  of  our  nation.  Discipline  is  a  by-product 
I  think  we  are  likely  to  have  a  year  of  military  training, 
and  I  would  prefer  not  to  have  it  completely  military 
because  I  feel  that  all  that  can  be  learned  along  mili- 
tary lines  can  probably  be  taught  either  in  three 
months  or  in  a  certain  number  of  hours  each  day  over 
the  period  of  a  year.  Much  might  be  given  our  boys 
and  girls  during  this  year  which  would  be  valuable  to 
them  for  the  rest  of  their  lives  and  which  would  have 
for  its  main  objective  increasing  the  understanding 
and  responsibility  for  citizenship  in  a  democracy. 

Letters  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  c/o  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal.  No  letters  for  this  page  sent  to  the 
White  House  will  be  answered.  It  should  be  understood  that 
Mrs.  Roosevelt's  answers  reflect  only  her  own  opinions,  and 
are  not  necessarily  the  opinions  either  of  the  Administration 
or  of  the  Editors  of  the  Journal. 


Tl 


\J 


39 


By  Eleanor  Roosevelt 

jfr   Do  you  always  wear  six  rings  at  a  time  on 
your  fingers? 

No;  I  never  wear  rings  in  the  country  when  I  am 
doing  any  work  where  they  would  be  in  the  way. 
Whatever  jewelry  I  wear  usually  has  some  historic 
interest  or  personal  interest,  and  I  like  to  wear  things 
which  have  been  given  to  me  by  friends  and  which 
have  some  personal  association. 

Are  you  in  favor  of  legalised  lotteries? 

1  do  not  know  a  great  deal  about  the  subject,  but 
on  the  whole  I  think  I  am  against  legalizing  gambling 
as  you  do  in  a  lottery. 


Is  it  true  that  our  infantry  troops  now 
fighting  the  Germans  will  be  transferred  to  the 
Pacific  after  victory  in  Europe? 

No  one  except  the  military  authorities  could 
answer  this,  and  I  imagine  they  could  not  answer  it 
at  the  present  time.  So  much  will  depend  upon  the 
conditions  in  the  Pacific,  the  shipping  available,  and 
the  conditions  of  our  troops  in  Europe  as  well  as  Euro- 
pean conditions  as  a  whole. 

W^  Canatlian  stores  are  selling  U.S.  Lend- 
Lease  butter  at  thirty-eight  cents  a  pound,  all 
you  want  and  no  points.  Our  stores  are  dis- 
playing "Sorry,  no  butter"  signs.  What's  the 
answer? 

The  answer  is  that  this  is  not  true.  No  Lend- 
Lease  butter  is  going  to  Canada.  Lend-Lease  butter 
is  going  nowhere  except  to  Russia,  and  the  War  Food 
Administration  is  paying  forty-six  cents  a  pound  for 
that.^ 

1^^  Do  you  think  that  young  children  get  the 
right  kind  of  loving  care  when  they  are  left  at  a 
nursery  tvhile  their  mother  works?  The  mother 
I  am  thinking  of  is  the  wife  of  a  soldier. 

If  a  mother  is  gifted  in  taking  care  of  her  child 
it  is  certainly  preferable  to  be  at  home  with  it.  There 
are  many  mothers,  however,  who  are  not  well  adapted 
to  the  constant  care  of  children  and  who  would  rather 
work,  for  part  of  the  time  at  least. 

In  the  case  you  mention,  I  should  say  that  it  is  not 
probably  entirely  a  question  of  choice.  The  wife  of  a 
soldier  might  very  well  need  the  extra  money  which 
she  can  make  by  working.  She  might  feel  that  work- 
ing will  keep  her  mind  more  occupied  and  will  give 
her  a  feeling  that  she  is  of  more  value  to  her  husband 
and  therefore  will  help  her  through  the  difficult  time 
of  separation  and  anxiety. 

A  child  in  a  well-run  day  nursery  gets  good  care, 
and  I  do  not  think  would  suffer  as  long  as  the  mother 
was  with  it  the  rest  of  the  twenty-four  hours. 

^fr  What  do  you  consider  the  most  unallrac- 
tive  characteristic  of  a  wonuin's  manner  in 
social  activities — loquaciousness,  reticence, 
aloofness,  insincere  enthusiasm,  cattiness, 
and  so  on? 

I  consider  the  most  unattractive  characteristic 
anyone  can  have,  man  or  woman,  is  the  kind  of  selfish- 
ness or  lack  of  consideration  which  leads  to  all  the 
other  things  you  have  mentioned.  One  of  the  very 
important  social  attributes  of  a  woman  is  that  she  be 
interested  in  other  people  more  than  in  herself. 


^Tfha 


hat  do  you  think  about  a  couple  aged 
forty-five  adopting  a  baby?  After  nine  years  of 
marriage  we  have  no  children  and  are  finan- 
cially able  to  raise  and  educate  a  child  well. 

If  you  want  to  adopt  a  baby,  I  think  it  would  be 
a  great  joy  to  you,  and  there  is  absolutely  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  prove  very  satisfactory  parents. 
The  only  thing  to  guard  against  is  the  fact  that  as  we 
grow  older  we  grow  more  timid.  One  of  the  advan- 
tages of  being  young  parents  lies  in  the  fact  that  they 
have  the  courage  to  let  their  children  do  the  kind  of 
things  that  children  usually  do  or  try  to  do  which  are, 
on  the  whole,  rather  adventurous  and  terrifying  to 
older  people.  Secondly,  some  provision  should  be 
made  for  continuing  the  child's  education  if  anything 
should  happen  either  to  you  or  your  husband  before 
the  child  is  grown. 


Is  there  any  one  postwar  purchase  which 
you  are  looking  forward  to  making? 

Yes.  I  am  anxiously  waiting  until  the  day  when 
I  can  buy  a  new  station  wagon  for  the  country,  since 
the  one  I  now  have  is  becoming  almost  impossible 
to  use. 


Why  is  the  rooster  the  symbol  of  the  Demo- 
cratic Party  on  the  voting  ballot? 

I  had  to  do  some  research  on  this,  and  here  is 
what  I  found.  The  following  appeared  in  the  Novem- 
ber 23,  1932,  issue  of  the  Raleigh  (North  Carolina) 
News  and  Observer;  it  is  taken  from  Mark  Sullivan's 
column  which  appeared  in  the  New  York  Herald 
Tribune: 

Mr.  Daniels,  the  editor,  says  that  the  rooster  is  the 
true  emblem;  that  the  donkey  was  fastened  on  the 
party  in  a  derisive  spirit,  chiefly  by  the  famous  car- 
toonist, Tom  Nast,  during  the  80's  and  90's  in  the  then 
equally  famous  Harpers  Weekly. 

The  Democratic  National  Committee  called  a  news 
service  and  they  said  that  the  rooster  "heralded  vic- 
tory and  the  dawn  of  a  new  day." 


Do  you  believe  a  good  marriage  is  depend- 
eJit  on  a  thorough  search  for  a  "one  and  oidy," 
or  do  you  feel  the  majority  of  possibilities 
would  be  just  as  successful  with  the  proper 
amount  of  co-operation  and  adjustment? 

The  Old  World  believed  that  marriage  was  an 
institution  for  the  benefit  of  the  family,  and  therefore 
they  trained  their  men  and  girls  to  meet  that  need. 
Older  and  wiser  heads  chose  the  two  people  who 
should  marry  and  much  freedom  was  left  to  the  man, 
at  least,  as  to  whether  he  was  faithful  in  the  marriage 
relationship.  In  most  cases  he  preserved  appearances 
and  the  girls  were  trained  to  expect  just  what  they 
got.  Our  conception  has  always  been  different,  and 
therefore  I  think  it  is  rather  wise  to  try  to  find  the 
"one  and  only,"  though  a  good  many  people  seem  to 
make  mistakes  and  have  to  enter  upon  the  search 
more  than  once. 


CARTOON  RKPR!NTl-:n  iMCKMISSION  THE  NEW  YORKER 
COPYRIGHT    THE  F.-R.  PUBLISHING  CORPORATION 


'Honest,  Rose,  I've  never  felt  like  this 
about  any  girl  in  New  York  before." 


I 


\4 


mm 


^  unw  irlmM  ~JjW  IfUmm^  o[  o^  ^dlw  ^) 

tim  im  A  fintU  jli^jUt  ^  dm  d^  ^  M  ROALD  DAIIL 


&/-^^fimi.A' 


'"^-mn 


''-'%^_, 


'***«>••>>- 


THE  two  of  us  sat  outside  the  hangar  on  wooden  boxes. 
It  was  noon.  The  sun  was  high  and  the  heat  of  the  sun 
was  like  a  close  fire.  It  was  hotter  than  hell  out  there 
by  the  hangar.  We  could  feel  the  hot  air  touching  the 
inside  of  our  lungs  when  we  breathed,  and  we  found  it 
better  if  we  almost  closed  our  lips  and  breathed  in  quickly ; 
it  was  cooler  that  way.  The  sun  was  upon  our  shoulders  and 
upon  our  backs,  and  all  the  time  the  sweat  seeped  out  from 
our  skin,  trickled  down  our  necks,  over  our  chests  and 
down  our  stomachs.  It  collected  just  where  our  belts  were 
tight  around  the  tops  of  our  trousers  and  it  filtered  under 
the  tightness  of  our  belts  where  the  wet  was  very  uncom- 
fortable and  made  prickly  heat  on  the  skin. 

Our  two  Hurricanes  were  standing  a  few  yards  away, 
each  with  that  patient,  smug  look  which  fighter  planes  have 
when  the  engine  is  not  turning,  and  beyond  them  the  thin 
black  strip  of  the  runway  sloped  down  toward  the  beaches 
and  toward  the  sea.  The  black  surface  of  the  runway  and 
the  white  grassy  sand  on  the  sides  of  the  runway  shim- 
mered and  shimmered  in  the  sun.  The  heat  haze  hung  like  a 
vapor  over  the  airdrome. 

The  Stag  looked  at  his  watch.  "He  ought  to  be  back,"  he 
said.  The  two  of  us  were  on  readiness,  sitting  there  waiting 
for  orders  to  take  off.  The  Stag  moved  his  feet  on  the  hot 
ground.  "He  ought  to  be  back,"  he  said. 

It  was  two  and  a  half  hours  since  Fin  had  gone,  and  he 
certainly  should  have  come  back  by  now.  I  looked  up  into 
the  sky  and  listened.  There  was  the  noise  of  airmen  talking 
beside  the  petrol  wagon  and  there  was  the  faint  pounding 
of  the  sea  upon  the  beaches;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  an 
airplane.  We  sat  a  little  while  longer  without  speaking. 

"  It  looks  as  though  he's  had  it,"  I  said. 

"Yep,"  said  the  Stag.  "It  looks  like  it." 

The  Stag  got  up  and  put  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
khaki  shorts.  I  got  up  too.  We  stood  looking  northward 
into  the  clear  sky,  and  we  shifted  our  feet  on  the  ground 
because  of  the  softness  of  the  tar  and  because  of  the  heat. 

"What  was  the  name  of  that  girl  ?"  said  the  Stag  without 
turning  his  head. 

"Nikki,"  I  answered. 

The  Stag  sat  down  again  on  his  wooden  box,  still  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  he  looked  down  at  the  ground 
between  his  feet.  The  Stag  was  the  oldest  pilot  in  the 
squadron;  he  was  twenty-seven.  He  had  a  mass  of  coarse 
ginger  hair  which  he  never  brushed.  His  face  was  pale,  even 
after  all  this  time  in  the  sun,  and  covered  with  freckles.  His 
mouth  was  wide  and  tight-closed.  He  was  not  tall,  but  his 
shoulders  under  his  khaki  shirt  were  broad  and  thick  like 
those  of  a  wrestler.  He  was  a  quiet  person. 

"He'll  probably  be  all  right,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "And 
anyway,  I'd  like  to  meet  the  Vichy  Frenchman  who  can 
get  Fin." 

We  were  in  Palestine,  fighting  the  Vichy  French  in 
Syria.  We  were  at  Haifa  and,  three  hours  before,  the  Stag, 
Fin  and  I  had  gone  on  readiness. 

Fin  had  flown  off  in  response  to  an  urgent  call  from  the 
Navy,  who  had  phoned  up  and  said  that  there  were  two 
French  destroyers  moving  out  of  Beyrouth  harbor.  "Please 
JO  at  once  and  see  where  they  are  going,"  said  the  Navy. 
'Just  fly  up  the  coast  and  have  a  look  and  come  back 
quickly  and  tell  us  where  they  are  going."  So  Fin  had 
lown  off  in  his  Hurricane.  The  time  had  gone  by  and  he 
lad  not  returned.  We  knew  that  there  was  no  longer  much 
lOpe.  If  he  hadn't  been  shot  down,  he  would  have  run  out 
f  petrol  some  time  ago. 

I  looked  down  and  I  saw  his  blue  RAF  cap,  which  was 
ying  on  the  ground  where  he  had  thrown  it  as  he  ran  to  his 


aircraft,  and  I  saw  the  oil  stains  on  top  of  the  cap  and  the 
shabby  bent  peak.  It  was  difficult  now  to  believe  that  he 
had  gone.  He  had  been  in  Egypt,  in  Libya  and  in  Greece, 
and  on  the  airdrome  and  in  the  mess  we  had  had  him  with 
us  all  the  time.  He  was  short  and  round  and  full  of  laughter, 
this  Fin,  with  black  hair  and  a  small  turned-up  nose  which  he 
used  to  stroke  up  and  down  with  the  tip  of  his  finger.  He 
had  a  way  of  listening  to  you  while  you  were  telling  a  story, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  his  face  to  the  ceiling  but 
with  his  eyes  looking  down  on  the  ground,  and  it  was  only 
last  night  at  supper  that  he  had  suddenly  said: 

"You  know,  I  wouldn't  mind  marrying  Nikki.  I  think 
she's  a  good  girl." 

The  Stag  was  sitting  opposite  him  at  the  time,  eating 
baked  beans.  "You  mean  just  occasionally,"  he  said. 
Nikki  was  in  a  cabaret  in  Haifa. 

"No,"  said  Fin.  "Cabaret  girls  make  fine  wives.  They 
are  never  unfaithful.  There  is  no  novelty  for  them  in  being 
unfaithful;  that  would  be  like  going  back  to  the  old  job." 

The  Stag  had  looked  up  from  his  beans.  "Don't  be  such 
a  bloody  fool,"  he  said.  "You  wouldn't  really  marry 
Nikki." 

"Nikki,"  said  Fin  with  great  seriousness,  "comes  of  a 
fine  family.  She  is  a  good  girl.  She  never  uses  a  pillow 
when  she  sleeps.  Do  you  know  why  she  never  uses  a  pillow 
when  she  sleeps?" 

"No." 

The  others  at  the  table  were  listening  now.  Everyone 
was  listening  to  Fin  talking  about  Nikki. 

"Well,  when  she  was  very  young  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  an  officer  in  the  French  navy.  She  loved  him 
greatly.  Then  one  day  when  they  were  sun-bathing  to- 
gether on  the  beach  he  happened  to  mention  to  her  that  he 
never  used  a  pillow  when  he  slept.  It  was  just  one  of  those 
little  things  which  people  say  to  each  other  for  the  sake  of 
conversation.  But  Nikki  never  forgot  it,  and  from  that 
time  onward  she  began  to  practice  sleeping  without  a 
pillow.  One  day  the  French  officer  was  run  over  by  a  truck 
and  killed;  but  although  to  her  it  was  very  uncomfortable, 
she  still  went  on  sleeping  without  a  pillow  to  preserve  the 
memory  of  her  lover."  Fin  took  a  mouthful  of  beans  and 
chewed  them  slowly.  "  It  is  a  sad  story,"  he  said.  "  It  shows 
that  she  is  a  good  girl.   I  think  I  would  like  to  marry  her." 

That  was  what  Fin  had  said  last  night  at  supper.  Now 
he  was  gone,  and  I  wondered  what  little  thing  Nikki  would 
do  in  his  memory. 

The  sun  was  hot  on  my  back,  and  I  turned  instinctively 
in  order  to  take  the  heat  upon  the  other  side  of  my  body. 
As  I  turned,  I  saw  Carmel  and  the  town  of  Haifa.  I  saw  the 
steep  pale-green  slope  of  the  mountain  as  it  dropped  down 
toward  the  sea,  and  below  it  I  saw  the  town  and  the  bright 
colors  of  the  houses  shining  in  the  sun.  The  houses  with 
their  whitewashed  walls  covered  the  side  of  Carmel,  and 
the  red  roofs  of  the  houses  were  like  a  rash  on  the  face  of 
the  mountain. 

Walking  slowly  toward  us  from  the  gray  corrugated-iron 
hangar  came  the  three  men  who  were  the  next  crew  on 
readiness.  They  had  their  yellow  Mae  Wests  slung  over 
their  shoulders,  and  they  came  walking  slowly  toward  us, 
holding  their  helmets  in  their  hands  as  they  came. 

When  they  were  close,  the  Stag  said,  "Fin's  had  it,"  and 
they  said,  "Yes,  we  know."  They  sat  down  on  the  wooden 
boxes  which  we  had  been  using,  and  immediately  the  sun 
was  upon  their  shoulders  and  upon  their  backs,  and  they 
began  to  sweat.  The  Stag  and  I  walked  away. 

The  next  day  was  a  Sunday,  and  in  the  morning  we  flew 
up  the  Lebanon  Valley  to  (Continued  on  Page  110) 


■4- 


41 


PAINTING     BY     ICILLARD     SHEET? 


I^ 


/^/'f^^'W' 


THREE  WOMEN   MICHT  HAVE   KILLED   CECILY    DIJRANT   BECAUSE   THEY   LOIED   HER    HC$«BAI%D.    .    .    . 

PART   II    OF  AN   EXCITIIVC;    FIVE-PART   MYSTERY        *        RY  MlCiXOi^    C.   ERERHART 


WHEN  the  plane  landed  at  the  Miami 
airport,  big  Tim  Wales,  head  of  the 
farflung  Wales  Airlines,  was  the  first 
to  step  to  the  ground,  just  as  he  was 
first  in  everything.  That  was  Tim's  way. 
Behind  him  came  Marny  Sanderson,  Tim's 
"right-hand  man,"  and  handsome,  ro- 
mantic Andre  Durant,  with  whom  Marny 
fancied  herself  just  a  little  in  love.  Waiting 
in  the  car  to  take  them  to  the  Waleses' 
place,  Shadow  Island,  were  Tim's  second 
wife,  young  and  lovely  Judith — who, 
Marny  thought,  was  also  a  little  in  love 
with  Andre — and  Winnie,  Tim's  daughter 
by  his  first  marriage.  Winnie  was  so 
healthy  and  wholesome-looking,  with  none 
of  Judith's  beauty,  yet  it  was  Winnie 
whom  Andre  kissed. 

Swimming  alone  before  dinner,  Marny 
was  surprised  by  a  stranger,  Lieutenant 
Commander  Bill  Cameron,  who  wanted  to 
see  Tim:  "Mr.  Winston  Churchill  sent 
me."  Tim  hated  cranks,  but  before  she 
could  get  rid  of  this  one  Andre  appeared, 
and  Cameron  turned  on  his  heel  and  left. 
In  the  shelter  of  the  hibiscus  hedge,  Andre 
kissed  Marny. 

While  she  dressed  for  dinner,  she  won- 
dered if  she  were  really  "running  away 
from  love,"  as  Andre  said.  A  shadow 
passed  the  door  and  she  looked  up  to  see  a 
young,  white-faced  girl  pointing  a  revolver 
at  her.  "You're  not  going  to  have  him," 
the  girl  said.  "  I  am  Cecily  Durant,  Andre's 
wife," 

Marny  had  not  known  Andre  was  mar- 
ried. She  tried  to  calm  the  girl,  made 
her  lie  down  and  put  the  gun  on  the  table. 
But  when  Marny  suggested  she  go  for 
help,  since  Cecily  was  ill,  the  girl  sprang 
up  and  ran  out  of  the  room.  Marny,  in 
her  white  robe,  ran  after  her,  down  the 
winding  stairs.  Cecily  had  said  that  Lai- 
deau,  who  worked  for  Andre,  would  row 
her  home.  Where  was  home?  Marny 
reached  the  shore,  behind  the  hedge,  in 
time  to  see  Cecily  and  a  large,  powerfully 
built  man  in  a  rowboat,  rounding  a  curve 
of  the  island.  She  heard  the  creak  of  oars, 
went  back  to  the  house,  met  Bill  Cameron 
on  the  stairway.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
she  was  doing  there  in  her  robe  and  bare 
feet.  She  heard  the  creak  of  oarlocks  stop. 
Had  Cecily  come  back?  She  ran  to  her 
room  to  finish  dressing.  The  revolver  was 
gone. 

In  her  swirling  skirts,  Marny  ran  out  on 
the  balcony  to  find  the  revolver — down 
the  stairs  and  through  the  hedge  to  the  wa- 
ter. As  she  passed  the  house  she  heard 
light  laughter:  Judith,  Winnie,  Tim, 
Andre  and  the  sociable  bachelor,  Charlie 
Ingram,  who  had  come  for  dinner. 

On  the  stretch  of  sand,  someone  had 
thrown  a  coat.  Only  it  wasn't  a  coat.  It 
was  Cecily  Durant — dead.  And  Bill  Cam- 
eron stepped  out  of  the  darkness  to  catch 
her  arm  and  say,  "Marny,  think.  Why  did 
you  kill  her?" 

VI 

IHE  grip  of  Bill  Cameron's  hands  on  her 
bare  shoulders  was  so  hard  it  hurt;  it  was 
real  and  its  reality,  for  an  instant,  extended 
to  everything.  It  roused  her;  it  made  her 
believe  the  unbelievable.  Cecily — Andre's 
wife — lay  dead,  there  in  the  starlight.  Only 
it  wasn't  starlight  now;  thick  black  clouds 
like  smoke  were  scudding  across  the  sky 
and  the  wind  was  bending  the  casuarina 
trees  at  the  point  of  the' little  island  just  be- 
yond— they  made  a  black,  moving  mass.  A 


rowboat  had  disappeared  behind  that  black 
shadow,  not  far  beyond  the  white-clad 
shoulder  of  the  man  before  her.  Who  had 
said  she  would  be  arrested.  For  murder! 
Who  had  said,  incredibly,  "Why  did  you 
kill  her?" 

She  cried,  her  mouth  so  stiff  and  dry 
that  her  words  jumbled  and  tripped  them- 
selves, "  I  didn't  kill  her!  She  had  the  gun, 
and  I  took  it.  All  at  once  everything  seemed 
all  right.  I  wouldn't  have  let  her  go,  like 
that,  if  she  hadn't  seemed  all  right." 
Bill  Cameron  held  her  tightly.  "Go  on." 
"I — I  followed  her.  Down  the  steps. 
But  she  went  so  fast  and  I  didn't  think 


"Wait  a  minute.  First  she  came  to  you 
and  had  a  gun." 

"Yes.  Yes,  that's  right." 

"Did  she  threaten  you  with  that  gun?" 

"Yes.  Yes,  but  she  didn't  mean  it.  She 
said  things  that  couldn't  have  been  true. 
She  was  a  child.  She  was  hysterical.  She 
didn't  know  what  she  was  doing." 

"Marny,  I'm  trying  to  get  this  straight. 
Help  me.  There's  no  time;  understand. 
You  do  understand  me?  " 

"Yes — yes." 

"You  took  the  gun  away  from  her?" 

"No.  She  fainted,  I  told  you.  The  gun 
dropped  somewhere;  I  put  it  on  the  table. 


about  the  gun.  I  didn't  see  her  pick  it  up. 
He  was  waiting  for  her  and  they  rowed 
away " 

"Who?" 

"The  man.  Laideau,  she  said.  Yes,  Lai- 
deau.  And  then  you  were  there  and  we 
talked  and  when  I  looked  the  boat  was 
gone,  behind  those  trees.  I  went  to  my 
room;  I  didn't  think  about  the  gun.  It  had 
been — all  so  wrong,  you  see;  that  girl  there, 
and  the  gun  and  the  things  she  said.  It  was 
like  a — like  a  bad  play.  I  didn't  believe  it. 
Then  when  she  fainted  and  I  got  her  on  the 
bed  I — I  don't  know  what  happened,  but 
it  seemed  all  right.  Not  so — so  unreal." 
She  took  a  long,  half-sobbing  breath. 

He  said,  "You  went  back  to  your  room 
after  you  talked  to  me.  The  girl  had  gone 
and  she  had  left  the  gun  on  the  table  in 
your  room?  Is  that  right?" 

"No,  no.   I  put  the  gun  on  the  table." 


Then  I  came  back  to  my  room  and  dressed, 
and  I  looked  down  at  the  bed  table  and  the 
gun  wasn't  there.  Sol " 

"So  you  what?  Tell  me." 

"I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid  she'd  come  back  and  kill  you? 
Is  that  it?  So  you  found  her  and  shot  her 
and  are  going  to  plead  self-defense?" 

"No.  No.  No!" 

"You  said  you  were  afraid." 

"How  could  I  have  let  her  take  the  re- 
volver! I  was  watching.  I  thought  I  was 
watching.  She  seemed  bewildered,  and  she 
ran  to  the  door  and  then  to  the  door  upon 
the  balcony  and — somehow  she  got  the 
gun  and  I  didn't  see  it." 

"Are  you  trying  to  say  that  she  killed 
herself?" 

"She  didn't  know  what  she  was  doing. 
She  was  hysterical.  It's  my  fault.  I  ought 
to  have  stopped  her;  I  ought  to  have  seen 


her  take  the  gun.  The  instant  I  saw  it  was 
gone  I  was  afraid.  Of " 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  this,"  cried  Marny  and  sobbed. 

"Stop,"  he  said,  and  put  his  arms  around 
her.  "Stop  that.  Listen.  You've  got  to 
stop  it,  Marny."  He  held  her  for  a  moment 
against  him;  there  was  something  distantly 
and  faintly  familiar  about  it,  as  if  he  had 
held  her  like  that  some  other  time;  his  arms 
were  warm  and  tight  and  shut  out  horror 
and  the  thin  rattle  of  the  bamboos.  But 
then  he  put  her  away  from  him  and  made 
her  look  at  him .  "  Who  is  she  ? ' ' 

"Cecily " 

"Yes,  I  heard  you  call  her.  But  who " 

"Andre's  wife." 

"Andre?  Oh,  your — friend!  Durant. 
Why  did  she  threaten  you  with  a  gun?" 

"Because  "    Words  stuck  in  her 

throat.  That  unexpected  moment  with 
Andre  to  have  come  to  this ! 

"Go  on." 

"Because  of  Andre,"  she  whispered. 

There  was  a  silence  that  seemed  long; 
clouds  moved  swiftly  above  so  there  were 
flashes  of  clear  starlight.  One  such  came 
then;  a  clear,  straight  shaft  of  light.  Bill 
Cameron's  face  looked  white  and  stern  and 
the  water  silver  and  the  shadows  very 
black.  From  the  house,  distantly,  came 
the  sound  of  the  radio;  it  was  as  if  it  were 
the  same  dance  tune.  Probably  very  little 
time  had  passed;  it  seemed  years,  it  seemed 
a  great  and  terrible  gulf  in  time. 

He  said  at  last,  "Oh,  I  see;  Andre.  I 
thought  he  seemed  rather  proprietary 
about  you.  At  the  pool." 

"No,  no!  She  was  wrong." 

"Yes,  you  would  say  that." 

"Don't,  don't;  you  must  believe  me.  I 
didn't  know  there  was  a  Cecily.  Be- 
sides   " 

"Hi,  there,"  called  a  voice  loudly  from 
somewhere  in  the  night.  "Where  are  you?  " 
There  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  beyond 
the  bamboo  hedge,  A  man  rounded  the 
path;  it  was  Charlie  Ingram— his  thick 
figure  in  a  white  dinner  jacket;  he  came  up 
to  them,  saying  in  his  high  voice,  "There 
you  are!    I  say,  don't  you  know  dinner's 

ready!   Judith  sent  me.    I  say "   He 

stopped  abruptly.  A  swift  path  of  starlight 
moved  over  them  and  sharply  outlined  his 
tall,  stooped  figure  with  its  paunchy  mid- 
dle, his  thin  fair  hair  and  small  mustache, 
monocle  on  its  black  ribbon.  He  stared  at 
them  as  if  caught  by  their  attitude.  "I 
say,  \yhat's  wrong? " 

Bill  Cameron's  white-clad  shoulders 
seemed  to  square  themselves.  His  hand 
was  still  on  Marny 's  shoulder;  he  dropped 
it  and  said,  "Something  very  terrible  has 
happened,  Ingram.  We'd  better  call  the 
police." 

"What?  What?"  Charlie  peered  at  Bill 
Cameron  and  at  Marny,  his  monocle  glit- 
tering with  light. 

Bill  Cameron  said,  "There " 

Marny  was  standing  alone  in  the  shaft  of 
starlight,  her  slippers  deep  in  the  sand; 
both  men  were  bending  over  the  strip  of 
grass  beside  the  clump  of  bamboo,  talking, 
and  she  couldn't  hear  what  they  said.  The 
water  swished  a,gainst  the  pier;  the  bam- 
boos clattered  in  small  slivers  of  sound  and 
Charlie  Ingram  exclaimed  in  a  loud, 
shocked  voice: 

"She's  been  shot." 

Bill  Cameron  replied  rapidly;  they  were 
beside  Marny  again,  Charlie  was  taking  her 
arm.  Cameron  (Continued  on  Page  48) 


Ij 


43 


ILLUSTHATED      BY       PHUETT      CARTER 


ToNfied  Cpr4>«n  Snlad 
Hrrad  Stifkit       4'orn  KrllNh 

Klic«Ml  nranaoH 

WKh  (aronM'i  Sauot>  and 

Sllvcrt'd  Almundii 

Votttm 


j^;^^iyfe^.^s:k.cM 


(4M^.    H 


Iteviled  Shrimp  and  Haddot-k 
in  ('aftMtToi*' 

,e(uble-Bou«iuet  Naiad 

("orn  MtifkN 

Kbabarb  Nauce 
Marmalade  r«okJ«>M 

Tea 


Wisb  Creole  in  CaNwerule 

Baked  Stuffed  Putaloe.s 

Colenlaw  Hot  HuHm 

Cake  Hints  wi<li  Fruil 

TaHtard  Sauee 


C'offee 


M  m  iim;HELiiEK 


WELL,  lids  are  off  all  right,  what  with  one  thing  and 
another.  And  I  don't  mean  just  casseroles  either.  You 
can  balance  their  lids  any  way  you  want.  And  feel  rea- 
sonably secure  about  them.  But  there  are  other  lids  in 
this  world,  if  you  get  my  meaning— and  of  course  you  do,  for 
you  are  used  to  me  by  this  time.  If  you  aren't,  when  will 
you  be? 

It  han  bvvn  Homf  limv.  Do  you  realize  how  long  it  is 
since  I  mentioned  the  weather?  Privately  I  have  had  some 
things  to  say  about  it,  but  in  these  pages  I've  left  it  strictly 
alone  for  some  time.  And  it  is  in  reference  to  the  weather  that 
I  spoke  of  lids.  For  it's  the  wind.  The  w.  k.  March  wind  that 
is  free  in  the  land,  and  that  leads  directly  to  the  subject  of 
hats.  And  the  sorts  of  hats  the  ladies  are  wearing  nowadays 
have  no  stout  anchors,  no  devastating  hatpins  to  ram  through 
buns  and  topknots.  They  perch  perilously  on  bangs  or  over 
one  eye,  and  the  wisps  of  tulle  or  whatever  that  float  diapha- 
nously  in  the  singing  crazy  March  wind  act  like  sails  on  the 
seven  seas.  They  speed  the  frail  craft  on  their  way,  from  head 
to  street,  from  shore  to  shore,  as  it  were.  And  then,  you  see, 
the  lid  is  ofl.  It  is  all  as  simple  as  that.  It  could  hardly  be 
simpler. 

Suw  to  Marvh  wni-altlmvH.  The  No.  1  menu  on  the  list  is, 
as  you  see,  substantial,  simple,  satisfying.  That  is  the  criterion 
of  all  cold-weather  meals:  when  you  can  look  on  the  results  of 
your  effort  and  say  those  three  words.  Then  ring  the  dinner 
bell  and  get  going.  The  chief  dish  is  a  cassoulet,  hearty  enough 
to  supply  brain  or  brawn  for  eight,  and  this  is  the  way  it  is 
made.  And  don't  titter  behind  my  back  because  of  the  parsley 
trim.   I  might  be  converted  yet.  (Coniinued  on  Page  139) 


,*«jr- - 


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r^€d 


«-'    V 


fi^SMttiS* 


/./<  -^-liS^ 


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r. 


1  "But  best  of  all  I  remember  mamma." 
That's  the  curtain  line  of  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  plays  I've  seen  since  Outward 
Bound.  I f  and  when  it  comes  your  way,  save 
up  and  see  it.  Worth  going  without  some 
lesser  thing. 

2  Don't  decorate  your  salads  too  much. 
Keep  the  greens  green,  the  dressing  simple. 
After  all,  a  salad  is  an  appetizer.  And  a  Ijis- 
cuit  and  cheese  are  all  you  need  to  go  with  it. 
Just  a  reminder. 

II  Shad  roe  is  around— fresh  or  in  cans. 
Make  up  some  croquettes  with  lemon- 
flavored  cream  sauce.  Fry.  Serve  with 
fried — yes,  you  guessed  it— parsley,  of  all 
things,  and  lemon  slices. 

4  As  the  leaf  is  to  the  tree,  so  is  maple 
hard  sauce  to  the  pudding.  And  maple 
foamy,  too,  if  foamy  is  your  sauce. 

a  Does  "au  gratin"  spell  cheese  to  you? 

Well,  break  two  eggs  to  a  person  in  buttered 
.  .^  ramekins,  season,  cover  with  buttered  crumbs 
\*  1 1  and  cheese  and  bake.    Call  it  what  you 

choose. 

4(  Have  you  longed  for  something  different 
for  Jiggs'  specialty— corned  beef  and  cab- 
bage? Mix  a  cup  of  crushed  beets  with  half 
a  cup  of  horse-radish.  Thai  will  learn  'em. 

7  News  Hems:  Fruitcake  tliat  comes  in  a 
grapefruit  shell— baked  that  way.  .  .  . 
Spiced  chestnuts— if  you  must  have  chest- 
nuts. Pretty  fancy.  .  .  .  Hickory-smoked 
salt — tie  that  if  you  can.  .  .  .  And  for  good 
measure  a  de  luxe  Dutch  cocoa — only  it's 
American  Dutch,  if  you  get  the  idea. 


^NUT^      li  Sugaring-off  time  is  about  here.  Sweeten 
^  the  last  apple  pies  with  soft  maple  sugar. 

And  maple-sugar  cake  is  as  native  as  slate 

pencils  on  a  red  string. 

9  For  Sunday-morning  breakfast,  may  I 
■V  speak  of  clam  cakes?  Mix  a  good  griddle- 
*    cake  batter,  add  a  cup  or  so  of  chopped 

clams.  Bake  on  the  griddle. 

10  In  regard  to  clam  cakes:  if  you  have 
bacon,  grill  it  and  garnish  your  cakes.  Hot 
corn  bread  or  muffins  and  marmalade — 
that's  a  breakfast,  and  you  won't  forget  it. 


11  Discovery  Dept.:  Sweetbread  pie,  com- 
posed as  a  poem  is  with  the  best  materials  at 
hand.  Parboil  and  trim  two  pairs  of  sweet- 
breads— chill — cut  into  cubes.  So  far,  so 
good.  Now  try  out  some  finely  chopped  salt 
pork  and  you  are  ready  for  the  next  step. 

12  Second  part:  Fry  the  sweetbreads  gen- 
tly in  the  pork  fat.  Make  as  rich  a  cream 
sauce  as  you  can.  Add  the  sweetbreads  and 
the  crisp  pork.  Season  well  with  salt,  pepper 
and  a  suspicion  of  mace. 

Ill  Sorry  to  be  so  long-winded,  but  now 
make  a  rich  pastry,  line  a  deep  plate,  fill  it 
with  the  mixture.  Cover  with  pastry.  Cut 
vents  in  the  top  and  bake.  It's  "out  of  this 
world." 

II  Potato  salad  may  sound  pretty  dumb, 
but  add  sliced  hard-cooked  eggs  and  green 
peas  and  it's  like  a  sunset  in  the  Sierras — 
very  special. 

ir>  From  an  old  cookbook:  "When  serving 
grapefruit,  provide  straws  tied  with  ribbons 
so  guests  may  suck  the  juice  in  a  ladylike 
manner."  May  I  keep  the  ribbon,  mamma? 

16  A  nice  luncheon  or  supper  dish  comes 
out  when  you  stuff  green  peppers  with 
shrimps  in  a  tomato  sauce.  Cover  with 
buttered  crumbs  and  bake  until  peppers  are 
tender.  These  rtre  good. 

IT  I  do  not  hold  with  thickened  chowders. 
Just  a  big  seagoing  cracker  in  the  bottom 
of  each  plate.  One  in  the  tureen,  too,  if  you 
have  a  tureen.   It's  enough. 

III  Fried  mushrooms  done  in  salad  oil  will 
put  a  hamburger  in  the  tenderloin  class. 
Slice  them  first,  season  with  salt  and  pepper 
and  last  a  dash  of  lemon  juice. 

10  A  potato  croquette  is  a  lovely  thing. 
Add  about  three  tablespoons  of  grated 
cheese  to  the  seasoned  potato  mixture  (bind 
with  beaten  egg,  you  know) .  Roll  in  crumbs, 
dip  in  egg.  Crumb  again  and  fry  in  deep  fat. 

20  Never  Despair  Division:  Pate  de  foie 
gras  is  hard  to  get.  But  there's  another 
kind  of  liver  pale,  in  tins,  inexpensive  as 
such  things  go,  and  very  good  too  for  ca- 
napes and  such.  Thought  you  should  know. 

46 


21  Speaking  oi  pale,  I  added  half  a  tin  to  a 
sauce  for  guinea  chicken  and  am  only  wait- 
ing for  my  decoration.    It's  been  promised. 

22  People  do  the  craziest  things;  for  in- 
stance, crushing  up  pretzels  to  cover  au- 
gratin  dishes.  It  works  too.  But  a  little  on 
the  salty  side.  So  watch  the  seasonings. 

23  Herb  note:  A  little  sweet  basil  in  turtle 
soup,  in  stews,  ragouts  and  casserole  dishes 
is  something  to  keep  in  mind.  And  in  alt 
tomato  dishes  or  salads.  Just  to  remind 
you — you've  heard  it  before. 

24  Another  news  Hem:  I  almost  forgot  it 
too.  There's  a  bouillabaisse  in  tins  that  gives 
the  original  a  run  for  its  money.  Add  what- 
ever you  wish,  or  nothing.  Heat  and  serve. 
And  that,  my  lambs,  is  all. 

25  Add  a  cup  of  grated  cheese  to  two  cans 
of  condensed  tomato  soup.  Heat  and  serve 
over  macaroni  patties,  fried  like  meat  or 
potato  cakes.  Well,  you've  no  idea ! 

26  If  you've  any  of  that  peach  jam  left, 
why  not  a  shortcake  for  supper?  Don't  need 
to  wait  for  strawberries,  do  you?  Serve  it 
with  plain  cream  and  have  it  short.  No 
spongecake,  please. 

2T  Cold  coffee,  strong,  with  maple  sirup 
makes  a  wonder-working  flavoring  for  a 
"whip"  or  a  custard.  Add  a  little  grated 
orange  peel.   Folks  just  gasp. 

20  Meat  pies  will  stand  most  anything. 
Just  before  one  gets  done,  cut  a  hole  in  the 
crust  and  pour  in  as  much  fine  tomato  sauce 
as  the  pie  can  take. 

20  As  to  meat  pies,  sauteed  mushrooms 
add  a  lot.  Also  small  stewed  onions — and, 
can  you  get  them,  a  few  sliced  truffles.  A 
pinch  of  sugar  is  a  must. 

30  Want  to  know  something?  Open  a  can 
of  shad  roe.  Split  it,  wrap  it  up  in  bacon  and 
broil  it.  With  scrambled  eggs  it's  lovely.  A 
green  salad,  rolls — that  is  that. 

r 

31  March  is  the  month  of  bloodstones, 
homely  things  I've  always  thought.  Why 
did  April  draw  diamonds?  A  little  sparkle  in 
life  is  what  /  like.  Seen  a  robin  yet?  I  have. 


X 


i: 


^CU) 


.  ■  •jc 


"i 


'■"^'■fihi-i'.t-l. 


%0:>. 


i^'^y^J^'^'^'^JI^S^^'fitmiiS-^''*^^, 


m^^.mj!'^^  M^  .S^ 


^  ^^. 


.<.  '^^;  >^ 


'<^  "^^^  ^^. 


Jyina*' 


^  %  -^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


W' 


*TOCK   AND    VEGETABLES 

i^et  the  wind  howl !  You've  or  f  • 
^n  piping-hot  bowls  of  this  hot    •'"^*  *^^  ^"^^^'• 
Here  is  a  rich,  nourisJn^;  ^Ts'tol't't  ^^"^• 
lusaous  vegetables-fifteen  dfi;f""^  ^^*^ 
wonder. others  sa.  it.  :L"ostrralttse^? 

VEGETABIE  SOUP 


.P.SONBOOOD  ANSWER.-     ff^X 
^°";OOR.SH.NG   AND   SO 


,,0U  CAH'^  ^'^^^  ^-^  '°*' 


iVdO'S  TO 


^00  >NMtR  AND 


BRING  10  A  BO«l; 


THRlt 


,s  TO  swvt  n  m  cup, 


zom  OR  piMi 


FOUR'S  TO 


tNJO^  "  <^orAt 


lARlY.  COMt  iMt 


aok  for  the  Red-and- White  Label 


W- 


DELICIOUS 

Enjoy  a  welcome  taste  of  spring !  Steaming 
plates  of  this  smooth,  delicately-seasoned 
soup  made  of  garden  asparagus,  studded 
with  tender  asparagus  tips.  Fix  it  with  milk 
sometimes,  instead  of  water,  for  an  extra- 
nourishing  cream  of  asparagus. 

ASPARAGUS  SOUP 


HEARTY-EATING    AND    "DIFFERENT" 

Come  the  dreariest  of  winter  days,  cheer 
them  up  with  this  hearty,  "different"  soup  ! 
It's  a  deUcious  puree,  filled  with  selected 
whole  beans,  made  extra-savory  with  the 
tempting  taste  of  fine  bacon.Truly  a  match 
for  the  heftiest  appetites  at  your  house ! 


BEAN  with  BACON  SOUP 


48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  194 


***  Are  YOU  as  healthy 
as  you'd  like  to  be? 


You  KNOW,  protecting  your  health  isn't 
enough — you  have  to  build  it,  too. 

If  your  diet  is  average,  you're  not 
likely  to  be  a  victim  of  "deficiency  dis- 
eases" like  beri-beri,  pellagra,  or  scurvy 
— or  die  of  malnutrition,  either. 

But  perhaps  you  get  tired  easily. ..have 
occasional  indigestion  ...  a  pasty  com- 
plexion . . .  unhealthy  teeth  and  gums . . . 
or  other  minor  troubles.  You  may  think 
this  is  only  natural.  But  it  isn't. 

Actually,  a  better  diet  may  make  you 


feel  better — and  look  better  too! 

Consult  this  chart  of  basic  daily  re- 
quirements. Does  your  diet  contain  them 
all?  It's  a  balanced  diet  that  counts.  Not 
a  lot  of  some  foods  this  week,  and  a  lot 
of  others  next  week  —  but  all  of  them 
regularly! 

Proper  cooking  is  vitally  important  to 
nutrition,  too.  The  new  Metropolitan 
Cook  Book  contains  many  suggestions 
for  making  food  healthful  and  attractive. 
Write  for  a  free  copy  of  Booklet  No.  35J. 


Cu&i^p€Uf,^  neeet'» 


MILK  — Adults  need  a 

pint,  children  a  quart,  as 
a  beverage  or  in  foods 


MEAT,  FISH,  POULTRY, 
EGGS,  AND  CHEESE— At 

least  4  eggs  a  week  and 
one  healthy  serving  a  day 
of  one  of  the  others 


VEGETABLES— Two  serv- 
ings—  some  raw,  some 
cooked — fresh  or  canned. 
One  grccn-lcaf  vegetable. 
A  serving  of  potatoes 


BREAD    AND    CEREALS 

—  One  or  both  at  every 
meal,  either  whole-grain 
cereals  or  enriched  bread 


FRUITS— A  citrus  fruit- 
orange  or  grapefruit. 
Olher  fruits,  raw  and 
cooked,  including  tomato 


BUTTER  AND  OTHER 
FATS — Two  or  three  ta- 
blespoon fuls  as  a  spread 
or  in  cooking 


Health  authorities  believe  that  all  these  foods  are  needed  to  fulfill  normal  nutrition 
requirements.  If  your  diet  contains  them  all.  and  you  still  feel  tired,  nervous,  and 
lack  resistance,  then  you  should  have  a  thorough  physical  checkup  by  your  doctor. 

COPYRIGHT       1945— METROPOLITAN       LIFE      INSURANCE       COMPANY 

Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 

(A    MUTUAL    COMPANY)  ^.n.,,^ 


Frederick  H.  Ecker 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD 


Leroy  A .  Lincoln 

PRESIDENT 


1  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  10,  N.Y. 


Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 
1  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 
Please  send  me  a  copy  of  the  Metropolitan  Cook  Book,  No.  35J. 


Name- 


Street. 


City. 


-State- 


THE   WHITE   DRESS 

(Continued  from  Page  43) 


YOUR     RED     CROSS     FACES     THE     GREATEST     TASK 
IN    ITS    LONG     HISTORY-GIVE     NOW-GIVE    MORE  ! 


said  tersely,  " and  let  Mr.  Wales  know. 

I'll  stay  here  with — I'll  stay  here." 

She  couldn't  move;  she  had  to  make  Bill 
Cameron  understand  exactly  what  had  hap- 
pened; she  had  to  fight  the  knowledge  of 
Cecily's  death,  she  could  not  accept  it.  Per- 
haps she  made  some  move  toward  the  silent, 
small  figure  half  hidden  now  by  a  cloud 
shadow,  mercifully  hidden,  and  gently. 

Bill  Cameron  caught  her  swiftly  and  said 
to  Charlie  Ingram,  "Take  her  to  the  house." 

They  were  moving  along  the  turf  path, 
Charlie's  warm  soft  hand  on  her  bare  arm, 
thrusting  her  along  with  him,  making  her 
walk.  Suddenly  there  were  lights  from  the 
house;  Charlie  was  talking  in  a  high,  repeti- 
tive jumble: 

" dreadful,  dreadful.  What  happened, 

do  you  know?  Chap  said  she  was  Durant's 
wife.  Didn't  know  he  had  a  wife.  Don't 
know  him  much,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  Can't 
see  what  Judith  sees  in  the  fellow.  Dread- 
ful. .  .  .  This  way,  now,  mind  the  step." 

Lights  streamed  across  the  porch;  dance 
music  from  the  radio  was  louder  and  incred- 
ibly gay,  as  if  it  came  from  a  bright  world 
that  had  ceased  to  exist;  nothing  now  was 
right,  nothing  had  the  same  proportions.  The 
door  was  flung  open  and  a  moth,  dislodged 
from  the  screen,  brushed  past  her  cheek. 
Then  Charlie  Ingram  had  drawn  her  into  the 
room  beyond  with  its  lights,  its  flowers,  its 
music,  the  glitter  of  cocktail  glasses,  and  the 
people.    All   moving.    All 

getting  suddenly  to  their       

feet.  All  staring. 

Charlie  Ingram  gasped, 
"Dreadful  thing.  Wom- 
an's dead.  Shot.  Here, 
take  her— got  some  whisky 
there,  Judith?  Good." 

He  had  put  Marny  down 
in  the  deep  softness  of  a 
sofa,  and  was  shoving 
cushions  behind  her.  Ev- 
erybody was  there;  Ju- 
dith, in  black  chiffon,  was 
saying  something  quick 
and   sharp  and   reaching 

for  a  great  crystal  decanter       

of  whisky.  Tim  Wales,  in 
black  and  white,  snatched  it  from  Judith's 
hand  and  splashed  whisky  into  a  glass.  Win- 
nie, in  a  long  blue  dinner  dress,  was  there, 
too;  and  Andre,  a  glass  in  his  hand,  and  a 
cigarette,  and  his  face  a  shocked,  rigid  mask. 

Everybody  was  talking;  Tim's  voice  cut 
through  it  all  sharply:  "What  woman? 
What  are  you  talking  about,  Charlie?" 

Charlie  Ingram  straightened  up  from  bend- 
ing over  Marny;  his  monocle  dangled  on  the 
end  of  its  ribbon,  his  face  was  red  and  his 
breath  puffy.  "Girl.  Saw  her.  She — well, 
she's  your  wife,  Durant.  I'm  sorry,  old 
chap.  Hate  to  shout  it  out  like  this.  Only 
way.    She's  your  wife.    She's — she's  dead." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Andre. 

He  was  standing  beside  the  painted,  white 
piano,  leaning  back  against  it  as  if  at  bay; 
his  face  had  not  changed  except  it  was  very 
white,  and  his  eyes  narrow  dark  points  of 
light. 

Judith  swirled  around  and  sat  down  sud- 
denly beside  Marny  and  held  a  huge,  black 
chiffon  handkerchief  against  her  mouth. 

Charlie  said,  "Here,  here  now.  A  shock, 
of  course.  Sorry  to  break  it  like  this.  Drink 
it  now."  He  pried  Andre's  rigid  hand  from 
the  stemmed  glass  he  held  and  put  the  glass 
of  whisky  into  it. 

And  Judith  cried  in  a  thin  scream, 
"Cecily — oh,  Andre,  Cecily!  She's  dead. 
That's  what  he  means.  She's  dead." 

Tim  was  beside  Judith  so  quickly  Marny 
hadn't  seen  him  move;  he  had  his  hand  over 
her  mouth,  hard.  "Shut  up!  Stop  that!"  He 
pushed  Judith  back  against  the  pillow  and 
held  his  hand  tight  over  her  mouth— which 
strangely,  queerly,  added  to  the  nightmare: 
Tim  always  treated  Judith  as  if  she  were 
glass  and  precious  and  might  break.  His 
eyes  were  like  steel  daggers,  bright  and 
sharp.  "Charlie,  what  has  happened?" 


^  The  little  girl  was  visiting 
^  her  aunt.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  been  away  from 
home,  and  after  the  first  two 
days  the  novelty  had  worn  off 
and  she  began  to  ery. 

"You  aren't  homesick,  are 
you?"  her  aunt  chided  gently. 

"No,"  was  the  tearful  re- 
sponse, "I'm  here  sick!" 


Winnie  said, "  Father — father — don't 

and  went  across  to  Andre,  her  blue  gow 
swishing  gently. 

Charlie  said,  "Girl's  dead.  Marny  an 
the  Navy  chap  found  her." 

"  Did  you  say  she  was  shot?  "  Tim's  que 
tion  snapped  out  like  a  whip. 

"Yes.  Horrible.  Shot."  Charlie  Ingrai 
looked  at  the  table  where  the  tray  of  glassi 
stood  and  left  Andre,  who  still  had  m 
moved,  who  still  stared  fixedly  out  of  a  fixe 
white  mask,  and  poured  himself  some  whisk 
He  drank  it  quickly  and  shivered.  "  Horribl( 
I  say,  Tim — what  does  one  do?" 

Judith  gave  a  little  sigh  and  relaxed  ui 
der  Tim's  hand  and  lay  back  against  t>l 
cushions.  i 


Marny's  throat'  stung;  her  eyes  were 
longer  dazed  and  dazzled  by  the  light 
everything  seemed  all  at  once  very  shai 
and  clear,  like  a  photograph  in  colors. 

Tim  stood  up.  "Where  is  she?  Con 
along,  Charlie." 

Tim  led  the  way  and  Charlie  Ingram  f( 
lowed  him;  the  screened  door  banged  ai 
they  stepped  off  the  porch  and  onto  t 
lawn.  Andre  half  turned  as  if  to  follow  thei 
gave  a  kind  of  groan  and  sat  down  in  a  su 
den  huddle  on  a  footstool,  and  put  his  he; 
in  his  hands. 

Judith  opened  her  lovely  dark  eyes  as  so| 
as  the  footsteps  left  the  porch  and  said 
Winnie,    "I'm   all   rigl 

let  me  alone. .  .  .  Andre 

Andre  seemed  to  bury  } 
handsome  head  tighter 
his  hands.  Judith  si 
sharply,  "Andre!  And 
you  must  listen.  The) 
get  the  police.  If  the  g 
is  dead — Andre,  what 
you  going  to  do?" 

Winnie  went  across 
Andre  again  and  put  1 
hand  on  his  should 
"Andre,  was  it  your  wi 
Is  it  true?" 
He  did  not  move. 


—THE  JOKE  TELLERS  JOKE  BOOK: 

Edited  by  Frederick  Meier 

(New  Home  Library,  Blakiston  Co.) 


great  bowl  of  calla  lil 

beside  Marny  sent  up 
dizzying  sweet  fragrance.  Judith's  hai 
still  wearing  the  great  emerald,  was  twist 
and  twisting  the  fringe  on  a  cushion. 

The  fresh,  pretty  color  had  gone  fr. 
Winnie's  face;  she  stood  for  a  moment  Ic 
ing  down  at  Andre's  bowed  black  head, 
hand  steady  on  his  shoulder,  then  she  kr 
beside  him,  her  blue  dress  outlining 
large,  firm  figure.  She  tried  to  take  his  hai 
from  his  face  and  he  would  not  let  her, ; 
she  said  in  her  mother's  voice,  steady  ; 
comforting  in  spite  of  the  trouble  in  it : 

"Andre,  Andre,  you  must  get  yourself 
gether.  Whatever  she  was " 

"Oh,  she  was  his  wife,"  said  Judith  s 

denly.  "And  if  the  girl  was  shot " 

servant,  a  colored  man,  came  into  the  dc 
way  and  stopped.  Judith  saw  him  and  s 
"Rilly,  holdnip  dinner.  Tell  cook " 

He  hesitated;  he  must  have  known  so 
thing  was  terribly  wrong.  Then  he  s 
"Yes,    madam,"   and   vanished   from 
doorway. 

Judith  said  in  a  whisper,  "They  heard 
Oh,  this  means  police.  It  means  an  inque 

Winnie  slid  her  bare,  fair  arm  thro 
Andre's  beseechingly.  "They'll  be  bac 
a  minute.  Andre,  answer  me." 

He  put  back  his  head  as  footsteps  cro 
the  porch  again  swiftly.  Charlie  Ing 
flung  open  the  door  and  came  in,  pui, 
again  and  red.  "Tim  says  to  call  the  poli; 

"But  you" — Winnie  got  up — "you'd  ? 
ter  bring  her  in  here." 

"No,  we  can't,"  said  Charlie.  "Navy  (I 
says  we  can't  move  her.  Nothing  we  ca  | 
for  her  anyway.  Horrible."  He  jerked! 
enormous,  thin  handkerchief  from  his  bii 
pocket  and  wiped  his  face  and  polishec 
monocle. 

Bill  Cameron  came  in.  followed  by 
who  crossed  swiftly  to  the  h?!!,  and 
(Contimied  on  Page  50) 


LXDIF.S'  HOME  .lOlRWI. 


49 


(^^£J  JL^??^ 


ui.  »d>  ..de    It  .*  »rl 
in  ■  pUlinum  huvL 


^^  (^^-W3£'  C^'  ^.^/f/ia. 


'^^de/  G^<^/ 


Mr,.   Ernesr   Ju    Pon.,   Jr 

JUe   Coun.c»    of  Carnarvon 

Mrfc   CI.:,rlo,    Morgan,   Jr 

Mrs.,  A.  J,    Drexel,    III 

1  nc    LnJy   lennysoii 


AT  BAR  AT  COIJ  FJ.E   Mary  fM,  Kindagt' 
ntiularh  "J'A  u-vA-ih^  wh.te  vpil  an  ininidfiilaW 
tcamr  for  hrt  flowcr.lre<.b  face.  "Bandaer  qiiou^ 
musi  l»-  filled.-  she  ^ays;  "we  v.i,h  v.e  ,<.uW  told 
(iwc*  <ti  nuuiy,"  Why  Jon'l  jnu  work  "ith  thr 
group  in  xou'  communiiy? 


^S'^/'  ^:^2^jem/ 


Mary's  face  has  the  shining  unsophMtiralM 
htvdily  of  ihc  first  spring  snowdrops. 

She  18  anoiher  engaged  girl  with  that  en- 
viaWe  sofl-smoolh  "Pond's  look"  aho.it  her. 
have  aensitive  akin."  Mary  sav«.  "rtn.i 
Pond-s  Cold  Crear 
need !  It'i  sudi  a  fine,  'toft,  lovely  n 
my  face  feel  grand — so  clean  and  smoni 

This  is  \tary' s  Bf/iuty  Creaming it'Cth  P'Hi 

She  Jipt  Pond's  luscious  Cold  Crr 
over  her  Ttce  and  ihrnat  and  pat.*  on  briskly 
to  soften  and  release  dirt  and  niake-u[). 
Tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  more  Pond's  Cnld  Cream- 
going  over  her  face  with  liltip  spiral  whirl-  of 
her  white,  qream-roated  finders.  Ti'^'sue-  tiff. 
"I  adore  the  like  e,rtm  dean,  fitm  snfl 
feeling  this  gives  my  skin."  she  says. 

V.w  your  Pontf\  Cold  Cream  Mary'i  uoiy— 
t^very  nigh  land  morning— for  in-bftwfpti  riesn- 
ups  too!  It's  no  accident  -So  many  more  girU 
and  women  use  Pond's  ihan  any  other  fai^ 
cteam  at  any  price.  Ask  for  the  luAunons  big 
jar  -and  help  save  glas-;.  Viu'U  piijny  ii  nidrc. 
1'jo.  because  you  c&n  dip  thp  hnger-  of  bnlh 
hands  in  this  Hide-lopped  big  Pond's  jar. 


1 


The  most  famous 
Cold  Cream 
in  the  world 


2 


Its  lovely  twin — 
Dreamjloiver  Powder 


m 
^ 

^ 


1:    w.-u^.^J^   ^:x^ 


Lovely  young  Mrs.  Ronievelt  has  an  exquisitely  contoured 
cheek-line  which  gives  her  face  lascinaling  lights  and  shad- 
ow-. For  her  type  of  blonde,  sculplurt-d  beauty,  the  right 
powder  is  espeeially  important.  It  must  be  irreproachably 
-inoolh  in  texture — perfectly  blended  in  her  own  creamy- 
blonde  complexion  lone.  Mrs.  Kooscvelt  his  made  Ponil'^ 
Dreamflowcr  Rachel  her  choic*-.  "Its  rich  ivory  tones  \ ' 
my  »kin  such  a  smooth,  smooth  creamy  look — and  Ore 
flower  texture  is  so  exquisitely  soft  and  cliDging!' 


'/wm^ 


awTt 


ie 


Now— AND  FOR  A  FEW  WEEKS  ONLY— 
a  grand  new  Pond's  beauty  bargain ! 

Buy  a  jar  of  fragrant,  luxury-soft  Pond's  Cold  Cream 
(the  medium  3.5  oz.  size  jar) ! 

We  give  you  ivith  it  a  gav  box  of  Pond's  Dreamflower 
Powder  (.35  oz.)  misty-soft,  your  choice  of  4  shades! 

Such  a  happy  beauty  twosome  to  bring  you 
spring-fresh  charm.  Pond's  Cold  Cream — so  snowy- 
white,  so  beautifully  cleansing.  You'll  love 
the  soft-to-touch  feeling  it  brings  to  your  skin. 
Dream/lower  Powder — so  clinging,  so  smooth! 
Sheer,  bewitching  flattery ! 


Hurry — get  yowr  Pond's  Bargain  today!  At  beauty  counters 
everywhere — Pond's  Cold  Cream,  Pond's  Dreamllower  Powder 
— both  for  the  price  of  the  cream  alone! 


NOWfor 
a  few  weeks  only 

NEW  Pond's 

beauty  bargain 


AT  THE  STORES  NOW 


50 


LADTKS'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March. 


Set  the  scene 
at  3:15/ 


Oh,  meet  the  girl  wonder! 

Her  name  is  Marie. 
She  got  home  from  school 

at  a  quarter  past  three. 


What,  all  of  the  windows? 

Amazing,  bat  true! 
(Her  mother  had  trouble 

believing  it,  too.) 


A  spray  and  a  wipe 

gets  'em  gleaming  again — 
And  it  costs  you  much  less 

than  a  penny  per  panel 


At  four  o'clock  sharp 

she  was  ready  for  fun. 
In  the  meantime — you'd  never 

believe  what  she'd  done  I 


But  clever  Marie  knew 

a  time-saving  trick — 

That  WINDEX  makes  windows 

look  wonderful — quick  I 


. v/  % 


Get  WINDEX  (the  20-ounce 

bottle)  and  be 
A  gleaming-glass  wonder 

like  clever  Marie! 


Got  Brighter  Windows  Quiclcor  With— 

WINDEX 

Don't  trust  cheap  substitutes.  There's  no  streaking, 
no  film,  when  you  insist  on  this  noninflammable,  oil-free 
cleaner  that  costs  less  than  a  penny  per  window. 

For  Extra  Economy,  Buy  the  Big  20-ounce  Size 


CoDr.  1946,  The  Orackett  Co 


(Continued  from  Page  48) 
heard  him  at  the  telephone.  "Operator,  oper- 
ator— get  the  police — I  don't  know  what  the 
number  is — get  them.   It's  murder." 

This  time  nobody  moved  or  spoke  until 
Andre,  slowly,  as  if  he  didn't  know  what  he 
was  doing,  dropped  his  hands  and  turned  his 
handsome  black  head  and  stared  at  Bill 
Cameron,  who  stood  just  inside  the  room. 
Everybody  was  staring  at  Bill  Cameron. 

Marny  thought  desperately.  He'll  tell  them 
now.  He  hates  me.  He'll  say  I  killed  her. 
Andre's  wife.   Because  I  wanted  Andre. 

Tim  was  talking  into  the  phone.  "Shadow 
Island. . . .  Yes,  off  the  causeway;  the  Wales 
place.  .  .  .  Right.  .  .  .  No,  there's  no 
other  house  on  the  island;  just  follow  the 
drive.  Hurry.  .  .  .  Name  was  Cecily  Du- 
rant.  Yes,  she's  been  murdered;  she  was  shot 
in  the  back." 

Andre  got  up  then  slowly,  turning  as  if 
blindly  toward  the  porch.  Charlie  Ingram 
caught  his  arm.  "Better  not  go  down  there, 
Durant.  Leave  it  to  us." 

"Who  killed  her?  "  whispered  Andre  then, 
staring  at  Bill  Cameron. 

Bill  Cameron  stood  perfectly  still.  He 
looked  extraordinarily  big  and  firm  in  that 
white  Navy  uniform  with  the  little  row  of 
ribbons.  He  said,  "She  was  your  wife,  then, 
Durant?" 

Andre's  lips  moved.  "Yes — that  is,  I  sup- 
pose so.   If  it  is  really  Cecily." 

1^11  Cameron  said,  "I'm  sorry.  There  was 
nothing  we  could  do  for  her." 

"Who  killed  her?"  said  Andre  again. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Bill  Cameron.  "She 
was  shot  in  the  back  and  the  gun  is  gone. 
We  couldn't  find  it  anywhere.  I'm — sorry, 
Durant."  He  did  not  look  at  Marny. 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  Cecily? "  asked 
Andre. 

Ihere  was  only  one  way  for  Bill  to  know 
that  it  was  Cecily  and  that  was  because 
Marny  had  told  him.  The  whole  story  was 
going  to  come  out  now.  But  then  it  had  to 
come  out  anyway,  and  she  had  to  tell  it. 
The  police  were  on  their  way  to  investigate 
the  suicide 

But  they  had  said  murder!  They  had  said 
that  Cecily  was  shot  in  the  back  and  the  gun 
was  not  there. 

Andre  was  still  looking  at  Bill  Cameron, 
waiting  an  answer  to  his  question,  and  Tim 
Wales  was  returning  from  the  telephone,  his 
footsteps  loud  across  the  tiled  floor  of  the 
hall. 

Marny  took  a  long  breath  and  began: 

"Cecily "  and  Bill  Cameron's  voice  cut 

in  rather  loudly: 

"Miss  Sanderson  had  seen  her.  She  knew 
it  was  Cecily  Durant." 

Andre  turned  quickly  to  her  and  Judith 
and  Winnie  both  gave  her  startled,  question- 
ing looks. 

Tim  Wales,  from  the  doorway,  said,  "Did 
you  know  the  girl,  Marny?" 

She  tried  to  sit  more  erectly  in  the  deep 
sofa,  pushing  the  cushions  behind  her.  "No. 
No,  but  she  was  here." 

Tim  said,  "She  wasn't  staying  here,  was 
she,  Judith?" 

Judith  shook  her  dark  head  once;  she  was 
watching  Marny  and  scarcely  seeming  to 
breathe.  And  Bill  Cameron  crossed  quickly 
to  Marny  and  took  the  glass  from  her  hand 

"You've  had  enough  of  that,"  he  said 
shortly,  and  turned  to  the  others.  "She  told 
me  when  we  found  Mrs.  Durant.  It  was  this 
way.  Mrs.  Durant  had  come  to  the  house 
and  happened  to  meet  Miss  Sanderson.  She 
told  her  who  she  was.  So  Miss  Sanderson 
recognized  her,  of  course." 

"Cecily  came  here?"  cried  Judith. 

"But  she  couldn't  have.  She  was  never 
here — we  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  per- 
son— we "  Winnie  stopped  as  her  father 

advanced  heavily. 

He  said,  commanding  the  room  instantly, 
"This  is  a  bad  business.  I  don't  need  to  tell 
you.  I've  called  the  police.  But  before  they 
come  we've  got  to  get  some  things  clear. 
This  girl  was  your  wife,  Andre?" 

Andre  looked  at  the  black  screened  door, 
he  looked  at  Judith,  he  looked  at  the  rug, 
he  ran  his  hands  through  his  black  hair  and 
said,   'Yes." 


I  keep  it  cfean     i 


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Stained  or  unclean  toilet  bowls  are  in< 
cusable.  But  there's  no  earthly  reas 
for  messy  scrubbing.  Sani-Flush  mal 
bowls  gleaming  white  the  quick,  ea; 
sanitary  way.  Use  it  at  least  twice 
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Sani-Flush  is  not  like  ordinary  soa 
and  cleansers.  It  works  chemically 
even  cleans  the  hidden  trap.  Remoi 
the  ever-forming  film  in  which  toi 
germs  lurk.  No  disinfectants  are  need 
Safe  with  septic  tanks  and  in  toilet  c 
nections.  (See  directions  on  ca\ 
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What  sends  it 
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parcels  to 
Insure  theii 
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track  it.    Nothing  to  mix,  spray  or 

dust.    Clean,  ready,  easy  to  use 

Economical,  too,  because  of 

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PROFIT  RIGHT  AWAY.  Extraordinary  designs,  : 
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SampI- 

STUlM 


Tim  glanced  at  Judith.  "Did  you  know 
legirl?" 
"No."    replied    Judith    composedly.    "I 
new  she  existed.   I  never  saw  her." 
"How  long  has  Andre  been  staying  here? 
t  Shadow  Island?" 

Judith's  hands  moved  and  the  emerald 
ashed  green  fire.  "I  don't  know  exactly.  A 
lonth,  perhaps." 

Tim  turned  to  Winnie.  "Where  did  he 
)me  from?"  He  jerked  his  head  toward 
ndre.  "Why  did  you  invite  him  here?" 
Winnie  went  to  her  father;  the  gesture 
ith  which  she  put  a  soothing  hand  on  his 
m  was  exactly  like  that  of  the  first  Mrs. 
ales.  "Now,  father,"  she  said,  "don't  take 
.at  tone,  please.  We  invited  Andre  here  be- 
use  we  met  him  and  liked  him,  the  same 
we  would  invite  any  guest  to  stay  in  our 
)me.    This  is  a  terrible  thing.    But  don't 

cuse " 

"I'm  not  accusing,"  said  Tim  sharply, 
it  he  looked  quieter  somehow,  comforted. 
There's  so  little  time  before  the  police  get 
re,  Winnie.  Give  me  the  details." 
"All  right,"  said  Winnie.  "It's  just  as  I 
Id  you.  We  met  him  first,  I  think,  at  Mrs. 
jdge's — you  know,  Ella  Hodge — and  then 
reral  times  at  the  Bath  Club  or  at  differ- 
t  parties.  Then — I  don't  remember  just 

w  it  happened " 

Judith  was  sitting  perfectly  still,  watching 
innie  and  Tim,  watching  Marny — watch- 
everybody  with 


5se  lovely,  heavily 
ide-up  eyes.  She 
d  suddenly,  "I'll 
1  you  exactly.  We 
re  all  swimming 
i  day  at  the  Beach 
lb  and  he  said  he 
s  going  to  have  to 
ive  because  the  ho- 
where  he  was  stay- 
had  been  sold  and 
s   being    redeco- 


51 


Again  Tim  seemed  to  hesitate  for  an  in- 
stant. Then  he  said,  "Was  she  alone  there? 
Had  she  any  friends?" 

"Laideau "  began  Marny  suddenly, 

intending  to  say  that  Laideau  was  with 
Cecily,  intending,  again,  to  tell  all  the  things 
that  must  be  told,  and  Bill  Cameron  said 
loudly: 

"We  need  some  coffee  before  the  police 
get  here.  It's  likely  to  last  forever — the  in- 
quiry, I  mean.  May  I  get  it,  Mrs.  Wales? 
Will  you  show  me  the  way,  Marny?" 

Tim  had  heard  the  name.  He  said, 
"What's  that?  Laideau — who  is  that?" 

Judith  said,  "Of  course.  Commander 
Cameron.  Tell  the  butler " 

Andre  said,  "Laideau  is  my  friend.  Cecily 
was  fond  of  him;  he  took  care  of  her.  I'm 
going  to  phone  to  him  now." 

Bill  cameron  had  taken  Marny 's  arm  and 
half  lifted  her  from  the  soft  depths  of  the 
sofa,  and  then  slid  her  arm  through  his  own. 
Winnie  said  quickly,  "I'll  go.  Let  me." 
"Thanks,  I'll  see  to  it,"  replied  Bill  Cam- 
eron briefly.  "Come  along,  Marny." 

They  were  in  the  wide  hall  with  its  gay 
tiles  and  white  and  scarlet  furniture,  now 
brilliantly  lighted.  He  steered  her  rapidly 
toward  the  dining  room  at  the  back — a 
lovely  room  with  the  candles  lighted  already 
on  the  table,  circling  a  great  silver  bowl 
which  reflected  them,  and  the  silver  and 
glass  glittering.  Cov- 


•  •  •  •   •'•    ••••••• 


• 
• 


'Mo/^e 


or 

en 


•••••••••••• 


ed  and  everybody 

3  to  be  turned  out. 

ere  are  only  two  or 

ee  hotels  open  in 

summer,  in  the 

!J_ation  he  wanted — 

many  hotels  have 
^n   taken   by  the 
\  ny  or  the  Navy — 
f  said  if  he  couldn't 
j  1  a  place  before — 
I    whatever  day  it 
'  \  i  that  he  was  to  be 
'  I  tied  out— he  could 
t[  ne  here  and  we'd 
0    him  up  till   he 
?l  nd  a  place.  So  he 
11  .  That's  all." 
a)  But" — Tim    hesitated — "what    of    his 
51  ;?  Why  wasn't  she  here?" 
V.  jidre  cleared  his  throat.  "I'll  tell  you 
tf|  \,  sir,"  he  said.  "It — it  is  a  painful  thing, 
i?|  the  fact  is  my  wife  was  not  well." 
^_im  said  shortly,  "If  she  was  sick,  your 

I  :e  was  at  her  side." 

adith  moved,  crossing  one  knee  over  the 
f  1  ;r. .  Marny  glanced  at  her  and  a  faint 
,  i  e  touched  Judith's  painted  mouth  and 
•  I  gone;  it  was  a  queer  little  shadow,  half 
'''nsement,  half  derision,  wholly  Judith. 
^Tidre  said,  his  face  grave  and  pale,  "It 
jj'  not  that  kind  of  sickness,  sir." 
Ili\re  you  meaning  to  imply  that  your 

t  was  insane?" 

0,"  said  Andre.  "No.    It  might  have 
^^  better  if  she  had  been;  then  she  could 
."i  gone  to  a  sanitarium  and  been  properly 
ted.  As  it  was,  we  could  do  nothing." 
We?" 

Iviyself,  I  should  have  said." 
JVhere  was  she?   Where  did  you  leave 

fWidre  hesitated.  He  said,  "She  came 
W|«  me  from  Havana  some  months  ago. 
illness  developed  alarmingly;  she  was 

I' violent— oh,  nothing  like  that.  But 
s*i'j-had  fancies.  One  was,  for  a  while,  that 
.',  fjdidn't  wish  me  to  be  with  her.  We  were 

-ping  in  a  hotel;  she  made  me  leave  and 
■"'\^  another  hotel.  It  was  all,"  said  Andre 
HlJ;  ,pectedly,  "very  expensive." 


By  Thomas  'Vi.  Duncan 

Wearing  blue  jeans,  long- 
legged,  she  will  ride 
Where  shade  is  checkered 
with  bright  splashing 
beat. 
Gripping  the  handle  bars, 
she  swings  astride 
The  saddle  recklessly,  as 
if  the  street 
Echoed  to  the  wild  hoofs 
of  a  white  stallion 
And  she  a  handsome 
horsewoman,  instead 
Of  being  just  a  freckle-faced 
rapscallion 
Sent  to  the  store  to  buy  a 
loaf  of  bread. 


ers  were  laid,  din- 
nertime long  past.  He 
put  her  down  in  a 
high-backed  chair. 

"Why  did  you 
drink  all  that?"  he 
said  angrily.  "You 
haven't  got  the  head 
of  a  kitten.  I'd  have 
stopped  you  if  I'd 
known.  Didn't  you 
ever  take  a  drink  in 
your  life  before?  Stay 
there."  He  went 
quickly  to  the  swing- 
ing door  into  a  pantry 
beyond.  "Hey,  there, 
Rilly!  Coffee.  Quick." 
He  came  back  and 
stood,  big  and  sub- 
stantial and  solid  in 
his  white  uniform. 
He  said,  "You're 
tight.  You're  in  a 
jam.  The  police  will 
be  here.  It's  mur- 
der. How  quickly  can 
you  sober  up?" 

"I  don't  know — 
I'm  not  tight." 

"You "    He  stopped,  shrugged  and 

pulled  a  chair  up  near  her  suddenly  and  sat 
down.    "Listen.    Do  you  understand  me?" 
"Of  course!" 

"Well,  then.   I  may  be  the  fool  of  all  the 
world,  but — I  can't  see  any  other  way  to 
play  it.   I'm  going  to  take  a  chance." 
"Chance?" 

His  eyes  were  exasperated,  intent.  "I'm 

going  to  tell  you  what  to  say  to  the  police." 

" I  know,"  she  said.  "I've  got  to  tell  them 

about  Cecily  and  the  gun  and " 

"You're  going  to  do  no  such  thing.  Lis- 
ten, and  shut  up."  He  lowered  his  voice. 
"You're  going  to  say  this.  Word  for  word. 
Now  pull  yourself  together,  if  you  can,  and 
listen.  You'll  say  that  you  were  in  your 
room — upstairs  there  off  that  balcony.  Cecily 
came  along.  She  stopped  and  said  she  was — 
oh,  what? — looking  for  Durant,  of  course. 
Had  she  talked  to  him?" 

Marny  sought  back,  trying  to  remember. 
"Yes — yes,  she  said  she'd  talked  to  him." 

"Okay.  She  was  looking  for  Durant " 

"But  she " 

" and  you  said  something — how  do 

you  do,  anything;  she  said  her  name  was 
Cecily  Durant.  And  that's  all." 

"I've  got  to  tell  them.  If  she  was  mur- 
dered   " 

"That's  why!  Can't  you  understand? 
Marny,  they'll  arrest  you.   No  matter  who 

did  it.  You  were  in  love  with  Andre " 

"No." 


-AU3  Kf^DS  OF  mtj^jme  tms^/ 


DUZ  does  MORE  i 


Test  DUZ  on  grimy  overalls — filthy 
towels  —  no  soap  made  gets  'em 
cleaner  and  whiter.  Yet  DUZ  helps 
clothes  last,  too,  'cause  DUZ  is  safer 
for  colors  than  any  other  leading 
granulated  washday  soap.  Yes,  DUZ 
does  more — it's  safer  even  for  rayon 
undies.  DUZ  does  everything! 


/et  duz  is  safer 
for  colors- even 
prett/  rayon  undies  / 

helps  clothes  last 
longer/ 


•A 


A  liHle  DUZ  a  lot.  Don't  waste  DUZ— it 


\M 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


No  curative  power  is  claimed 
for  Philip  IVIorris  .  .  .  but 


an  ounce  of 
prevention 

is  Worth  a  Pound 
of  Cure ! 


^^  ffrfSfi  ftAVO^-WfS^^^g  pKOT£cr/o/v 


l'h«-  way 

|4>    l'e«'l    SI**'!! 


"She  threatened  you  with  a  gun.  She  was 
found  a  few  minutes  later,  shot.  You  found 
her.  If  any  of  those  facts  get  into  the  hands 
of  the  pohce " 

"But  I  didn't  kill  her." 

"No,"  said  Bill  Cameron  very  quietly, 
"somehow  I  don't  think  you  did." 

The  warm  night  breeze  touched  Mamy's 
face.  For  a  long  moment  she  looked  at  Bill 
Cameron  and  he  looked  at  her.  It  was,  some- 
how, like  a  repeated  experience.  As  if  they 
had  known  each  other,  somewhere,  very  well. 

Perhaps  she  was  tight,  she  thought  con- 
fused ;  perhaps  he  was  right.  Perhaps  he  was 
right,  too,  in  what  he  told  her.  She  said, 
"But  Cecily — if  she  was  murdered,  I've  got 
to  help  them  find  whoever  killed  her.  She — 
she  was  so  young." 

He  didn't  reply  for  a  moment;  there  was 
the  clatter  of  china,  soft  and  musical,  from 
somewhere  beyond  the  pantry  door.  The 
breeze  drifted  through  the  room  again. 
Then  he  said,  "All  right.  Be  noble  and 
brave  and  a  martyr  if  you  want  to.  But  has 
it  occurred  to  you  that  your  little  story  is 
going  to  put  Andre  on  a  very  bad  spot  ?  " 

"Andrei" 

"Who  else?  She  was  his  wife.  Your  story 
will  present  them  with  the  thing  they'll  need 
most — a  motive.  He  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
her  to  marry  you." 

"No,  no,  he  didn't.    He  couldn't  have." 

"Oh,  Dunk.  I'm  talking  about  the  police. 
If  you  want  to  give  them  evidence  against 
Andre  that'll  liang  him  or  whatever  capital 
punishment  is  in  this  state,  go  right  ahead. 

But  you "    He  paused,  looked  at  her 

for  a  moment  and  said  in  a  different,  quieter 
way,  "Time  is  the  impor- 
tant thing  just  now.  Don't       

do  anything  irrevocable 
until  we  see  something  of 
the  setup.  Don't  throw 
yourself  or  .Andre-  -into 
a  cell  with  a  murder  charge 
until  -well,  say  until 
morning.  Will  you  promise 
me  that?" 

"Why  are  you  doing 
this?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 
"What  does  it  mat- 
ter   " 

The  nameless  thing  that 
had  held  their  gaze  Imked 
like  a  chain  broke  and 
dropped  away.  He  got  up 

with    a    brusque   motion.       

His  profile,  straight  and 
hard,  was  clear  against  the  candlelight.  He 
s;iid  shortly,  "I  don't  know  why.  I'm  not 
trying  to  get  something  on  you,  if  that's  what 
you  mean."  He  went  to  the  door  and  met 
the  colored  butler  coming  out,  a  small  silver 
tray  in  his  hands.  Bill  Cameron  took  it  and 
put  it  on  the  table  beside  her.  He  took  the 
silver  pot  and  began  to  pour  coffee  into  a  cup 
as  the  telephone  in  the  hall  rang  sharply. 
They  could  hear  a  woman's  voice  answer  it: 
Winnie's — capable,  pleasant  in  spite  of  its 
undertones  of  gravity: 

"Yes,  Edward.  .  .  .  Yes,  it's  quite  all 
right.  Let  them  come  in.  .  .  ,  Oh,  Edward, 
there's  been  some  trouble  at  the  house. 
Dinner  is  late:  in  fact,  we've  not  had  it  at 
all.  Rilly  will  be  late  bringing  your  supper 
over.  But  you'd  better  stay  at  the  gate. 
Let  me  know  if — if  anyone  tries  to  come  in. 
Except  Mr.  Laideau.  He'll  be  here  soon;  let 
him  come  to  the  house.  Thank  you." 

The  telephone  was  put  down.  W'innie's 
firm  footsteps  came  toward  the  dining  room. 

niLL  CAMERON  finished  pouring  the  hot 
clear  stream  of  coffee  into  the  cup.  As  Winnie 
reached  the  doorway  and  came  in,  he  said 
nonchalantly  to  Mamy,  "Sugar?  How 
much?" 

Winnie  came  nearer.  "Are  you  all  right, 
Mamy?  I  thought  you  looked  sick."  Win- 
nie was  worried;  her  thick,  rather  shapeless 
brown  eyebrows  were  drawn  together.  "That 
was  the  man  at  the  gate."  she  said.  "Hj 
phoned  to  say  that  the  police  have  come." 

Bill's  brown  hand  paused,  holding  itself 
still  over  the  coffee.  He  did  not  look  up,  but 
said,  "The  man  at  the  gate?   Who?" 

"Oh."  said  Winnie.  "Edward,  the  chauf- 
feur. We  always  have  a  man  at  the  gate  at 


^  It  is  not  <-as>  l<>  .xlrai^hlen 
^  ill  |I|4'  4>ak  the  4'rook  that 
Sr«-»   in  the  sapliiic.       — GAEUC. 


b«*  .-.aiV  is  ne\er 

—EDMUND  BURKE. 


'I'hinkins  \«fll  is  wise:  plan- 
ning well,  wiser:  doinfs  well, 
wisest  and  best  of  all. 

—PERSIAN. 

Lose  an  hour  in  the  morn- 
ine  aii<l  you  will  be  all  Hay 
hiintin(£  f«>r  it. 

—BISHOP  WHATELY. 


night.  Judith  and  I,  living  alone,  and  so 
many  odd  people  drifting  around " 

"Do  you  mean  that  this  man,  Edward,  is 
on  guard  at  the  gate?"  ^ 

"At  the  bridge,  really.  There's  a  little 
house  there,  hidden  by  vines;  I  planted " 

"When  did  he  go  on  duty?" 

"Why,  about  sundown.   Six,  as  a  rule." 

"Was  he  there  tonight?"  asked  Bill. 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"  Does  he  always  phone  to  the  house  when 
somebody  comes?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  came  tonight?" 

"Why,  I — nobody.  Except  Charlie  In- 
gram.  And  you." 

"Is  anybody  else  here?  I  mean  besides 
you  and  Mrs.  Wales  and  your  father  and 
Mamy,  and  me  and  Charlie  Ingram  and 
Durant?" 

"Why,  the  servants,  of  course,  but " 

Winnie's  eyes  widened.  She  stared  at  Bill. 
Slowly  one  large  hand  went  up  toward  her 
throat.  "None  of  us  killed  her!" 

Bill  dropped  the  lump  of  sugar  into  the 
cup.  "Here,  Mamy,"  he  said  and  put  the 
cup  in  her  hand.  He  turned  to  Winnie. 
"  There  are  other  ways  to  get  on  the  island — 
boats — other  ways.  That  doesn't  mean  that 
somebody  on  the  island  killed  Cecily." 

But  it  did  mean  it.  thought  Marny;  and  he 
knew  it.  His  denial  was  really  like  an  affir- 
mation. Unless  the  murderer  came  in  a  boat. 

Winnie  said,  "There's  the  bell.  It's  the 
police..  I'll  go." 

JHE  police  left  at  exactly  twenty  minutes 

after  two  and  did  not  question  Marny  beyond 

a  few    formal  queries  as 

to  the  position  of  the  body, 

and  her  discovery  of  it, 
and  she  did  not  tell  them 
of  Cecily's  visit  toherroom 
and  Cecily's  threats. 

So  far  as  she  knew,  she 
made  no  decision  about  it; 
she  accepted  Bill  Camer- 
on's decision  as  instinc- 
tively as  if  it  were  a  life 
line.  Or  a  safe  and  unex- 
pected path  through  a  dark 
and  treacherous  swamp. 
She  hadn't  murdered  Ce- 
cily and  somehow,  some- 
where, there  must  be  a 
way  to  prove  it.  But  per- 
haps no  such  proof  existed 
for  Andre;  and  in  any  case 
her  story  would  damn  him  even  more  cer- 
tainlyandinevitably  than  it  would  herself,  for 
Andre  was,  as  Bill  Cameron  had  said  he  would 
be,  the  immediate  suspect  of  the  police. 

It  was  instantly  evident.  They  didn't  even 
question  anyone  at  length,  except  Andre. 
Andre  and  Laideau,  who  arrived  soon  after 
the  police  came. 

Led  by  Tim  and  Charlie  and  Bill,  theyJ^^ 
tramped  down  across  the  lawn;  policemen  in 
uniform  and  detectives  and,  later,  the  med- 
ical examiner.  Their  flashlights  shot  long 
dancing  rays  of  whiteness  over  grass  and 
shrubbery  and  the  black  water.  And  then 
disappeared  behind  the  bamboos. 

They  made  A'hdre  identify  the  body- 
watching  him,  probably,  as  he  did  so,  for  any 
betraying  word  or  look  or  move.  She  must 
warn  Andre,  thought  Marny  rather  desper-  Ki 
ately;  she  must  tell  him  what  had  happened;  i  ii|ii, 
she  must  put  him  on  his  guard.  There  was 
no  possible  way  to  do  so,  then. 

Later  photographs  were  made;  flashlights,  f^ 
Shortly  after  that  an  ambulance  came  and 
men  carried  away  a  burden  which  seemed  |v 
light,  from  the  way  they  walked  across  the(  |^| 
lawn  and  toward  the  drive.  Judith  came  I  j,,^, 
then,  and  watched  them  go.  her  lovely  face  a '  « o, 
mask,  her  dark  eyes  lambent.  Winnie  shiv- 
ered a  little,  and  put  her  arm  around  Judith. 
Marny  turned  away,  unable  to  watch  that 
small,  somber  procession.  She  went  into  the 
drawing  room;  she'd  do  anything;  she'd 
simply  sit  down  there  by  the  calla  lilies  and 
stare  at  the  beige  and  white  rugs  and  wait. 
And  Andre  was  in  the  hall.  She  heard  him 
come  in;  she  went  to  the  door  of  the  drawing 
room  and  Andre  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  hall.  He  looked  shrunken  somehow. 
his  shoulders  drawn  in. 


«il 


">01 


hi 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


53 


Don Juan 
Lipstick 

STAYS  QNl'' 


Soys 

Paula  Stone 


FAMOUS  ON  SCREEN, 
STAGE  AND  RADIO 

My  lips  stay  lovely 
hours  longer  without 
retouching . . .  That's  why 
Don  Juan  is  tops  with  me. 

See  what  they  do 
for  your  lips 

DON  JUAN  LIPSTICK  STAYS  ON  . .  . 

when  you  eat,  drink — yes,  even 

kiss — if  used  as  directed. 

LIPS  STAY  LOVELY  LONGER  .  .  . 

without  frequent  retouching. 

:2  .  NOT  DRYING  or  SMEARY.  Creamy 

*-'      smooth,   easily  applied — imparts 

appealing,  soft,    glamor    look. 
A*  STYLE  SHADES.  Try  Raspberry 
•^     shade,  rich,  glowing,  or  the  ever 

popular  Number  5,  a  medium  red 

shade,  flattering,  youthful  looking. 

Also  in  other 

shades. 
D«  lux*  ilia  $1  • 
Refills  6oc.  Junior  size 
ISC.  Tax  extra.  Matching 
powder,  rouee,  and  cake 
make-up.  Trial  sizes  at  loc 
•tores,  Iq  Canada,  too. 


LIPS    LOOK    LOVELY 


I' 

2' 


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MILLION    DOLLAR 

Lipstick 

^  %tM%  ON!    ■" 


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N  Mil 


ipool  2-3-4-ply  Knitting 


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Houses 

lurning,  Tenderness  On  Bottom  Of  Feet 
So  Quickly  Relieved,  You'll  Marvel 


''OU  forget  you 
have  callouses, 
burning  sensations  or 
benderness  at  the  bot- 
lom  of  your  foot  — 
livhen  you  use  Dr. 
ISchoU's  Zino-pads. 
Irhese  thin,  downy- 
soft,  soothing,  cush- 
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pads  instantly  relieve 
pairiful  pressure  on 
fihe  sensitive  spot, 
lelp  prevent  callouses 
If  used  at  first  sign  of 
loreness. 

leparate  Medications 
Included  with  Dr. 
Icholl's  Zino-pads  for 
|uickly  removing  cal- 
luses. Cost  but  a  trifle, 
feet  a  box  today  at  your 
prug.  Shoe,  Depart- 
ment Store  or  Toilet 
boods  Counter.  In- 
ist  on  Dr.  SchoU's. 


D^Scholls  lino  pad. 


FEET  HURT.  BURN? 


Dr.  SchoU's  Foot  Balm  quickly  relieves  foot 
discomfort  caused  by  exertion,  " 

fatigue.    Soothing,    refreshing. 
Send  it  to  boys  in  service.    35tf. 

FOOT 
BALM 


DrSchot/s 


^ 


"Andre,"  she  cried — but  low,  remember- 
ing Judith  and  Winnie  on  the  porch.  She 
went  to  him.  "Andre,  I'm  so  terribly  sorry." 

He  looked  at  her  without  speaking,  his 
dark  eyes  black  and  unfathomable. 

"Andre."  She  looked  over  her  shoulder; 
no  one  was  in  the  dining  room  and  it  was 
at  some  distance,  anyway.  She  said,  whis- 
pering, "Cecily  came  to  me,  Andre.  She 
had  a  gun.  She  said  you  had  told  her  that 
you  wanted  to  leave  her.  For — for  me.  Be- 
cause of  me." 

Still  Andre  did  not  speak,  but  only  stared 
at  her,  as  if  not  understanding. 

She  shook  his  arm  a  little.  "Andre,  you 
must  listen.  You  didn't  tell  Cecily  that,  did 
you?" 

He  moved  his  lips  twice  before  a  sound 
came  out.  Then  he  said,  "Tell  Cecily  what?  " 

"That  you — that  you  were  in  love  with 
me.  That  you  wanted  to — to  marry  me." 

He  shook  his  black  head.  "No.  Certainly 
not.  Never." 

"She    said — she    thought    Andre, 

you're  not  listening.  I  know  it's  horrible, 
but  don't  you  see,  you've  got  to  know. 
They'll  suspect  you.  They'll — Andre,  did 
you  see  Cecily  tonight  at  all?  I  mean  after 
we  got  here,  from  the  airport?" 

Andre  blinked  slowly.    "No.    She  " 

His  eyes  quickened,  as  if  at  last  the  thing 
she  was  trying  to  tell  him  had  got  through 
his  terrible,  tragic  preoccupation.  "Marny, 
what  are  you  saying?" 

"Sh-h.  Listen."  Half  whispering,  quickly, 
she  told  him  the  story. 

He  said,  when  she'd  finished,  only  two 
words:  "Poor  Cecily." 

"Andre,  don't  you  see " 

He  looked  at  her  then.  "Marny,  you  are 
so  good.  So-normal  and  generous  and — and 
r/g/i/,  somehow.  Not  like  Cecily.  It  was  hor- 
rible, Marny.  I  tried  to  make  things  better; 
I  didn't  know  when  I  married  her.  Poor 
child,  it  wasn't  her  fault.  It  was — it  was  in 
her  blood,  I  suppose.  How  could  I  tell  any- 
one! How  could  I  bring  the  shadow  of — of 
that  into  anyone's  house!  I  didn't  see  her 
tonight.  If  she  said  all  that  to  you,  it  was 
another  of  her  fancies.  She  hated  women. 
She  was  crazily  jealous.  It  was  one  of  her — 
her  delusions." 

rooTSTEPS  were  entering  from  the  porch, 
across  the  drawing  room.  Marny  whispered, 
"Someone  is  coming." 

Andre  gripped  her  hands.  "Who  did  it, 
Marny?  Do  you  know?" 

And  Winnie  came  to  the  door,  saw  them 
and  stopped.  Andre  let  go  Marny's  hands. 
Winnie  said,  "Can  I  help  you,  Andre?  Has 
anything  happened?  I  mean " 

Andre  touched  his  face  again  with  his 
handkerchief.  "No,  no,  Winnie.  It's  only 
that  the  police  have  been  questioning  me  and 
are  going  to  again.  As  if  I  had  killed  her." 

Winnie  waited  a  moment,  her  hands  auto- 
matically smoothing  down  her  blue  dress, 
her  eyes  anxious.  She  said  then,  "But  you 
didn't,  Andre.  You  couldn't  have.  We  have 
faith  in  you,  all  of  us.  Don't  let  them  trap 
you  into  saying  something  that  is  wrong  or 
suspicious.  I'm  going  to  order  some  food. 
We'll  all  be  the  better  for  it.  You  haven't 
had  anything  to  eat;  none  of  us  have  had. 
Go  in  there  and  when  they  question  you, 
just  tell  the  truth  and  no  more."  She  moved 
toward  the  dining  room. 

Andre  said,  "Winnie  is  so  sensible.  Yes, 

I'll   do   that.     I'll    "     His    eyes    met 

Marny's.  "Thank  you." 

"I  had  to  warn  you " 

"Oh,  not  for  that.  For  something  much 
greater.  For  having  faith  in  me,"  said 
Andre,  and  went  into  the  drawing  room. 

Rilly  came  with  sandwiches  and  coffee  and 
Winnie  made  them  all  eat. 

The  photographers  and  the  fingerprint 
men  had  gone;  the  police  had  apparently 
done  everything  they  could  do  at  the  pier, 
and  drifted  to  the  house.  The  police  by  that 
time  consisted  of  three  policemen  in  uniform, 
and  a  chief  of  detectives  in  a  neat  gray  seer- 
sucker suit  with  a  blue  tie,  and  tanned  face 
and  extraordinarily  honest-looking  light  blue 
eyes.  It  was  strangely  matter-of-fact;  Win- 
nie had  the  plates  of  sandwiches  and  coffee 
brought  out  on  the  porch  and  put  on  a  long 


VITAMINS 

Have  you,  too,  wondered? 


Few  are  the  Americans  who  have  not  at 
one  time  or  another  wondered  whether 
they  ought  to  take  a  vitamin  supplement. 

Frequently  this  problem  is  caused  bj' 
the  appearance  of  symptoms  that  may 
warn  of  vitamin  deficiencies:  mental  list- 
lessness,  excessive  fatigue,  inactive  appe- 
tite, slowed-up  digestion,  nervous  irrita-  | 
bility. 

Unwise  are  those  who  merely  wonder 
about,  then  ignore  these  symptoms.  For  as 
your  Doctor  can  tell  you,  vitamin  defi- 
ciencies in  the  diet  today  are  widespread. 

Just  how  prevalent  they  are  can  be 
seen  from  the  latest  dietary  study  con- 
ducted at  a  world-famous  American  tech- 
nological institute. 

93%  didn't  get  enougli 

Most  startling  fact  established  by  this 
study:  that  93%  of  the  survey  group,  a 
group  including  rich,  poor  and  in-between, 
did  not  receive  the  Recommended  Dietary 
Allowance  for  vitamins  and  minerals.  Of 
t-he  7%  who  did,  all  were  children. 


Only  One  in  Ten 

got  adequate  vitamins  and  minerals 

In  other  words,  only  about  one  person  in 
ten  was  found  to  be  getting  all  the  vita- 
mins and  all  the  minerals  needed  to  make 
up  what  could  be  called  a  "really  good 
diet." 

Furthermore,  the  following  percentages 
of  the  total  group  did  not  receive  the 
Recommended  Dietary  Allowance:  of  nia- 
cin 75%,  of  Vitamin  Bj  (riboflavin)  63%, 
of  Bi  (thiamin)  62%,  of  C  (ascorbic  acid) 
48%,  of  calcium  37%,  of  iron  28%. 

These  recent  findings  add  emphasis  to 
the  conclusion  reached  by  the  National 
Research  Council  that  ".  .  .  without  ex- 
ception inadequate  diets  are  widespread 
in  the  nation." 

Scientific  Approacli 

This  study  is  highly  significant  for  it 
was  made  by  an  unusually  accurate  and 
reliable  method  not  often  used  on  a  large 
scale  because  of  its  expense  and  the  large 
technical  staff  required. 

In  this  technique,  the  actual  cooked 
meal — which  included  fortified  as  well  as 
natural  foods — ^was  takeii  from  the  sub- 
ject without  warning  and  analyzed  in  the 
laboratory. 


Actually  the  meals  of  71  families 
(checked  against  the  meals  of  3,336  fam- 
ilies throughout  the  nation)  were  used  in 
this  survey. 

The  study  extended  over  different  sea- 
sons of  the  year.  It  (^vered  a  comprehen- 
sive cross-section  of  population  as  to  eco- 
nomic status,  age,  sex  and  phj'sical  activity. 

Thus,  in  spite  of  the  fortification  of 
foods  with  vitamins,  the  importance  of 


FOR  PEAK  ENERGY 

Vitamins  and  minerals  are  essential 

taking  a  dietary  supplement  cannot  be 
overrated.  However,  highly  important, 
too,  is  the  choice  of  which  one. 

Minerals  necessary 

Vimms  are  so  often  recommended  be- 
cause, unlike  most  vitamin  preparations, 
Vimms  contain  not  only  all  the  vitamins 
that  Doctors  and  Government  experts 
agree  are  essential  in  the  diet,  but  also  all 
the  commonly  lacking  minerals.  Besides 
all  the  essential  vitamins,  Vimms  supply 
Iron  necessary  for  good  red  blood.  Calcium 
and  Phosphorus  needed  for  bones  and  teeth. 

Vimms  are  pleasant-tasting — leave  no 
after-taste.  They  come  in  three  tablets  a 
day.  No  product  that  comes  in  one  tablet 
or  capsule  per  day,  gives  you  all  the  vita- 
mins and  minerals  you  get  in  \'imms. 


RECOMMENDED 

VITAMIN 
PROPORTIONS 

VIMMS 
FORMULA 
(3  TABLETS) 

4,000  USP  Units     A 

5,000  USP  Units 

1   mg. 

B, 

1   mg. 

2  mg. 

6,(0) 

2  mg. 

600  USP  Units 

C 

600  USP  Units 

400  USP  Units 

D 

500  USP  Units 

no  volue  stated 

NIACIN        lOmg 

MEDICAL  COUNCIL  STANDARDS 

Vimms  meet  or  exceed  them 

The  Food  and  Nutrition  Board  of  the 
National  Research  Council  has  adopted 
Recommended  Daily  Allowances  for  vita- 
mins 3.nd  minerals. 

Three  Vimms,  taken  daily — preferably 
at  breakfast — will  raise  the  average  diet  of 
children  and  adults  up  to  or  above  these 
Recommended  Daily  Allowances. 


(Advertilemcnt) 


iJU, 


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yi  SO   (KiJ 


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until  well  mixed.  I'ill  greased  mulTm  pans  ^'i  full.  ORANGE  TOPPING: 
mix  21/^  tsp.  grated  orange  rind,  and  '/,  cup  sugar.  Sprinkle  on  un- 
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54 


table  there,  and  had  candles  lighted  and  put 
in  hurricane  lamps.  Everyone  ate,  or  pre- 
tended to;  even  Andre. 

There  was  very  little  talk  while  they  ate. 
Tim  said  once,  looking  up  from  his  coffee 
with  his  little  bright  eyes  shrewd  and  his  face 
sharply  lined,  "I  never  saw  her  before. 
None  of  us  knew  her.  She  wasn't  well." 

"So  you  said,  Mr.  Wales,"  said  the  chief 
of  detectives.  His  name  was  Jimmy  Man- 
son;  he  was  a  captain  by  rank;  he  was  just 
a  man — thinnish,  with  thinning  brown  hair, 
a  sun-tanned,  rather  wrinkled  face,  just  a 
man  such  as  one  would  meet  a  hundred  times 
in  a  day,  on  the  streets,  in  the  bank,  at  the 
post  office,  anywhere.  He  took  the  last  bite 
of  a  sandwich  and  lifted  his  cup,  eying  Tim 
over  the  rim  of  it.  "So  you  said.  I'll  get 
some  statements  from  all  of  you  as  soon  as 
we  finish  eating.  .  .  .  This  was  a  good  idea, 
Miss  Wales.  Nothing  like  food  where  there's 
a  hard  job  ahead.  You  did  right  to  call  the 
police  right  away.  It  beats  all,  sometimes, 
the  way  people  get  so  upset  they  don't  know 
what  to  do.  .  .  .  Reminds  me,  how  about 
lawyers?  Any  of  you  folks  feel  you'd  like  to 
have  your  lawyer  in  on  this?  Sometimes  a 
police  investigation  takes  a  long  time,  you 
know.  Sometimes  we  get  a  break  right  away, 
but  sometimes  not." 

"Are  you  advising  us  to  get  lawyers?" 
asked  Tim  sharply,  looking  surprised. 

Captain  Manson  shrugged.  "Sure,  if  you 
want  to.  You're  a  pretty  famous  man,  Mr. 
Wales.  I  want  everything  to  be  on  the  up 
and  up." 

"But  I  don't  know  anything  about  the 
girl's  murder!"  said  Tim  angrily. 

"That's  what  I  mean, 

Mr.    Wales.    But    it   did       

happen  on  your  island, 
you  see.  Reporters'U  be 
here  soon  as  they  get  onto 
what's  happened.  You 
know;  that's  their  job,  of 
course.  News.  .  .  .  How 
about  you,  Mr.  Durant?" 

Andre  lifted  his  head 
with  a  jerk.  "  I  didn't  mur- 
der her  either,"  he  said. 

"Now,  now,"  said  Cap- 
tain Manson.  "It's  only 
for  your  own  good.  If  you 
don't  want  a  lawyer,  you 
don't  have  to  have  one." 

Something  inside 
Marny  roused  for  an  in- 
stant and  said,  The  man  is      

smart.    He  knows  now  that 

no  one  will  call  a  lawyer;  he'll  question  and 

inquire  without  interference. 

Bill  Cameron,  his  Navy  whites  no  longer 
immaculate  but  wrinkled,  and  stained  with 
grass  across  the  knees,  slapped  at  a  mosquito 
and  Winnie  said,  "Perhaps  we'd  better  go 
inside.  There  are  so  many  bugs."  They  were 
circling  around  the  candles,  beating  against 
the  glass  shields. 

Tim  said  slowly,  "Why,  yes.  Yes,  that's  a 
good  idea,  Winnie."  He  led  the  way,  hold- 
ing the  door  open  for  Judith,  who  rose,  still 
without  speaking,  and  preceded  him. 

In  the  long  living  room  with  its  low  tables, 
its  calla  lilies,  its  pleasant,  gay  and  everyday 
atmosphere.  Captain  Manson  made  a  little 
speech  about  murder.  He  said  that  a  murder 
inquiry  was  very  difficult  and  that  they 
must  not  think,  when  he  asked  questions 
or  when  another  detective  or  policeman 
asked  questions,  that  they  were  going  out- 
side their  line  of  duty. 

"It's  our  job,  you  see,"  he  said,  and  took 
a  cigarette  and  lighted  it.  "So  I  wanted  to 
say  now,  that  it'll  make  everything  easier  for 
everybody  if  you'll  answer  and  not  be  wor- 
ried about  getting  involved  in  anything. 
Nobody's  going  to  be  accused  of  murder 
falsely,  if  I  can  help  it,  and  I'll  do  everything 
I  can— and  that's  quite  a  lot— to  keep  any- 
thing out  of  the  newspapers  that  you  want 
kept  out." 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  anything  to  hide, 
captain,"  said  Tim  Wales  at  once. 

Tim  is  smart,  too,  thought  Marny,  in  an- 
other odd  flash  of  something  that  was  nor- 
mal and  sensible  and  everyday— which 
again  was  lost  in  nightmare. 


OBSERVATIOrVS 

The  most  destructive  criti- 
cism is  indifference. 

—ED  HOWE. 

The  test  of  good  manners  is 
heing  able  to  put  up  pleas- 
antly %vith  had  ones. 

—ANON:  Quoted  in  Uttle  Things  Thai  Un- 
ger.    Bob  Carter.  (Orlin  Tremoine  Co.) 


Good 
for  life. 


Enough  is  what  would  sat- 
isfy us  —  if  the  neighbors 
didn't  have  any  more. 

— Answers. 


March,  1945 

One  of  the  policemen  took  oiit  a  paper- 
bound  notebook  and  a  pencil. 

"Now  as  I  understand  it,"  said  Captain 
Manson,  smoking,  "it  happened  like  this. 
Miss  Sanderson"— his  blue  eyes ''traveled 
around  the  room  and  reached  Marny — 
"Miss  Sanderson,  walking  down  to  the  pier, 
found  her  just  as  Commander  Cameron  got 
there.  They  saw  she  was  dead  and  then  Mr. 
Ingram  came  and  Mr.  Ingram  and  Miss 
Sanderson  came  back  to  the  house  and 
you"— he  looked  at  Bill  Cameron,  sitting 
solidly  on  a  hassock,  smoking  also — "stayed 
with  the  body  until  Mr.  Wales  came.  Then 
all  three  of  you  came  to  the  house  and  you, 
Mr.  Wales,  called  the  police.  Now  then,  you 
say  you  didn't  touch  the  body,  commander, 
but  you  looked  about  the  shrubbery  and 
didn't  see  a  gun  anywhere." 

"That's  right,"  said  Bill  Cameron. 

(jOT  a  record  of  that,  Willie?"  said  Cap- 
tain Manson,  looking  at  the  policeman  with 
the  notebook,  who  nodded  without  looking 
up.  The  detective  said,  "Now  let's  try  to 
get  some  of  the  main  facts  straight.    Mr. 
Wales,  you  said  you  didn't  hear  the  shot." 
"No,  I  didn't." 
"Did  anybody  hear  it?" 
There  was  a  silence.  Judith,  on  the  sofa, 
twisted  her  emerald  ring.  Winnie  had  picked 
up  her  knitting  bag  and  was  holding  it  in 
her  lap,  gripping  it  tightly  as  if  the  touch  of 
something  homely  and  matter-of-fact  was 
comforting.  Andre  sat  huddled  in  a  great 
armchair,  his  head  leaning  on  a  hand  that 
shielded  his  face.  Laideau  stood  behind  him. 
The  light  was  on  Laideau's  face.   Marny 
had  not  seen  him  when  he 

arrived;  he  had  been  met 

by  Andre  and  they  had 
gone  immediately  across 
the  lawn  and  not  through 
the  house,  to  the  pier  and 
the  bamboo  hedge  where 
Cecily  lay.  She  had  been 
aware  of  him  on  the  can- 
dlelighted  terrace:  a  man 
of  medium  height  with 
great  stooped  shoulders 
and  long  arms;  a  man  who 
looked  large  because  his 
features  were  heavy  and 
his  head  big;  but  he  had 
said  nothing,  had  kept 
close  to  Andre,  had  refused 
anything  but  coffee.    He 

wore  a  white  shirt,  open 

at  the  throat,  rather  soiled 
white  trousers  and  rubber-soled  tennis 
shoes.  He  was  the  man  she'd  seen  in  the 
boat  with  Cecily.  Did  he  know  why  Cecily 
had  come  ?  Did  he  know  why  she  had  returned? 
His  face  was  sallow,  his  eyes  half  hidden 
under  thick  black  eyebrows,  his  mouth  un- 
revealing. 

Bill  Cameron  shook  ashes  from  his  ciga- 
rette and  said  that  probably  nobody  had 
heard  the  sound  of  the  shot  because  there 
was  so  much  noise  about  the  place. 

"Noise!"  cried  Winnie,  looking  surprised. 

"But  it  was  so  quiet " 

"I  mean  the  radio  was  going,"  said  Bill, 
"when  I  arriveck  Nobody  was  down  yet  and 
I  sat  there  on  the  porch  and  several  boats 
passed — motorboats  and  once  an  outboard, 
and  you  know  what  a  racket  they  make.  % 
the  girl  was  shot  here  on  the  island,  the 
noise  of  the  boats  might  have  covered  the 
sound  of  the  shot." 

"If  she  "    Tim  shot  him  a  look  ol 

quick  comprehension  which  had  something 
like  gratitude  for  the  suggestion  in  it;  he 
said  coolly  and  promptly  to  the  detectivft 
"But  then  I  don't  see  how  she  could  have 
been  shot  here  on  the  island,  captain.  Sh« 
must  have  been  killed  some  other  place  ^ 
brought  here.   By  boat." 

Laideau  spoke.  It  was  the  first  timi 
Marny  had  heard  his  voice;  it  was  metallw 
and  rusty-sounding.  His  little  dark  eye 
sought  the  captain.  "I  told  you,"  he  said 
"that  I  brought  her  here.  I  did.  But  sh< 
was  alive."  ^ 

"Let's  have  that  again,  if  you  please, 
said  the  captain.  "Only  a  brief  statement  fo 
the  record." 

(Continued  on  Page  56) 


temper   is   an   estate 

—  WILUAM  HAZUTT 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


•       •••••••• 


• 
• 

• 


The  New  Promise 

of 

American  Life 


• 
• 
• 


•    •••••••• 

The  advent  of  a  victorious  peace  after  the 
nefarious  Axis  has  been  smashed  will  yield 
substantial  dividends. 

At  home,  tranquillity  will  again  bring  an 
opportunity  to  set  American  workers  and 
farmers  free  to  concentrate  on  producing  bet- 
ter living  for  35  million  American  families. 

The  necessarily  depressing  effect  of  divert- 
ing in  wartime  at  least  55%  of  all  goods  and 
services  currently  produced  to  government 
for  the  winning  of  the  war  and  other  pur- 
poses will  be  mitigated. 

Peace  may  be  expected  to  reduce  the  ab- 
normally high  cost  of  government. 


Economical  governmental  housekeeping 
will  enrich  families  by  leaving  for  civilian  use 
a  much  larger  ratio  of  the  year's  production 
of  goods  and  services. 

When  the  opportunity  comes  to  beat  our 
guns  into  plowshares,  the  upswing  in  Ameri- 
can living  standards  can  be  resumed. 

In  order  to  assure  post-war  prosperity,  we 
should  use  the  basic  ingredients  which  pro- 
duced affluence  in  the  past. 

These  ingredients  include  both  natural 
resources  and  man-made  attributes. 

As  pace  setters  for  the  world,  we  must  con- 
tinue to  give  American  workingmen  and 
farmers  tools  with  which  to  beat  competition 
from  any  and  every  source. 

Likewise,  we  must  recognize  that  national 
growth  and  progress  spring  from  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  essential  harmony  of  interests  of 
all  American  groups.  This  attitude  is  the 
very  antithesis  of  destructive  class  warfare. 
It  represents  a  quest  for  an  equilibrium 
under  which  farmers,  industrial  workers  and 
the  great  service  groups  are  in  balanced  in- 
come relationships.  Under  such  circum- 
stances they  can  provide  employment  for- 
one  another  through  interchanging  the  spe- 
cialized products  of  their  year's  labor. 


.  In  our  interrelated  national  economy,  the 
far  flung  Armour  activities  redound  to  the 
advantage  of  all  groups — farmers,  workers, 
customers,  manufacturers  and  government 
itself.  By  way  of  illustration  Armour's  lead- 
ership in  finding  by-product  uses  for  mate- 
rials hitherto  considered  waste,  improves  the 
market  for  farm  products  while  relieving 
meat  consumers  of  part  of  the  overhead  cost 
of  packing  houses  and  while  supplying  in- 
dustry with  low  cost  domestic  fats  and  oils 
to  replace  scarce  foreign  oils. 

The  fruitfulness  of  American  industry 
points  the  way.  The  final  and  most  impor- 
tant ingredient  for  postwar  prosperity  must 
be  restoration  in  its  full  vigor  of  the  essen- 
tials of  the  free  American  system  of  govern- 
ment and  business  organization. 


President,  Armour  and  Company 

Ninth  of  a  series  of  statements  on  the  American  system 
of  free  enterprise  which  makes  possible  such  institutions 
for  service  as  Armour  and  Company. 


Treet  Is  the  meat 


_.,e«<«'^'" 


\ 


To  Make  This 
Homespun  Dinner 

Treet  and  Corn  Custards 

(  Serves  4  to  6) 
1  can  Armour's  Treet         %  tsp.  salt 


2  tbsps.  Cloverbldom 
Butter  or  Mayflower 
Margarine 

2  tbsps.  flour 


^  cup  milk 


Pepper 

2  cups  cooked  whole 

kernel  corn 
2  Cloverbloom  Eggs 


14  cup  chopped  green  pepper 


Blend  flour  in  melted  butter  and  add  milk  grad- 
ually, stirring  until  thick.  Add  seasonings,  corn, 
beaten  eggs  and  chopped  green  pepper.  Bake  in 
well  oiled  timbale  or  custard  cups  set  in  a  pan 
of  hot  water  for  40  minutes  in  350°  F.  oven,  or 
until  knife  inserted  in  center  comes  out  clean. 
Score  loaf  of  Treet  and  stud  with  cloves.  Com- 
bine 1  tbsp.  corn  syrup  with  2  tbsps.  brown  sugar 
and  spread  over  top  of  Treet.  Bake  25-30  min- 
utes in  350°  F.  oven.  Arrange  as  shown. 


.J..01*"*""' 


BUY     THE      BEST 


Trust  Treet  to  take  the  work  out  of  the  most  lip-smacking  meals 
your  family  ever  raved  about!  Breakfasts,  lunches,  dinners!  Treet 
is  extra  delicious  and  ready-to-eat— choice  pork  shoulder  delicately 
and  delightfully  seasoned,  and  vacuum-cooked  in  its  natural  juices. 
That's  why  its  flavor  is  so  rich  and  good.  Keep  Treet  on  hand  for 
the  finest  quick  meals— for  economy,  too!  Treet  is  all  meat — no 
bone,  no  waste.  One  tin  serves  four.  Enjoy  Treet  cold — sliced  as 
it  comes  from  the  tin.  Enjoy  Treet  hot — fried,  broiled,  baked — for 
easy  and  appetizing  variety. 

LItlan  lo  Hadda  Hoppar't  Hollywood  every  Monday  ntghl, 
over  CBS.  See  local  paper*  for  lime. 

ARMOUR 


■pirf^P*^"^ 


©   ARMOUR    AND    COyPANV 


BUY   ARMOUR'S    TREET 


and  Company 


56 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March.  1945 


^Ujt£e.tfeing^  THAT  MAKE 

WA8H/N&  WORK  CLOTHES  EASIER,/ 


/.  Don't  be  scared  to  grapple  with  grimy 
work  clothes.  Relax!  There  are  Things  To 
Do — like  starching  'em  to  give  'em  resist- 


ance to  dirt,  spots,  and  perspiration.  Like 
adding  Satina  to  your  starch  to  make  iron- 
ing easier.  More  tips.'  Read  on! 


Zt  Separate  work  clothes  into  light  and 
dark  groups  to  be  washed  accordingly.  If 
a  garment  is  being  washed  for  the  first 
time,  wash  it  separately,  because  the  color 
might  run  slightly.  Sew  on  loose  buttons, 
and  close  zippers. 


JtGef  rid  of  surface  dirt.  Give  clothes  a 
good  brushing.  Turn  pockets  inside  out 
and  brush  out  the  grit.  If  a  garment  is 
very  soiled,  soak  it  in  lukewarm  water, 
after  removing  spots,  for  about  thirty  min- 
utes before  washing. 


Out  with  spots!  Saturate  greasy  and 
oily  spots  with  kerosene,  or  add  a  cup  of 
kerosene  to  your  soaking  water.  Scrub 
especially  soiled  places  (like  collars  and 
cuflfs)  with  a  brush  and  soapsuds,  then 
wash  and  rinse  as  usual. 


Use  thin  Satina-starch  mixture  for 
work  clothes.  (Don't  starch  heavy  denims.) 
Add  fragrant  Satina  to  your  basic  starch; 
dilute  mixture  with  3  to  4  parts  warm 
water  to  1  part  basic  starch.  Satina  makes 
clothes  even  more  dirt-resistant! 


?•  Whenever  you  starch  anything  —  add 
Satina  to  speed  up  your  ironing  job,  help 
prevent  snags  and  teats — give  your  things 
a  glossy,  fragrant  finish.  No  sticking,  no 
pulling— with  Satina!  Only  a  few  cents  for 
a  whole  month's  supply! 


Tune  in :  "Two  on  a  Clue,"  new  mystery-comedy, 
every  day,  Monday  through  Friday,  CBS. 


(Continued  from  Page  54) 

"Well "  Laideau  seemed  to  hesitate. 

He  turned  to  the  policeman  who  was  writing. 
"She  wanted  to  come  to  Shadow  Island. 
She  asked  me  to  bring  her  in  a  rowboat.  So 
I  did.  She  came  up  to  the  house  and  I 
waited  down  there  at  the  pier.  She  came 
back  and  got  in  the  boat  and  we  started 
away.  Then  she  said  that  she  wanted  to 
come  back.  Said  she'd  forgotten  something. 
So  I  rowed  her  back  to  the  pier.  She  got  out 
and  said  for  me  not  to  wait  but  go  on  back 
to  Miami  Beach.  Said  she'd  get  home  all 
right.  So  I  did.  That's  all." 

"Okay,"  said  the  captain.  "Why  did  she 
want  to  come  to  Shadow  Island?" 

Laideau's  opaque  dark  eyes  shifted  to  the 
captain.  "She  didn't  say." 

"Why  did  she  want  to  return?" 

"She  didn't  say  that  either." 

"I  see." 

The  detective  had  a  disarming  appearance 
of  accepting  every  statement  at  its  face 
value;  he  was  smart,  thought  Marny  again, 
her  business  sense — the  sense  that  Tim 
Wales  had  trained  and  cultivated — rising  to 
the  surface  again,  touching  this  new  Marny 
who  didn't  seem  to  know  what  she  was 
doing,  who  was  perplexed  and  horribly  be- 
wildered and  frightened. 

"Mr.  Durant,"  said  the  detective,  sud- 
denly turning  to  Andre,  "this  has  been  a 
shock,  of  course.  Can  you — I've  got  to  ask 
you  some  questions,  you  understand." 

Andre  gave  a  kind  of  shiver  like  a  dog 
coming  out  of  water.  "All  right,"  he  said  in 
a  muffled  voice  behind  his  hand. 

Judith    made    a    sharp 

motion  forward,  opened  a       

crystal  cigarette  box,  took 
out  a  long  cigarette, 
reached  for  a  match  and 
then  accepted  a  light  from 
Charlie  Ingram,  seated  be- 
side her. 

The  detective  said  as  the 
match  sputtered,  "What 
was  your  wife's  maiden 
name?" 

"Watts,"  said  Andre, 
behind  his  hand. 

"Cecily  Watts?" 

"Of  course." 

"  Where  was  her  home  ?  " 

There  was  a  slight  pause ; 
then  Andre  said  heavily, 

"  In  Jamaica.  She  was  the       

daughter   of   an    English 

planter;    he   owned   a   sugar   plantation." 

"Is  he  alive?" 

"No." 

"Relatives?" 

"I — don't  know.  I  believe  there  was  a 
cousin  in  England.  Cecily  didn't  correspond 
much  with  her." 

"When  were  you  married?" 

"About  a  year  ago." 

"Was  her  father  alive  then? " 

Me  died  the  week  we  were  married;  he'd 
been  sick  a  long  time.  His  name  was 
Harrison  Watts."  Andre  moved  restively. 
"There's  a  record  of  everything  there  at 
Kingston,  if  you  want  it.  I  don't  see  what 
this  has  to  do  with  Ocily." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  people  to  notify.  Had 
your  wife  any  enemies?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

Laideau  said  raspingly,  "She  was  her  own 
worst  enemy.  She  shot  herself  and  threw  the 
gun  into  the  water.  She  was  not  well." 

"That  would  have  been  impossible,"  said 
the  detective  so  completely  without  empha- 
sis that  it  was  flatly  convincing.  "She  was 
murdered.  .  .  .  Had  she  any  enemies?"  he 
repeated,  looking  at  Andre. 

"No,"  said  Andre  after  a  pause.  "Laideau 
is  right,  though.  She  wasn't  well.  It  is  why 
we  were  not  living  together." 

"  I  see.  Had  you  taken  her  to  a  doctor?  " 

"No.  She  wouldn't  let  me.  She  had— 
fancies  like  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Laideau  heavily,  little  eyes 
fixed  on  the  detective,  sallow  heavy  face 
impassive.  "She  had  fancies  like  that.  It  is 
why  I  did  not  question  her  when  she  wished 
to  come  here,  and  when  she  wished  to  return. 
It  was  always  best  to  humor  her." 


"You  mean  that  she  was  mentally  un- 
steady— erratic?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Andre. 

"But  did  you  not  consult  a  doctor?" 

"No.  I  thought  it  best  to— to  \^ait.  I 
hoped  she  would  be  better." 

"Mr.  Durant,  I  must  ask  you  if  you  quar- 
reled with  your  wife.  I  could  ask  the  em- 
ployees, the  maids  and  bellboys  at  the  hotel 
where  you  tell  me  she  lived,  but  I  would 
prefer  getting  your  statement  about  it." 

He'll  ask  them  anyway,  thought  Marny; 
he  is  saying  that  to  warn  Andre. 

Andre  was  aware  of  it  too.  He  said,  "I 
told  you  she  was  not  well.  There  were  times 
when  she  was  hysterical.   It  was  not  easy." 

Laideau  said,  "  I  was  there.  He  did  every- 
thing he  could  do  for  her." 

Ihe  detective  put  out  his  cigarette.  He 
said,  "Mr.  Wales  tells  me  that  he  had  never 
seen  Mrs.  Durant.  Did  you  know  her,  Mrs. 
Wales?" 

Judith  said  "No."  She  did  not  add  to  it; 
she  did  not  explain;  she  returned  the  detec- 
tive's glance  with  every  appearance  of 
candor. 

He  said,  "I  understand  Mr.  Durant  is  a 
guest  here." 

"Yes,  he  is,"  replied  Judith.  "He  has  been 
here  almost  a  month.  Except  for  a  trip  to 
New  York." 

"I  didn't  know  about  that,"  said  the  de- 
tective. "When  did  you  return,  Mr.  Durant? 
Did  you  take  your  wife  with  you?" 

Andre  said,  "  I  went  to  New  York  a  week 

ago — a  little  over  a  week  ago — on  business. 

Cecily    remained    at    the 

Villa  Nova,  the  hotel.    I 

got  back  this  afternoon." 
"We  all  arrived  to- 
gether," said  Tim  Wales, 
and  explained.  They  had 
come  in  by  plane;  they 
had  reached  the  house  be- 
fore seven  o'clock. 

"Did  you  communicate 
with  your  wife,  Mr.  Dur- 
ant?  I  mean  during  your 
visit  North?" 
"No." 

There  was  a  little  si- 
lence. 

The  detective  said, 
"Mrs.  Durant  must  have 
had  some  purpose  in  com- 

ing  here.    Was  it  to  see 

you,  Mr.  Durant?" 
"No."  Andre  looked  at  the  detective,  his 
eyes  bright  and  hard.  "I  did  not  see  her. 
I  did  not  see  her  or  talk  to  her.    I  know 
nothing  of  this.  Nothing." 

"Miss  Sanderson  saw  her,"  said  Bill 
Cameron  suddenly.  "I  told  you  about  that. 
Mrs.  Durant  was  on  the  balcony,  so  she  did 
reach  the  house." 

"I  understand  she  told  you  her  name." 
The  detective  was  looking  at  Marny  and 
Marny  replied  as  if  somebody  else  were 
speaking,  somebody  who'd  been  told  what  to 
say  and  why,  and  how  to  say  it : 
"Yes.  Yes,  she  told  me  her  name." 
"About  what  time  was  that?"  the  detec- 
tive went  on.  , 

"  I'm  not  sure."  She  thought  back:  it  had 
been  a  quarter  after  seven  when  she  had  re- 
turned to  her  room  from  the  pool.  She  had 
talked  to  Judith,  rinsed  her  hair,  had  a  long 
bath.  "I  think  it  was  after  seven-thirty. 
I'm  not  sure." 

"Had  you  ever  seen  her  before?  Did  you 
know  her?" 

"No.  She " 

"She  was  very  nervous.  Miss  Sanderson 
said,"  intervened  Bill  Cameron  with  every 
appearance  of  being  helpful  and  informative. 
"Then  she  went  down  to  the  boat  and  I  saw 
it  leave."  He  jerked  his  head  toward 
Laideau.  "As  you  know,  Laideau  was  with 
her,  rowing." 

"Did  anyone  else  see  her?"  asked  the  de- 
tective. His  blue  eyes  went  slowly  around 
the  room.  No  one  spoke.  He  said,  "I'll  have 
to  ask  for  statements,  by  the  way;  I  may  as 
well  do  it  now.  So  far  as  we  know  now,  the 
girl  was  killed  between  seven-thirty  and  a 
quarter  after  eight,  when  she  was  found.  Is 


SO  THEY  SAY 

^  The  difference  between  a 
^  moral  man  and  a  man  of 
honor  is  that  the  latter  re- 
grets a  discreditable  act  even 
when  it  has  worked. 

—MENCKEN. 

It  would  be  nice  to  have  all 
the  money  you've  spent  fool- 
ishly so  you  could  spend  it 
foolishly  again.  ANON. 

A  necessity  is  something 
you  can't  get  along  without, 
but  do.  A  luxury  is  something 
you  ought  to  get  along  with- 
out, but  don't.  — ANON. 


that  right,  commander? ' 


LADIKS'  HOME  JOLKNAL 


57 


:  CLOROX-CUAN 

~  BATHROOMS... 

n  basic  step  in 

Home  Health 

Protection! 


\WMYTAKeCHANC[S! 


i  CIOROX-CIEAN 

lis  hygienically 
clean!" 


If  you  like  your 
bathroom  spotlessly 
clean  you'll  like  it  bet- 
ter when  it's  Clorox- 
Clean,  for  Clorox  dis- 
infects . . .  makes  germ 
"hideouts"— possible 
infection  centers— sanitary.  It's  easy 
to  give  your  family  this  added 
health  security  by  using  Clorox  in 
routine  cleansing  of  tile,  enamel, 
linoleum,  wood  surfaces.  Clorox 
has  many  important  personal  as 
well  as  household  uses.  Simply  fol- 
low directions  on  the  label. 

AMERICA'S  FAVORITE  BLEACH  AND 
HOUSEHOLD  DISINFECTANT 


U  LU 1 1  U^V     ■"OBO""'  ^BLEACHES 


FREE   FROM  CAUSTIC 


REMOVES  STAINS 


BONITA  GRANVILLE.  Starring  in 

UnitfrsaVs  "ITS  NEVER    TOO  LATE". 

finds  her  pet  canary  another  one  of 

her  many  admirers. 

HAVE  A  BIT  OF  HOLLYWOOD 
RIGHT  IN  YOUR  HOME 


Canaries  continue  to  be  four- 
star  hits  in  Hollywood  while, 
more  and  more,  the  hobby  cap- 
tivates America.  Why  not  have 
a  "Hollywood  corner"  in  your 
home  with  one  of  these  lovable, 
golden-voiced  little  creatures? 
They're  easily  cared  for  and 
will  bring  you  no  end  of  cheer. 
And,  as  Hollywood  does,  let 
French's  help  keep  your  canary 
a  happy  singer! 

OWN  A  CANARY . .  .fW  ONLY  PET  THAT  SINGS  ! 


w^mm  ..-^ 


Leaves  sweaters,  blankets,  wool- 
ens soft,  fluffy  —  really  clean. 
Made  by  a  wooJ  firm. 
25< — at  notions,  art 
needlework,  and 
housewares  depts. 

• 
WOOLFOAM  CORP. 
f^lA     I6A  West  20lh  SIreel 
■  New  Yofk   n,  N.  Y. 


Bill  Cameron  thought  for  an  instant, 
frowning  a  little.  "Yes.  I  think  so.  I  arrived 
about  seven-thirty,  perhaps  a  little  after 
that.  No  one  was  down  yet;  the  butler 
showed  me  to  this  room  and  I  went  out  on 
the  porch.  As  I  told  you,  I  saw  her  leave;  it 
was  not  later  than  eight-fifteen  when  we 
found  her." 

Judith  stirred;  she  sat  up  straight.  "  If  you 
want  alibis.  Captain  Manson,  then  I  can 
give  you  at  least  one." 

Tim  said,  "Judith " 

"You  seem  to  believe  that  Andre — Mr. 
Durant — may  have  murdered  his  wife.  Sim- 
ply because  she  was  his  wife  and  you  must 
liave  a  suspect.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  he 
didn't."  She  lowered  her  eyes,  slowly,  so  the 
white  eyelids  veiled  them.  She  appeared  to 
look  at  her  cigarette,  burning  down  almost 
to  the  slender  white  finger  tips.  And  said, 
"He  was  with  me." 

But  Andre,  thought  Marny  suddenly  in 
the  sudden  silence,  had  not  told  her  that. 

IX 

liM  WALES  got  up  with  a  violent  motion, 
his  face  red.  Winnie  got  up  quickly,  too, 
said  repressively,  "Now,  father,"  and  went 
to  sit  beside  her  stepmother. 

"I'm  sorry,  Tim."  said  Judith,  without 
looking  at  her  elderly  husband.  "But  obvi- 
ously the  police  suspect  him,  and  he  simply 

couldn't  have  done  it.  He "  She  looked 

directly  at  the  policeman  with  the  notebook 
and  made  her  statement.  It  was  brief,  con- 
cise and  simple.  She  had  gone  to  Marny's — 
Miss  Sanderson's — room  and  talked  for  a 
few  minutes.  She  had  happened  to  note  the 
time  when  she  left  and  it  was  just  past  seven- 
thirty.  She  had  returned  to  her  own  room 
and  Andre,  already  dressed  for  dinner,  had 
come  to  her  there.  He  had  wanted  to  tell  her 
the  outcome  of  his  business  in  New  York. 
She  was  in  the  dressing  room  adjoining  her 
bedroom  and  had  heard  him  knock  at  the 
bedroom  door  and  told  him  to  come  in.  "I 
told  him  I  was  dressing;  to  sit  down  and 
wait.  He  sat  in  a  chair  by  the  window  and 
talked  through  the  door;  it  was  open  a  little. 
I  had  only  to  get  into  my  dress  and  I  did 
so,  and  came  out  into  the  bedroom.  He  sat 
there  and  talked  until  we  came  downstairs 
to  dinner.  That's  all,  except  if  Cecily  was 
murdered  during  that  time  Andre  couldn't 
have  done  it." 

Winnie  put  her  arm  around  Judith,  with  a 
defiant  glance  at  her  father. 

The  detective  said,  "You  corroborate  this, 
Mr.  Durant?" 

Andre  glanced  at  Tim  Wales  and  said 
hesitantly,  "I — well,  yes.  That  is — yes." 

"You  may  have  to  tell  this  in  court,  you 
know,  Mrs.  Wales,"  said  the  detective. 
"Have  you  thought  of  that?" 

Judith's  lovely  chin  went  up.  She  still 
would  not  look  at  Tim.  "It  is  quite  true, 
captain." 

Winnie's  face  flushed.  She  cried  unevenly, 
"It  doesn't  matter.  It  isn't  the  way  it 
sounds.  That  is — it's  just  Judith.  Just — I 
mean — why,  we  all  go  into  Judith's  room; 
we  have  breakfast  coffee  there  or — it's  just 
a  custom." 

Tim  Wales  said  in  a  strange  voice,  "Win- 
nie, don't  try  to  explain." 

And  Captain  Manson  said  quietly,  "Will 
you  take  the  other  statements,  one  at  a  time. 
Willie?  We  have  some  routine  to  see  to.  It's 
late ;  you've  all  been  very  pat  lent. "  He  made 
a  quiet  little  bow  and  walked  out  of  the 
room  through  the  hall  and  out  the  front  door. 

It  was  so  late,  and  so  still  that  they  could 
hear  even  at  that  distance  the  murmur  of 
voices  outside,  where  apparently  a  squad  car 
waited  for  him,  and  then  the  sound  of  an 
automobile  starting  up.  It  gave  them  all 
perhaps  a  curious  sense  of  shock  and  sur- 
prise; it  was  as  if  he  had  seen  something  they 
iiad  not  seen,  had  gathered  some  evidence 
that  none  of  them  had  gathered,  and  had 
gone  away  to  do  something  about  it. 

Winnie  half  started  up,  sank  back  on  the 
sofa,  her  face  bewildered.  "But  he — he's 
gone.  Why " 

Tim  said  to  Judith,  "  It's  late.  You'd  better 
go  upstairs." 

"My  statement "  began  Judith,  and 

Tim  said  roughly. 


Mrs.  Oh-But-I-Couldn't-Think-of-Changing 

"I've  been  washing  for  twenty  years,  young  lady  .  .  . 

"And  I've  always  done  my  washing  and  my  bluing  separately! 
No,  ma'am,  I  wouldn't  dream  of  changing! 

'Of  course  it  takes  time!  But  what  was  good  enough  for  Mother 
is  good  enough  for  me." 


Mrs.  ril-Try-Anything-Thal'll-Do-A-Beller-Job 

"Listen!  If  there's  any  way  that  I  can  make  less  work  for  myself,  and 
do  a  better  job— I'm  for  it! 

"And  if  La  France  bluing  flakes  can  blue  clothes  snowy-white,  right  hi  my  regular 
aoapsuds.  without  a  single  bluing  streak— 

"Well,  wouldn't  I  be  a  sap  not  to  try  it?  Mercy!  What  a  relief  it  will  be  to 
do  without  that  back-breaking  separate  bluing  job— 

"And  what  fun  to  get  lovelier,  whiter,  brighter  washes  with 
easy,  gentle  La  France!  . .  .Why  don't  you  try  it,  too.-'" 

La  France 

La  France  blues  without  streaks -rigiit  in  the  suds .' 


58 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


The  Aliens  lent  us  their  Apartment 


All  ours — for  our  honeymoon.  "All  mine,"  you  said,  "Your  hands— so 
soft  against  my  face."  (Suppose  I  Iiadn't  used  Jergens  Lotion!  My  job  dries 
nature's  softeners  from  my  hand  skin.  But  Jergens  is  so  easy  to  use. ) 


^ 


Wc  played  with  the  Aliens'  eat.  So  silky-soft.  "Your  hands  are  softer,"  you 
said.  My  hands  will  always  be  soft  for  you,  dear.  I'll  faithfully  use  Jergens. 


College  girls — so  clever — 
use  Jergens  Lotion,  nearly  4  to  1. 

Like  professional  care  for  helping  to 
keep  hands  adorable,  prevent  de- 
pressing roughness.  2  very  special  in- 


gredients in  Jergens!   Many  doctors 
use  these  same  ingredients  to  help 
even  raspy  skin  become  smooth,  en- 
dearingly feminine.  Simple!  No  stick-  J^S 
iiiess.  104  to  $1.00,  plus  tax.         y-^Wi- 


For  the  softest,  adorable  Hands,  USE 


JERGENS  LOTION 


"He's  got  your  statement.  He'll  have  you 
sign  it.  You've  said  enough." 

Bill  Cameron  crossed  to  Marny  and  sat 
down  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  His  face  was 
cold  and  hard-looking;  his  eyes  enigmatic. 
He  said.  "This  may  take  a  little  time. 
Cigarette?" 

Judith  got  up  from  the  sofa  gracefully, 
and  went  to  Tim;  she  put  her  hand  on  Tim's 
shoulder  and  looked  at  him  with  a  strange, 
still  expression.  This  time,  however,  it  was 
Tim  who  would  not  look  at  her;  he  said, 
"You'd  better  go." 

All  at  once  Judith  became  again  the  beauti- 
ful, self-possessed  and  charming  woman  they 
were  familiar  with  but  did  not,  Marny 
thought  suddenly,  really  know;  she  lifted 
her  bare  shoulders  in  a  faint  shrug  and  said, 
"Very  well.  I'm  sorry,  Tim;  but  I  had  to 
tell  them  the  truth.  They  would  have 
charged  Andre  with  murder  in  another  min- 
ute or  two."  She  went  calmly,  with  great 
self-possession,  to  the  door,  turned  and  in- 
credibly smiled  and  said  good  night. 

Winnie  started  to  wring  her  hands,  seemed 
suddenly  aware  of  it  and  stopped,  with  a 
queer  look  of  amazement  on  her  face.  She 
went  to  her  father  and  Tim  said,  roughly 
again,  "Not  now,  Winnie,"  and  went 
abruptly  out  onto  the  porch.  And  the  busi- 
ness of  making  statements  began.  State- 
ments which  at  once  reduced  themselves  to 
the  recital  of  a  few  simple  facts. 

Marny  listened  automatically,  thinking  of 
Judith  and  Andre  and  Andre's  alibi.  Winnie 
had  been  dressing  and  seeing  that  the  table 
was  properly  laid  and  the  flowers  arranged; 
Bill  Cameron  had  been  sitting  on  the  porch 
and  had  seen  Cecily  leave,  then  he  had 
joined  the  others;  Charlie  Ingram  had 
arrived  at  eight,  and  had  come  immediately 
into  the  drawing  room  where  everybody  but 
Marny  herself  was  already  gathered. 

Bill  Cameron  knew  when  and  in  what 
order  people  had  arrived  in  the  drawing  room 
and  told  the  policeman  succinctly.  He  had 
looked  at  his  watch,  he  said;  he  wasn't  sure 
just  when  Mrs.  Durant  had  come  down  the 


March,  1945 

Stairway  from  the  balcony  and  had  crossed 
the  lawn,  but  he  did  know  that  it  was  five 
minutes  to  eight  when  Andre  and  Judith 
came  into  the  living  room,  for  he  had  heard 
their  voices  and  had  joined  them ;  •Winnie 
had  come  in  a  few  minutes  later,  and  then 
Tim  Wales  and  Charlie  Ingram.  Miss  San- 
derson, he  said  definitely,  had  come  down 
the  stairs  from  the  balcony,  had  strolled 
across  the  lawn:  "She  went  down  toward  the 
bay;  it  looked  very  pretty  just  then.  I  went 
after  her  to  tell  her  dinner  was  ready.  I 
reached  her  just  as  she  found  Mrs.  Durant." 

It  was  the  truth  as  far  as  it  went.  The 
policeman  made  quick  marks  in  his  note- 
book, and  went  out  onto  the  porch  to  ques- 
tion Tim.  And  at  twenty  minutes  after  two 
exactly  he,  too,  went  away. 

Charlie  Ingram  went  home,  looking  shaken 
and  red  and  worried;  Bill  Cameron  stayed 
in  the  house  and  so  did  Laideau.  Winnie 
invited  them. 

"You'll  want  to  stay  with  Andre,"  she 
said  to  Laideau.  "  Please  do;  there  is  a  vacant 

room  next  to  his — a  small  one,  but And 

you,  too,  Commander  Cameron.  I'll  get  a 
razor  and  pajamas  for  you.  You  can't  get  a 
taxi  at  this  hour,  I'm  afraid;  it  is  rather 
difficult  since  the  war." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bill  Cameron.  "I'd 
like  to  stay." 

Winnie  led  him  upstairs.  The  servants  had 
gone  to  bed  long  since;  the  light  was  on  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  along  the  corridors 
that  branched  irregularly  from  a  central 
landing  above.  Andre  and  Laideau  had  dis- 
appeared together  and  Tim  was  at  the  tele- 
phone, getting  long  distance. 

"The  reporters  will  get  at  the  New  York 
office  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  he  told 
Marny.  "Have  to  tell  somebody  what  to 
say." 

Marny  went  on  up  the  stairs;  she  felt 
exactly  like  a  mechanical  doll,  wound  up  but 
running  down;  she  opened  the  door  to  her 
own  room  and  entered  it  and  sat  down  on  the 
bed.  The  bed  was  turned  down.  The  carafe 
of  water  refilled  and  the  stopper  replaced. 


Jhh  homogenfzeil  facial  kelps 
give  (ace  and  neck  remarkable 

BEAUTY-LIFT' 


Helps  Skin  Appear  Firmer,  Smoother— 
So  Caressingly  Soft  With  Each  Application! 


Now!  Right  in  your  own  home  you  can 
give  your  face  and  neck  a  thrilling  new 
'Beauty-Lift'  with  Edna  Wallace  Hop- 
per's Homogenized  Facial  Cream. 
This  famous  method  of  skin  care  gives 
you  a  complete  de  luxe  facial  in  only  8 
minutes.  It's  really  inspiring  to  see  how 
it  leaves  your  skin  looking  so  much 
smoother,  firmer,  with  an  enchanting 
baby  freshness. 

The  Hopper  Method— Why  It's  So  ACTIVE 

Briskly   pat   this   especially   homogenized 
lubricating   cream    over   face   and    neck 


(follow  arrows  in  diagram).  Gently  press 
an  EXTRA  amount  of  Hopper's  over  any 
lines  or  wrinkles.  Leave  on  about  8 
minutes.  Then  tissue  off. 

The  reason  Hopper's  Cream  is  so  active 
and  lubricates  the  skin  so  expertly  and 
evenly  —  why  it  gives  such  an  eflfective 
facial  —  is  because  it's  homogenized! 
Faithful  use  helps  maintain  natural 
dazzling  beauty  thruout  the  years.  Also 
an  excellent  powder  base.  Be  sure  to  buy 
Hopper's  Homogenized  Facial  Cream  to- 
day.  Get  it  at  any  cosmetic  counter. 


(^^^/^i^<:^^ HOPPER  9  FACIAL  CREAM 


Otherwise  the  room  was  exactly  as  it  had 
been  when  she'd  left  it  to  find  Cecily. 

Well,  she'd  found  her. 

Quite  suddenly  the  thing  that  had  sus- 
tained her,  the  wound-up  spring,  ran  down 
completely.  She  flung  herself  over,  across 
the  bed,  and  put  her  head  in  her  arms.  She 
couldn't  cry  and  it  wouldn't  help  anyway. 
She  couldn't  think  and  she  must  think. 

For  one  thing,  she  had  to  decide  for  her- 
self a  course  of  conduct.  She  had  followed 
Bill  Cameron's  lead,  obeyed  him  blindly, 
failed  to  tell  the  police  what  she  knew  of 
Cecily's  visit  to  Shadow  Island.  Was  it  be- 
cause it  was  easier?  Because  she  dreaded 
the  ugly  implications?  Because  they  would 
say  she  had  murdered  Cecily?  Or  because 
of  Andre? 

But  Judith  had  had  courage.  If  Judith 
had  not  given  Andre  a  firm  and  prompt  alibi 
they  would  almost  certainly  have  arrested 
him  and  charged  him  with  murder.  It  was 
in  the  air;  it  was  in  the  detective's  eyes;  it 
was  in  the  way  all  of  them  looked  at  Andre. 
Andre  was  the  obvious  suspect;  no  one  else 
except  Judith  even  knew  Cecily.  You  had  to 
know  somebody  very  well,  thought  Marny — 
you  had  to  have  some  very  strong  and  very 
urgent  and  very  personal  motive  to  commit 
murder.  But  Andre  was  with  Judith  when 
Cecily  was  shot  in  the  back. 

How  long  did  a  police  investigation  last? 
Until  they  found  the  murderer,  of  course. 
Until  they  discovered  who  it  was  who  met 
little  Cecily  Watts — Cecily  Durant,  married 
to  Andre  a  year — there  by  the  pier  and  be- 
hind the  bamboos,  and  shot  her.  So  no  one 
in  the  house  knew  that  that  shot  had  been 
fired. 

Somebody  was  walking  along  the  balcony. 
One  does  not  immediately  accept  a  thing  so 
bizarre,  so  awry,  so  vehemently  outside  the 
ordered  scheme  of  things  as  murder.  Marny 
thought  merely,  without  much  interest, 
Someone  is  walking  on  the  balcony ;  someone  is 
approaching  this  room.  Murder  had  walked 
that  night — somewhere  on  the  island,  some- 
where near. 


59 


She  sat  qp,  her  heart  pounding  in  her 
throat,  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  black 
screened  door,  open,  with  its  little  froth  of 
insects  gathered  on  it  outside. 

Then  Tim  Wales  was  there :  Tim  in  a  white 
bathrobe,  Tim  looking  queer  and  pale  in  the 
half  light.  He  said  in  a  whisper,  "Marny," 
and  opened  the  door.  He  came  in  and  sat 
down  on  the  foot  of  her  bed.  "Got  a  cig- 
arette?" 

Her  heart  was  still  beating  hard  in  her 
throat;  it  was  atavistic,  this  sense  of  danger. 

She  said,  "Yes,"  and  went  to  the  dressing 
table  and  came  back  with  the  small  green 
cigarette  box  and  matches.  Tim  took  the 
cigarette  and  lighted  it  with  a  jerk. 

"Marny,  you'll  have  to  help  me.  The 
newspapers  will  be  on  us  like  vultures  in  the 
morning.  I  don't  know  how  Manson  kept 
them  off  tonight."  He  rubbed  one  hand  over 
his  head.  "Judith  won't  talk  to  me.  She's 
gone  in  her  room  and  locked  the  door.  If 
she'd  kept  still  they'd  have  arrested  Andre 
Durant,  and  a  good  job.   He  killed  her." 

After  a  moment  Marny  said,  "He  couldn't 
have  killed  her.  He  has  an  alibi." 

"You  mean  Judith  gave  him  an  alibi.  She 
saw  it  coming.  We  all  saw  it  coming.  He 
hadn't  the  chance  of  a  snowball  in  hell.  I 
don't  believe  all  that  stuff  about  her  being 
crazy.  She  was  crazy  to  marry  him — but 
that's  all.  He  saw  a  chance  for  better  game 
and  left  her.  Got  himself  wedged  in  here. 
Told  Laideau  to  see  that  he  kept  Cecily  out 
of  the  way.  Didn't  even  tell  anybody  he  was 
married." 

"Judith  knew  it." 

Tim  hunched  up  his  knees  and  wrapped 
the  bathrobe  around  him  so  he  looked  old 
and  sagging  and  fat  and  helpless.  But  he 
wasn't  helpless;  he  was  as  wily  as  a  fox  and 
as  strong  as  a  wolf.  He  said,  "Yes,  Judith 
knew  it.  Judith — that's  why  we  came  to 
Florida,  Marny.  I  didn't  tell  you;  it  didn't 
seem  fair  to  Judith.  She's  young  and  she's 
beautiful  and  men  like  her  and  why  shouldn't 
they?  I've  been  afraid — but  if  or  when  she 
got  mixed  up  with  a  man  I  wasn't  going  to 


i^.^% 


Yes,  Scott's  new  Soft-Weve 
actually  has  that  wonderful  cleansing- 
tissue  softness.  But  that  isn't  all  — 
it's  firm,  too,  as  a  toilet  tissue  should 
be.  I  w^as  amazed  w^hen  I  first  tried  it 
— amazed  and  pleased  as  you  will  be! 


CSeMHuMi  "ttrnt  S(^...'UiM'iUMi  ^jnm. 


Only  one  soap 
gives  your  skin 
this  exciting 
Bouquet 


Ji 


:m^ 


iM 


For  75  romantic  years,  popular  girls 
have  ballKMl  with  Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap 

Why  is  his  heart  all  a  (hitter?  Could  be  that  you  bathed 
with  Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap,  so  you're  sweet,  fresh,  dainty  as  a 
dew-washed  rose.  And  your  skin  whispers  of  Cashmere 
Bouquet,  the  fragrance  men  loi'e.  Carliniere  Bouquet     ^Ip*"  ^p^  - 
alone  brings  you  this  exquisite  fragrance.  .   '  " 


It  comes  from  a  secret  wedding  of  rare 

perfumes,  far  more  costly  than 

you'd  expect  to  find  in 

any  soap.  So  bathe  every  day 

with  Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap, 

and  be  ever  dainty,  ever  desirable. 


3  CAKES  FOR  27^ 


%. 


ftWER^ 


ADOBIWS   YOUR    SKIIV   WITH 


.-...:■    .7..  .  ^n  .  w^».    «.».i>T  .  ^-T^ 


60 


LADIE?-  HOME  JOLRNAL 


March,  1S»45 


>Irs.Pierpoiit  3Iorg*an  Hamilton 

Beautiful  Mrs.  Hamilton  is  one  of  New  York"?  most  dynamic 
society  leaders.  She  is  especially  admired  for  her  fine  work  as  executive 
Wee-chairman  of  the  famous  Lewisohn  Stadium  Concerts  .  .  . 
for  her  delightful  entertaining  at  home  .  .  . 
and  for  her  perfect  st^le  sense  and  faultless  grooming. 
"I  have  found  my  clue  to  a  smoother,  fresher  looking 
complexion  in  the  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's  ^  anishing  Cream," 
says  dark-haired,  gray- eyed  Mrs.  Hamilton.  "I  give  myself 
a  Mask  three  or  four  times  a  week.  It's  the  ideal 

quick  beauty  pick-up  ...  so  easy  and  so  effective!" 


M»c« 


let  It  hurt  her.  I  wasn't  going  to  let  it  be  an 
Andre.  He — I've  investigated  him  a  little." 

"You  what?" 

His  small,  shrewd  eyes  shot  her  a  suspi- 
cious glance.  "I  said  I  investigated  him. 
Not  ver\"  thoroughly — yet.  But  enough." 

"Enough " 

He  made  a  vague  gesture.  "Oh.  he's  never 
been  in  jail.   But  his  record " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  record?" 

"I've — well.  I've  inquired.  Some.  I — you 
see.  Judith  sent  him  to  me.  with  a  letter  ask- 
ing me  to  consider  gi\'ing  him  a  job.  I  never 
knew  Judith  to  take  much  interest  in  getting 
anybody  a  job.  s<d  I  sized  the  fellow  up;  not 
that  it  needed  much  thought.  I  kept  him 
around,  as  you  know;  let  him  talk,  watched 
him.  I  didn't  find  out  about  Cecily;  I'll 
know  more  about  that  by  morning.  So  will 
the  police.  From  here  I'd  say  he  got  hold  of 
her  when  her  father  was  sick  and  couldn't  do 
aqvthing  about  it ;  married  her  as  soon  as  he 
was  sure  her  father  was  going  to  die,  and  got 
whatever  money  there  was." 

"Tim.  you  are "  She  checked  herself. 

She  couldn't  say  jealous — suspicious — deter- 
mined to  get  rid  of  Andre  in  the  same  inex- 
orable, all-but-unscrupulous  way  in  which 
from  time  to  time  he'd  got  rid  of  business 
rivals.  She  said.  "You  are  not  quite  fair. 
Tim.  You  are  letting  yourself  be  influenced 
by  your  emotions." 

He  went  on:  "Not  much  money.  I  fancy, 
lor  he  seems  to  be  very  thoroughly  out  of 
cash  right  now.  Of  course  this  fellow  Laideau 
may  have  got  his  share.  They're  always  to- 
gether; they're  an  unsavory  pair.  Well,  I 
came  down  here  to  get  rid  of  Andre  as 
quickly  but  as  quietly  and  easily  as  I  could. 
You  see" — Tim  took  a  long  puff  from  his 
cigarette  and  looked  hard  at  his  slippered 
feet — "you  see.  Mamy.  I  have  to  go  slow. 
I  have  to  ride  with  an  easy  rein.  I  couldn't 
come  down  here  and  order  him  out  of  the 
house  and  tell  Judith  never  to  see  him  again. 
If  I  were  younger — if  I  were  a — a" — he  said 
with  a  wry  twist  of  his  lips —"if  I  were  a 
more  romantic  lover.  I  could  do  that.  As  it 


.\/r.s.  Pierpimt  Morgan  Hamilton,  derdtec  of  the  1-Minute  Mask  uith  Pnnifs  Vanishing  Cream 

Ho^*'  to  "re-style"  your  face  —  quickly ! 

Slather  a  fragrant,  pearlx-uhite  axit  of  I'ond  s  \  anisliiui;  Cream 

over  vour  cheeks,  chin,  forehead — e\erytliing  hut  eyes.  Leave  this 
creamv-cool  Mask  on  your  face  for  one  full  minute.  Tlien  tissue  it  off. 

Results  of  the  Mask  show  right  away  I  '"Keratohlic"  action  of 

Ponds  Vanishing  Cream  has  loosened  and  dissolved  po\\der- 
scuffing  little  skin  roughnesses  and  beauty-dulling  dirt  particles! 
Your  "re-styled"  complevion  feels 
blessedly  smoother.  Just  right 
for  make-up!  And  it  Uniks  so  much 
prettier!  Qearer  .  .  .  fresher. 

Even  lighter!  But  see  for  yourself-;— 
have  Your  1-Minute  Mask  todav  I 


For  extra-quick  ponder  base  .  .  . 

Slick  on  a  lerv  light  film  of  PondV 
Vanishing  Cream — and  leaie  it  on. 
Smoothing  .  .  .  non-greas%  .  .  . 
Takes  make-up  beautifulK  I 


Get  the  luscious  BIG  jar! 


is— no.  I  had  to  do  it  easily,  skillfully.  At 
least  that's  what  I  planned.  That's  why  I 
came.  I  didn't  think  Judith  would  let  her- 
self get  involved  \yith  a  man  of  his  tiyp^. 
God  knows  there  are  plenty  of  them  floating 
around.  But  Judith  seemed  too  smart,  too 
sophisticated.  I  thought  I  could  do  it  slowly, 
find  out  just  how  much  she  was  involved. 
But  I  didn't  figure  that  she  really  loved  him." 

The  disarming  thing  about  Tim  Wales  was 
that  even  at  his  shrewd,  suspicious,  all-but- 
unscrupulous  worst  you  liked  him. 

She  said  quickly.  "She  doesn't  love  him. 
Tim." 

"You're  kind.  Mamy,  and  you're  fond  of 
me.  You're  tr\-ing  to  save  my  pride.  Would 
a  woman  like  Judith  put  herself  out  on  a 
limb  like  that  for  a  man  she  didn't  love?  " 

"Tim.  we  all  know  Judith.  She's  always 
been  casual,  informal " 

"Informal."  said  Tim  and  gave  an  ugly 
short  laugh.  "The  trouble  is  I  can't,  now. 
kick  him  out  of  the  house.  Everything's 
public  now.  I've  got  to  stand  by  him  to  save 
Judith's  face.  Winnie  sa\"s  there  was  noth- 
ing to  it — Judith  and  he  were  simply  good 
friends.  Judith  likes  anybody  who  amuses 
her.  She  always  has." 

"Winnie  is  right.  Tim." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Wirmie'd  swear  her- 
self black  in  the  face  to  stand  by  Judith.  I 
talked  to  her  just  now  for  a  while.  I — God 
help  me.  I  questioned  her.  Judith's  in  love 
with  Durant.  and  God  knows  how  far  she's 
got  herself  involved.  I'll  bet  anything  I've 
got  that  he's  made  his  livelihood  by  women. 
Why.  he  even  made  a  play  for  you.  Mamy." 

"Tim " 

"\\'hile  he  was  trving  to  get  me.  Judith's 
husband,  to  give  him  a  job  that  paid  well 
and  involved  ver\-  little  work,  he  went  after 
you !  Thank  God.  you  had  sense  enough  to 
know  it." 

"Tim.  you're  wrong.  You're — you're  jeal- 
ous and  unfair.  It's  blinding  your  judgment. 
He  wanted  nothing  from  me." 

He  swept  on.  staring  at  the  floor,  unheed- 
ing: ■■  I'd  like  to  kill  him  with  my  own  hands. 


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I 


LADIES' 


ME  JOURNAL 


I — was  so  happy,  Marny.    I  love  her  so 
much." 

Suddenly  she  couldn't  bear  the  look  in  his 
face.  She  put  her  hand  almost  timidly  on 
his  arm.  "Tim,"  she  said,  "give  yourself 
and  Judith  a  chance." 

Again  he  did  not  listen;  he  went  on: 
"We've  got  to  plan  things.  We've  got  to  fix 
up  a  story  for  the  newspapers.  I've  got  to 
save  Judith  from  the — headlines.  From  the 
things  that  could  happen  to  her  all  the  rest 
of  her  life.  But  he  murdered  that  girl.  And 
he's  going  to  hang  for  it.  And,"  said  Tim, 
hard  and  white  and  grim,  "I'll  be  there  to 
see  it.   I'd  like  to  see  him  hang." 

"Tim "  Again  she 

checked  herself.  

But  he  wanted  to  believe 
in  Andre's  guilt.  He  was 
determined  to  belif  e  in  it. 
He  went  on:  "The  police 
will  be  here  tomorrow. 
They  didn't  even  get  un- 
limbered  tonight.  That  fel- 
low Manson  is  smart.  He's 
going  to  look  over  the 
ground,  investigate,  check. 
He  left  loopholes  —  all 
kinds  of  loopholes;  ques- 
tions he  could  have  asked 
and  didn't.  He  was  going 

to  arrest  Durant;  I'm  sure       

of  that.  And  Judith  put 
a  spoke  in  his  wheel.  So  now  he'll  go  about 
it  cagily,  getting  the  dope  quietly,  sneaking 
around,  and  then  spring  it  on  us.  I  know  his 
type."  He  got  up  and  found  an  ash  tray. 
His  fat,  shiny  hands,  usually  so  firm,  so 
determined,  so  steady,  were  shaking. 

She  said,  trying  to  overcome  a  kind  of  sick 
horror,  trying  to  speak  calmly  and  sensibly, 
"You'd  better  go  to  bed  now,  Tim.  It's  hor- 
rible, all  of  it.  It's — stunned  us.  I  can't 
think  anything  that's  straight  and  logical 
and  makes  any  sense.  Neither  can  you.  Go 
to  bed  and  take  something  to  sleep.  You've 
got  those  pills  the  doctor  gave  you  last  win- 
ter when  you  weren't  sleeping,  haven't  you?  " 


THE  BEST  AGE 


is     the     best 
mother    to    give 


^  Twenty-four 
^  age    fo 

birth  to  a  child.  The  closer 
she  is  to  forty-five  when  the 
children  are  born,  the  greater 
the  danger  that  the  child  will 
be  physically  or  mentally  sub- 
normal. Fathers  between 
forty-five  and  sixty  produce 
two  to  ten  times  as  many  tal- 
ented children  as  fathers  un- 
der forty-five.  _H.  G.  BEIGEL: 
Marriage:  Fobles,  Facts  ar^d  Figures. 


"I  don't  know.  Yes." 

"Take  one.  Talk  to  Judith  in  the  momii 
Don't  be  emotional  about  it.  You're 
smart,  Tim.  Use  your  head.  You" — 
forced  herself  to  speak  crisply,  matter- 
factly — "you've  got  out  of  worse  sera 
than  this." 

He  looked  at  her  then;  it  was  a  strar 
look,  sad  and  bright  and  rather  terrible.  ': 
said,  "I'd  kill  him  now  if  it  were  not 
Judith.    But  I'll  see  him  hang.    All  rig__ 
Marny.  I'll  go.  We'll  talk  in  the  mominj 

He  went  without  another  word— by  w 
of  the  door  into  the  hall  instead  of  as  he  \ 
come,  by  the  balcony. 

It  was  three  o'clock ; 

looked  at  the  little  g. 

hands  of  the  clock  fo 
long  time.  She  knew  T^ 
whenhewaslikethis;  thy, 
was  never  anything  auj- 
body  could  do  with  h 
And  now  because  it  ■ 
Judith,  because  it  was  '^• 
business    but    someth'■^ 
that  went  infinitely  deehe 
into  that  stubborn,  cra,fj 
not-too-scrupulous    hf 
than   any   business    fi°^ 
could  possibly  go,  he  'of 
even  more  obstinate.  Is. 

Wales  was  an  enemy  \ 

,  never  gave  up. 

She'd  better  go  to  bed,  she  thought  du 
She  got  out  of  her  dress  and  into  pajarr 
and  tied  her  hair  with  a  ribbon.  She  turi- 
out  the  light  and  got  into  bed.  And  thou) 
suddenly  of  Bill  Cameron.    He  was  le%"  '•""■''«»«'■  ^^s- 
headed  and  cool.   He  might  help.    He  f°''">' 
befriended  her,  at  least.  *'9"  language 

Or  had  he?  Had  he  instead  obligated  /iejlamour-hands 

him  ?  So  he  could  ask  for  whatever  he  wan 

of  Tim?  ,,  „, 

She  sat  up  again  and  clasped  her  ar'  well  spent.  Glamour- 
around  her  knees  and  stared  at  the  iain'Y  faithfully  massagmg 
lighter  space  that  was  the  door  upon  tening  cream.  (Pretend 
balcony.   Was  that  his  motive  in  seemingj  snug  glove.)  Shrewd 

protect  her  and  Andre,  in  telling  her  stc-  i    ^„ir 

^  '  ^  ish  selt-consciousness. 

;,ays,  self-consciousness 

rewd  enough  to  choose 

nt  from  thick,  stubby 

has  JJat,  tapered  ends 

10  revealing  lines  can 

your  poise. 


1^  /    ENTER  STARDUST'S   1945   CONTEST 

WB  J  Nothing   to   buy    .    .    .    just   send   recent 

W  f       photo,    with    height,    weight,    buit, 
m   I  waist    and    hip    measurements    before 

'  j  May    31st,    1945.    Decisions    of    famous    beauty 

I  judges    are    final.     1  st    prize 

I  $500   War  Bond,   o/so   27  other  prizes 

I  and   awards   for    the    lucky    winners. 

I  Here's    your   chance    for   fame   and   fortune! 

Mail    entry    to    Industrial    Undgt.    Corp., 
P.   O.    Box   65,    Station   F,   New   York. 

BY  THE  MAKERS  OF  $farduit  FASHION  PRODUCTS 


/*' 


"Stay  perky 

through  yonr  period!" 


Which  purse  should  "chubby"  choose? 

□  Flat  and  largish 

□  Small  and  chunky 
n   Plump,  drawstring 


Be  yourself — bright  and  active. 
It's  easy  with  Midol.  And  it's  so 
sensible.  Just  take  Midol  at  the 
first  sign  of  menstrual  pain.  It 
contains  no  opiates  .  .  .  gives 
quick,  three-way  relief  of  func- 
tional discomfort — easing  cramps, 
soothing  menstrual  headache, 
brightening  you  when  you're 
"blue".  Get  Midol  now  at 
any  drugstore.   Be    ^jj^' "^""J^^j^^ 

.     r  £       ^      n    Guaranteed  bv^ 

ready  XOXCOmtOTt.     (^Cood  Housekeepinj 

i  MIDOL 

^  f/serf  -moTe  than  all  other  products  ojrred 

^  exclusively  to  relieve  Tnenstrual  suffering 

\     CRAMPS -HEADACHE -BLUES 


Let  your  accessories  flatter  your  figure.  A 
chubby  chick  should  avoid  styles  that  echo 
her  own  plumpness,  so — she  should  choose 
the  flat,  largish  purse.  Looking  your  best 
brings  self-assurance.  And  on  problem  days, 
a  girl  can  always  be  sure  of  herself  with  the 
help  of  Kotex.  That  special  4-plY  safety  center 
of  Kotex  keeps  moisture  away  from  the  sides. 
It's  expressly  designed  for  extra  protection 
exactly  where  needed  most. 


\  choose  KOTEX*  than  flII 

r  sanliary  napkins  bMf  h^eiher 


64 


LADIES"  HOME  JOLRNAL 


^  Dinner  "Ifj^nner 


// 


Hungry  families  cheer 
this  main  dish.  Made 
with  Swift's  Brookfield 
Sausage^  it's  delicious 
. . .  nutritious  . . .  thrifty. 


<r^t^%5: 


<^*. 


Qoux/iZcf 


^he  soosoge  vvif  h  *he 


The  family'Il  rush  to  the  dinner  table  when  Swift's  Brookfield 
Sausage  is  announced!  For  Swift's  Brookfield  is  not-too-spiey 
;  . .  .  not-too-niild.  It's  just-right .  .  .  due  to  a  PERFECT  SEASON- 
ING BLEND  that  brings  out  its  pure  pork  goodness.  And  it  con- 
tains high-quality  proteins  so  essential  to  good  nutrition.  Try 
some  TOMORROW.  Ask  your  dealer  for  Swift's  Brookfield  Sausage. 
It  comes  in  the  package  Avith  the  red-plaid  ends. 


Swift's  Brookfield 


Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS! 


(Continued  from  Page  62} 
to  the  solitude  of  his  own  quarters  when  old 
friends  come  to  the  house.  Don"t  let  him. 
Insist  on  his  remaining  in  the  room,  and  let 
him  know  by  your  attitude  that  you  expect 
him  to  assume  his  share  of  responsibility  for 
carr\ing on  the  conversation  and  assisting  in 
the  entertainment. 

Perhaps  he  enjo\ed  a  good  card  game  in 
the  old  days.  Very  well.  Get  some  of  the 
Braille-marked  cards  that  are  put  out  es- 
pecially for  sightless  people  and  play  gin 
rummy  and  pinochle  with  him.  or  get  up  a 
game  of  bridge  or  pKjker.  It  may  be  slow  go- 
ing at  first,  but  your  patience — and  his — will 
be  rewarded  in  the  sense  of  achievement  and 
enjoyment  that  will  come  with  practice. 

Did  he  enjoy  reading  before  he  became 
blind?  If  so.  see  that  he  is  well  provided 
with  the  reading  matter  in  Braille  and  on  the 
Talking  Book  which  circulates  free  to  sight- 
less readers  through  regional  libraries  for  the 
blind.  If  he  has  not  yet  learned  to  read 
Braille,  encourage  him  to  do  so.  Home 
teachers  for  the  blind  are  available  without 
fee  in  almost  all  parts  of  the  country  today. 
He  probably  already  knows  about  Talking 
Books  (books  and  plays  recorded  on  long- 
playing  disks  for  the  use  of  the  blind  ex- 
clusively i,  since  all  hospitals  caring  for 
blinded  ser\'icemen  consider  them  essential 
etiuipment.  He  may  not  know,  however, 
that  he  can  still  get  the  Talking  Book  ser\'- 
ice  free.  Your  local 
agency  for  the  blind 
should  be  able  to  give 
you  full  information 
on  this  subject.  If 
there  isnosuchagency 
in  your  vicinity,  or  if 
there  are  questions 
which  your  agency 
cannot  answer,  write 
to  the  American 
Foundation  for  the 
Blind  (the  national, 
nonprofit  organiza- 
tion which  developed 
the  Talking  Book)  at 
1,5  West  Sixteenth 
Street,  New  York  11. 
New  ^'ork. 

Among  Talking 
Books  recorded  to 
date  are  some  which 
should  be  required 
reading  for  all  newly 
blinded  persons,  and 
lor  every  member  of 
the  family  as  well. 
The  following  are 
among  the  best:  The 
Story  of  My  Life,  and 
Midstream,  both  by 
Helen    Keller,   who 

tells  in  them  of  her  struggles  and  her  victory 
in  overcoming  the  triple  handicap  of  blind- 
ness, deafness  and  dumbness;  The  World  at 
My  Finger  Tips,  by  Karsten  Ohnstad,  a 
young  American  boy  who  was  overtaken  by 
blindness  in  his  final  year  in  high  school,  yet 
who  completed  his  college  education  and 
made  a  successful  life  for  himself;  I  Begin 
Again,  by  Alice  Bretz,  a  woman  stricken 
blind  in  middle  age  who  so  remade  her  life 
as  to  be  able  to  live  alone  in  a  New  '\'ork 
apartment,  do  her  own  housework,  entertain 
and  enjoy  a  completely  normal  routine; 
The  Night's  Candles,  by  Rene  Roy,  a  young 
Frenchman  blinded  in  the  last  World  \\'ar. 
who  became  an  engineer. 

The  whole  idea  of  the  foregoing  advice  is 
to  surround  the  blind  person  with  as  nearly 
as  possible  the  kind  of  life  he  knew  before 
he  lost  his  sight. 

There  are  other  simple  rules  which  should 
always  be  observed.  Doors  should  never  be 
left  half  open:  they  should  either  be  left  wide 
open  or  closed  tight,  otherwise  the  blind 
member  of  your  family  may  someda\-  receive 
a  nasty  bump  on  shin  or  head.  Objects 
should  never  be  left  on  staircases,  or  chairs 
or  other  bits  of  furniture  pushed  into  the 
middle  of  a  room.  If  there  are  children  in 
the  house  who  own  bicycles,  scooters,  kiddie- 
cars,  and  so  on,  make  certain  that  these 
vehicles  are  never  left  lying  across  paths  or 


//ifrr/rir^  (jar//  .  /// 

K>'  .loNoph  AnNland<*r 


>v>/c 


Because  my  heart  has  known 
The  hunger  never  fed 
Hy  mortal  meat  and  bread. 
And  seldom  by  its  own, 
Therefore  each  spring  my  spirit 
splits  the  graveyard  stone. 

Therefore,  in  this  dark  hour, 
When  April  faintly  stands, 
>X'ith  beating  heart,  cold  hands, 
Drenched  in  a  golden  shower, 
I  thank  God  for  the  strength  that 
breaks  the  winter's  power. 

I  thank  God  for  the  grace 

Of  straight  rain  and  strong  earth, 
For  struggle  and  rebirth. 
For  wind  upon  my  face, 
For  light  that  makes  the  bush  of 
thorns  a  holy  place. 


March,  1945 

walks,  or  propped  carelessly  in  front  of  steps. 
Above  all,  be  careful  about  tidjdng  up  your 
man's  room.  Clean  it  thoroughly,  of  course, 
but  be  sure  to  put  things  back  exactly  as  the\' 
were.  He  will  soon  find  a  place  for  everything 
and  learn  to  keep  everything  in  its  place 
simply  because  it  is  easier  for  him  that  way. 
Don't  confuse  and  irritate  him  by  shifting 
these  things  about. 

In  the  matter  of  personal  appearance,  you 
may  have  to  be  constantly  on  guard  for  your 
blind  husband  or  son.  Because  he  can  no 
longer  see  what  he  looks  like,  there  may  be  a 
tendency  to  let  down  where  the  outer  trap- 
pings are  concerned.  Don't  let  this  happen. 
Let  him  know  that  you  expect  him  to  be  as 
careful  in  the  matter  of  grooming  and  per- 
sonal care  as  he  was  before  he  became  blind. 
When  his  clothes  begin  to  wear  out  or  to 
look  on  the  seedy  side,  let  him  know  that 
it  is  time  to  refurbish  his  wardrobe.  Go  with 
him  when  he  shops — if  he  wants  you  to.  De- 
scribe the  features  which  he  cannot  deter- 
mine by  touch,  such  as  color,  pattern,  and  so 
on.  and  then  lei  him  make  his  own  choice. 

J  HIS  is  an  extremely  important  bit  of  ad- 
vice, and  one  which  should  be  carried  over 
into  every  other  situation  in  his  life.  Never, 
on  any  account,  make  a  blind  person's  de- 
cisions for  him.  Give  him  whatever  facts  he 
needs  to  enable  him  to  size  up  a  situation, 
but  let  the  final  word  come  from  him. 

Then  there  is  the 
matter  of  manners. 
Here  again,  because 
of  his  early  sense  of 
frustration,  the  newly 
blinded  person  may 
exhibit  a ' '  don't-give- 
a-damn"  attitude. 
He  may  give  way  to 
moods,  outbursts  of 
temper  or  just  plain 
boorishness.  Try,  by 
all  means,  to  under- 
stand such  behavior, 
but  never  condone  or 
overlook  it.  Make 
him  toe  the  mark 
when  it  comes  to 
manners,  even  if  it  re- 
quires an  occasional 
sharp  check.  Blind- 
ness alone  is  handicap 
enough,  without  the 
additional  one  of  bad 
manners;  and  he  will 
thank  you  one  day 
for  making  him  be- 
have like  the  civilized 
member  of  society 
he  is. 

There  is  one  aspect 
to  this  problem  of 
manners  that  will  require  a  particularly  sjtb- 
pathetic  and  helpful  attitude.  This  is  in  the 
matter  of  eating.  If  you  think  it's  easy  to  feed 
yourself  without  benefit  of  sight,  try  it  some- 
time. Close  your  eyes  and  try  getting  all  the 
food  on  your  plate  to  your  mouth.  If  you  suc- 
ceed without  jabbing  yourself  in  the  face  or 
scattering  the  contents  of  your  plate  to  the 
four  winds,  you  may  consider  it  a  minor 
miracle.  There  are  many  ways  in  which  you 
can  make  this  task  easier  for  him.  If  neces- 
sary, cut  up  his  meat,  pie  or  other  such  items 
for  him.  Always  place  his  bread-and-butter 
plate,  his  napkin,  water  glass  and  silver  in 
the  same  relative  position,  so  that  he  will 
know  where  to  find  them.  Don't  fill  his 
glass  or  coffee  cup  too  full,  and  so  avoid  the 
spilling  that  might  otherwise  occur.  Break 
his  roll  or  bread,  and  butter  it  for  him; 
and  by  all  means  encourage  him  to  use  a  piece 
of  bread  as  a  "pusher"  to  get  food  onto 
his  fork.  It  will  save  him  the  frustration 
of  lifting  his  fork  to  his  mouth  time  and 
again  only  to  find  that  there  is  nothing  on  it. 
Always  attend  to  his  wants  at  table  as  unob- 
trusively as  possible,  particularly  when 
there  are  other  guests.  Never  put  a  news- 
paper under  the  plate  of  a  blind  man  to 
"protect"  the  tablecloth.  And  God  have 
mercy  on  your  soul  if  you  isolate  him  at 
mealtime.  Either  procedure  can  have  only 
one  effect,  and  that  is  to  make  him  feel  little 
better  than  an  animal  or  an  imbecile. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


65 


iasy  does  it... 

and  so  DELICIOUS!" 


-Dan  D.  Duff, 

The  Gingerbread  Wor 


Just   add 

WATER 


'   Featared  Ity  Hutzler  Brts.  Co..  Liiieii  Shop 
Biltiatre.  Md.— riitst  Oeit.  Stores  CYtnrwkert 


1 


Extra-BIG   Extra-Absorbent    : 


•^^^^MidAMMiaaMa 


■^•VV    ^ 


WE  TREAT  OUR 
MUSHROOMS  LIKE  ROYALTY 

V/e  pamper  them  in  our  hothouses, 
spread  them  with  finest  creamery  butter, 
broil  them  tenderly  under  a  blue  flame- 
Then  pop  them  info  cans  at  once,  to 
guard  that  delicate  flavor. 
Just  heat  ttiem  in  their  own  broth,  no 
washing,  peeling,  no  waste.  QonieMi 
of  con  equal  nearly  double  Iheir  weight 
in  fresh  mushrooms.  Recipes  on  can. 
GROCERY  STORE  PRODUCTS  CO.,  WEST  CHESTER,  PA. 


ONE  OF  THE 

FAMOUS  JACOB 

MUSHROOM  PRODUCTS 


ALWAYS    ASK    FOR 


a  JO 

IJDDD 


IROIIED    IN    lUTTER 


MUSHROOMS 


Because  the  proportion  of  blind  people  in 
the  countr>'.  including  our  war-disabled,  is 
so  relatively  low  ( 1  in  700  ■ .  the  majority  of 
you  will  probably  never  experience  blindness 
in  your  own  home;  but  as  our  war  casualties 
increase,  you  are  quite  likely  to  encounter  it, 
perhaps  for  the  first  time,  in  your  commu- 
nity. 

If  you  want  to  volunteer  some  of  your 
time  and  energy  to  help  the  blind  veteran, 
here  are  some  hints  on  how  to  proceed: 
Your  local  agency  for  the  blind  will  prob- 
ably be  able  to  tell  you  if  there  is  a  re- 
turned soldier  who  has  lost  his  sight  in  your 
community.  If  there  is,  arrange  to  meet 
him.  Find  out  if  there  is  anjlhing  you  can 
do  for  him  in  a  personal  way,  and  place  your 
free  time  at  his  disposal.  Take  him  walking, 
shopping  or  to  the  mo\-ies,  if  that  is  what  he 
wants.  Perhaps  he  enjoys  a  good  concert 
once  in  a  while.  This  is  the  kind  of  volunteer 
work  that  is  most  needed  and  most  appre- 
ciated by  those  who  have  lost  their  sight. 

Before  the  war  there  were  in  the  United 
States  hundreds  of  blind  men  who  were 
eager,  willing  and  able  to  fill  a  wide  variety 
of  jobs,  yet  who  were  unable  to  obtain  em- 
ployment because  of  the  con\'iction  on  the 
part  of  seeing  people  that  the  blind  are  in- 
capable of  doing  anjthing  beyond  chair 
caning,  piano  tuning,  broom  making  or  rug 
weaving.  The  war,  with  the  serious  man- 
power problem  which  it  posed,  changed 
that  situation  to  a  great  extent,  and  at  the 
present  time,  in  factories,  workshops  and 
oflfices  throughout  the  nation,  blind  men  and 
women  are  filling  jobs  which  it  was  thought 
at  one  time  only  seeing  persons  could  handle. 
Not  only  are  they  filling  these  jobs  well;  in 
some  cases  they  are  doing  better  work  than 
seeing  people  engaged  in  the  same  type  of 
undertaking. 

There  is  not  a  person  reading  this  article 
who  may  not  at  any  time  now  find  himself  or 
herself  in  close  or  casual  contact  with  some 
newly  blinded  man  or  woman.  Here  are  a 
few  suggestions  that  will  help  you: 

\\hen  walking  with  a  blind  person,  help- 
ing him  across  a  street  or  onto  a  bus  or 
streetcar,  never  take  his  arm  and  attempt  to 
guide  him  by  pushing,  shoving  or  boosting. 
Offer  him  your  arm,  and  he  will  follow  you 
easily.  Be  sure,  though,  to  let  him  know 
when  it  is  necessary-  to  duck  to  avoid  crack- 
ing his  head  against  overhanging  objects  or 
low  ceilings. 

When  being  introduced  to  a  blind  person, 
always  shake  hands.  Even  if  he  does  not 
offer  his,  reach  out  and  take  it.  \\"hen  he  fails 
to  make  the  initial  gesture  it  is  usually  be- 
cause he  has  no  way  of  seeing  what  your 
intention  is,  and  does  not  want  to  be  em- 
barrassed by  extending  his  hand  if  you  are 
not  prepared  to  take  it.  Remember  that 
touch  now  takes  the  place  of  sight  to  a  great 
extent,  and  while  he  cannot  see  your  smile  of 
friendline^,  he  can  appreciate  the  warm  clasp 
of  your  hand.  Always  address  him  directly, 
never  through  his  guide  or  companion. 
Nothing  is  more  annoying  to  him  than  to 
be  treated  as  if  he  were  also  deaf  and  dumb. 
If  you  do  not  know  his  name,  lean  toward 
him,  or  touch  his  arm  or  shoulder  lightly  to 
indicate  that  you  are  addressmg  him. 

If  an  unaccompanied  blind  person  enters 
the  room  where  you  are.  let  him  know  of 
your  presence  by  greeting  him,  e%'en  if  all 
you  say  is  a  pleasant  good  morning.  If  he  is 
unfamiliar  with  the  room,  offer  him  your  arm 
and  guide  him  to  a  chair.  A  blind  man  I 
know  who  receives  a  great  many  sightless 
people  in  his  office  merely  says,  '"There's  a 
chair  over  here,"  and  kicks  the  1^  of  the 
chair  which  stands  beside  his  desk. 

Never  get  up  and  offer  to  any  blind  man 
your  seat  in  a  bus,  street-car  or  other  public 
conveyance,  particularly  if  you  are  a  woman. 
This  kind  of  thing  embarrasses  him  beyond 
words,  since  it  not  only  draws  attention  to 
him,  but  implies  that  he  is  something  less 
than  a  man  and  is  incapable  of  standing  on 
his  own  two  legs. 

Never  ask  a  blind  man  how  he  lost  his 
sight.  It's  bound  to  be  a  painful  subject. 
.\nd  last,  but  not  least,  read  at  least  one 
book  dealing  with  the  problems  and  experi- 
ences of  a  newly  blinded  person. 


You  can 

aepena  on 

KRAFT 
QUALITY 


It's  rich-tasting,  smooth-spreading — and  a  nufritioui 
dairy  food.  A  b/g  help  with  the  ration  point  budg- 
et these  days.  Particularly  when  you  let  the  folks 
have  delicious  Philadelphia  Brand  Cream  Cheese 
to  spread  on  the  breakfost  toast  or  pancakes  or 
wafFles;  when  you  spread  this  wholesome  cream 
cheese  on  lunch  box  sandwiches.  See  the  name 
Philadelphia  Brand  on  the  package  when  you  buy. 
It    is    backed   by  Kraft's  guoronfee  of  freshness. 


SOON  AGAIN,  WE  HOPE— Because  of 

the  Government's  tremendous  need  for 
Cheddar  cheese,  these  two  famous  Kraft 
varieties  hove  been  missing  from  your 
food  dealer's  display.  But  soon  again,  we 
hope,  civilians  can  hove  Kraft  American 
with  wonderful  medium-mellow  flavor 
and  our  famous  Old  English  with  the 
tantalizing  sharpness  of  rare,  aged 
Cheddar.  Keep  on  the  lookout  for  the 
return  of  these  favorites. 


The  World's  Favorite  Cheeses  are 


made  by  the  Men  and  Women  of 


Jitaft 


66 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


(som/i  o/ie  cSn/iaJiu,  htn^) 


Birds  Eye  Fish  are  coming  back!  Some 
are  here  already. 

Not  in  great  numbers.  But  keep  peek- 
ing into  the  Birds  Eye  case  and  you're 
apt  to  pick  up  a  delicious  Lenten  Din- 
ner. We  recommend  cod,  "most  mis- 
understood offish." 

Not  enough  people  know  cod  as  fisher- 


them  ashore,  where — within  4  hours — 
they  are  cleaned,  boned,  washed,  filleted, 
and  Quick-Frozen! 


men  do.  (Too  many  know  him  smoked, 
salted,  or  dried.)  But  fisherfolk  say:  "An 
ocean-fresh  cod  is  the  finest  fish  that 
swims!" 

Here  is  that  fish! 

When  you  buy  Birds  Eye  Cod  Fillets, 
you're  getting  fish  that  is,  literally,  "4- 
hours-fresh."  Because  . . . 

We  catch  our  cod  in  the  cold  North 
Atlantic — where  fish  are  best.  We  rush 


BIRDS  EYE 
FROSTED  FOODS 

Product  of  General  Foods 


We  do  ALL  the  work.  You  just  enjoy! 
For  these  delicious  cod  fillets  are  superb 
eating— with  the  tang  of  the  ocean  sealed 
in!  And  NO  WORK! 

Just  unwrap,  cook,  serve.  And  if  you're 
economical,  you'll  dote  on  Birds  Eye 
Cod  Fillets!  For  you  EAT  ALL  YOU 
buy!  No  waste.  Look  in  at  your  Birds 
Eye  Store  for  Cod  Fillets,  and  look 
again.  They're  worth  ALL  your  looks! 


SEAFOODS 


WE   COT   BACK 

(Continued  from  Page  18) 

you? "  She  was  still  standing  with  the  raised 
shell,  her  head  held  high,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  of  them. 

"No,  I'm  sorry,"  Curly,  the  shorter  one, 
said  gently.  "Is  he  missing?" 

"Yes."  The  shell  left  her  hand  and  fell 
well  outside  the  circle.  "Thanks,"  she  said, 
and  went,  without  another  word,  walking 
quickly  away  from  them,  in  the  sand,  to- 
ward the  water. 

She  came  so  close  that  Julianne  saw  the 
disappointment  in  her  very  young  face  and 
wanted  to  get  on  her  feet  and  catch  up  with 
the  girl,  say  something  to  her,  but  instead 
she  laid  her  arm  across  her  eyes  and  said, 
Kim's  home.  Not  missing. 

"Say,  she's  all  right,  isn't  she?"  she  heard 
the  tall  boy  say  to  Curly. 

"Roger,"  Curly  said. 

"You  know,  she's  got  that — that  Wahoo 
had — do  you  know  it  ?  Something  breezy  but 
solid,  something  you  don't  get  in  a  town  girl. 
Looks  all  right  in  that  green  suit  too." 

"Roger." 

"She  counted  on  our  maybe  knowing  this 
boy  after  we  told  her  we  knew  Wahoo.  Did 
you  see  that?  What'd  she  say  his  name  was? 
Alberts." 

"Yes.  She's  right  young  to  be  a  lieuten- 
ant. I  thought  WAC  officers  were  older, 
more  like  school  principals.   She's  cute!" 

When  they  had  gone  Julianne  thought 
about  Kim  again,  and  about  their  coming 
together  to  Atlantic  City.  The  train  trip  had 
been  hot  and  tiring.  Kim  had  been  quieter 
and  even  more  remote  on  the  train  than  he 
had  been  at  home.  He  had  slept  much  and 
read  a  little.  Sometimes  when  he  opened  his 
eyes  to  find  her  looking  at  him  he  would  tuck 
her  hand  under  his  arm  and  drawl  slowly, 
while  he  pulled  his  lean  face  into  a  grimace, 
"Glad  to  see  ya!"  and  she  would  answer,  as 
he  had  taught  her  to  answer,  "Glad  to  he 
ya."  Even  his  talk  when,  rarely  now,  he  was 
playful,  he  seemed  to  need  to  take  from  his 
flying  life. 

In  their  room,  on  the  seventh  floor  of  the 
Ritz,  she  had  waited  for  him  to  say  some- 
thing that  showed  some  recognition  of  their 
coming  there  together  being  their  long- 
delayed  honeymoon.  Instead,  Kim  dropped 
into  a  chair,  flung  his  long  legs  over  one  arm 
of  it,  rubbed  his  back  against  the  other  arm, 
and  said: 

"Want  your  shower  first?" 

She  had  answered,  "No,  you  go  first. 
You're  faster,  and  I'll  unpack  and  hang  up 
our  clothes." 

A  moment  later  he  shouted,  from  under 
the  shower,  "Say,  this  is  all  right,  isn't  it, 
kid?  This  is  really  quite  a  dump!  Do,  you 
know,  either  I  saw  Mouthy  Pierson  down- 
stairs or  I  saw  Santa  Claus,  and  that's  no 
snow  job.  He  was  just  going  out  the  door, 
getting  into  a  bus.  Have  I  told  you  about 
Mouthy?" 

"No,  what  about  Mouthy?"  Julianne 
asked.  She  stood  before  the  dressing  table, 
looking  into  the  mirror  and  wondering  that 
she  could  still  look  pretty  with  the  signs  of 
August  travel  in  an  unconditioned  train  on 
her  still,  and  waited  prayerfully. 

"He's  a  character,"  Kim  stuck  his  head 
out  of  the  water  to  yell. 

That  was  all.  Had  he  not  heard  her,  or  had 
he  once  again  opened  the  door  of  under- 
standing between  them  and  gently  closed  it  ? 
Kim  had  come  home.  He  had  brought  his 
thin  body,  his  voice  and  a  few  of  his  old 
ways  home,  but  he  had  not  yet  come  home 
to  her.  Even  in  their  love-making  they  had 
not  found  the  old  happiness,  the  familiar 
and  renewed  joy. 

Julianne  lifted  her  new  yellow  dress  and 
was  grateful  to  be  hanging  their  clothes  in  a 
quite  empty  closet,  one  that  held  no  linger- 
ing fragrance  of  another  woman's  living  and 
housekeeping.  She  felt  a  sudden  excitement 
in  the  newness  of  their  living  together  in  a 
strange  place,  sleeping  in  a  bed  where  they 
had  not  slept.  She  touched  the  round  of  the 
pillow  and  went  to  stand  by  the  window  and 
look  down  again  on  the  water  and  the  sand. 


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Made  with 
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SAUCE 

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W'E  Got  Back 

and  clasped  her  train-grimed  hands  hard 
together  and  prayed,  //  you  will — let  Kim 
come  home! 

"Say,  you  look  all  right,  Julie,"  Kim  said, 
when  he  looked  up  from  reading  Yank, 
which  he  had  brought  up  to  their  room  with 
him.  "You  can  get  ready  fast,  and  you're  the 
only  girl  I've  ever  dated  who  could." 

"It's  a  gift,"  Julie  said,  not  wanting  to  let 
him  see  how  praise  from  him  moved  her. 
That  was  a  little  wliat  they  were,  now,  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  dating,  slowly  and  somewhat 
cautiously  getting  acquainted  with  each 
other.  Once  day  came,  with  sleep  and  love- 
making  put  behind  them,  they  were  like  two 
jjeople  not  yet  acknowledged  sweethearts. 
She  went  to  the  window,  where  already  the 
sight  of  the  sea  drew  her,  and  said,  "Kim, 
why  are  there  so  few  bathers  down- below 
this  hotel  and  so  many  down  the  beach  a 
way?" 

He  tossed  the  paper  onto  the  bed  and 
came  to  stand  beside  her.  "Roped  off,"  he 
said.  "Nothing's  too  good  for  the  boys. 
Say,  that's  all  right,  isn't  it?  I'd  heard  they 
had  a  space,  here  in  front  of  the  hotel,  for  the 
officers,  and  another  down  in  front  of  the 
Ambassador,  where  the  enlisted  men  are.  I 
want  to  go  down  there  sometime  this  after- 
noon. See  who's  there." 

"You  think  maybe  Joe  and  Hank  and 
some  of  the  others  will  be  there?  " 

"Maybe,"  he 
said,  and  turned 
quickly  from  her. 
"Let's  go  and  eat 
now." 

Was  it  that  he 
didn't  like  her 
speaking  the  engi- 
neer's and  the  waist 
gunner's  names? 
She  had  thought 
Van's  name,  but 
had  not  spoken  it. 
She  was  tired  from 
the  trip;  tired,  too. 
of  letting  any  and 
all  of  the  strange 
things  he  did  now 
go  by  with  nothing 
said  about  them. 

WTien  they  were 
in  the  hall  she  asked, 
"  Kim,what'swTong 
with  my  asking  you 
if  you  wanted  to  see 
those  men?" 

''Nothing 
wTong — just  didn't 
know  you  knew 
their  names,  that's 
all." 

"Not  know  their  names!  Why,  Kim, 
you've  wTitten  me  of  them,  of  them  all,  in 
so  many  letters.  You've  not  forgotten  that, 
have  you?" 

You  know,  it's  a  funny  thing  about  let- 
;ers,"  he  said.  "You  don't  remember  them, 
sither  the  ones  you  wTite  or  the  ones  you  get. 
You  want  to  get  them,  and  it's  their  coming, 
the  reality  of  them — the  envelope,  with  the 
stamp  on  it,  the  paper  with  writing  on  it — 
that  matters.  You've  heard,  and  know  every- 
body's all  right — that,  and  pictures,  that's 
what  counts.  So  often  you're  tired,  when 
they  come,  and  you  sort  of  swallow  them 
whole  and " 

"Bring  them  up  to  chew  on  later,  like  a 
cow  her  cud?  "  Julianne  asked,  smiling  up  at 
him.  Even  though  he  was  making  such  a 
strange  revelation,  he  was  talking  with  her, 
about  something  that  mattered,  he  was 
telling  her  something. 

"Yes,  something  like  that,"  he  said. 
"Anyway,  days  later,  reading  the  letter  over, 
you  begin  to  get  the  full  meaning  of  it.  It's 
like  reading  a  new  letter — you  come  on 
something  you'd  not  even  seen,  first  time 
you  read  it." 

"But  that's  true  for  us,  too,"  Julianne 
said.  '"I  simply  skim  through  one  of  your 
letters,  Kim.  Why,  I've  vwitten  you  about 
that.  I've  said. '  I  swing  from  one  "darling" 
to  the  next,  like  a  monkey  in  a  tree.'  Didn't 
I  write  you  that?" 


LADIES"  nOME  JOLRNAL 


67 


"Where  does  she  think  we've 
been?"  ^  incy  asked  Angus.  "In 
jail?    She"s  a  pill." 

"Picklepuss." 

Wincv  and  Angus  found  Eng- 
land different  from  America — so 
hilariously  different  they  made  a 
firm  attempt  to  teach  their  pa- 
rents civilized  American  ways. 
The  results  make  history  at  Ox- 
ford, in  Daisy  Neumann's 

•  NOW  TBAT 
APRll'S  THERE 

^otKfrUte  ttovcl  coHcCetuecC 
APRIL  .JOURXAL 


"Sure,  sure  you  did!  .  .  .  Here's  our 
down  car." 

In  the  elevator  he  drew  her  quickly  to  his 
side,  to  make  room  for  men  who  got  on  at 
other  floors — and,  she  wanted  to  believe,  to 
let  those  men  know  she  was  his. 

In  the  Palm  Room  they  joined  the  line  of 
officers  and  their  wives  moving  toward  the 
dining  room. 

Ahead  of  them  were  a  very  young  bride 
and  groom  who  had  quite  given  up,  as  use- 
less, not  wanting  people  to  guess  they  were 
newly  married.  The  girl  had  a  mop  of 
shoulder-length  bright  orange  hair  and  was 
astonishingly  thin  and  pretty.  Screened  on 
one  side  by  his  bride's  hair  and  on  the  other 
by  her  very  large  pocketbook,  they  kissed 
quickly,  and  then,  when  the  line  moved, 
walked  the  few  steps  and  kissed  again. 

iHEY  make  me  feel  I've  been  married 
years,  don't  they  you,  Kim?"  she  said. 

But  Kim  had  dived  away  from  her  to 
greet  a  pilot,  to  pump  his  hand  and  slap  his 
shoulders  and  shake  him,  but  with  an  almost 
wordless  wonder  that  Julianne  understood 
only  when  he  brought  the  boy  to  her  and  in- 
troduced him.  He  was  a  broad-shouldered, 
blunt-nosed  young  fellow  with  deep-set 
brown  eyes,  and  a  way  of  laughing  when  he 
talked  that  set  Kim,  Julianne  and  the  people 
who  were  next  in  line,  and  the  bride  and 
groom  ahead  of  them,  to  laughing  too. 

"Kim  thought 
they'd  got  me,"  he 
told  Julianne; 
' '  that's  why  he  looks 
so  funny.  I  just 
walk  around  here 
scaring  people.  .  .  . 
You  should  have 
seen  Major  Crabb, 
Kim.  He's  up  there 
in  the  dining  room 
now." 

"What'd  he  say 
when  he  saw  you, 
Pete?"  Kim  asked, 
with  more  enthusi- 
asm than  Julianne 
had    heard    in    his 
voice  since  the  first 
moments    of  his 
homecoming.     She 
looked  up  at  him, 
hoping    his    face 
would  still  hold,  for 
her,  that  alert  hap- 
piness when  he  again 
looked  down  at  her. 
With  your  wife's 
permission,  I'll  not 
repeat  what  the  ma- 
jor  said." 
As  they  went  up  the  steps  to  the  surf  din- 
ing room  Kim  turned,  looked  back  over 
Julianne's  head  and  said,  "But  I  saw  that 
boy  go  down.   I  saw  him  killed  I" 
"You  mean  you  saw  him  bail  out? " 
"No.    I  saw  him  go  down,  afire — P-47." 
At  the  table  he   asked,    "What's  wrong, 
Julie?  Didn't  you  like  Pete  Copeland?" 

"Of  course  I  liked  him,"  she  said,  and 
added,  half  wishing  she  was  not  letting  her- 
self say  it,  "I  envy  him  a  little  too.  I  envy 
him  making  you  so  glad  to  see  him." 

"Well,  honey,  I  saw  him  go  down,  in 
flames,  over  enemy  territory,  over  one  of 
those  beaches.  We  took  it  that  day,  it's  true, 
but  I  thought  he'd  got  his.  Here  he  is. 
Makes  you  feel  funny,  that's  all."  His  voice 
was  suddenly  harsh,  impatient.  It  was  as 
though  he  said,  "It  is  something  you  know 
nothing  about  and  can't  possibly  understand. 
Don't  try." 

She  felt  a  sudden  and  quite  unaccustomed 
anger  with  him,  along  with  her  hurt,  and 
said  the  words  that  rushed  into  her  mind: 
"Maybe  he  was  killed.  Maybe  they're  all 
killed,  and  don't  know  it,  like  the  people  in 
that  play  we  put  on  in  school.  Outward 
Bound.  Maybe  we're  all  dead." 

She  was  ashamed,  even  before  she  stopped 
for  breath,  but  Kim  did  not  seem  to  mind 
her  outburst  and  said  calmly,  "No,  you 
know  when  other  people  are  dead.  If  you 
see  them,  you  know."  Then  he  surprised 
her  by  suddenly  smiling  and  saying,  with  a 


LIL 


Reg.  U.  S.  Pot    Off. 


WER 


AINT  MARRIAGE 
WONDIFUL/.:^- 

LOOK  IT    HOW  CUTE  OUR 
TWINS.  LI'L*ENRICHED  5 

MINUTE"  YOKUM,  AN'  LI'L 
^^REGULAR"  YOKUM    IS 
PLAYIN'.'!' 


IS  THEM   OUR   r^<syz/>./^;CHILLUH. 

DAISY  MAE  ?- RECKON  VE 

NAMED  'EM   AFTER  MAH 
FAV'RITE  BREAK FU5T-  CREAM 
OF  WHEAT—  ON   ACCOUNT  THEY 

LOOK  50  SMOOTH    AN 

DEE-LI5HUS,  HUH  ? 


,P 


M 


m^ 


.V>i^ 


J 


f< 


fp 


f^   V 


^/ 


.^^^^ 


.vVVV^J 


k^^ 

1^^^ 


-^, 


^ 


^V.\ 


^^ 


Jl\ 


4S.  UNITED   fE»ru« 


AN' -LOOK - 
HYAR  COME5 
YO'  MAMMY 
WIF    A 
DIFF  RUNT 
SIZED  BATCH 
OUR  OWN    LI'L 
^^THIAMINE'AN 
■^NIACIN*  YOKUM. 


IS  THEM  OURN 
TOO?--;r5C?^;'.:- 
SO  VE.  NAMED 
THEM    AFTER 
.THEM  NOURISH- 
IN'  VITAMINS 
IN  *ENRICHED 
S    MINUTE' 
'CREAM   OF 
WHEAT.';''/ 


AN' -NOW 
HYARS  PAPPY 

WIF  TH^ 

TRIPLETS.':'' 
'LI'L*CALCIUM' 
LI'L^'PHOSPHORUS 
AN'  LI'L  "'IRON 


i 


i^^A 


YOKUM  rr 


TRIPLETS,  TOO  r 

ALL  NAMED 
AFTER  THEM 
3  ESSENTIAL 

MINERALS  IN 

THET  CREAM  OF 
WHEAT  WHICH 


IS  ALL  SO  EXTRY 
GOODFO'CHILLUN.' 


M 


J? 


A 


g-_^  ^l-jR 


To  All  mamnys  an 
li>l  chilli 


Dogpatch  U.S.A. 
Pappys 


an 


Pffen  Yo'  all  ^aUts  t 
^      i-iKP  me  an'  mah 
be  strong  Hl^e  me  ^ 
chile  Li'l  Atner,  or  cule 
^n-  sweet  liiie  Pappy,  eat 
t^tso'  cream  of  Wheat  on 
lots  o  w      smo-0-oth 
ackount  of  ^^^  .^^°       ^n' 
extry  nouriShm  an 
tastes  so  good  an 
everybody  liKes  it. 


FETCH  ME  MAH 

CREAM    OF 
WHEAT.  QUICK, 
'  MAMMY/.'-AH 
JEST  HAD  A 
HORRIBLE 
NIGHTMARE- 
NAM  ELY-THET  AH 


READY  IN  5 
MINUTES,  SON. '^^ 

YO'  IS  BOUND 
T'  CHEER 
UP    WHEN 
YO'  GITS  THET 
CREAM  OF 
WHEAT 


WEREMARRIED.^  FEEUNT/^ 


an' 


writ  by 
machine 


'PoM^'l^^^?^^ 


age  &# 


'-^V 


cr'l 


\Zr?« 


r^. 


FAST  AND   SMO-O-O-THI 

READY  IKJ  5  MIMUTES. 

COSTS  LESS  THAKJ  I*  A  BOWL 


r 


'(^iM^tXljiiiii 


CREAMofWHEAT 


C*reo» 


An 


68 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


0ett^oclgEa.  Aoji^S: 


in  less  than 
^h  the  mixing  lime ! 


''You  don't  cream 
shortening!" 


4 


"No  creaming  of  shorten- 
ing and  sugar.  You  save 
time  and  labor.  Yet  cakes 
are  light,  iine-textured!" 


"^Tou  don't  beat 
eggs!" 

"Imagine!  No  separate 
beating  of  eggs!  Just  mix 
them  right  in  with  the  other 
ingredients.    It's  so  easy!" 


JSS 


'"^llse  only 


"Our   New   Method  is  a 

real  wife-saver!  There  are 
1  llftwl  ^  *'  fewerdishes  to  wash,  (^uts 
■*■     lfW"l»         down  on  kitchen  mess." 


HERE'S  a  delicious  New  Method 
recipe  for  Gold  Medal  Flour. 
It's  called  "Temptation"  Spice  Cake 
because  few  folks  can  resist  it!  It 
smells  "yummy,"  tastes  even  better! 

Remember,  your  mixing  time  is  only 
4  minutes .  . .  yet  you  get  cakes  that 
will  probably  excel  the  superb  Gold 
Medal  cakes  you  made  before!  Lit- 
tle wonder  our  New  Method— de- 
veloped by  our  General  Mills  Betty 
Crocker  staff — is  sweeping  America! 
It  gives  cakes  of  exceptional  tex- 
ture, lightness,  taste  appeal... 
makes  the  most  of  Gold  Medal's  ex- 
ceptional baking  qualities! 

See  how  gloriously  easy  it  is.  Try 
this  Betty  Crocker  New  Method 
"Temptation"  Spice  Cake! 

General  Mills,  Inc. 


tem^taitam.  5jf}lc£  CoikL 


Have  all  ingredients  room  tempera- 
ture (70°-75°).  Shortening  should  be 
soft,  not  melted.  Pre-heat  oven  to 
350°  (moderate).  Grease  and  dust 
with  flour  tuo  8'  round  layer  cake  pans 
(I'V  deep).  Sift  Gold  Medal  Flour 
before  measuring.  Measure  all  ingre- 
dients accurately  (level)  before  starting. 
Jz  cups  tiffed  GOLD  MEDAL 
l"KHchen-tesfed"  Enriched  Flour 
Sih  I3V2  Isp.  double-action 

fo-  I         baking  powder 

gefher  /'  'sp.  salt 

info         11  Vb  cups  sugar 
(1  tsp.  cinnamon 

I  Vilsp.  nutmeg 
y/*  tsp.  cloves 

'/l  cup  high  grade  vegetable 
shortening 

I I  cup  milk 
1  tsp.  vanilla 


li 


bowl 


Add. 


Beat  vigorously  with  spoon  for  2  min- 
utes by  clock  (about  150  strokes  per 
minute).  You  can  rest  a  moment  when 
beating  by  hand;  just  count  actual 
beatiiig  time  or  strokes.  Or  mix  with 
electric  rnixer  on  slow  to  medium  speed 
for  2  minutes.  Scrape  sides  and  bot- 
tom of  bowl  frequently. 

/a  to  Vi  cup  unbeaten  eggs 
(2  large) 

Beat  2  more  minutes,  scraping  bowl 
frequently.  Pour  into  prepared  pans. 
Bake  i5  to  40  min.  in  moderate  oven 
(350°).  When  cake  is  cool,  frost  with 
your  favorite  white  icing,  to  which  has 
been  added  V2  tsp.  cinnamon,  1/2  cup 
chopped  nuts,    Vz  cup  cut  raisins. 

(.See  recipe  folder  in  sack  for  baking  at  high 
altitude,  or  for  Gold  Medal  Self-Rising  Flour.) 


Add. 


)■"' 


Gold  fAeda\"Kitchen-tested"V.nt\cheA  Flour 
is  unchanged.  It  works  the  same  as  it  always 
did  with  your  old  recipes.  And  it  is  tested 
as  carefully  for  all-purpose  baking  as  it  is  for 
cakes.  With  the  Betty  Crocker  recipes  ia 
every  sack  . . .  it's  your  simplest,  easiest, 
surest  way  to  baking  success. 


Warning 


Recipe  above  has  been  developed 
only  for  Gold  Medal  "Kitchen- 
tested"   Enriched  Flour.    Don't  use 

it  with  another  flour!  And  don't  try  to  adapt  this 

New  Method  to  old-method  recipes. 


Copr.  1945,  General  Mills,  Inc.,  Minneapolis, 
Minn.  "Betty  Crocker"  and  "Kitchen-tested 
arc  registered  trade  marks  of  General   Mills. 


jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  table  to  the  left, 
"Did  you  hear  that?" 

"What?" 

"Oh,  just  talk.  Aleutians,  I  guess.  He 
just  said  when  the  men  talk  to  the  sea  gulls, 
that's  all  right.  When  the  sea  gulls  start 
talking  to  the  men,  it's  time." 

"Time  for  what?"  Julianne  asked,  an- 
swering his  smile. 

"Just  time,"  he  said,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "It's  quite  some  time  since  I've 
heard  that  in  just  that  version." 

"How  did  you  hear  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  He  was  still 
smiling,  looking  around  on  the  men  and  the 
few  young  wives  at  the  tables  near  them, 
searching  for  faces  he  knew.  "Some  of  these 
boys  did  all  right,  like  me,"  he  said,  "and 
some  of  them  were  sure  flying  blind  when 
they  picked  their  wives.  There's  a  slick 
chick  over  there  by  the  windows." 

"She's  beautiful,"  Julianne  said,  turning 
to  look  at  the  couple  at  a  small  table  by  the 
wide  windows.  "She's  beautiful,  but  she 
doesn't  look  at  all  happy." 

"Why  should  she  care  how  she  feels  when 
she  looks  like  that?"  Kim  said,  and  for  an 
instant  his  eyes  looked  into  hers,  laughing 
and  full  of  a  gentle  teasing  that  she  did  not 
recall  having  seen  in  them  since  his  return. 

"Her  husband  doesn't  look  happy  either," 
she  said.  "They're  very  handsome  together, 
aren't  they?  He's  so  fair  and  she's  so  dark." 

"How  come  you're  so  happiness-conscious 
all  at  once?"  Kim  asked. 

"Isn't  that  what  this  place  is  for,  to  give 
you  some  individual  happiness?" 

"Where'd  you  read  that?"  he  asked,  still 
smiling,  and  looking  past  her  toward  the 
water.    "It's  for  rest, 
checking  up  and  reas-       ^H^^^i^^BH 
signment." 

"In  England,  and  in 
Australia,  they  call 
these  places  Flak 
Houses,  sometimes 
Flak  Heavens." 

"In  England  and  in 
no  place  else  in  the 
world  are  there  places 
like  this  one  but  here  in 
the  U.S.A.  And  we've 
just  the  four  in  this 
country,  they  tell  me.  ^^^^^^^^^__ 
They're  original  with  ^^^^^^^^^* 
the  Air  Forces." 

"What  do  they  call  them?  I  mean,  what 
do  the  boys  call  them?" 

"Don't  know,"  Kim  said.  "Me,  I  calls  it 
heaven,  baby.   It's  a  sweet  setup." 

"You  like  it  like  that,  Kim?" 

"Sure  do!" 

"Because  the  rest  of  them  are  here,  and 
there's  time  to  rest?" 

He  smiled  at  her  and  said,  "Here  comes 
chow,"  and  when  the  waiter  had  set  their 
plates,  "Know  what  I  heard  downstairs? 
Rudolph  himself,  who  was  headwaiter  at  the 
Ritz  in  New  York,  is  headwaiter  here. 
That's  right!  All  the  waiters  are  enlisted 
men.  The  cooks  too.  And  I  used  to  be  scared 
stiff  of  headwaiters  in  swanky  places.  This 
is  all  right,  isn't  it,  baby?" 

"  It  begins  to  be,"  Julianne  said.  Had  his 
sudden  liveliness  come  of  his  being  again  in 
the  midst  of  men  who  flew,  of  seeing  his 
friend,  Pete,  who  was  killed  and  yet  lived, 
or  of  his  beginning  to  feel  really  rested? 

"Cx>m  on  the  cob!"  he  said.  "My,  my, 
never  hoped  to  see!" 

JNow,  lying  in  the  sand,  Julianne  felt  the 
hope  that,  at  noon,  Kim's  being  more  nearly 
his  old  self  had  awakened  in  her.  It  might  be 
that  patience  was  all  that  was  needed,  that  if 
she  went  on  with  waiting,  just  as  she  had 
done  through  the  seventeen  months  he  was 
away  and  the  weeks  he  had  been  home, 
everything  would  come  out  all  right.  But 
she  wanted  happiness  at  once,  and  at  the 
first  sign  of  it  she  yearned  to  clutch  it  and 
hold  it  tightly.  Why  should  she  need  to  go 
on  waiting? 

Near  Julianne,  and  very  pretty  in  a 
turquoise-blue  bathing  suit,  a  very  fair  girl 
had  set  her  baby  down  and  was  shaping  a 
sand  castle  for  him.  The  boy  looked  to  be 
about  a  year  old.   He  was  beautifully  fair, 


UtiiLY  WORDS 

^  Vi  hat  are  the  ten  ugliest  words 
^  in  the  Knplish  language — from  a 
standpoint  of  sound  and  connota- 
tion? The  National  .\ssoriation  of 
Teachers  of  Speech  (English)  has 
chosen:  phlegmatic,  crunch,  flatu- 
lent, cacophony,  plutocrat,  treach- 
ery, sap,  jazK,  gripe  and  plump. 

—THE  BEST  DIGEST  OF  ALL: 
(Leisure  Age  Pub.  Co.  Pty.  Ltd.) 


March,  1945 

like  his  mother,  and  his  body  glistened  in  the 
sunshine  with  sun-tan  oil.  As  her  hands 
shaped  the  castle  the  girl  talked  to  the  baby, 
with  such  intense  tenderness  that  Julianne 
found  herself  thinking,  //  /  had  a%oy  like 
him  I  could  tell  him  about  Kim,  and  the  change 
that  has  come  in  hitn,  and  that  would  help.  The 
girl  looked  up,  saw  Julianne,  smiled  fleet- 
ingly,  and  then  looked  toward  her  again. 
She's  afraid,  Julianne  thought.  She's  afraid 
in  the  way  an  animal  is  when  there  are  people 
around.  She  got  up  and  went  to  the  girl  and 
said: 

"I'm  Julianne  Waters,  Lieutenant  Kim 
Waters'  wife.  Kim's  down  there  swimming, 
or  somewhere  on  the  beach." 

"I'm  Nora  Blane,"  the  girl  said.  "This  is 
my  boy,  Johnny."  She  was  so  shy  that  to 
speak  at  all  was  not  easy  for  her.  She 
quickly  gathered  the  little  boy  up  to  her, 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  toward  the  water 
and  said  to  him,  "Where  is  he?  Where  is  his 
daddy?  Where  is  that  major?" 

IHE  boy  nestled  his  cheek  against  her 
shoulder,  gave  Julianne  a  slanting  luscious 
smile,  and  laughed  aloud. 

"He  is  not  bashful,  like  me !"  the  girl  said. 
"He  is  bold,  like  his  father.  Have  you  a 
baby?" 

"No.  I  was  just  wishing  I  had  a  little  boy 
like  him." 

The  girl  smiled,  and  gently  but  deter- 
minedly drew  the  boy's  arms  from  about  her 
neck  and  set  him  down  again  in  the  sand. 
"I  must  not  sjx)il  him.  Jack  says.  Must  not 
make  sissy  of  him!"    She  spoke  carefully, 
with  an  accent  that  Julianne  could  not  place. 
"If  you  had  him,"  she  went  on,  "you  might 
be  sorry  you  had  had 
^^^■^^^■m      him!    Does  your  hus- 
band wish  [that— that 
you  had  had  a  baby 
while  he  was  gone?" 

"Kim?  He's  spoken 
of  our  having  children, 
in  letters." 

"In  letters?  Yes. 
But  since  he  came 
home — has  he  said  he 
wished  you  had  a 
baby?" 

"No,  I  believe  not," 

^^^^^^^^^^      Julianne  said.  "But 

^^l^^^^^t^^      there's  been    so   little 

time  for  talk.  You  see, 

he  has  more  relatives  than  anyone  I've  ever 

known,  and  they  all  wanted  to  see  him,  and 

to  ask  him  to  their  homes,  and  ask  him  a 

thousand  questions,  and  I've  had  so  little  of 

him  to  myself.   I  find  myself  thinking,  still, 

'When  Kim  comes  home.^'  But  I  guess  it  is 

not  as  any  of  us  thought  it  would  be;  their 

coming  home." 

"No?"  the  girl  asked,  and  slid  closer  to 
Julianne  in  the  sand.  "For  you,  too,  nothing 
is  as  you  thought  it  would  be?  Having  the 
baby  wasn't  as  I  thought  it  would  be;  wait- 
ing for  him  to  be  born  wasn't  either.  And 
now — this!" 

"Had  your  husband  gone  overseas  when 
the  boy  came?"  Julianne  asked. 

"He  was  gone.  He  was  in  Africa,  then  in 
Italy.  I  was  alon^."  She  was  quiet  a  little 
and  then  said  to  the  baby,  in  no  ordinary 
mother-to-baby  talk  but  with  a  respectful 
tenderness  that  assumed  the  baby's  interest, 
if  not  his  understanding,  "You're  a  fine 
boy.  The  doctor  said  that.  The  policeman  in 
the  park  said  that.  I  say  it.  Only  your 
father  will  not  say  it."  And  to  Julianne,  "All 
the  time  I  wait  and  wait  for  him  to  come 
home  to  see  the  baby.  I  dress  him  up.  I  curl 
his  hair  on  top  his  head,  so.  I  say,  'Your 
father  will  be  crazy  about  you ! '  That  was 
just  a  story.  A  story,  to  fool  a  little  baby 
waiting  for  his  father  to  come  home  and  see 
him  the  first  time.  My  husband,  the  major, 
knows  only,  cares  only  about  airplanes, 
fighter  planes.  Mustangs." 

"A  man  must  come  to  love  his  plane  very 
much,  when  he  flies  it  alone,"  Julianne  said, 
feeling  her  words  weak  and  unworthy  of  the 
girl's  honesty.  "What  does  your  husband 
want,  now,  in  the  way  of  an  assignment?" 
"He  does  not  tell  me,"  Nora  said,  and 
shrugged  her  broad  shoulders.  "Just  the  first 
(Continued  on  Page  70) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


PART  AND  PARCEL  OF  A  HAPPY  CHILDHOOD 


Trying  to  he  "just  like  big  brother'' 


Try  J\fucoa  's  taste 
on  food  that's  hot— 

Hs fresh,  richflavor 
hits  the  spot! 


How  smooth  and  easy 
'tis  to  spread — 

It  doesn  't  tear 
the  freshest  bread! 


So  good  "It  Melts  in  Your  Mouth'\ . .  Rich  in  Calories 
and  Vitamin  A...Nucoa  adds  much  to  Nutrition  these  days! 


?arm  grown  in  America  are  Nucoa's  chief 
ngredients  —  pure,  digestible  vegetable  oils 
nd  fresh  pasteurized  skim  milk.  The  skim 
nilk  is  cultured  for  flavor  and  churned  with 
he  oils  to  a  smoothness  that  delights  you 
ach  time  you  spread  it  or  cut  "pats"  for  the 
able.  For  Nucoa  is  made  with  experienced 
kill.  It  is  not  a  new  margarine.  Its  whole- 
ome  goodness  through  the  years  has  won 
0  much  approval  from  home-makers  and 
lutritionists  that  it  is  today's  largest-selling 
largarine. 


Crowing  children  and  grownups  meeting 
today's  pressure  of  extra  activities  7jeed  the 
food  energy  and  Vitamin  A  furnished  by 
Group  Seven  of  the  "Basic  7"  food  groups. 
Nucoa  provides  these  nutrients  economic- 
ally enough  for  all  to  benefit.  It  was  the  first 
margarine  fortified  with  Vitamin  A.  It  sup- 
plies as  much  food  energy  as  the  most  ex- 
pensive spread  for  bread.  And  Nucoa 
always  tastes  sweet  and  fresh,  for  it  is  freshly 
made  the  year  round,  on  order  only.  There 
is  no  "storage"  Nucoa ! 


For  table  use,  tint  Nuto.i  golden-yellow  with 
the  pure  Color-Wafer  included  in  each  pack- 
age. For  seasoning  vegetables,  sauces,  etc.,  use 
it  just  as  it  comes  — a  pure,  natural  white. 


-*''*!|\ 


/^^^^NUCOA 


7  BASIC  FOOD  OKOUPS  AM  NEtDtO 
DAIlr  (OR  COOD  NUTRITION 


SEVEN 


70 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


..because    men 


are   captivated   by   the   freshness    of 


Res  es  -  a  n  d-S  pi  ce,   and    women    like 


to  please   them. 


Old  Spice   Toilet    Water,   4  oz.    $1.00^ 
Concentrated  Body  Sachet,  IVt  oz.  $1.00* 


Old  Spice  Tablet  Sachet  —  to  weave  the  fragrance  of  rosei-and-spice  into  lingerie, 
veils,  neckwear,  gloves,  flower  accessories,  linens.  Delightful  gift  idea.  6  for  $1.00'' 

Each  a  Shulton  Original 
♦I    ^Ptus  Tax  •  'T.M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off  •  Shuiton,  Inc.  •  Rockefeller  Center  •  New  York  20,  NY. 


(Continued  from  fage  6S) 
day,  we  were  happy,  before  I  saw  he  was  not 
going  to  love  the  baby.  Then  we  talked,  and 
he  told  me  things.  Not  now."  She  worked 
with  the  sand,  repairing  a  side  of  the  castle 
the  baby  had  whacked  away  with  his  shovel, 
and  asked,  "  It  is  not  polite,  but  is  your  hus- 
band mad  at  you,  or  does  he  love  you  as  he 
did  before?" 

"  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  Julianne 
said.  "They're  not  mad  at  us,  Nora.  We 
mustn't  think  that.  We  must  remember  the 
letters,  to  comfort  us,  and  all  they've  been 
through,  to  understand." 

"The  letters!  They're  not  for  now!" 

"They're  tired.  They've  had  to  be  so 
watchful,  serious  and  responsible,  for  so  long. 
They've  seen  men  they  were  briefed  with, 
just  hours  before,  shot  down,  and  men  be- 
side them  get  killed.  The  work,  the  fighting 
is  still  there,  though  they've  done  their 
share  and  wanted  to  come  home — but  they 
can't  forget  the  men  still  there,  and  the  ones 
still  to  go.  And  here  at  home  the  people  who 
know  we're  at  war  and  are  working  are  not 
very  obvious  and  the  selfish  ones  are. 
They're  too  tired  to  see  a  way  through,  or  to 
be  hopeful.  I  think  they're  just  serious  and 
anxious,  not  mad.  Not  mad  at  us,  anyway." 

"Did  your  husband  tell  you  that?" 

"No,  that's  just  how  I  believed  it  must 
be,  from  the  little  he's  told  us  at  home,  from 
all  I've  read,  and  from  seeing  men's  faces,  on 
the  trains  and  here." 

"Jack's  told  me  nothing,"  Nora  said. 
"Only  to  other  men  he  talks  about  Mus- 
tangs. He  says,  '  How  that  baby  can  climb ! 
Reconnaissance?  It's  a  fighter.'  This  is  my 
baby,  and  a  plane  called  a  Mustang  is  his, 
and  that  is  how  it  is." 

"Where  was  your  home?" 

"In  the  lake  country,  in  Minnesota." 
Nora  put  handfuls  of  sand  into  the  newly 
battered  castle  and  smoothed  them  with  her 
large,  well-shaped  hands.  "You  know  things, 
because  you  are  not  'out  of  this  world'  like 
me.  That  is  what  he  said  to  me,  many  times, 
when  we  were  in  the  canoe,  when  we  cooked 
over  a  fire — "Nora,  you  are  out  of  this 
world.'  He  liked  me  because  I  lived  in  a  log 
hou.se  on  a  lake  and  was  so  scared  I  could 
not  speak." 

"  \Vere  you  married  long  before  he  went  ? " 

JNo.  We  were  just  married.  When  his 
wife  divorced  him  and  everything  looked 
dark  to  him,  he  remembered  me.  He  said  I 
was  the  person  in  the  world  he  wanted  to  see 
again  and  to  have  his  wife.  He  borrowed  an 
old  plane  and  fiew  up  there  and  landed  in  a 
place  he  remembered,  good  for  landing,  and 
walked  on  in,  ap.d  told  my  brothers  he 
wanted  to  marry  me.  They  thought  it  a 
good  thing  and  we  were  married  that  day, 
and  took  my  canoe,  and  went  away.  We  had 
eight  days,  and  he  forgot  his  bad  wife  and 
was  happy." 

"And  you  were  happy,"  Julianne  said 
with  sureness. 

"Yes,  I  was  happy  then."  Nora  leaned 
along  her  arm  to  get  the  shovel  the  boy  had 
thrown  beyond  his  reach.  "I  was  happy 
when  I  knew  about  the  baby  coming,  and  all 
along,  while  I  waited  for  him.  and  when  the 
baby  came  too.  Only  now — I  am  not  happy. 
He  does  not  love  my  baby!" 

"You  stayed  there  with  your  brothers?" 

"No.  He  wanted  me  to  come  to  New 
York,  and  I  came." 

"You're  Swedish?" 

"Swedish  and  French.  But  I  went  to 
school.  In  winter  I  went  on  my  skis  and  in 
summer  I  rode  my  pony.  I  learned  all  the 
poems  in  the  readers  and  I  say  them  to 
Johnny,  and  he  listens.  He  knows  some  of 
them  apart,  and  waves  his  arms  and  laughs 
for  the  ones  he  likes." 

"You  were  alone  in  New  York?" 

"  I  was  alone  and  there  was  no  one  I  knew. 
I  asked  a  woman  in  the  park  who  had  a  fine 
baby  to  tell  me  her  doctor's  name.  Jack  has 
his  Mustang  and  he  ffew  it  alone  and  loves 
him.  I  had  my  baby  and  I  had  him  alone, 
and  I  love  him,  and  that  ought  to  make  it 
even.  A  Mustang  is  like  a  canoe.  Very  good. 
It  is  not  like  a  baby.  I  am  ready  to  love  his 
Mustang,  but  he  is  not  ready  even  to  look. 
and  to  love  my  baby!" 


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I 
I 

I       Name- 

I 


Address- 
City 


-Zone- 


State- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOLR.NAL 


71 


-fcc'ce  SiboutttI 


NO  BELTS 
NO  PINS 
NO  PADS 
NOOOOR 


When  a  "new  and  different" 
idea  comes  along  It's  only  fair 
to  think  twice  about  it.  Make 
sure  you  understand  it.  Make 
sure  you're  not  opposing  it  just 
because  it  is  different.  Lots  and  lots  of 
women  are  using  Tampax  today  who 
were  not  converted  to  it  immediately.  .  .  . 
The  tremendous  recent  rise  in  Tampax 
sales  is  a  tribute  to  the  fair-mindedness 
of  American  women  who  have  given  real 
thought  to  the  problem  of  monthly  sani- 
tary protection. 

No  belts,  pins  or  pads  are  required 
with  Tampax — because  Tampax  was  per- 
fected by  a  doctor  to  be  worn  internally. 
t  is  made  of  pure  surgical  cotton,  com- 
pressed in  one-time-use  applicators  for 
dainty  insertion.  You  can  wear  Tampax 
n  tub  or  shower.  No  odor  or  chafing. 
;^uick  changing  and  easy  disposal.  Tam- 
pax causes  no  bulges  or  ridges  even  in 
he  sheerest  gown. 

Sold  in  3  absorbencies:  Regular,  Super, 
funior.  At  drug  and  notion  counters. 
Of'hole  month's  average  supply  will  go 
nto  purse;  for  4  months'  supply  get 
:conomy  Box.  Tampax  Incorporated, 
^almer,  Mass. 

3  (  REGULAR 

absorbencies  <  super 

I   JUNIOR 


Uceptedfor  Advertising 

y  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


AMPAX  INCORPORATED 
aimer,  Mass. 


LHJ-35-B 


Please  send  me  in  plain  wrapper  a  trial  package  of 
ampax.  I  enclose  \0i  (stamps  or  silver)  to  cover  cost 
f  mailing.  Size  is  checked  below. 

)   REGULAR  (     )   SUPER  (     )  JUNIOR 


[»me_ 


ddr 


_State_ 


Julianne  wanted  to  say,  "But  oj  course  he 
loves  your  baby,  his  baby,"  but  Nora's  dis- 
appointment and  resentment  were  too  tear- 
less and  convincing  to  be  refuted. 

"Do  you  know  what  he  said  when  he 
came?  He  said,  'We  will  put  him  in  a 
hospital  and  we'll  go  up  to  Maine.  I'll  get  a 
canoe.'  Right  away  he  wanted  to  go  off  and 
leave  him ! "  Now  she  turned  quickly  about 
and  her  face  lighted.  "Here  is  my  husband," 
she  said. 

But  she  was  not  smiling  as  he  came 
nearer.  There  was  an  anxious,  almost  fierce 
look  in  her  eyes,  Julianne  thought,  and  won- 
dered if  there  was  ever,  in  the  weeks  since 
his  return,  any  such  look  in  her  own  eyes 
when  Kim  came  back  to  her,  after  hours 
away. 

The  major  was  tall  too.  He  had  a  receding 
hairline  that  made  him  look  older  than  he 
was,  dark-rimmed  and  deep-set  eyes,  and  a 
cleft  chin.  He  smiled  to  see  Julianne  with 
his  wife  and  baby,  and  when  Nora  had  halt- 
ingly introduced  him,  dropped  down  on  the 
sand  beside  the  castle,  and  said,  "I'm  glad 
you're  here,  Mrs.  Waters.  Nora  needs  to  get 
out  of  the  nursery  more.  I  suppose  you've 
been  discussing  feeding  formulas,  the  price 
of  strained  spinach  and  the  shortage  of 
diapers."  There  was  mockery  in  his  voice 
that  was  anything  but  kind. 

"We've  not,"  Julianne  said,  quick  to 
answer  for  Nora,  when  she  saw  the  set  of  her 
lips.  "  We've  been  talking  about  canoeing  in 
the  lake  country,  and  I  was  about  to  tell 
Nora  that  I  didn't  have  any  honeymoon  at 
all.  Kim  came  to  Albuquerque  and  we  were 
married  and  went  right  to  his  folks  in  In- 
diana, and  were  going  to  have  a  short  wed- 


'TAII^T  SO 

^  Three  delusions  among  women 
^  are  widespread  and  painful:  Mar- 
riage is  currently  supposed  to  reform 
a  man;  a  rejected  lover  is  heart- 
broken for  life;  and  if  "the  other 
woman"  were  only  out  of  the  way, 
he  would  come  back. 

—MYRTLE  REED:  The  Spinster  Book. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 


ding  trip — but  Kim's  father  had  poison  ivy. 
I  took  over  and  did  the  work  so  Mother 
Waters  could  nurse  dad,  and  we  stayed  right 
there.  We  all  liked  each  other.  There's  noth- 
ing like  a  bad  case  of  poison  ivy  for  breaking 
the  ice."  Julianne  spoke  rapidly,  watching 
Major  Blane's  face.  He  was  older  than  most 
of  the  m^n.  She  thought  that  he  must  be  at 
least  thirty. 

"It  is  just  in  theory  that  two  people 
marry  and  live  happily  all  their  lives,  just 
the  two  of  them,"  he  said.  "There's  sure  to 
be,  always,  his  family  or  hers,  a  war,  diapers 
all  over  the  bathroom,  or  poison  ivy." 

Nora  sprang  to  her  feet,  gathered  the  baby 
and  his  playthings  up  in  her  arms  and  looked 
down  at  her  husband.  "He  has  had  enough 
sun.  He  will  not  burn,  for  he  has  a  good  tan, 
but  it  is  time  to  take  him  in.  He  is  a  good 
baby.  He  never  cries  in  the  night,  but  a 
minute.  He  has  never  had  a  temperature!" 

"I'll  stay  down  here  awhile,"  her  husband 
said.  "Want  to  leave  that  bucket  and  stuff 
for  me  to  bring  up?" 

Nora  shook  her  head  and  said  to  Julianne, 
"  I  hope  to  see  you  again,"  and  went  without 
another  glance  toward  her  husband. 

Major  Blane  looked  after  her  and  said,  "  I 
suppose  I'm  prejudiced,  but  it  strikes  me  my 
wife  walks  better  than  any  woman  I've  ever 
seen.  Even  carrying  that  lump  of  a  baby, 
she  walks  like  an  animal." 

"She's  beautiful,"  Julianne  said.  "She's 
a  wonderful  mother  too." 

"Yes,  she's  such  a  good  mother  she's 
forgotten  she  was  ever  anything  else." 

"I'm  sure  she's  forgotten  nothing," 
Julianne  said,  suddenly  angry  with  him. 
"You  should  have  heard  her  just  now,  re- 
membering the  lake  country  and  your  canoe 
trip." 

"That  right?  But  you  notice  she's  willing 
to  let  one  canoe  trip  do  for  our  lives.    She 


'Round  the  Town 
It's  TUSSY. . . 


Lunching  at  the 
Colony 


Copyritcht.  1946.  by  L«ho  &  Fink  Products  Corporation,  Blooniliold.  N.  J. 


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,'72 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


TfmihnMe/d  a  Jteai^  Hmmm 


WHEN  YOU  ADD  PARKAY  FLAVOR-GOODNESS  TO  MEALSI 


It's  flavor  that  tempts 
hungry  appetites  . . . 
it's  flavor  that  makes 
us  enjoy  foods  more. 


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couldn't  leave  that  kid,  who's  strong  as  a 
bear  cub,  and  go  up  to  Maine  with  me,  for 
the  three  weeks  I  had  before  we  came  here. 
And  she  wouldn't  come  here  even  without 
lugging  him  along.  But  that's  how  it  is." 
With  a  sweep  of  his  wide  hand  he  leveled  the 
top  of  the  sand  castle.  '"No,  you  can't  win! 
I  had  one  wife  who  had  dinner  parties 
and  social  obligations.  She  divorced  me. 
Grounds — barbarous  treatment!  All  right. 
I  married  a  child  of  Nature  who'd  never 
heard  of  a  dinner  party  and  who  paddled  a 
canoe  like  an  Indian  and  thought  flying  was 
what  a  man  was  made  for.  What  did  she 
do  but  have  a  baby ! " 

"But  she  had  your  baby!"  Julianne  said. 
He  was  not  listening.  He  was  looking  past 
her,  with  a  respectful  and  welcoming  look, 
and  Julianne  turned  to  see  Kim  coming 
toward  them  across  the  sand.  Did  Nora  feel, 
when  she  saw  this  big,  very  dark  and  sar- 
castic fellow  again,  the  tumult  of  happiness 
that  was  hers  when  she  saw  Kim  ? 

"Hello,  Julie,"  Kim  said.  "Haven't  you 
been  in?  Why,  you've  not !  You've  not  even 
got  that  sarong  wet.  I've  looked  everywhere 
for  you." 

"I'm  getting  used  to  my  first  ocean  gradu- 
ally," Julianne  said.  "Kim,  I  want  you  to 
meet  Major  Blane.  He  was  in  Africa  and 
then  in  Italy.  I've  been  talking  with  his  wife 
and  baby,  who've  just  gone  to  their  hotel." 

"Having  a  family— a  child,  that  is— 
means  special  concessions.  It  means  you 
have  to  live  elsewhere,  can't  stay  at  the 
Kit/.,"  the  major  ex- 


March,  1945 

"But  I  didn't  get  your  letters.  And  it  was 
so  awful.  Bill!" 

"At  Victor's,  you  mean?  WTiy  didn't  you 
want  to  go  to  mother's,  Peggy?  " 

"She  didn't  like  the  looks  of  rrte,  that's 
why,  or  the  way  I  talked.  I'd  not  have  been 
comfortable  in  that  house,  without  you 
there." 

"You  couldn't  have  been  too  comfortable 
there  with  your  sister.  I  didn't  like  Victor. 
He  didn't  get  smart,  did  he?" 

"He  learned  his  place.  But  I  never  liked 
him  either." 

"What  makes  you  so  quiet,  Peggy,  so 
thoughtful  about  everything?  You  were  so 
happy.  Now  you're  like  a  little  nun." 

"Am  I?"  the  girl  said.  "Maybe  I  am 
doing  penance." 

"You!"  he  laughed,  and  reached  for  her 
hand  and  they  ran  the  last  few  steps 
together.  * 

In  the  dressing  room  Julianne  saw  that, 
beyond  question,  the  girl  was  crying.  She 
wanted  to  ask  if  there  was  anything  she 
could  do  to  help,  but  the  girl  turned  from 
her  and  cried  as  quietly  as  she  could,  in  the 
way  a  woman  who  expects  to  be  troubled 
and  sad  a  long  time  cries. 

In  her  room,  Julianne  brushed  the  sand 
from  her  hair,  and  then  lay  across  the  bed 
with  the  thin  violet  robe  Kim's  mother  had 
made  for  her  over  her.  and  thought  of  Kim 
and  the  major  talking  together.  Why  was  it 
that  men  told  one  another,  without  with- 
holding or  hesitancy. 


PARKAY-  a  nutritious  spread  for  America's  bread 


plained,  after  he  had 
shaken  hands  with 
Kim. 

Kim  stretched  out 
in  the  sand  beside 
Julianne  and  said, 
"Pilot?" 

"Fighter.  P-51B 
for  a  while;  and  in 
Italy,  P-51C." 

Julianne  looked 
away  toward  the 
water  where  a  few 
boats  sailed,  while 
their  voices  flowed 
over  her  in  phrases 
like  "flush  skin 
j<)ints"and  "low  drag 
wind."  Her  attention 
came  back  to  them 
when  she  heard  Kim 
asking  the  major, 
easily  and  naturally, 
what  it  was  he 
wanted  to  do,  now 
he  was  to  be  assigned  in  the  United  States. 

"I'll  go  back,  if  they'll  have  me,"  the 
major  said,  "after  the  three  or  six  months 
at  home.  If  they'll  not,  I  think  I'd  like 
instructing,  though  I'm  far  from  sure  I've 
the  patience  for  it.  What  do  you  want?" 

"I  don't  know  for  sure,"  Kim  said,  "but 
I'd  like  flying.  I'd  like  B-29  training,  if  I 
could  be  lucky  enough  to  get  it." 

Julianne  got  to  her  feet.  "I  think  I'll  go 
in,"  she  said.  "The  sun's  made  me  sleepy." 

"I'll  be  back  before  dinnertime,"  Kim 
said.  "Want  to  go  over  to  the  Ambassador 
and  see  if  I  can  find  Hank,  my  engineer." 

"I'm  glad  you  and  Nora  got  together," 
Major  Blane  said.  "She's  been  alone  too 
much.  Just  lives  in  that  kid.  It's  not  good 
for  her." 

A  BOY  and  girl  were  walking  ahead  of 
Julianne  along  the  tunnel  that  led  from  the 
beach,  under  the  boardwalk,  to  the  hotel. 
The  boy  was  very  brown  from  some  tropical 
sun,  and  the  girl,  in  her  black  swim  suit,  with 
her  very  dark  hair,  startlingly  white. 

The  boy  was  saying,  "You're  so  quiet, 
Peggy.  That's  not  like  you.  Aren't  you 
happy?" 

"I  didn't  think  IM  ever  be  happy  again," 
the  girl  said.  "I'm  just  scared,  I  guess." 

"What  are  you  scared  of?" 

"That  I'll  wake  up  and  find  you  still  in 
China,  still  flying  over  the  Hump,  still  to 
get  safely  home." 

"You  worried,"  the  boy  said,  with  a  care- 
ful New  England  accent.  "I  wrote  you  not 
to  worry." 


*•••••••• 

BY  NATHAIMEI.  BURT 

I'd  pluck  a  pansy  from  a  nook 
And  violets  from  beside  a  brook. 
Bind  them  and,  shaking  off  the  dew. 

Give  them  to  you. 
If  I  had  words  as  fresh  and  clean 
As  these  gentle  flowers  have  been, 
I'd  pick  some  shy  ones,  and  a  few 

Passionate  too. 
I'd  tie  them  all  up  in  a  kiss, 
Oystal  words  and  flowers  blue. 
And  I'd  not  need  to  send  you  this. 

But  this  must  do. 

•     •••*•••• 


the  things  their 
womenfolk  longed  to 
know? 

She  fell  asleep  a  no 
dreamed  she  haci 
baby,  a  very  blue- 
eyed,  husky  baby 
with  a  fine  tan,  and 
that  Kim  was  re- 
proaching her  for  hav- 
ing had  him  withoud 
asking  him  first,  and 
saying,  "But  you' 
might  have  written 
me!" 

She  woke  and  lay 
wondering  about  the 
dream.  In  the  dress- 
ing-table mirror  she 
saw  her  reflection  and 
was  comfortedly 
happy  in  its  reality, 
in  her  own  darl 
beauty  and  Kim's 
pride  in  it.  She  would 
dress  and  go  down,  and  perhaps  in  the  loungd 
find  Nora  Blane.  She  and  Nora  had,  in  comJ 
mon,  their  having  known  their  husband^ 
only  briefly,  and  their  finding  their  men's 
home-coming  not  as  they  had  expected  it  tcT 
be.  Was  that  true,  she  wondered,  of  otheij 
wives,  other  very  young  wives? 

She  put  on  the  pale  yellow  dress  thai 
fastened  down  the  side  front  with  ambei 
sabers  and,  standing  back  from  the  mirror 
thought  that  even  with  her  slimness  anc 
free  dark  hair  she  looked  older  than  hen 
twenty-two  yeafs. 

■  She  did  not  find  Nora  in  the  lobby.  In 
stead  she  found  the  pretty  girl  Kim  hac 
spoken  of  as  a  slick  chick.  The  girl  was  tallei 
than  Julianne  and  she  looked  handsome 
still  than  she  had  at  lunch.  She  was  wearing 
an  American  Beauty  rose  dress  and  her  hai; 
she  wore  high  and  lacquer-smooth.  He 
mouth,  that  was  both  small  and  petulantlj 
full,  and  her  nails  were  exactly  the  red  of  hei 
dress.  The  girl  beside  her  was  tall,  too,  bui 
not  nearly  so  pretty.  When  Julianne  spok< 
they  answered  with  slow,  very  Southen 
voices,  and  she  thought  how,  if  her  mother 
in-law  were  there,  she'd  be  saying,  "Tlws 
girls  are  awfully  put  out  about  something.' 
The  less  pretty  girl  asked  Julianne  where  he 
room  was,  on  what  floor,  and  if  it  overlooks 
the  ocean  or  the  town. 

"The  ocean,"  Julianne  said.  "I've  neve 

seen  the  ocean  until  today.    I'm  glad  we'r 

where  we  can  see  it,  and  hear  it  at  night.' 

"See?"  the  girl  in  red  said,  turning  to  th 

other.    "What  did  I  tell  you?    There  ar 

(Continued  on  Page  74) 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


IN  TOMATO  JUICE 


mn  TO  LIB  BY 


"WASTE"     PAPER   IS 
WAR   PAPER.   SAVE    IT! 


TOMATO  JUICE 

WHERE    FOOD    GROWS    FINEST... 
THERE  LIBBY  PACKS  THE  BEST 


74 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  194 


LITTLE  LULU 


6w  "ynxtKyt.'^-al 


nv-m.\Mm»j»WBm\J'^^mwmwm'-^-9^ 


FURRIER 


Copr.  ]945,  lni..Tn«ti..nnl  Crllucollun  ProdiiclB  Co. 


A  special  process  keeps  Kleenex 

LUXURIOUSLY   SOFT- 
DEPENDABLY  STRONG 


Only  Kletifx*  hat  th*  Serv-a-Tis$u«  Box 

f/iert  s»rvmt  up  just  one  doubl»-tissu»  at  a 

i 

Watch  for  Paramount's  latest  LITTLE  LULU  cartoon  in  technicolor  at  your  favorite  theatre 


(Continued  from  Page  72) 
rooms  that  overlook  the  ocean !  To  put  us 
off  there  is  a  low,  Yankee  thing  to  do ! "  And 
to  Julianne,  "We're  both  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hotel,  on  only  the  fifth  floor,  and  we're 
not  going  to  stand  for  it.  We've  sent  the  boys 
down  to  speak  to  them!" 

"To  whom?"  Julianne  asked. 

"To  the  colonel,  the  major,  or  whoever's 
in  command  here!  I'm  not  going  to  wait 
hours  and  hours  at  the  airport  like  I  did,  and 
see  my  reservation  taken  away  from  me  by 
an  artillery  lieutenant — he  was  awfully 
sorry,  but  he  said  he  couldn't  help  it,  and  I 
suppose  he  couldn't — and  sit  there  nearly 
all  night,  before  I  could  get  a  plane  to 
Washington,  and  keep  papa  up  until  nearly 
morning  with  me,  and  come  here  from 
Washington  on  the  hottest  old  train  I  evah 
saw,  and  then  they  put  me  and  Bob  away 
ovah  on  the  back  side  of  this  hotel,  away 
from  the  watah ! " 

"We  came  from  Indiana  in  the  night  and 
this  morning,"  Julianne  said,  "and  as  far  as 
Philadelphia  the  trains  were  air-cooled." 
She  resisted  the  wish  to  tell  the  girl  she  was 
lucky  to  have  got  on  the  plane  and  the 
crowded  train  at  all,  and  to  find  even  stand- 
ing room. 

A  man  came  into  the  lounge  and  smiled 
when  he  saw  Julianne  and  she  recognized 
him  as  Pete  Copeland,  and  got  up  and  went 
to  talk  with  him. 

"You  know  Gorgeous?"  he  asked,  and 
wrinkled  his  brow  toward  the  two  girls  on 
the  sofa. 

"Not  well,"  Julianne  said.  "And  I  didn't 
get  off  to  a  very  good  start,  just  now,  telling 
them,  when  they  asked  me,  that  Kim  and  I 
have  a  room  that  overlooks  the  water.  They 
have  rooms  over  the  town  and  they  don't 
like  that  and  have  sent  their  husbands  to 
complain  to  the  management." 

i  ETE  snorted.  "Well,  I  don't  know  Gor- 
geous' husband,  but  I  met  the  husband  of 
the  other  one  this  noon,  and  you  want  to 
know  where  they  are?  They're  not  down- 
stairs bearding  any  major  about  their  rooms. 
They're  up  on  the  third  floor,  in  the  game 
room,  playing  billiards.  They'll  come  down 
here,  pretty  soon,  dragging  their  faces,  and 
tell  the  girls  'No  luck.'  What'd  they  want 
to  do  thai  for?  They've  got  beds,  haven't 
they?  That's  women  for  you!  Oh,  I  came 
near  getting  hooked,  talked  myself  into  it 
and  talked  myself  out  of  it,  and  happened 
to  be  talked  out,  when  I  got  my  orders. 
When  I  was  down  there  I  was  glad  I  wasn't 
married,  with  all  respect  to  your  charming 
self  and  the  state  of  h(i>ly  matrimony." 

"Lieutenant  Copeland,"  Julianne  asked, 
choosing  her  words  carefully,  "what  is  it 
you  mind  most,  in  the  attitude  of  people 
here  at  home,  toward  the  war,  toward  the 
Air  Forces  in  particular?  You,  like  Kim, 
like  other  men  I've  heard  talking  today, 
have  a  courteously  patient  air,  talking  with 
us.  Why?" 

"Right  off  the  bat?"  he  asked,  and  said, 
the  laughter  gone  from  his  voice,  "I  guess 
my  first  and  best  beef  is  that  only  males 
under  twelve  know  what  we're  saying,  when 
they  ask  us  something  and  we  try  to  tell 
them." 

"But  your  words  are  all  peculiar  to  the 
particular  branch  of  the  Air  Forces  you're 
in,"  Julianne  protested.  "Or  even  to  your 
own  particular  crew.  How  could  you  expect 
us  to  understand  it?" 

"Only  a  little  of  it  is  peculiar  to  a  squad- 
ron or  crew.  That  we  make  up  as  we  go 
along,  we  talk  just  with  men  who  under- 
stand it.  The  most  of  it  is  in  the  papers,  for 
everyone  to  read,  and  it  strikes  me — I  may 
be  all  wet — that  almost  nobody  takes  the 
trouble  to  read  it  with  any  understanding. 
A  flight,  a  group,  q  wing,  a  strike,  a  target, 
a  P-47  or  a  C-47!  It's  all  one  to  them,  all 
flying— or,  rather,  all  bombing.  I'm  unrea- 
sonable, maybe,  but  it  looks  to  me,  if  we 
can  fly  'em,  they — at  least  the  people  who 
have  men  in  the  Air  Forces — might  get  onto 
reading  about  it  so  they  could  make  sense 
out  of  it." 

"Amen,  Pete,"  Kim  said  suddenly  at 
Julianne's  shoulder.  "But  this  girl's  differ- 
ent !  She's  read  the  AAF  guidebook  until  she 


^SUFFERERS 


m 


NEW 

BLUE-JAY 

ITH     PAIN-CURBIK 

NUPERCAINE 

TlS/  New  Blue-Jay  Corn  Plasters  have 
war-proved,  anesthetic  Nupercaine 
added!  Relief  you've  never  known  be- 
fore. This  new  ingredient  deadens 
stinging,  burning  surface  pain  where 
live  flesh  meets  the  corn's  core.  That's 
where  suflFering  is  often  intense.  Now, 
for  the  first  time  in  any  corn  remedy, 
Nupercaine  harmlessly  banishes  this 
pain  until  gentle  medication  loosens 
hard  core.  Then  you  simply  lift  out 
the  "core"  itself!  What  glorious  relief! 


k'       /        WITH     PAIN -CURBING 

'4*' 


ONLY  BIUC.JAY  HAS 
NUPCRCA/Nf 

BESIDES  Nupercaine'3 
relief,  Blue-Jay's  soft 
Dura-felt  pad  gives  in- 
stant relief  from  tor- 
menting shoe  pressure. 
Get  new.  streamlined, 
fiesh-tinted  Blue-Jay 
at  drug  or  toilet 
goods  counters.  For 
less  painful  corns, 
regular  Blue-Jay. 
No  matter  what 
you  have  used 
In  the  past,  try 
this  new  relief 
today. 


INSIST  ON 
BLUE.JAY 


HBLP  REMOVE  CORWu 

_     ~  REMOvfiJ 


CORN  Pi  ASTERS 


i  BAUER  S  BIACJT^. 


mmi  AND 

UKDIH  TASK 


-A~-- 


^f^   SOFT  AS  A 
.;^       KITTEN! 


New  comfort  and 
extra  wear  have  been  added.  Soft,  napped 
inner  lininj.  EASY  ON  AND  OFF.  Better 
hand  fit,  free  finjer  action.  New  firm-grip 
finish  holds  objects  securely.  Waterproof, 
dirt-proof,  won't  snag  or  tear.  Improved 
wearing  quqiitles  as  compared  with  natu- 
ral-rubber gloves. 


WICKS 

PAGIUGES  USED  YEARU 

When  colds  are  in  the  air  spreading  miser 
first  thought  of  increasing  millions  of  peep) 
is  Vicks  home-remedies  for  lessening  distres 
LET  THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  MILLIONS  BE  YOUR  eUlt 


We  Got  Back 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


75 


knows  more  about  fighter  planes  than  you 
know  about  a  B-24,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"I  grant  you  we  ought  to  know  what 
you're  doing  when  we  read  about  it,"  Ju- 
Hanne  said,  "but  there's  new  language  that 
fits  every  part  of  the  Army,  and  the  Navy, 
too,  and  we  can't  know  it  all." 

"You  can  know  enough  to  read  the  pa- 
pers," Pete  insisted.  "Or  at  least  so  it  looks 
to  me.  And  anyway,  once  the  war's  over, 
flying  will  go  right  on.  People,  Americans, 
ought  to  know  about  flying.  Pilots'  wives 
ought  to  know,  anyway.  Maybe,  if  they 
did,  some  of  the  marriages  that  bust  up 
wouldn't  bust  up.  What  do  you  say,  Kim?" 

"I  say,  let's  eat!"  Kim  said.  "Eat  with 
us,  Pete.  I  want  to  watch  them  cross  them- 
selves when  they  walk  in  and  see  you  feeding 
that  face  of  yours.   Sure  scared  me!" 

They  went  into  the  dining  room,  and  sat 
down  at  a  large  table  with  a  young  navigator 
and  a  pilot,  Captain  Taylor,  who  had  been 
in  Africa  and  then  in  Italy. 

Lt.  Betsy  Weston  was  going  into  the  offi- 
cers' dining  room  when  she  heard  a  low 
whistle  that  she  recognized  as  the  impudent 
but  friendly  greeting  of  Captain  Howe,  of 
the  permanent  party  at  the  station.  She 
said,  when  she  heard  his  laughter  at  her 
shoulder,  "Will  you  go  away,  sir?  I  don't 
want  to  talk  with  you  or  to  eat  with  you!" 

"What  a  way  to  talk!"  he  said.  "I  don't 
want  to  talk  with  you  either.  I  just  want  to 
sit  across  the  table  from  you  and  watch  your 
eyes  and  your  freckles  blaze.  Have  you 
found  that  man  yet?" 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  Betsy  cried, 
and  whirled  around  to  look  at  him. 

"How  can  I  say  any- 
thing else?"  he  asked,  his       

grin  shaping  long  lines  in 
his  swarthy  cheeks. 
"You're  so  young  and 
eager.  Tell  me.  Lieutenant 
Weston,  did  you  run  away 
from  home  and  lie  about 
your  age  to  get  in?  You 
can't  be  more  than  four- 
teen now.  Where 'd  you 
get  those  bars?  Silver! 
My,  my!" 

"I  am  a  first  lieutenant 
in  the  Air  Force  of  the 
United    States    Army," 

Betsy  said,  "and  I'm  en-      

titled  to  courtesy  from  a 

fellow  officer.    How  old   I  am  is  none  of 

your  business,  and  I  worked  for  these  bars." 

"You're  cute,"  he  said.  "You're  cute  as  a 
button !  And  you  tease  so  sweet.  Wish  we'd 
had  you  on  the  paper,  before  ever  I  took  to 
stick  and  rudder  and  Army  cameras.  You'd 
have  been  cute  in  a  newspaper  office, 
Betsy.  .  .  .  You  didn't  answer  my  ques- 
tion. Have  you  found  you  a  man  yet?" 

"You  don't  deserve  to  be  answered." 

"I'm  not  asking  to  be  answered.  I'm 
asking  to  get  your  goat.  The  answer's  in 
your  face,  and  on  your  dewy  brow.  Life's 
before  you,  shining  and  bright.  So's  love. 
Wait!  He'll  come!  Sit  here  where  you  can 
watch  for  him." 

It  may  be  I  know  more  about  life,  more 
about  real  love,  too,  than  you'll  ever  know, 
Captain  Howe,"  Betsy  said,  and  sat  very 
straight. 

"Could  be,  but  I  doubt  it,"  the  captain 
said.  "This  he,  now?" 

Betsy  looked  up  to  find  Lieutenant  Brown 
and  his  friend.  Curly,  smiling  down  at  her, 
and  introduced  them  to  Captain  Howe. 

"And  she'd  like  you  to  know,"  Howe  said, 
"that  she's  eating  with  me  only  against  her 
will  and  better  judgment.  Would  you  join 
us?" 

"Say!  Now  I  see  you  in  uniform,"  Curly 
said,  "I  recognize  you.  I  saw  you  drilling 
your  company  on  the  boardwalk  yesterday 
morning.   Say,  you're  all  right." 

"But  did  you  notice,"  Captain  Howe 
aske^,  "that  there  was  a  good  five  inches  of 
beruffled  and  embroidered  pantalette  hang- 
ing below  the  lieutenant's  skirt?  There's 
really  no  disguising  a  sweet  old-fashioned 
girl." 

"Oh,  hush!"  Betsy  said. 


GOOD  PROSPECT 

^  Marriage  seems  to  be  a 
^  health-preserving  state  for 
women.  Outof  100,000  women 
at  the  age  of  forty,  74  more 
single  and  140  more  widowed 
women  die  than  married  ones. 
There  is  a  further  claim :  mar- 
ried people  of  both  sexes  pro- 
vide fewer  candidates  for  in- 
sane asylums  than  others. 

—  H.  G.  BEIGEL: 
Marriage:  Fables,  Focts  and  Figures. 


Flora  Lee  Yates  was  watching  Lt.  Betsy 
Weston.  "What  does  she  think  she's  doing 
here?"  she  asked  her  husband. 

"She's  an  officer,"  Bob  said,  turning  his 
head  to  look  at  Betsy. 

"  I  don't  know  how  girls  can  do  it !  Pretty 
girls,  even.  She's  rather  pretty,  don't  you 
think,  Bob?  But  that's  a  well-tailored  uni- 
form, of  course.  How  could  she  do  it?" 

"Do  what?" 

"Enlist,  or  whatever  they  do,  to  get  into 
those  women's  auxiliaries !  I  heard  at  home 
that  there's  only  one  that's  socially  ac- 
cepted. I  don't  remember  which  one  it  is, 
but  I  don't  believe  it  was  the  Wacs.  They're 
all  just  stenographers  and  hairdressers." 

"Don't  say  things  like  that.  Flora  Lee!" 

"Why  not?  I'm  just  trying  to  be  pleas- 
ant, to  be  sweet,  Bobby,  and  not  have  people 
thinking  we're  not  speaking  to  each  other — 
that  there's  something  wrong.  Why  shouldn  t 
I  say  that?" 

"Because  it's  dumb,  and  vicious!" 

Why,  Bob  Yates!  I've  never  pretended 
to  be  any  walking  encyclopedia — papa  says 
'heaven  forbid' — but  I've  never  done  a  vi- 
cious thing  in  my  life." 

"The  Wacs  are  not  auxiliary.  They're 
Army.  A  Wac  is  a  soldier." 

"I  know.  That's  just  what  I  said,  and  I 
don't  see  how  they  can  do  it!  Men  don't 
like  them.  .I've  heard  men  at  home  say  they 
didn't!" 

"  r ve  heard  men  overseas  say  they  did. " 

"Overseas?     Well,    maybe.     But    here, 

where  there  are  plenty  of  girls,  just  the  fat 

ones,  the  wallflowers  and  girls  nobody'd  ever 

look  at  twice  get  into  uniforms!   ...    I'm 

trying  to  be  sweet.  I  don't 

understand,  Bobby.    You 

don't  seem  to  want  to  talk 
with  me.  You  can't  be 
tired  still.  Bob.  You  had 
three  whole  weeks  to  rest, 
out  there  with  your  folks." 

"I  didn't  rest  much.  I 
couldn't." 

"But  your  mother  was 
better,  Bobby.  You  wrote 
us  she  was.  Were  you  still 
anxious  about  her,  when 
she  said,  and  the  doctor 
said,  she  was  better?  Or 
were    you    still    thinking 

about  all  that  fighting?" 

He  was  silent. 

"Are  you  jealous?  Because  men  notice 
me,  Bobby?  Well,  you  mustn't  be.  Men, 
boys  have  liked  me,  been  crazy  about  me 
ever  since  I  was  a  little  old  girl  in  pigtails." 

"I'm  not  jealous,  not  in  any  way  you'd 
understand." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  understand?  How 
are  you  jealous.  Bob?" 

"Well,  since  you  ask  me,  I'm  jealous  of 
that  B-24  pilot  over  there.  That  navigator, 
across  the  table  from  him,  is  telling  the  pilot's 
wife  something — a  story,  looks  like — and 
she's  listening.  And  when  the  pilot  tells  her 
something — I  saw  them  at  lunch — she  lis- 
tens. She  isn't  looking  around  to  see  who's 
watching  her,  and  she's  very  pretty  too." 

"Bob  Yates,  that's  mean!  I  listen.  All 
that  fighting  and  strafing  and  bailing  out. 
Can  I  help  it?  It's  all  over  and  you're  back." 

"They're  not  back.  Flora  Lee." 

"Well,  Bobby,  in  a  war,  a  lot  of  men  get 
killed.  You  can't  help  that." 

"I  could  have  helped  it.  I  could  have 
waited  another  five  minutes.  I  sent  seven 
men  to  death  or  German  prisons.  I  told 
them  to  bail  out !   I  lost  my  crew." 

"  I  know,  Bobby,  but  anybody  makes  mis- 
takes. Honestly,  Bobby — you  might  think 
about  me !  You  won't  talk,  and  you  look  so 
cross.  People  will  think " 

"What  do  I  care  what  people  think? 
What  do  you  think  they  think,  if  they're,  any 
of  them,  alive  and  waiting?  You  expect  me 
to  sit  here  and  make  polite  conversation 
when  that's  all  I  can  think  about,  and  you 
won't  even  let  me  tell  you  about  it ! " 

"But  you  have  told  me.  Bob.  You've  told 
me  a  hundred  times  already.  ...  If  you 
think  they're  honeymooners,  that  pilot  and 
his  wife,  they're  not.  I  met  her  this  after- 
noon. They're  from  Indiana,  and  her  name  is 


That  yell  of  pain . . .  your  Jr/g/jt . . .  your  rush 
to  the  medic 'me  cabinet! 

Is  UNGVENTINE  there?— you're  almost  ajraid 
to  look. 

Thank  goodness,  unguentine  is  there  . . . 

and  plenty  of  it ...  to  help  relieve  the  pain  ...  to 
fight  infection  ...  to  promote  healing. 

You  can't  always  keep  your  child 
out  of  danger— but  you  can  be  pre- 
pared to  comfort  him  with  soothing, 
antiseptic  JJngiienthu. 

Don't  wait  until  you've  squeezed  the 
last  out  of  the  tube  before  you  buy  a 
new  one  — get  a  tube  or  jar  of  Unguen- 
tine now  and  be  prepared!  At  all  drug 
stores. 


76 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


.VHt..^  .- 


I  can'f  keep  this  under  my  hat: 
The  eating's  too  grande  for  that  I 
Senorita  Ann  Page 
Makes  fine  foods  the  rage 
And  low  prices  help  savings  grow  fotl 


^d^ 


^' 


N. 


v*^ 


iJli' 


1  «:.^i^::;und 


\rounc-^d  ..cc      ^V-^^^^-'         .    „s  Cook 

.   onions,  .^.«t.n  ton^.-  ""'"  aircCtU^--  ^   ^^,, 

^^^  ^^^^"\rst    0  ^^l  tee  and  beans.  g 

^P*S*f  4  servings-  ,„„  m.^'*  ""  *"         k^ 


1.        filifl 

pG  NMDLES '/ 


^,  £t/^a^  to  o4so4C  Ann  Page  foods 


#  Ann  Page  Foods  are  famous  the 
country  over  for  their  "stand  out" 
quaHty ...  yet  their  prices  are  so  mod- 
est you  naturally  ask,  "How  can  A&P 
do  it?"  Well,  the  answer  is  simple! 
You  see,  A&P  both  makes  and  sells 
Ann  Page  Foods.  Thus,  many  in- 
between  expenses  are  eliminated  and 
you  get  top  quality  at  prices  that  are 
mighty  easy  on  your  budget ! 

Try  this  savory  dish  made  with 
Ann  Page  Spaghetti!  It's  delicious 
. . .  and  costs  less  than  10c  a  serving! 


Sample  the  goodness  of  Ann  Page 
Macaroni  and  Vermicelli,  too  .  .  . 
and  enjoy  tender,  tasty  Ann  Page  Egg 
Noodles,  in  broad,  medium  and  fine 
sizes.  You'll  agree  .  .  .  you  get  top 
quality,  yet  save  money  every  time  on 

ANN   PAGE   FOODS 

SOLD  ONLY  AT 
A&P   fOOD  STORES^ 
AND  SUPER 
MARKETS 


JiUianne,  and  they've  got  a  room  that 
overlooks  the  water!" 

After  dinner,  Pete  went  off.  The  other 
men  talked  and  Julianne  listened,  sitting  in 
the  lounge.  Always,  when  she  looked  up,  the 
eyes  of  the  young  navigator  were  on  her, 
sometimes  merry,  sometimes  wistful,  and 
most  admiring. 

When  he  told  her  good  night  he  said,  "I 
like  to  look  at  you." 

"Do  I  look  like  someone  you  know?" 

"No,  I  just  like  to  look  at  you,"  he  said 
again,  and  went. 

"He's  so  nice,"  Julianne  said.  "And  he  did 
look  at  me  as  though  I  reminded  him  of 
someone.  That  was  a  strange  thing  to  say, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sounded  strange,  I  guess.  But  it 
wasn't  a  strange  thing  to  think.  It's  a  funny 
thing  to  say,  Julianne,  but  when  you  first 
get  home,  you  think  most  anything  you 
think  of  to  say  would  sound  strange,  said. 
We're  not  so  civilized  as  we  think.  We  forget 
what's  said  and  what's  not  said,  a  year  or 
more  away.  That  was  a  compliment,  really. 
And  you  can  take  it.  That's  one  of  the  nice 
things  about  you,  Julie.  You  look  nice,  and 
you  are  nice,  and  anybody  can  see  that.  You 
can  take  it  when  men  look  at  you  like  that 
boy  did,  like  Captain  Taylor  did."  He  drew 
her  hand  under  his  arm,  pressed  it  and 
smiled  down  at  her,  and  she  was  happier 
than  she  had  been  in  many  days.  "If  you 
don't  care,  I'd  like 
to  go  find  Pete 
again,"  he  said. 
"I've  not  yet  had  a 
chance  to  talk  with 
him,  by  ourselves." 

"Was  Pete  a 
special  friend?" 

"No,  but  he  and 
Wahoo  were 
friends." 

"Did  you  know 
Wahoo?"  she  cried. 

"Sure did.  Don't 
tell  me  you  know 
Wahoo,  that  he's 
here,  Uke  Pete!" 

"No,  he's  dead. 
I  heard  two  men 
who  were  playing 
horseshoes  with 
clamshells  on  the 
beach  talking  about 
him.  He  was  with 
their  crew.  He's 
missing,    anyway." 

"Who  were 
they  ?  "  he  asked,  his  hand  gripping  hers  hard. 

"  I  don't  know  who  they  were,  except  that 
one  was  called  Curly.  They  were  talking 
with  a  girl  from  Nebraska,  a  Wac." 

"  I'll  be  back  before  nine,"  Kim  said,  "and 
we'll  go  down  and  dance." 

Julianne  went  up  the  stairs  to  the  Palm 
Room  and,  seeing  a  major  with  a  chaplain's 
cross  on  his  collar  sitting  alone,  she  went  to 
him,  told  him  who  she  was,  and  asked 
whether  he  was  a  returnee  or  a  chaplain  at 
the  station. 

"I'm  a  returnee,"  he  said,  and  smiled. 
"Is  there  something  special  on  your  mind 
you  want  to  talk  about?" 

' '  If  there  were,  would  it  be  fair  to  burden 
you  with  it  now,  when  you're  off  duty?" 

"More  than  fair.  Whatever  it  is,  it's  not  a 
grievous  problem." 

"No,  I  suppose  it's  not,  nor  an  unfamiliar 
one  to  you,  I  imagine.  I'd  not  thought  of 
unloading  my  troubles,  but  now  I  think  I'd 
like  to.  My  husband's  been  home  three 
weeks,  and  we've  just  come  here.  He  was 
with  the  Thirteenth  Air  Force." 

"And  you're  not  too  used  to  each  other, 
and  your  being  the  different  people  you've 
become." 

"Yes,  that's  right." 

"How  do  you  think  you  have  changed — 
for  the  better,  or  for  the  worse?" 

"I?  Why,  I've  not  changed!" 

"Perhaps  you  have.  About  all  that  we 
know  about  life,  for  certain,  is  that  it 
changes.  And  your  husband,  how  has  he 
changed?" 


DOHI'T  WASTE  PAPER 

•  Don't  buy  paper  you  don't  need. 

•  Don't  let  the  druggist,  grocer, 
butcher,  baker,  wrap  articles  you 
can  carry  home  unwrapped. 

•  Don't  throw  paper  away  until 
it's  thorouglily  used. 

•  Don't  throw  this  magazine 
away — pass  it  on  to  someone  who 
couldn't  buy  a  copy;  wartime  paper 
needs  are  forcing  us  to  print  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  fewer  copies 
than  we  printed  last  year. 

L«>nd  Your 
Jonrnal  to  a  Friend 

Make  a  Friend 
by  Lending  Your  Journal 


"In  just  his  not  always  making  me  sure, 
as  he  did  when  we  were  first  married,  that  he 
wants  us  to  be  together.  I'm  not  sure  he 
loves  me  as  he  did."  « 

"Had  you  known  him  long?" 
"Only  the  weeks  he  was  in  training  in 
Albuquerque,  where  my  home  was.  We  were 
just  friends.  When  they  sent  him  out  to  the 
Coast  he  had  still  to  discover  that  his  want- 
ing me  was  greater  than  his  prejudice  against 
marrying  before  going  overseas.  When  he 
got  his  first  leave,  we  were  married." 

"You  were  sure  you  wanted  to  marry?" 
"Never  surer  of  anything." 
"Tell  me,  how  has  he  changed?" 
"Oh — he's  quieter,  to  begin  with." 
"They're  nearly  all  quieter.  These  men 
have  sweated  it  out  and  are  tired." 

XIE  SEEMS  to  want  to  talk  about  the  war 
only  with  other  men  here.  As  though  there 
were  no  words  to  tell  us  how  it  has  been." 
"You're  right.  There  are  no  words.  The 
routine  of  flying,  of  bombing,  the  boredom, 
the  loneliness,  the  danger,  the  witnessing  of 
death  are  hells  they  have  endured.  Even 
doctors  and  chaplains  do  not  get  used  to 
death." 

"I  know,"  Julianne  said.  "Kim's  sad." 
"Yes,  he's  sad.  As  the  boys  say,  he's 
'numerously  sad.'  Though  there's  been  no 
time  for  it,  up  to  now,  these  men  are  griev- 
ing." He  was  looking  straight  ahead,  his 
long,  sensitive  hands  on  his  knees.  "I  sup- 
pose war  does  bring 
out  the  best  in  men. 
Their  training 
taught  them  to 
think  and  to  act. 
Fighting  taught 
them  to  love  their 
brothers.  You'll 
hear  a  bomber  pilot 
say,  after  a  group 
of  them  have  been 
ribbing  a  fighter 
awhile,  'He  can 
have  my  cot,  and 
I'll  get  up  out  of  it 
and  give  it  to  him, 
any  time,'  and  then 
tell  how  he's  seen  a 
fighter  stay  up 
there,  over  a  crip- 
pled plane,  stay  to 
the  last  minutes  of 
gas  he  could  spare." 
"Birt  they  have 
one  another,"  Juli- 
,«„™,i«A,u  ,       anne  said.   "At 

home  we  have  been 
lonely,  too,  and  so  anxious  about  them." 
"Yes,  but  his  loneliness  was  greater.  The 
man  who  has  been  accustomed,  even  newly 
accustomed,  to  taking  his  wife  in  his  arms 
when  he  would  experiences  a  terrible  longing 
that  gnaws  at  him  worse  than  hunger  or  the 
hardships  of  fighting.  If  he  is  a  man  who 
has  the  assurance  of  his  wife's  love,  he's 
blessed  indeed.  I  know  no  hell  any  fighting 
man  goes  through  like  that  of  doubting  his 
wife's  love,  or  her  faithfulness." 

"Kim  knows  I  love  him,  that  I've  thought 
of  no  one  else,  ever.'' 

"I'm  sure  of  that,"  the  chaplain  said, 
"and  I'm  just  as  sure  that,  whether  he  ever 
puts  it  into  words,  he  thanks  God  every  day 
that  that  is  so." 

"When  I  read  stories,"  Julianne  said,  "of 
servicemen's  wives'  unfaithfulness  I  resent 
them,  for  the  majority  of  us  who  go  on  loving 
our  husbands  and  writing  them  every  day. 
We're  plainer  people,  from  plain  good  homes, 
Kim  and  I,  and  that  couldn't  happen  to  our 
marriage.  It  does  happen,  I  know,  but  it 
couldn't  happen  to  us." 

"Yes,  it  happens,"  the  chaplain  said. 
"Too  often  I  talk  with  men,  with  women, 
too,  for  whom  it  has  happened.  You've  done 
me  good."  He  smiled.  "You  will  be  all  right, 
the  two  of  you.   Be  patient!" 

Under  her  door  Julianne  found  a  note  that 
said,  "Where  have  you  been?  Looked  every- 
where for  you.  I'll  be  down  in  the  bar. 
Come  on  down.   Kim." 

At  the  far  end  of  the  barroom  Julianne 
saw  Kim,  sitting  with  one  of  the  men  she 
(Continued  on  Page  78) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURINAL 


C(^  iC'.^t  f^(P^  <i5g^  ^  ^^^ 


Yes— look  and  rejoice! 

And  whether  you  try  the  dishes  here,  or  your  own  favorite 
combinations,  remember  you  can  count  on  Del  Monte's  extra 
corn  richness  to  make  them  all  taste  new.  With  Del  Monte, 
every  corn  dish  is  sweet  and  delicious  —  from  top  to  bottom, 
to  the  last  tender,  juicy  kernel. 

Don't  forget,  either,  how  good  Del  Monte  Corn  is  just 
plain,  heated  and  seasoned.  Del  Monte  ^ur.s  flavor  first  in  corn, 
too  —  and  you'll  know  it  the  minute  you  taste  it! 

Three  styles — a  right  one  for  ever}'  need.  Del  Monte  Golden 
Whole  Kernel,  Golden  Cream  Style,  White  Cream  Style— a 
whole  family  of  cornpatch  flavor. 


■iff 


^1* 


^' 


9^' 


*« 


.1*^' 


1^^ 


.e^' 


«>'*i> 


CORN'S    AN    OCCASION 

in  this  better-than- 
ever  corn  au  gratin. 
Made  with  tender 
Del  Monte  White 
Cream  Style,  any 
corn  dish  outdoes 
Itself  in  flavor. 


«*>/,»<■''"■.«"'!  i"" 


ej^^'^'"'",  o-^V^Ic*-! 


«^^^:-°t^^5^^" 


'^^mm<^ 


^<M-'     ^e,*-    .r^^^ 


^»r^#''S^^::;•fi^s^^"•-" 


,i?5>^^"> 


jk*i' 


*'^' 


>'= 


j6^ 


SPARK  PLAIN  SUPPERS 

with  delicious  Gol- 
den Cream  Style. 
It's  rich  and  creamy, 
thick  with  tender 
kernels  —  the  way 
you  like  it! 


THIS    FINE    DEL    MONTE    STYLE 

helps  out  even  hard-to-plan 
meals.  Enjoy  GoldenWhole 
Kernel  in  made-up  dishes, 
or  heap  with  butter. 


a7 


/<' 


eHHontei 


rMjjn^^ 


*f  N  CORN 


CORN 


C»IA,M   sryii'  ' 

"^OlOEN  CORN 


3  Styles— for  all- 
round  corn  enjoyment 


^/rf  r 


CORN 


78 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


;/ 


r 


(2»ol?»»*^ 


^v«*»»»e^ 


"'UvvlA^'^H- 


/)vv<)Uv' 


Dc 


'orothy  Gray  Extra  Rich  Skin  Cream. ..super-rich 
and  lubricating  for  dry,  parched  skin.  Hastens  the 
return  of  soft  smoothness  to  weather-dried  com- 
plexion. Helps  overcome  flaky  roughness.  $1.00  to 
$4.50,  plus  tax.  For  a  quick  pick-up,  Dorothy  Gray 
Masque  Frappe,  tingly  mask  to  light  up  dull,  tired 
skin, help  it  glow  with  freshness.  Jar,  $2.00,  plus  tax. 


FROM  THE 

FIFTH  AVENUE 

SALON  OF 


Q^clo- 


tJoprrleht.  1MB.  by  IVrnihvGniy,  Ltd. 


miu  LJ^iCM 


AND  AT  THE 
BEST    COSMETIC 


COUNTERS 


(Continued  from  Page  76) 
had  seen  on  the  beach  and  the  pretty  Wac. 
He  saw  her,  and,  watching  him  make  his  way 
among  the  tables,  she  thought  he  looked 
somewhat  rested,  for  even  the  one  day  with 
men  from  his  own  new  world. 

"Found  that  fellow  from  Wahoo's  outfit," 
he  told  her.  "Brown,  Lieutenant  Brown. 
Good  guy.  He's  from  Wahoo's  crew,  or 
rather  from  a  crew  that  was  Wahoo's  after 
he  left  us.  Whole  new  crew  Wahoo  was  in." 

"You  didn't  see  Wahoo  go  down?"  she 
asked,  as  they  moved  between  the  tables. 

"No,  honey,  they'd  sent  him  on.  They 
were  thousands  of  miles  from  our  base  when 
they  got  him.  Everybody  liked  Wahoo.  A 
Czech.  Should  have  heard  him  play  his 
fiddle!" 

"Did  he  have  a  wife?" 

"Wahoo?  No,  just  that  fiddle." 

"You  didn't  waste  any  time,"  Julianne 
said  to  the  tall  pilot  when  Kim  had  intro- 
duced the  Wac  and  Lieutenant  Brown.  The 
Wac  smiled.  It  was  hard  to  reconcile  her 
calm  pleasure  in  the  pilot's  admiration  with 
the  disappointment  she  had  seen  in  the  girl's 
eyes,  a  few  hours  before. 

"Know  what  I'm  going  to  name  my  B-24, 
if  I  ever  have  a  new  one?"  Lieutenant 
Brown  asked.  "I  just  thought  of  it.  The 
Brown  Betsy!  .  .  .  Will  you  dance,  Mrs. 
Waters?  "  On  the  floor  he  said,  "You  know, 
I  nearly  asked  you  to  come  play  horseshoes 
with  us  this  afternoon." 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

"Bashful,"  he  said.  "No  foolin',  when  you 
get  back,  when  you've  not  seen  girls  for  a 
long  time,  American  girls,  you  feel  backward 
as  anything." 

"Lieutenant  Brown,"  Julianne  asked,  as 
she  had  asked  Pete  Copeland  in  the  after- 
noon, "what  is  it  you  mind  most,  about  us, 
now  you're  home?" 

"About  girls?" 

"No,  about  all  of  us,  here  at  home.  What 
don't  you  like  about  us?" 

It's  not  about  you,  that  I  don't  like.  It's 
about  myself.  I  don't  get  used  to  things. 
I  don't  feel  I  belong  anyplace  I've  been.  Feel 
more  like  it  here  tonight,  or  since  I  met 
Betsy  this  afternoon.  Found  her  in  the 
dining  room  at  dinner  and  asked  her  for  a 
date.  You  see,  you  come  home  and  the  re- 
porters come,  wanting  to  interview  you,  and 
either  you  don't  tell  it  well,  or  they  foul  it  up 
so  it's  not  what  you  meant  to  say,  and 
you're  ashamed  to  walk  down  Main  Street 
for  the  rest  of  the  time  you're  home." 

"And  your  friends  at  home — do  they  seem 
changed?" 

"They're  none  of  them  there. They're  all 
in  the  war,  all  the  men.  They  have  a  party 
for  you  and  there  are  a  few  of  the  girls  you 
knew,  though  most  of  them  you'd  ever  dated 
are  married,  and  a  whole  new  crop  of  girls 
who've  grown  up  while  you're  away,  and 
they  seem — well,  they're  cute,  but  they  seem 
such  kids.  You  feel  lonely.  That's  what 
I  hate." 

"You  want  to  go  back?" 

"  If  they  send  me.  I  think  they'll  make  me 
a  trainer.  That's  what  I'm  going  to  ask  for. 
and  they  say  you've  got  a  good  chance  of 
getting  what  you  ask  for  if  you  don't  ask  for 
something  that's  overcrowded  already." 

"What  do  you  like  best  here?"  Julianne 
asked. 

"Say,"  he  said,  grinning  down  at  her, 
"you're  not  another  reporter?" 

"No,  I  should  say  not.  I'm  just  interested 
in — in  him,"  she  said,  as  the  music  stopped 
and  she  found  Kim  at  her  side. 

The  Wac  was  not  smiling  now,  but  again 
looked  very  grave.  Julianne  heard  the  lieu- 
tenant ask  her,  as  they  went  back  to  their 
table,  "He  didn't  know  him  either?"  and 
saw  the  girl  shake  her  head. 

"So  you're  'interested'  in  me,  honey?" 
Kim  said,  and  rested-  his  cheek  an  instant 
against  her  hair,  after  he  had  placed  her 
chair  for  her.  The  music  began  again  and 
Kim  said,  when  they  were  alone,  "She  had 
me  on  the  spot,  asking  about  that  boy,  Dave 
Alberts!" 

"You  did  know  him,  Kim?  You  know 
what  happened  to  him.  He's  not  a  pris- 
oner?" 


"You're 

certainly  not 

the  grumpy  gal 

you  used  to  be. 

Sue!' 


'm  feeling  like 
my  old  self  since 
discovered  the 
wonderful  way  to 
relieve  ordinary 
constipation  . . . 
with  NUJOL!" 


EFFECTIVE.,  . 
GENTLE .  .  . 
REGULAR  AS 
CLOCKWORK 

Copr.  1945 


IT'S  YOUR  DUTY  TO  KEEP  FIT  . . . 
AND  TO  KEEP  BUYING  WAR  BONDS 


U;t  THESE  CLEVER  PAIV-TEE 

C<TflT  HfllD[liS 

'  They're   newf 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURAAL 


79 


FIBS  Tampons 

have  rounded  ends 

to  make  insertion  easy! 

"I  never  dreamed 
there  could  be  such 
a  difference  in  tam- 
pons .  .  .that  any 
tampon  could  be  so 
easy  to  use  . .  .until 
I  first  tried  Fibs 
Tampons!" 
Instantly  YOU  will  appreciate  this  differ- 
ence between  Fibs  and  ordinary  tampons. 
For  only  Fibs  of  all  leading  brands  have 
gently  rounded  ends — tapered  to  make  in- 
sertion easy. 

And  only  Fibs  are  "quilted"  to  give  you 
greater  comfort,  greater  safety. 

So  change  to  Fibs.  You  owe  it  to  your- 
self to  try  the  kind  of  tampon  that's  so 
easy  to  use! 

♦T.M.Reg.  U.S.  Pat.  Off. 


"No,  and  he's  not  missing.  He  got  back, 
but  he  was — cracked.  His  plane  and  his 
mind  too.  He  was  hospitahzed  home  a  long 
time  ago.  In  a  hospital  in  this  country,  last 
I  heard  of  him.   Nice  guy  too!" 

"Then  why  hasn't  she  been  notified? 
Why  does  she  think  he's  missing?" 

"'Cause  his  folks  want  her  to  think  that, 
likely.  Because  they  think  that's  what  he'd 
want  her  to  think.  It's  better  for  her  to 
think  he's  missing." 

"Kim,  does  that  happen  to  many  men?" 

"Not  too  many.  They  pretty  well  know 
how  to  weed  out  the  men  who'll  not  be  able 
to  take  it — in  training,  if  not  when  they  first 
get  in.  And  once  they're  flying,  overseas,  the 
flight  surgeons  are  on  the  lookout,  and  if  a 
man's  jumpy  they  usually  catch  it,  ground 
him  for  a  few  days  until  he's  fit  to  go  up 
again." 

"And  men  like  hers — hospitalized  home? 
Will  they  get  over  it?" 

"Some  of  them.  A  lot  of  them,  I  guess.  I 
don't  know  much  about  that,  baby.  Don't 
think  about  it ! " 

"But  why  didn't  they  make  her  man  rest, 
if  he  was  near  breaking?" 

"Because  they  couldn't  spare  him,  that's 
why !  Do  you  have  any  idea  how  few  planes 
we  had  in  the  Pacific,  even  two  years  ago?" 
His  voice  had  risen  sharply,  so  that  people 
at  the  next  table  turned  to  look. 

"I'm  sorry,"  Julianne  said. 

He  put  his  hand  on  hers,  his  voice  quiet 
again.  "No,  I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "Let's  us 
go  up  to  bed.  We  start  in  on  this  processing 
line  in  the  morning.  Funny,  I  feel  tired  in  a 
way,  and  I  feel  rested  too." 


LOVE 

^  To  love  is  to  admire  with  the 
^  heart;  to  admire  is  to  love  with 
the  mind. 

— T.  GAUTIER:  Quoted  by  Winchell  in  N.Y. 
Daily  Mirror. 

Mothers!  When  your  daughters 
are  sixteen,  do  you  take  them  aside 
for  a  heart-to-heart  talk?  If  you 
do,  you'll  learn  a  thing  or  two! 

—VIC  OLIVER. 


"Isn't  that  Pete's  Gorgeous  dancing?" 
Julianne  asked.  "Kim,  that's  not  her  hus- 
band she's  with.  That's  Captain  Taylor." 

"Well,  what's  wrong  with  that?" 

The  Wac  raised  her  hand  from  Lieutenant 
Brown's  shoulder  to  wave. 

"She's  a  cute  kid,"  Kim  said.  "Brown 
likes  her,  doesn't  he?  I  doubt  it'll  get  him 
anywhere.  I  suspect  she  asked  to  come  here, 
where  she  could  meet  returnees.  She  asks 
everybody  about  him.  You  know,  it's  sad, 
but  it  kind  of  does  you  good  to  see  a  girl  like 
that,  one  that  doesn't  sit  home  and  mope  or 
forget  in  a  month,  but  goes  into  the  Army, 
does  something,  and  still  sticks  to  a  man, 
when  he's  missing,  won't  let  him  be  dead.  I 
wish  he  knew,  if  he's  in  shape  to  know  any- 
thing, his  girl's  a  Lili  Marlene." 

"I  wish  he  knew  too,"  Julianne  said. 

"But  I'd  hate  it  if  anybody  told  her,  and 
if  she  keeps  on  asking  she'll  sooner  or  later 
meet  somebody  who'll  tell  her." 

In  their  room,  Julianne  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  stood  looking  down  on  the  water. 
Kim  came  and  stood  beside  her,  one  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  She  smoothed  her  cheek 
against  the  hand  and  said,  "Down  on  the 
beach  this  afternoon,  a  girl  I  talked  with 
asked  me  if  my  husband  was  mad  at  me,  or 
if  he  loved  me  in  the  way  he  did  before." 
She  waited,  her  heart  beating  hard. 

Kim  asked,  after  seconds,  "Well,  what 
did  you  tell  her?" 

"I  said  I  thought  you,  and  her  major, 
weren't  mad  at  us,  that  you  were  just  think- 
ing and " 

His  arm  dropped  away  from  her  and  he 
went  to  the  bed  and  sat  down  and  put  his 
face  in  his  hands.  She  came  and  stood  be- 
side him,  but  did  not  touch  him. 

"What  did  I  say  wrong,  Kim?"  she  asked. 
"Do  I  fail  you,  disappoint  you  in  some  way 
with  everything  I  say,  everything  I  do?" 


Dual  loveliness. ..two  names 
tbat  signify  a  double  tlirill  in  smart 
snoe  lasnions... exciting  flattery. ..smootn 
fitting  comfort  and  enduring  finality. 
1  ne  new  spring  styles  are  prettier 
tnan  ever  of  supple  polisned  calfskins 
in  Turf  Tan,  Navy,  Red  or  Black . . . 
sparkling  Patents  and  Suedes  in  bright 
colors  —  see  them  at  your  dealer's  today. 

CONNIE  SHOES,  $5  and  $6 
NATURAL  POISE  ARCH,  $6 

Some  styles  sUghfly  higher 


CONNIE 


NATURAL  POISE 


WOHL  SHOE  COMPANY  •  SAINT  LOUIS,  MISSOURI 


80 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


ff 


99 


Lets  have  Vo  for  lunch 

V-8*  Cocktail  is  a  delightful  interlude  in 
the  day's  occupations  —  at  lunch  or  after 
scliool  or  for  just  a  hurried  refreshment 
"snatched"  between  liousehold  chitics.  V-8  is 
simply  deHcious  with  other  foods  and  liclps  promote 
a  keen  rehsh  for  tlieir  pjcxxhicss  Init,  more 
importantly,  V-8,  all  by  itself,  has  tiie  merit  of  a 
•generous  iielpiiig  ol  Iresh  Ne^etables  with 
garden-grown  nutnents  in  exery  (U'K'ctal)l(' 
glass.  Just  try  it  today  and  see! 


ASK    FOR  V-8   AT  YOUR    FOOD    STORE 


"V-8  \%a  tradcmnrk  owned  in  thi-  I'tiiti-d 
SditcshySlanriurd  Brandalncorpor.iird; 
in  Omnda  hy  Stand;ird  Drandit  Limitt-d. 


"No,"  he  said.  "There's  just  the  one 
thing,  Juhe.  If  you  wouldn't — if  you  could 
just  not  be  so  eager,  so  anxious  to  help  me. 
That's  what  I  can't  take!  I  come  home  and 
I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,  where 
I'm  going  to  be,  for  now,  or  after  the  war. 
I  want  to  take  care  of  you,  and  instead — 
you  all  but  hold  your  breath,  watching  over 
me.  Like  mom.  Like  I  was  a  kid,  getting 
over  the  flu  or  something." 

"You  mean  you  wish  I  didn't  love  you?" 

"No!  You're  all  right,  Julie.  It's  me." 
He  groaned.  "It's  just — I  don't  know  where 
I  am!  I've  turned  back  alone.  I've  peeled 
off  and  turned  home  and — I'm  lost!" 

She  sat  down  beside  him  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  knee.  "If  you're  lost.  I'm  lost  too," 
she  said.  "I  peeled  off,  turned  home,  when 
you  did.  We're  over  friendly  territory.  At 
least,  today  we  are.  You're  the  leader. 
You've  got  to  get  us  back.  Oh,  Kimmy, 
here  I  am,  and  right  beside  you,  and  I  love 
you  so  much.  Dip  me  your  wing.  Say  some- 
thing to  me!" 

"Joe,  what  day  is  this?  "  Mary  Groblowski 
asked.  She  was  standing  by  the  open  win- 
dow in  her  nightdress,  a  small,  compact 
woman  with  light  brown  hair  that  she  had 
not  yet  put  up  and  wore  in  two  loosely 
woven  braids  over  her  white  shoulders.  She 
had  slipped  one  of  her  husband's  brown  G.I. 
socks  over  her  hand  and  was  darning  a  worn 
place  in  the  heel. 

"Um-m — Tuesday,  I  guess,"  Joe  Gro- 
blowski said.  He  was  lying  on  the  bed,  still, 
in  his  pajama  trousers. 

"No,  I  mean  what  day  does  this  make, 
we've  been  here  in  Atlantic  City  ?  " 

"Ten  days,  Mary." 

"How  do  you  feel  this  morning,  Joe?" 

"Swell.  I've  felt  better  every  morning. 
Rest— that  was  all  I  needed,  Mary,  and  to 
sec  you  again.  You  know,  Mary,  something 
pulled  me  up  with  a  jerk,  yesterday,  some- 
thing I  heard." 

"What?" 

"Oh.  just  some  of  us  were  talking.  Kim — 
you  know,  my  pilot.  Lieutenant  Kim  Wa- 
ters—was over,  from  the  Ritz,  and  he'd 
brought  with  him  a  B-17  pilot  that's  been  in 
England.  Pretty  bad  shape.  Operational 
fatigue.  I'-lak-happy.  We  were  talking  about 
what  we're  all  thinking  about  now:  jobs, 
after  the  war.  Down  on  the  atoll,  we'd  talk 
about  women,  bombers,  getting  drunk, 
fighting,  but  it  was  jobs  we  were  thinking 
about,  and  what  we'll  do  when  we  get  home." 

"Yes,"  Mary  said,  and  it  was  her  way  of 
saying,  "I'm  listening,  and  I  want  to  hear 
whatever  you  have  to  say." 


"Kim,  this  B-17  pilot  and  a  supply-truck 
driver  and  a*tail  gunner  were  talking  about 
getting  jobs,  whether  we'd  try  to  get  our  old 
jobs  back  or  strike  out  and  find  something 
new.  And  this  supply-truck  driver,  h«  said  a 
mouthful.  He  said,  'Now  they  promised  me 
mine  back.  They  said,  "Don't  give  it  a 
thought."  Then,  when  the  guy  who  took  my 
place  was  drafted  two,  three  months  later, 
what'd  they  do  but  give  him  the  same 
send-off!  Well,  I  went  home,  see — I  talked 
with  this  guy  who  is  drivin'  my  truck. 
Married,  has  kids.  Are  they  countin'  on  a 
couple  of  us  gettin'  bumped  off,  maybe? 
Three  men — onetruck.  What 's  the  pay-off  ? ' " 

"What  else  did  he  say?"  Mary  asked. 

"He  said,  '  I  don't  care  about  myself.  I've 
always  found  work.  But  I  got  married  be- 
fore I  was  drafted.  My  wife's  got  a  war  job 
and  we  count  on  her  not  working,  when  the 
war's  over.  Start  a  family.  I  don't  know 
how  she'll  take  it  if  I  don't  get  a  job,  right 
off.  She's  used  to  things  now.  She's  got 
more  than  she  ever  had!'  That's  what  he 
said,  and  this  gunner  spoke  up  and  said, 
'That's  it.  You  know  what  I  was  making  a 
week,  in  Cincinnati?  Eighteen  dollars!' 
He's  not  over  twenty,  Mary.  This  gunner'd 
met  this  girl,  see,  while  he  was  in  training, 
and  she's  kind  of  upper  crust.  Not  so  much 
money,  but  style,  position  in  the  town 
where  the  training  school  was.  I  guess,  sell- 
ing himself  to  her  and  her  folks,  he  didn't 
tell  them  what  he'd  made  a  week,  and  that 
he  didn't  have  anything  saved.  He  was  just 
in  love  with  the  girl,  see,  and  they  were  en- 
gaged. Well,  he  took  two  days  of  his  delay 
en  route,  to  go  see  his  girl  and  her  folks,  and 
he  couldn't  enjoy  himself  for  the  layout  he 
ran  into  there.  She's  set  on  getting  married, 
soon  as  he  gets  another  leave,  and  that'd  be 
all  right  if  she  had  it  straight  how  they'd 
have  to  live,  but  you  know  what  she's 
done?" 

He  spread  his  large  hands  and  waited  for 
Mary  to  ask  him  "What?" 

"She's  got  a  big  church  wedding  planned, 
a  fine  wedding  dress,  six  bridesmaids,  and 
she  asks  him  could  they  go  to  Palm  Springs 
on  their  honeymoon.  He  said  he'd  never 
told  her  the  way  they'd  have  to  start  out, 
that  she'd  just  imagined  things.  While  he 
was  across  it  hadn't  made  any  difference — 
and  now  he's  back  it's  drivin'  him  crazy." 

"What  did  Kim  say?" 

"Kim  says,  like  he  will,  'Well,  just  tell 
her.  Tell  her  how  it  is.'  Kim  can  say  that. 
He's  got  a  good  wife,  hke  I  got.  Tell  her? 
I'd  rather  go  over  New  Guinea  again!  And 
then  the  darnedest  thing  happened." 
(Conlinued  on  Page  S2) 


"/.sf('(   it.  nici'jusi    to  relax  and 
forget  about  boys  for  a  change?" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


WARTIME  NEEDS  restrict  the 
civilian  use  of  cans  for  certain 
products.  But  stocks  on  dealers' 
shelves  are  yours  to  buy  freely. 
And  remember,  foods  packed  in 
cans  come  t©  you  with  their 
vitamins,  minerals,  and  nutri- 
tional values  sealed  in. 


>«« 


•  ••thanks  to  the  protection 
of  the  modern  tin  CAN 

•  Everyone  loves  juicy,  sun-ripened  fruits — picked  at  the 
very  peak  of  their  tempting  goodness — fairly  bursting  with 
fine  flavors  and  precious  health-values.  And,  thanks  to  the 
modern  steel-and-tin  can,  you  can  enjoy  such  fruits  all  the 
year  round — no  matter  where  you  Uve. 

You  see,  most  canning  processes  require  only  a  few  hours' 
time.  This  means  fruits  need  not  be  picked  till  they're  "just 
right"  for  canning — they  can  ripen  in  nature's  own  way. 
And,  because  the  can  gives  lasting  protection  against  the 
spoilage  effects  of  air,  hght,  heat,  cold,  and  contamination  of 
all  kinds — these  fine  fruits  reach  you  with  their  natural 
flavors,  colors,  and  healthful  wholesomeness  sealed  in! 

This  same  priceless  protection  also  applies,  of  covirse,  to 
all  sorts  of  good  things  to  eat — vegetables,  juices,  meats, 
milk,  to  name  but  a  few — as  well  as  to  hundreds  of  other 
items  that  make  up  the  more  than  2,500  products  normally 
packed  in  cans  by  over  135  different  industries. 

And  cans  are  both  economical  and  convenient.  Because 
they  are  easy  to  make,  fill,  ship,  and  handle,  more  of  your 
money  goes  for  what's  in  the  cans.  They're  easy  to  carry, 
easy  to  store,  easy  to  open  and  to  dispose  of — and  they  don't 
break,  crack,  chip,  tear,  or  leak!  So  look  for  it  in  cans — for 
no  other  container  combines  all  these  advantages! 

No  other  container 
protects  like  the  CAN 

CAN  MANUFACTURERS'  INSTITUTE,  INC.,  NEW  Y< 


82 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Buy  War  Bonds 
and  Keep  'em 


MY  DOCTOR 


me  to  supplement  my  family's 
meals  with  Multiple  Vitamins.  He 
told  me  that  even  the  healthiest 
people  require  a  basic  amount  of 
Vitamins  every  day  to  prevent 
Vitamin  deficiencies.  He  explained 
how  people  whose  Vitamin  supply 
is  not  maintained,  may  have  a  lower 
resistance  to  infections,  have  poor 
digestion,  become  nervous,  irri- 
table and  run-down  generally.  Now, 
my  doctor  KNOWS  Vitamins,  and 
I  am  convinced  that  it  is  false 
economy  to  take  any  chances. 


X,  V 


...ONE-A-DAY  (brand)  Multiple  Vitamin  Capsules 

and  I  found  out  what  true  economy  really  is.  I 
get  basic  amounts  of  ALL  the  Vitamins  whose 
requirements  are  known  in  a  single  capsule  daily. 
Seems  to  be  just  what  the  doctor  ordered !  It's 
grand  to  know  that  my  family  has  this 
marvelous  Vitamin  health  protection.  My 
DRUGGIST  knows  Vitamin  value,  and  thanks 
to  One- A- Day  (brand)  I  also  know  Vitamin 
i/o/we— NOW ! 


MILES  LABORATORIES,  INC.  ar:?X»)  "^^e^t^^^  V  ^t^-Sdtj^ 


(Continued  from  Page  80) 

"What,  Joe?" 

"This  other  pilot,  this  Yates,  Kim  had 
brought  over  with  him,  said  to  the  gunner — 
he'd  just  been  standing  there,  he's  too  nerv- 
ous to  sit  down  much— he  said,  'Yes,  tell 
her!  Just  try  to  tell  her.  Just  try  it!'  I 
turned  round  to  look  at  him,  and  you  know, 
he  was  gray,  and  his  cheeks  were  going  in 
and  out,  and  he  was  shaking,  hard,  like  he'd 
just  got  out  of  the  hospital  too  soon,  like 
he'd  just  got  out  of  the  plane  after  a  bad 
run.  Kim  said  something,  offhand,  like  he 
didn't  notice,  and  said  to  me,  'Be  seein'  you, 
Joe,'  and  left,  takin'  the  guy  back  to  the 
hotel. " 

"Hadn't  he  ought  to  be  in  a  hospital?" 

"Sure,  he  ought  to  be  in  a  hospital.  They 
send  him  here  to  be  with  his  wife  he'd  not 
yet  got  to  be  with  at  all.  That's  what  they 
wanted  and  they  let  him  have  it.  Worst 
thing  they  could  have  done — but  how'd  the 
Army  know  that?" 

"She  can't  help  him?" 

"No,  Mary.  She  don't  try.  I've  seen  'em 
together,  and  I've  seen  her  with  other  men 
too.  There's  a  squadron  commander  she's 
after." 

"What's  she  like?" 

"Well,  she's  built  like " 

"That's  enough  outa  you,  Joe,"  Mary 
said,  with  a  smile  dimpling  her  round  cheeks. 
"You  stop  talking  rough!" 
•  He  got  up  and  came  to  her,  where  she 
stood  rolling  his  socks  into  a  neat,  flat  ball, 
and  put  his  hands  on  her  smooth  shoulders, 
and  looked  down  into  her  steady  blue  eyes. 
"  When  we  were  on  the  ship,  coming  home," 
he  said,  "and  they  were  talking  about  the 
States,  how  there  were  strikes  and  all  that, 
so  it  looked  like  we  might  as  well  turn 
around  and  go  back,  I'd  listen,  and  then  get 
your  letters  and  read  'em  again,  Mary,  and 
it  didn't  scare  me,  any  of  it.  I  kne\^  I'd 
make  out.  If  you've  got  a  good  wife,  you're 
all  right." 

Mary  dropped  her  eyes  and  let  her  breath 
out  slowly  between  her  slightly  parted  lips, 
shook  her  head  in  happy  confusion,  and 
said,  "  I  hoped  I'd  get  that  rash  on  my  hands 
all  cleared  up  before  you  came,  but  working, 
I  couldn't." 

"What  do  we  care?"  he  said,  and  his 
hands  gripped  her  shoulders  harder.  "I 
wasn't  going  to  tell  you,  Mary.  I  was  going 
to  keep  it  to  myself  until  I  knew  for  sure, 
until  I  got  my  orders  to  pack  and  get  on  over 
there,  but  lying  here,  watching  you  darn  my 
sock,  thinking  about  those  fellows  yesterday, 
I  got  to  thinkin'  I'd  tell  you  now." 

"Tell  me,"  Mary  said. 

"  I  don't  have  to  wait  till  the  war's  done," 
lie  said,  his  voice  rising  and  laughter  break- 
ing through  it.  "I  don't  have  to  wait  any 
longer  than  our  stay  here.  That  thing  I 
worked  out,  down  there,  for  the  ailerons; 
Kim  had  told  them  about  it,  and  they  had  a 
note  about  it,  clipped  to  my  card,  when  I 
talked  with  that  crew  engineer  in  Classifica- 
tions. They're  sending  me  to  Wright  Field, 
Mary,  to  set  it  up.  I'm  to  have  an  engineer 
to  help  me  draft  the  plan,  and  if  it  is  as  good 
as  it  sounds — and  it  is,  Mary — they'll  be 
turning  them  out,  putting  them  on  planes. 
Not  after  the  war,  but  now,  while,  they're 
needed!"  He  shook  her  a  little,  still  looking 
down  into  her  face,  and  said,  "Don't  you 
get  it,  Mary?  Not  any  waiting  for  patents 
and  all  that  stuff,  not  waiting,  years,  after 
the  war,  to  get  enough  together  to  do  it  on 
my  own.  They've  a  department  here,  at  this 
station,  they  set  up  just  for  men  who  have 
worked  something  out,  invented  something, 
like  this,  and  they  assign  men  through  it  to 
go  on  to  Wright  Field,  where  they'll  have 
every  chance  to  sweat  it  out,  take  the  bugs 
out  of  it,  experiment,  until  they  get  just  the 
thing  wanted  worked  out." 

"And  it  will  be  yours,  Joe,  after?  The 
money,  if  there's  money  in  it,  will  it  be 
yours?" 

"Sure." 

"Joe,  what'll  you  do  with  it?" 

"  Do  with  it?  See  it  put  on  planes,  see  it 
helpin'  men  get  there  and  back,  Mary! 
Oh— you  mean  the  money?  Don't  you 
know?" 


fSfi^^J^"' 


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Dept,  Ml 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


83 


THE  CREAM  THAT  HAS 

EVERY  ADVANTAGE 


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DEAF 


"Yes,"  Mary  said,  and  put  her  sturdy 
arms  up  about  his  neck  and  held  him  close 
while  he  kissed  her.  "I  went  out  there,"  she 
said,  "more  times  than  one,  Joe.  And  the 
place  is  even  better  than  it  looked  that  day." 

"You  still  want  that  farm?" 

"Yes."  She  pressed  her  work-roughened 
hands  against  his  chest  and  pushed  him 
away  from  her.  "Let  me  go,  Joe !  I  want  to 
get  out  your  clean  shirt.  Tell  me  again.  What 
did  the  man  in  the  ofihce  say?" 

"Mary,  I  love  you,"  Joe  said.  "I've  loved 
you  all  the  time.  I  sure  did  love  you  yester- 
day— those  boys  talking,  tied  up  to  dumb, 
lazy  women!  I  come  home,  and  hear  talk 
like  everything  here  had  gone  to  pot,  and 
then  I  see  you.  I  look  at  your  hands,  and 
see  how  you've  been  working,  making  those 
shells,  buying  bonds,,  salting  it  away.  I  see 
how  you  are,  not  silly,  not  stuck  on  yourself, 
but  nice !  Whatever  I  did,  I  loved  you,  Mary, 
loved  you  all  the  time!  You  know  that, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  Mary  said.  "And  your  new  tie  I 
bought  you.  The  socks  I  just  darned.  It's 
like  our  wedding  day.  It's  like  a  confirma- 
tion. Go  get  shaved,  you,  Joe ! " 

Julianne  was  sitting  up  in  bed  with  both 
pillows  behind  her  back,  hugging  her  knees 
and  watching  Kim  tie  his  tie.  "I  was  born 
out  of  my  time,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  I  was." 

"How's  that,  baby?" 

"Oh,  because  I  feel  that  I — Kim,  if  I  had 
got  pneumonia  and  died,  while  you  were 
away,  would  you  ever  have  loved  some 
woman  not  at  all  my  size,  shape  or  com- 
plexion?" 


POOR   ll^DEEDI 

^  Who  is  the  richest  and  who  is  the 
^  poorest  person  in  all  the  world? 
I  call  the  person  with  a  loving 
mother  rich,,  and  the  person  with- 
out a  loving  mother  1  call  poor.  The 
period  when  one  has  a  loving  mother 
I  call  day:  the  period  when  one  has 
not  a  loving  mother  I  call  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  sun. 

— BUDDHA:  Quoted  in  Mercure  de  France, 
Georges  Bonneou. 


"You'll  never  die,"  he  said  gently.  "You'll 
always  be  around  seven  and  full  of  foolish 
questions.  If  he'd  had  any  notion  you  were 
so  young,  the  chaplain'd  never  have  married 
us !   Why  were  you  born  out  of  your  time  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  just  that  I'm  the  kind  of  woman 
who,  if  I  lost  you,  would  do  my  hair  up  in  a 
tight  knot  on  the  back  of  my  head,  and  go 
around,  a  shadow,  and  never  love  again." 

"But  you'd  still  think,  and  ask  questions, 
wouldn't  you?"  He  was  grinning  at  her  in 
the  mirror. 

"No,  I  doubt  I  should!  Kim,  come  here, 
let  me  see  you've  got  your  bars  and  all  your 
ribbons  just  right.  Let  me  look  at  you!" 

"And  get  lipstick  on  my  cuff,  maybe,  like 
the  lieutenant  who  talked  to  me.  That's 
right.  He  had  lipstick  on  a  brand-clean 
blouse  cuff.  We  ignored  it." 

"With  my  heart,  with  my  head,"  Julianne 
said,  "I  might  fall  in  love,  because  I'd  be 
lonesome,  but  not  with  the  rest  of  me." 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  it,  Mrs.  Wa- 
ters," Kim  said,  finished  with  his  tie  and 
turning  to  look  at  first  one  shoulder  and  then 
the  other  in  the  mirror,  and  then  at  her  re- 
flection. When  their  eyes  met,  he  turned 
about  and  came  to  her  quickly  and  she  rose 
on  her  knees  in  the  bed  and  threw  her  arms 
about  him  and  kissed  him. 

"Kim,  am  I  doing  better,"  she  asked,  "in 
not  loving  you  too  much,  most  of  the  time?  " 

"That,  or  I  can  take  it  better,  baby." 

"Kim,  do  you  think  of  how  young  we  are? 
Not  just  you  and  I,  but  all  of  us  here?  We're 
like  a  whole  young  world,  come  here  to  catch 
our  breath,  to  take  hold  of  life  again,  away 
from  the  war!" 

He  sighed,  and  held  her  close.  "They  were 
young  too — Wahoo,  Tommy,  Van.  I  think 
of  theni,  dead,  and  I'm  ashamed  to  be 
breathing  air,  waiting  for  an  assignment, 
making  love  to  you.  Who  am  I  to  get  back? " 


LOSE  S6  POMNDS 


Mrs.  Mary  Knicley,  Hagersfown, 
Md.,  wins  new  figure  and  new  job. 

There  was  no  secret  about  what  she  was 
doing.  Her  husband  had  suggested  it.  Her 
doctor  had  approved  it.  Everyone  in  the 
office  knew  about  it.  What  amazed  them  all 
was  the  change  in  Mary  Knicley  as  she 
went  from  222  pounds  down  to  136,  from  a 
size  44  down  to  a  size  14,  and  they  cheered 
as  the  former  heavyweight  of  the  depart- 
ment, now  slender,  gracious,  and  gay,  was 
moved  up  to  the  front  office,  promoted  to 
cashier! 

"I  feel  like  a  36-year-old  Cinderella," 
says  Mrs.  Knicley.  "You  see,  I  was  resigned 
to  being  fat,  and  I'm  afraid  I  would  have 
stayed  that  way  if  my  husband  had  not 
urged  and  encouraged  me  to  take  the 
DuBarry  Success  Course.  But  once  started, 
I  told  the  girls  in  tlie  office,  and  all  200  of 
them  followed  my  progress  day  by  day. 

"I  found  the  Course  intensely  practical. 
No  starvation  diet,  but  plenty  of  the  right 
food.  Exercises  that  became  a  welcome  part 
of  each  day.  And  a  beauty  routine  worked 
out  for  me  that  has  done  wonders  in  skin 
care,  make-up  and  hair  styling." 


"Today,  I'm  rea 
aglow  with  hea 
and  hajjpiness.  My 
doctor  told  me  tak- 
ing the  Course  was 
the   best  thing  I 
could  have  done." 
—  Mary  Knicley 

MRS.  KNIClEr'S  MEASUREMENIS 

8itoie  Alter  Chsnge 

WEIGH!    222  lbs.  I]E  lbs.  -86  lbs. 

HEICHI     iWz"  56"  +  V2" 

81)51       <6"  H'A"  -M'A' 

WAISt      39"  28'/2"  -W/i 

AB00MEK43"  32"  -11" 

HIP        48"  ZIW  -lO'/j" 


These  two  snapshots  oj  Mrs.  Knkley 
show  her,  at  the  lejt,  when  she  weighed 
222 ;  at  the  right,  when  she  weighed  152. 

HOW  ABOUT  YOU?  Haven't  you 
wished  that  you  could  be  slender  again,  hear 
the  compliments  of  friends,  wear  youthful 
styles,  feel  like  a  new  person?  The  DuBarry 
Success  Course  can  help  you. 

Just  five  years  ago,  the  DuBarry  Success 
Course  was  founded,  hringing  to  women  all 
over  America  the  methods  taught  hy  Ann 
Delafield  at  the  famous  Richard  Iludnut  Salon, 
New  York.  Since  then  more  than  175.()()0  wom- 
en and  girls  of  all  ages  from  12  to  60  have  fol- 
lowed this  practical  plan  for  achieving  heauty 
and  vitality.  Mure  than  50,000  are  housewives, 
40,000  are  in  husiness  or  war  work,  10,000  are 
teachers,  6,000  are  school  and  college  students. 


Above,  Mary  Knicley  as  she  is  today —weight  1S6 
pounds.  Of  the  Success  Course,  she  says,  "I  had  no 
idea  there  was  anything  so  ivonderful  in  the  world." 


4,000  are  registered  nurses.  Hundreds  are  now 
enrolling  every  day. 

The  plan  is  intensely  practical.  It  fits  into 
your  daily  life.  You  get  an  analysis  of  your 
needs,  a  goal  to  work  for  and  a  plan  for 
attaining  it.  You  learn  how  to  bring  your 
weight  and  body  proportions  to  normal,  care 
for  your  skin,  style  your  hair  becomingly,  use 
make-up  for  glamour— look  heller,  feel  better, 
be  at  your  best  for  strenuous  wartime  living. 

When  the  Success  Course  has  meant  so 
much  to  so  many,  why  not  use  the  cou- 
pon to  find  out,  without  the  slightest 
obligation,   what    it   can    do    for   you. 


'^acz^e^ 


C(PU'^^fe' 


ANN  UKLAIIKLU,  Diicrttni 


RICHARD  HUDNUT  SAION 
NEW    YORK 


Accepted  lot  advertising  in  publications 
of  the  American  Medical  Assoclellon 


RiciiAiu)  IIuDNUT  Salon 
Dept.  SP.2,  69:5  Fifth  Avenue.  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Please  send  the  booklet  telling  all  about  the 
DuBarry  Home  Success  Course. 

Miss 

Mrs 


**•'  Guaranteed  by  ^A 
Good  Housekeeping  . 

■nsto  \^^ 


With  your  Course  you  re- 
ci'ii'i-  this  ChfM  vontaining 
a  in-iicroiis  aupiAtj  of  Du- 
fiarry  Beauty  and  Make-up 
Freparalions  jor  your  type. 


Addr 
I  C(>v_ 


^tate. 


CHIAPARELLI  Interprets  C^i^ Mnurt'^Aif^ 

That  famous  Paris  dressiraker — the  ingenious 
chiaparelli- -catches  the  heart-stirring  mood  of  Cutex 

Honor  Bright  with  her  "Eiffel  Tower"  evening  dress 
.  ,  chooses  four  other  dramatic,  vivaciously  enduring 

Cutex  shades  to  highlight  the  liberation  fashions  in  her 
rst  spring  collection  since  the  fall  of  Paris. 


84 


"No.  Who  are  we  to  get  back?"  Julianne 
whispered. 

He  kissed  her  again  and  laid  her  back 
against  the  pillows  and  tucked  the  sheet  up 
under  her  chin.  "Like  my  crew  chief,  Joe, 
I  begin  to  feel  like  myself  again,  Julie.  Go 
back  to  sleep !  I'll  see  you  at  noon.  I'll  likely 
have  something  to  tell  you  by  then." 

"Peggy,"  Bill  asked,  standing  by  the 
window,  watching  his  wife  brush  curls 
around  her  finger,  "are  all  your  dresses 
black?  Didn't  you  bring  any  red  dresses, 
any  bright  blue  ones?" 

"Don't  you  like  this? "  Peggy  asked.  "  It's 
my  best  dress.  Bill.  I  saved  it  for  today,  for 
the  day  you'd  likely  get  your  assignment." 

"  Well,  Peg,  they're  not  going  to  bury  me ! 
No  foolin',  there's  something  wrong.  There 
has  been,  from  the  first.  You  say  you're 
happy,  but  you're  not.  You  act  like " 

"I  act  like  what?"  the  girl  asked,  and 
whirled  about.  "Why  do  you  question  me, 
ask  me  every  day  if  something's  wrong? 
Don't  I  do  everything  I  can?  I'm  here 
whenever  you  want  me!  I  don't  even  go 
down  on  the  sand,  for  fear  you  might  get 
through  with  a  conference  and  come  back 
and  not  find  me.  Don't  I  think  of  you  every 
minute?" 

"Sure  you  do,  Peg!  Nobody  could  be 
better,  sweeter.  It's  just — you  seem  so 
solemn." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be?  Bill— I  thought 
you  wouldn't  get  back ! " 

"What  made  you  think  that,  sweetheart? 
I  told  you  I'd  come  back." 

"Yes,  you  told  me,  and  I  believed  it,  and 
then — something  happened.  You  mustn't 
ask  me  what,  but  I  began  to  be  afraid  you 
wouldn't  get  back." 

"What  happened.  Peg?" 

"I  told  you  you're  not  to  ask  me,  ever!" 
She  was  crying  suddenly. 

He  came  to  her  and  held  her  by  the  shoul- 
ders, and  said,  "Here,  what's  this?  What 
happened,  sweet?" 

"I  told  you  not  to  ask  me!" 

He  led  her  to  the  bed  and  sat  her  down. 
"Now  stop  crying,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  sud- 
denly firm.  "I've  had  an  idea,  ever  since  I 
got  back,  there  was  something.  What  is  it?" 

' '  Don't  think  I've  not  wanted  to  tell  you ! ' ' 

"Never  mind  that.   Just  tell  me." 

"From  the  first  night  I've  wanted  to  tell 
you.  He  said  it  would  be  easier  after  a  while. 
He  didn't  know.  It's  not  easier.  It's  harder, 
every  day." 

"Who  said?" 

"The  doctor.  He  said  I  was  to  have  the 
character  never  to  tell  you,  that  to  need  to 
tell  you  was  just  self-indulgence." 

"Peg!" 


March,  1945 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and 
sobbed. 

"Tell  me,"  the  boy  said.  "There  was 
someone  else!  Who  was  he?  It  wasn't 
Victor?" 

"No,  not  Victor.  I  hated  him.  Does  that 
matter,  who  he  was?  " 

"Yes — as  much  as  anything  matters  now. 
Where  did  you  meet  him?" 

"In  the  office.  He  came  in  to  see  a  girl. 
We  talked  and  he  asked  me  to  go  out  to 
dinner,  and  I  did.  And  after  that  I'd  meet 
him  after  work.  We  walked  in  the  rain — it 
rained  the  whole  time — and  we  talked." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"A  corporal  on  furlough.  He  wasn't  any 
wolf.  Bill.  He " 

"He  wasn't?  How  would  you  know?" 

"The  doctor  said,  when  he'd  told  me  I 
wasn't  in  trouble,  that  to  tell  you  would 
spoil  our  marriage.  All  right,  I'm  spoiling  it! 
What  he  didn't  know  is  that  it  is  spoiled,  for 
me,  by  not  telling  you.  It's  not  just  your 
marriage.  It's  mine,  too,  and  if  it's  not  right 
for  me,  it's  not  any  good." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"No  one  you'll  ever  know,  I  tell  you.  Do 
you  have  any  notion  how  it  is  to  wait 
months,  months  for  a  letter?" 

"You're  asking  me  that.  Peg?" 

"I  mean  for  a  girl  to  wait,  when  she's 
married  to  a  man  who  never  made  her  sure 
he  wanted  her?" 

"I  never  made  you  sure,  Peg?" 

"Not  for  the  time  after  you'd  gone,  you 
didn't!  I'm  not  trying  to  make  what  I  did 
right.   It  wasn't.   It  was  just — natural." 

"Natural !  How  long  did  you  go  on  seeing 
him,  being  with  him?" 

She  leaped  to  her  feet  and  ran  to  the  win- 
dow and  said,  with  her  back  to  him,  "We 
were  friends.  We  talked  together  as  I'd 
never  known  what  it  was  like  to  talk  with 
anyone.  We  walked  in  the  rain  and  talked 
and  then  we  went  to  his  place — friends  had 
gone  away  and  left  him  their  apartment. 
Your  letters  came,  at  last,  but  they  didn't 
make  me  sure  you  loved  me,  were  glad  you 
married  me,  that  you  liked  me  more  than 
anyone  else.  Bill,  I  needed  to  talk  with 
someone!  And  he  was  Irish,  like  me." 

"You  could  have  had  someone.  I  took 
you  to  my  mother.  You  could  have  gone  to 
stay  with  her.  You  could  have  known  her 
friends,  and  mine." 

"No,  that's  where  you're  wrong,  Bill.  I 
couldn't.  I  could  have  kept  that  to  myself, 
but  what  difference  does  it  make,  now?  I 
went  to  see  your  mother.  I'd  not  heard  from 
you  in  months,  and  there  were  people " 

"I  know.  Aunt  Beulah  and  some  friends. 
Mother  told  me." 

(Continued  on  Page  86) 


iriricir'kir'kirir-kiriririririricif^ir^ 


BY  MARCELENE  COX 


IT  IS  easy  to  tell  which  family  in  a  neigh- 
borhood has  a  stand-in  with  the  butcher; 
just  observe  where  the  dogs  gather  to  chew 
bones. 

They  discovered  early  in  my  life  that  I 
could  straighten  a  room — and  I  have  been 
doing  it  ever  since. 

Social  prestige  in  adolescence  may  hinge  on 
whether  a  sandwich  is  halved  cornerwise  or 
through  the  middle. 

Children  should  not  be  condemned  for 
accidents.  Compared  with  an  adult,  the 
child  is  all  left  hand. 

A  woman  will  spend^more  money  down- 
town if  she  has  someone  at  home  doing  the 
work  for  her. 

I  find  that  I  have  to  be  as  careful  about 
dividing  my  affections  between  the  dog  and 
cats  as  I  do  between  my  husband  and  the 
children. 

Life  is  like  a  camel:  you  can  make  it  do 
anything  except  back  up. 


One  thing  the  av'erage  man  doesn't  com- 
prehend when  he  marries  a  woman  is  that 
she  expects  him  to  lead  her  through  traffic  as 
well  as  life. 

Small  girl's  comment  after  visiting  a 
friend:  "I  wouldn't  want  Jane's  mother  for 
mine;  she  does  too  many  things  in  one  day." 

So  much  housework  is  water  over  a  dam, 
but  hours  spent  with  children  go  into  the 
great  stream  of  life. 

Pausing  for  ration  identification  has 
helped  some  women  lose  weight. 

When  a  telephone  rings,  the  average  man 
settles  deeper  into  his  chair  with  the  ob- 
servation, "I  wonder  who  that  can  be?" 

The  only  form  of  rationing  which  has 
broken  my  heart  has  been  the  shortage  in 
sauerkraut. 

It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  the 
parent  isn't  sure  whether  to  hit  the  nail  on 
the  head  with  gentle  words  or  the  child  in 
the  rear  with  something  less  gentle  than 
words. 


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86 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


BE    BRIGHT   about  your  hands  — use  Canipana  Cream 
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(Continued  from  Page  84) 

"But  did  she  tell  you  she  sat  there,  asking 
me  how  I  wanted  my  tea,  and  a  letter  from 
you  on  the  table  beside  her " 

"It  was  an  old  letter.  She'd  not  heard 
either.  She  thought  you'd  heard,  and  chose 
not  to  tell  her." 

"  I  came  away,  and  he  was  waiting  for  me, 
near  Jean's,  and  we  went  to  his  place.  It 
was  raining." 

"And  I  suppose  it  was  all  a  surprise  to 
you !  You  just  went  home  with  him,  out  of 
the  rain?" 

"No."  she  said,  letting  her  tears  run  down 
her  cheeks  unminded.  "No,  I  knew  it  would 
happen.  I  ivanled  it  to  happen!  There  in 
your  home  it  was  so  cold  and  unloving !  Do 
you  know  what  it  is,  not  to  hear  from  a  man 
you've  married,  with  everyone  he  knows 
against  your  marrying?" 

"  I  married  you.  Peg." 

"This  boy — he  didn't  come  from  your 
part  of  town  and  with  everything  against 
loving  me.   He  just  loved  me  as  I  was." 

"And  you  loved  him." 

"No,  no,  I  didn't  love  him.  I  just  wanted 
love,  and  not  to  be  in  love  with  him.  You 
can't  understand  that,  can  you?" 

"No,  not  from  you,  I  can't." 

"Well,  now  I've  told  you!  I  thought, 
after  I  did  that,  that  you'd  be  killed.  And 
then  your  letter  came,  and  I  thought  how 
crazy,  that  God  would  let  a  bomber  be  lost 
to  punish  me  for  wanting  love,  when  I'd 
come  to  doubt  you  loved  me.  I  prayed  to 
have  you  back,  and  you  did  get  back,  and 
still  it  isn't  enough!  I've  got  to  have  me 
back,  too.  Bill.  I'm  g/arf  I've  told  you.  I'm 
not  glad  I  did  it— you  know  that.  It  will 
hurt  me  all  my  life.  I'm  just  glad  to  be  free 
of  not  telling  you.  The  doctor " 

He  came  to  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  held  her  close  and  kissed  the  top  of  her 
dark  head. 

She  clung  to  him,  unbelieving,  trembling 
hard.  "Bill,  you  forgive  me?  You  can  for- 
give me?" 

"If  you  can  forgive  me,  Peggy." 

"What  is  there  for  me  to  forgive  you?" 

"My  not  making  you  sure  we  were  mar- 
ried! For  better,  for  worse,  so  that,  when  I 
couldn't  get  word  to  you,  you'd  know  I  was 
thinking  of  you.  loving  you  just  the  same. 
And  I'm  not  perfect,  Peggy." 

"Well,  if  you're  not— don't  tell  me,  Bill. 
You  be  the  one  to  have  the  character  to  hold 
your  own  council.  One  thing  I  must  tell  you. 
Bill — it  couldn't  happen  again.  You'll  not 
doubt  me?" 

I'll  never  let  you  out  of  my  sight,"  he 
said.  "Peg,  don't  you  know  how  I've  loved 
you,  why  I  wanted  you?  You  were  so  sweet 
and  alive,  and  ready  to  be  yourself.  Even  if 
they  sent  me  back  you'd  not  doubt  my  love 
for  you?" 

"Even  to  China,"  she  said.  "Bill,  hold 
me  tight,  a  long  time!" 

"  I  can't,  sweetheart.  I'm  going  to  be  late 
now." 

Nora  Blane  was  wheeling  her  baby  down 
past  Convention  Hall,  where  his  father  was 
that  morning,  getting  his  assignment.  Jack 
had  looked  furious  about  the  diapers  in  the 
bathroom.  She  had  wanted  to  explain  care- 
fully to  him,  once  again,  that  there  was  not 
room  to  hang  the  diapers  singly,  but  she  had 
not  said  anything.  They  had  hardly  talked 
in  the  past  days.  Jack,  when  he  was  with 
her  and  the  baby,  would  sit  and  look  at  them 
moodily.  At  least,  he  was  paying  attention 
to  her  and  the  baby  now. 

"When  we  go  where  we  go,  we  will  have 
a  washroom,  a  place  to  wash  his  clothes,  a 
place  to  dry  them,"  she  had  said  finally. 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked.  "They 
told  us  we  might  not  be  able  to  take  our 
families  with  us." 

"You  must  ask  for  something  right  for 
the  baby,"  Nora  said  firmly. 

"I  must  ask?"  Jack  said.  "Nora,  I'm  still 
in  the  Army,  still  a  pilot.  They  do  not  ask 
'What  should  your  baby  like  you  to  do?'" 

Now,  wheeling  the  baby,  she  said  to  him, 
"You  are  good.  You  are  the  best  baby  he 
ever  saw.  Does  he  see  that  ?  No,  he  sees  only 
the  diapers!" 


They  lived  two  lives,  she  and  Jack  and  her 
baby.  While  the  day  lasted  he  was  distant, 
cold,  though  he  had  been  much  more  mind- 
ful of  her  in  the  days  just  past.  Wh^  dark- 
ness came  and  the  baby  slept,  it  was  as 
though  he  forgave  her  the  day,  forgave  her 
the  baby,  and  loved  her.  She  would  let  him 
make  her  forget  the  day,  let  him  rewin  her 
to  the  night  and  to  caresses,  but  not  always. 

"He  will  find  a  place  good  for  you  or  I  will 
not  go,"  she  said  to  the  baby. 

"Here,"  a  voice  said,  "all  but  collided! 
Comes  of  my  not  looking  where  I'm  going." 
A  boy  with  a  miniature  plane  in  each  hand 
was  smiling  at  her,  then  looking  down  at  the 
baby. 

"Wait,"  Nora  said.  "May  I  see?  May  I 
see  the  planes?" 

"Sure.  They're  just  models." 

"Is  it  a  Mustang?"  she  asked. 

"That's  right." 

You  wouldn't — you  wouldn't  sell  me  the 
Mustang?"  * 

"Well,  no,  I'm  sorry,  I  guess  I  wouldn't," 
he  said.  "I  made  'em  for  my  brother.  He's 
twelve.  I  made  'em  in  the  convalescent 
hospital." 

"You  are  sick?  You  are  wounded?" 

"Not  now.  I  just  came  on  here.  I  just 
came  on  here  today." 

"Could  you — would  you  let  my  little  boy 
look  at  it,  the  Mustang?" 

"Sure,  but  he's  pretty  small,  isn't  he,  to 
be  interested  in  models?" 

"No,"  she  said.  "He's  a  very  bright  boy. 
He  pays  attention." 

He  held  the  Mustang  down  where  the 
baby  could  see  it.  Johnny  put  up  his  hands, 
caught  at  the  plane. 

"Look,  Johnny  Blane,"  Nora  said,  "only 
look  now!  It  is  this  he  flew,  this  plane,  this 
Mustang,  over  Italy.  It  is  this  your  father, 
the  major,  is  crazy  about!" 

"Is  this  Major  Blane's  kid?"  the  boy 
asked.  "Are  you  his  wife?" 

"Yes.  But  do  you  know  the  major?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  him.  I  just  heard 
about  him.  I  just  heard  about  him  from  the 
pilot  who  was  locked  up  with  me  at  the 
hospital  in  Tennessee.  He  said,  'First  thing 
I'm  going  to  do,  when  I  get  out — when  I  get 
well,  find  that  guy  Blane.' " 

"  Did  he  have  a  fight  to  fight,  with  Jack?" 
Nora  asked. 

"No,  no,  nothing  like  that.  Just  the  major 
saw  him  home,  that's  all.  Got  the  jerries 
that  were  after  him,  chased  them  home,  so 
he  got  back." 

"But  your  ribbons!"  Nora  said.  "You 
were  in  the  Pacific." 

"That's  right,  I  was  in  the  Pacific.  And 
that's  not  all!" 

"My  husband,  he  will  know  your  friend 
in  the  hospital.  What  is  his  name,  so  I  can 
tell  him?" 

"He  won't  know  his  name.  He  won't  ever 
have  heard  it,"  the  boy  said.  "Beefie  Bon- 
nette,  his  name  was.  Lieutenant  Bernard 
Bonnette."  The  boy  put  the  Mustang  into 
the  baby's  hands.  "She's  yours,"  he  said. 
"From  Beef  Bonnette,  via  your  Uncle 
Dave."  He  went,  the  Mosquito  held  high 
on  his  left  hand.    ' 

"Give  it  to  me,"  Nora  said,  and  took  the 
plane  from  her  boy  before  the  rudder 
reached  his  mouth.  "You  are  only  to  look! 
I  shall  hang  it  to  the  electric  light,  by  a 
string,  and  you  shall  watch  it  fly  and  tvanl  it. 
Do  you  know  who  sent  it?  The  angels! 
That  is  what  the  bombers  say:  the  fighters 
are  the  angels.  This  little  angel,  you  know 
what  he  is  to  bring  to  you?  Your  father! 
Your  father  is  to  look  at  you  and  say, '  Nora, 
look  at  him  look  at  that  Mustang!'  If  he 
won't,  we  are  through.  We  will  go  back  to 
the  woods  and  never  come  out.  Never!" 

Flora  Lee  Yates  was  sitting  at  the  dressing 
table,  pinning  up  her  dark  hair  and  talking 
to  her  husband.  She  was  in  riding  clothes 
and  she  smoothed  her  hair  and  redrew  her 
mouth  with  a  pointed  brush.  "I  can't  help 
it,  can  I,"  she  asked,  "that  men  like  me, 
that  a  captain  wants  to  dance  with  me, 
wants  to  take  me  horseback  riding?" 

"I'm  not  saying  anything,  am  I?"  the 
boy  asked.    He  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of 


il 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


87 


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the  bed,  clasping  and  unclasping  his  long 
hands. 

"But  you  look  so  dark,"  Flora  Lee  said. 
"I  can't  help  it  if  boys,  if  men  fall  in  love 
with  me,  can  I?  You  fell  in  love  with  me 
once  yourself." 

"We  fell  in  love  with  each  other." 

She  laughed.  "You  were  awfully  serious, 
though  not  in  the  way  you  are  now.  You 
told  me  all  about  yourself,  your  whole  life. 
You  didn't  get  me  in  until  three  in  the  morn- 
ing. Papa  was  furious ! " 

He  came  and  stood  behind  her.  "Flora 
Lee,"  he  said,  "there's  something  Ld  better 
tell  you.  They  want  me  to  come  back  there 
again  today,  to  the  medical  offices.  The  sur- 
geon, the  colonel,  wants  to  talk  with  me 
again." 

"But  Bob,  what  for?  You've  had  your 
physical.  You  had  it  days  ago!  What  do 
they  want  you  to  come  back  for?  " 

"I  told  you — I  tried  to  tell  you,  they've 
had  me  come  back,  almost  every  day." 

"Whatever  for?" 

"I  have  to  talk  with  the  psychiatrist 
again.  That's  what  I've  got  to  tell  you.  I 
don't  think  they'll  give  me  an  assignment 
now.  Flora  Lee.  I  think  they'll  send  me  back 
to  a  hospital." 

"A  hospital?  But  why?  You're  not  sick. 
You  look  fine.  You " 

"They  say  I  am  sick.  Flora  Lee,  that  I 
have  to  have  treatment  and  rest.  Today 
they'll  tell  me  where  Fm  to  go." 

"You  mean  you  won't  go  on,  in  the  Air 
Force?  You  won't  ever  be  promoted?  You'll 
just  lie  around  in  some  old  hospital?" 


TOLERANCE 

^  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  love 
^  those  men  who  have  thought 
differently  from  me.  I  have  no  more 
right  to  be  angry  with  a  man  whose 
reason  has  followed  up  a  process  dif- 
ferent froin  what  mine  has,  and  is 
satisfied  with  the  result,  than  with 
one  mIio  has  gone  to  Venice  while  I 
am  at  Siena,  and  who  writes  to  me 
that  he  likes  the  place. 

—  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


"That  doesn't  matter,"  he  said.  "Fm 
lucky  they  didn't  break  me.  They  let  me 
take  a  bomber  up  again,  take  up  a  new  crew, 
on  another  mission  even.  A  lieutenant's  is 
rank  enough  to  tell  men  to  bail  out!" 

"Oh,  Bobby — don't  start  talking  like  that ! 
You  know  what  you  do,  when  you  start 
talking  about  that?  You  stammer !  That's 
what  you  do.  If  they  send  you  to  a  hos- 
pital, what  am  I  to  do?  Just  go  home  and 
sit  around,  and  wait?  I've  waited  now  until 
I  could  die." 

"  It  won't  be  for  long.  I've  not  got  it  like 
some  of  them.  Flora  Lee." 

"Not  got  what?  That  old  fatigue?  Do 
you  want  to  know  what  I  think  about  that? 
There's  not  anything  really  wrong  with  you, 
Bobby!  Papa'll  give  you  a  place  in  the  mill, 
a  good  job,  or  in  the  real-estate  ofifice.  Papa 
wouldn't  like  you  just  giving  up  and  lying 
down  in  the  shafts,  like  this." 

"Flora  Lee!  Do  you  think  the  doctors 
don't  know  anything?  " 

"All  I  know  is,  you  don't  look  sick,  and 
that  nobody's  going  to  do  anything  for  you, 
while  you  stay  off  up  here  in  your  room  and 
acl  sick.  If  I  want  to  dance,  to  go  swimming 
or  riding,  I  can  just  go  find  somebody  to 
take  me!" 

"I  told  you  I  had  this  conference  this 
morning.  Anyway,  you'd  already  told  this 
captain  you'd  go  with  him,  before  you  said 
anything  to  me  about  it." 

"Well,  Bobby,  what  am  I  to  do?  Sit 
around  like  I  was  old,  like  I  wasn't  pretty, 
and  wait  for  you  to  get  back  from  going  to 
see  doctors?  I  tell  you,  we  didn't  like  it,  papa 
and  I  didn't,  when  you  went  home  to  see 
your  folks  instead  of  coming  to  us.  That  girl, 
that  girl  you  dated  in  high  school,  that  you 
swore  to  me  you  weren't  in  love  with,  Bobby. 
Are  you  sure  you  didn't  go  home  to  see 
her?  "  (Continued  on  Page  89) 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1' 


The  family  welcomes  you . . .  Have  a  Coca-Cola 


. . .  or  greeting  new  and  old  friends 


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but  hearty  welcome  is  best.  It's  what  you  share 


your  refrigerator.  Have  a  Coke  says  Welcome 
.  .  .  makes  new  and  old  friends  feel  at  home 


in  friendliness,  not  what  you  have,  that  counts.  with  you  and  yours. 


It's  natural  for  popular 
to  acquire  friendly  ab 
tions.  That's  why  yoi 
Coca-Cola  called  Cok« 


COPVRIOHT  I94S,  THE  COCA-COLA  COMPANY 


I.  or 
"tit 


JUlri; 


Ibij' 


We  Got  Back 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


89 


(Continued  from  Page  87) 

"I  wanted  to  see  Jo.  She  wasn't  there. 
She's  in  nurse's  training,  in  Buffalo." 

"She  is?  Well,  why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
Bobby  Yates,  you  didn't  lie  to  me  when  you 
said  you  weren't  in  love  with  that  girl,  did 
you?  Were  you  in  love  with  her?  Ever?" 

"  If  I  was,  I  didn't  know  it." 

"Does  that  mean  you're  in  love  with  her 
now?" 

"No.  I  just  wish  I  could  talk  with  her, 
that's  all.  We  used  to  ride  our  bikes  out  to 
her  uncle's  farm,  and  go  up  to  their  orchard 
and  talk." 

"What  do  you  want  to  talk  to  her  about 
now?" 

"You  know  what — the  thing  I've  tried  to 
tell  you  about.  Flora  Lee." 

She  was  suddenly  coquettish  and  prettily 
sympathetic.  "Stop  walking  the  floor, 
Bobby.  Come  sit  down  here  by  the  window, 
and  tell  me.  Only  tell  me  quick.  Captain 
Taylor  will  be  coming  any  minute  now  to 
take  me  riding." 

He  sat  down  and  drew  her  onto  the  arm 
of  his  chair  and  said,  "I've  tried  to  tell  you 
about  it.  I  needed  to  tell  you  and  you  never 
let  me,  never  ^let  me  tell  you  through,  so 
you'd  know  what  happened.  How  it  was 
when  I  ordered  them  to  bail  out  and  how  it 
is  for  me,  now,  how  it  is  I  have  to  think 
about  it." 

"Thai!"  she  said.  "But  you've  told  me 
that,  Bobby!" 

"No,  I've  never  told  you." 

"You  mean  that  bailing  out?  But  you 
have.   You've  told  me  a  hundred  times!" 

"No,  you've  always 
stopped  me."  

She  ran  her  hand 
through  his  fair  hair 
and  kissed  his  fore- 
head, a  quick  kiss,  and 
said,  "Well,  tell  me, 
then,  Bobby.  Tell  me, 
quick." 

He  took  a  deep 
breath  and  began 
doggedly,  "I  felt  it  was 
different  when  we  were 
briefed.  I  didn't  go  to 

sleep.    I   lay   down,       

but " 

"I  know,  honey,"  she  said  soothingly,  like 
a  mother  who  is  trying  to  trick  a  child  into 
thinking  she  is  going  to  stay  with  him,  the 
quicker  to  get  away.  "You  couldn't  get  to 
sleep." 

'I  got  up  and  went  down  to  the  Betty 
Jo." 

"The  Betty  Jo!  Is  that  where  you  got  the 
name  for  your  B-17?  From  that  girl?"  She 
leaped  up  and  tried  to  pull  away  from  him. 
"Well,  go  tell  her!  Go  on  up  to  Buffalo  and 
find  her  in  her  little  old  ugly  training  uni- 
form, and  tell  her!" 

He  held  to  her  and  answered  quietly.  "  It 
wasn't  named  for  Jo.  It  was  named  for 
Scoggins'  little  girl,  for  his  baby.  It  was  his 
plane  before  it  was  mine.  He  got  hit,  got 
killed.  Sometimes  the  name  sticks." 

'  Why  couldn't  you  have  named  it  a  new 
name?  Weren't  you  married?  Couldn't  you 
have  named  it  after  me?  " 

"No.  I  couldn't.  The  rest  of  the  crew 
were  the  same.  When  his  little  girl  was  born 
they  sent  her  a  purse.  They  sent  her  mother 
thirty-five  dollars,  the  crew  did,  and  they 
named  the  Fort  the  Betty  Jo.  Flora  Lee,  let 
me  tell  you!    You  don't  know  how  I  feel 

Jjabout  your  not  letting  me  tell  you,  now, 
now  I've  come  to  feel.  It's  crazy,  but  it's 
ike  I  was  up,  and  running  out  of  oxygen,  to 
oe  trying  to  tell  you,  and  you  not  listen- 
ing!" 

"I  am  listening.  You  make  me  tired, 
Bobby.  You  didn't  go  to  see  that  girl,  that 
Jo,  on  your  way  here?  You've  not  talked 
ivith  her?" 

■  No,  I've  not  seen  her,  talked  with  her  or 

jA'ritten  her.  ...  I  got  up  and  went  down  to 
he  Betty  Jo.  An  English  morning  isn't  like 
/ou  read  about  it,  with  dew  and  nightingales, 
lust  planes.  Planes,  and  propellers,  and  a 
'aw  chill." 

'They're  not  so  much,  nightingales," 
Piora  Lee  said.  "I  heard  one  once,  on  the 


LIFE 

^L  The  reality  of  life  is  in  the  living 
^  tissue  of  it  from  day  to  day,  not 
in  the  expectation  of  better,  nor  in 
the  fear  of  worse.  Those  two  things, 
to  be  always  looking  ahead  and  to 
worry  over  things  that  haven't  yet 
happened — these  take  the  very  es- 
sence out  of  life. 

—  STEPHEN  LEACOCK:  Quoted  in  The  Best  Digest 
of  All  (Leisure  Age  Pub.  Co.  Pty.  Ltd.) 


radio,  singing  /rom  England,  and  I'd  rather 
hear  one  of  our  little  old  mockingbirds,  any 
time." 

"You  heard  one  sing?  I  didn't  hear  one, 
there.  Just  the  planes.  They  were  checking 
her,  and  she  was  all  right — Number  Three 
too.  I  waked  the  boys  myself.  Pinkie  didn't 
want  to  get  up.  He  wound  the  top  blanket 
about  his  head  and  said,  'Aw,  go  'way,  can't 
you,  just  once?'" 

1  don't  think  you  ought  to  talk  about  it," 
Flora  Lee  said.  "You  ought  to  just  put  it  out 
of  your  mind  and  forget  it.  It  just  gets  you 
stirred  up." 

"We  went  up  and  met  our  squadron  and 
before  we  hit  the  Channel  we  rendezvoused 
with  our  group,  and  over  the  Channel,  with 
our  wing.    It  was  low.    Our  fighters  were 

over  us,  our  first  escort " 

"But  you've  told  me  that,  Bobby.  You're 
acting  just  like  an  old  person  who's  failing. 
Is  it  that  bailing  out  you  want  me  to  hear 
again?" 

"I've  never  told  you.  You've  never  let 
me!" 

"You  have!  Honestly,  Bobby,  if  papa 
knew  how  you  act,  how  you  talk  to  me,  he 
wouldn't  like  it.  He  wouldn't  like  it  a  bit!" 
There  was  a  knock  and  Flora  Lee  ran  to  swing 
the  door  wide.  When  she  saw  an  elevator 
man  standing  there  with  a  note  in  his  hand 
she  cried,  "Is  it  for  me?  Thank  you.  Thank 
you  so  much!  Wait."  When  she  had  read 
the  note,  she  said,  "Tell  Captain  Taylor  I'll 
be  down  in  just  minutes,  and  that  I  am 
dying  to  go  riding  with  him  this  morning." 
"Don't   go,"    Bob 

said,    when    she    had 

closed  the  door  and 
pirouetted  twice  on  her 
way  to  the  mirror. 
"Don't  go.  Flora  Lee. 
I've  got  to  tell  you.  I've 
got  to  talk  to  you !  This 
isn't  anything  that  can 
wait  forever,  that  can 
be  broken  off  a  hundred 
times.  We  didn't  have 
but  a  little  time  to- 
gether, but  I  did  fall  in 
love  with  you.  I  wrote 
you,  and  thought  of 
you  all  the  time.  I've  hardly  seen  you  since 
we  got  here.  You  don't  listen,  you  don't  care, 
but  still  I  have  to  tell  you  this.  I  told  seven 

men  to  bail  out,  and  then " 

"I'm  sorry,  Bobby,  but  I  told  him  to  tell 
Captain  Taylor  I'd  be  right  down."  She 
had  taken  up  a  hair  net  and  was  holding  it 
spread  between  her  two  hands,  looking  at  her 
reflection  through  it.  "  I  don't  like  to  wear  a 
net,  but  I'll  look  a  sight,  riding,  if  I  don't." 
He  came  and  stood  behind  her.  "I  let 
Gene  take  over  when  I  couldn't  get  Howard 
on  the  interphone,  and  went  back  there.  He 
was  lying  there  in  the  ball  turret,  all  over 
blood.  His  arm  was  taken  right  off,  at  the 
elbow.  Flak.  I  pulled  him  up,  got  him  back 
in  the  waist  and  laid  him  down.  He  said, 
'I'm  all  right,'  and  asked  about  the  engine, 
about  Number  Three,  that  we'd  told  him 
was  dead.  I  answered  him,  but  he  didn't 
hear  me.  He'd  gone  away." 

Flora  Lee  had  pinned  the  net  and  was 
holding  her  hands  out,  away  from  her,  to- 
ward the  mirror,  and  pouting  her  lips,  her 
head  on  one  side.  "What  do  you  think, 
Bobby?  Do  you  think  this  nail  polish  goes 
all  right  with  this  shade  of  green?"  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  "If  it  doesn't,  I 
can't  help  it.  It's  a  cute  shade,  don't  you 
think?"  When  she  found  him  standing  just 
behind  her  she  said,  "Bobby,  you  scared 
me ! "  She  put  up  her  hands  and  touched  his 
cheeks  with  her  finger  tips  and  kissed  him  on 
the  chin.  "Why,  Bobby,  you're  shivering! 
Whatever  are  you  shivering  for?  It's  not 
cold  at  all.  Be  sweet,  Bobby.  Don't  be  bad 
any  more,"  she  said  and  ran. 

Julianne  was  in  the  Palm  Room  w'aiting 
for  Kim.  She  had  been  reading,  and  now  she 
looked  down  to  find  a  little  boy  in  blue  pants 
and  blue-and-white-striped  sweater  looking 
up  into  her  face.  She  smiled  and  held  out 
her  hands  to  him  and  he  backed  away  from 
her,  his  hands  behind  his  back. 


ThAh 


<i  1 1  $ 


"Whopping  big"  cookies  . . .  that's  what  a  man  loves! . . .  And  here's  Grandma  with  a 
brand  new  recipe  for  Molasses  Jumbos.  These  man-size  treats  are  festive  and  delicious. 
The  secret  of  their  wonderful  old  fashioned  goodness . . .  their  richer  flavor  is  Grandma's 
sweeter,  mellower  Molasses.  It  does  not  contain  sulphur  dioxide  but  is  rich  in  iron.  For  more 
of  Grandma's  mouth-watering  recipes  fill  out  and  mail  the  coupon  below. 


0*0 


'e^ti 


GRANDMA'S  OLD  FASHIONED  MOLASSES  JUMBOS 

Vi  cup  shortening  Yx  cup  Grandma's  2  tsp.  baking  V2  tsp.  allspice 

<4  cup  sugar  Molasses  powder  Vs  tsp.  baking  soda 

2  eggs  1 1/i  cups  sifted  flour  */2  tsp.  salt  <4  cup  milk 

Cream  together  shortening  and  sugar;  add  eggs,  one  at  a  time,  beating  after  each.  Add  molasses. 
Sift  together  dry  ingredients;  add;  beat  until  smooth.  Gradually  add  milk.  Drop  by  tablespoons 
on  greased  cookie  sheet  2"  apart.  Bake  in  hot  oven  (400°  F.)  12  to  15  minutes.  Remove  to  cake 
rack ;  cool  and  frost.  Makes  20  giant  size,  old  fashioned  Jumbos. 

PASTEL  FROSTING 


Water 

I  Yi  cups  confec- 
tioners' sugar 
Vanilla  extract 


Yellow,  pink,  green 

vegetable  coloring 
lemon  extract 
Peppermint  extract 


Almond  extract 

Slowly  add  enough  water  to  confectioners' 
sugar  to  make  mixture  riglit  consistency  for 
spreading.  Divide  mixture  into  4  separate  bowIS. 
To  'A  add  a  few  drops  vanilla  extract.  To  Vi  add 
a  few  drops  yellow  coloring  and  lemon  extract. 
To  V*  add  a  few  drops  pink  coloring  and  pep- 
permint extract.  To  'A  add  a  few  drops  green 
coloring  and  almond  extract. 


Hl\N  COOK  BOOK-FREE! 

American  Molasses  Company,  Dept.  LHJ-3 
120  Wall  Street,  New  York  5,  N.Y. 
Please  send  me  FREE  Grandma's  new  book  of  101 
delicious  Molasses  recipes. 

(Please  print  plainly) 


Name. 


Address . 


City. 


.State. 


90 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Only  Meds  has  the  "SAFETY- WELL," 
only  Meds  can  give  you  the  extra-fast 
absorption  of  this  exclusive  feature 
perfected  by  a  woman  doctor.  "Next 
time,"  why  not  try  Meds  and  learn  for 
yourself  what  Meds  comfort  and  Meds 
safety  can  mean  in  your  life! 

FOR   10   IN   APPLICATORS 


Because  of  these  dainty,  carefully  designed 
applicators,Medsinsorbersareeasy-to-u$el 


"He'll  come  to  you  after  a  little,"  his 
young  mother  told  her.  "Go  on,  Dickie.  Go 
talk  to  the  lady!" 

"How  old  is  he?"  Julianne  asked. 

"Seventeen  months.  You  know,  he  gets 
streaks  like  this.  I  was  up  with  his  father's 
folks,  up  in  Massachusetts,  and  we  were  out 
on  the  farm  there,  and  not  many  people 
came,  and  he  was  scared  of  everybody.  I 
sent  Rich  lots  of  pictures  of  him,  because  he 
said  that's  what  he  wanted,  more  than  any- 
thing. He'd  never  seen  him.  And  the  morn- 
ing Rich  phoned  he  was  in  town,  .and  I  drove 
in  to  meet  him,  his  mother  said  she'd  keep 
Dick,  and  I  let  her.  because  I  thought  if  I 
took  him  into  town  with  me  and  he  fought 
and  kicked,  and  wouldn't  make  up  with 
Rich,  it  would  just  about  kill  Rich.  And  all 
the  way  out  I  could  hardly  talk  and  listen 
for  worrying  about  how  he'd  take  it,  if  Dickie 
cut  up  like  that — wouldn't  have  anything  to 
do  with  him.  Well,  we  went  up  to  the  house, 
came  in  the  back  way,  into  the  kitchen,  and 
there  were  his  mother  and  sisters,  and 
when  they'd  all  hugged  and  kissed  Rich,  we 
looked  down,  and  there,  coming  from  the 
bedroom,  dragging  his  bunny  blanket,  and 
his  cheeks  red  from  his  nap,  came  Dickie. 
And  you  know — 
Rich  just  squatted 
down  there  by  the 
kitchen  door  and 
held  out  his  arms 
and  said,  'Come  to 
papa,'  and  that 
baby  let  go  that 
blanket,  and  lan, 
ran  right  into  his 
arms!  i  guess  that 
was  the  happiest 
moment  of  my 
whol'e  life,  when 
Dickie  did  that." 

At  the  turn  of  the 
stairs,  where  she 
had  stopped  to  read 
the  posted  menu. 
Captain  Howe 
found  Lt.  Betsy 
Weston.  "Well,  if  it 
isn't  Betsy  Ross. 
Waiting  for  me? 
That's  touching." 

"I'm  waiting  for. 
Lieutenant  Brown, " 
she  said,  "and  if  he 
comes  and  finds  you 
here  with  your  hand 
on  my  shoulder, 
he'll  bounce  you 
down  those  stairs." 

"Well,  come  sit 
down  and  talk  with 
me  while  you  wait." 
He  turned  her  to- 
ward the  steps. 

"I've  nothing  to  tell  you."  Betsy  said. 

"Oh,  come  now.  I'm  sure  you  have.  Just 
any  of  those  little  details  that  delight  a 
man's  ears!  Have  you  had  a  good  morning 
at  the  office?" 

"I "    Betsy   began,    and   then   said 

quickly,  "Please,  Captain  Howe,  go  away. 
I  can't  talk  with  you  today!" 

"What  is  it.  Betsy?" 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  Betsy  asked. 
"That  human  look?" 

"I  sure  do." 

It's  just — I  had  disquieting  news  last 
night.  It's  not  really  news.  It's  not  even  a 
real  rumor." 

"I  get  you,  just  a  lead.  What  was  it?" 

"Well,  first,  if  I'm  going  to  risk  telling 
you,  I  guess  I'd  better  tell  you  about  Dave." 

"Dave?  He's  new.  isn't  he?  Yes,  you'd 
better  tell  me  about  Dave." 

"He's  not  new."  Betsy  said.  "He's  the 
only  man  I've  ever  loved." 

Captain  Howe  mastered  the  smile  that 
quirked  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "I'm  just 
an  old  newspaperman,  Betsy.  You  don't 
have  to  dress  it  up— just  tell  me.  What  hap- 
pened to  him?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Betsy  said.  "He  was 
missing.  I  thought  he  was  missing.  That's 
what  they  wrote  me— his  folks.  Last  night. 


Lieutenant  Brown  asked  me  how  I'd  feel, 
what  I'd  do,  if  I  found  out  Dave  wasn't 
missing,  after  all.  Captain  Howe,  do  you 
suppose  he  knew  anything?  About  Dave.  I 
mean?  He  said  he  asked  me  only  because 
he  was  in  love  with  me  himself,  and  had  to 
know  how  I  felt  about  Dave,  if  I  felt  the 
same  still." 
"Do  you?" 

Yes,"  she  said.  "But  I  was  glad,  when  I 
had  no  business  to  be,  that  Lieutenant 
Brown  fell  in  love  with  me.  Some  men  don't 
like  uniforms.  That's  the  only  thing  that 
made  me  hesitate — that  Dave  might  not 
like  it.  If  Lieutenant  Brown  could  fall  in 
love  with  me.  now  I'm  in  a  uniform,  don't 
you  think  Dave,  if  he  got  back,  would  be  in 
love  with  me  still?" 

"No  more  hearts  than  so  many  monkeys ! " 
Captain  Howe  said.  "Women!  What  you 
want  to  know  is  whether  your  friend  Dave  is 
still  missing  or  something's  been  heard  of 
him?  That  it?" 

"Yes.  I  can't  find  out,  but  if  you  could 
find  out — the  truth!" 

"I  can  and  will.    Betsy,  are  you  really  a 
good  filing  clerk,  stenographer  or  whatever 
you    are   down    in 
that  office?" 
"I  am." 

"Well.  I'll  tell 
you  something.  I 
thought  you  were 
cute.  You  remem- 
ber. I  told  you 
you're  cute  as  a  but- 
ton? For  a  minute, 
here,  when  the  sun 
went  behind  a  cloud 
and  dimmed  your 
freckles,  you  were 
beautiful." 

"You think  Dave 
is  alive?  You  think 
Lieutenant  Brown 
had  heard  some- 
thing, something  he 
didn't  know,  for 
certain,  so  that  he 
couldn't  tell  me?" 
' '  I  wouldn't 
know.  Betsy.  I 
wouldn't  know  a 
thing.  But  I'll  find 
out.  How  old  are 
you.  Betsy?  Tell 
me  the  truth!" 

"Over  twenty," 
Betsy  said.  "If  he 
were  all  right, 
wouldn't  he  write 
me,    come   to   find 


m 


BY  JOSEPH   FHEEMAN 

I  love  my  city  when  the  rain  is  done, 
And  all  the  windows  glisten,  and 
the  roofs 
Repeat  the  emerging  luster  of  the 
sun. 
And  the  gutter  rings  again  with 
hollow  hoofs. 
Each  leaf  is  brilliant  with  its  idle 
drops; 
Each  blade  of  grass  is  like  a 
shining  spear; 
The  hedges  burn  like  jewels,  and 
their  tops. 
Beaded  with  rain,  are  tremulous 
and  clear. 
The  gutter  rings  again  with  hoof 
and  wheel; 
Umbrellas  tap,  shoes  shuffle  down 
the  street; 
And  oh!  it  makes  my  lone 
detachment  reel 
When  I  hear  the  mingled  click  of 
lovers'  feet. 
And  see  them  from  my  window 

marching  by 
Under  the  washed  blue  archway  of 
the  sky. 


me?' 


When  Julianne 
saw  Kim  and  Bob 
Yates  on  the  stairs,  she  went  to  meet  them 
and  was  happily  surprised  when  the  little  boy 
who  had  stood  off  so  shyly  ran  to  her  and 
put  up  his  arms  to  be  taken,  to  go  with  her. 

"I'll  bring  him  right  back,"  she  said  to  his 
mother,  and  to  Kim,  when  he  came  to  her, 
"Aren't  you  surprised?" 

"Say.  where'd  you  find  him?" 

"He  came  to  me.  decided  to  make  up  with 
me.  just  this  minute,"  Julianne  said.  She 
smiled  at  Bob,  and  let  him  take  the  little 
boy,  when  he  offered. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know!"  Kim  said. 
"Look  how  he  passes  me  up  and  goes  right 
to  Bob!  Here,  what  has  he  got  that  I 
haven't  got,  young  fellow?" 

"No  foolin',"  Bob  said,  holding  the  baby 
as  though  he  were  used  to  children,  "there's 
a  family  up  home  I  go  out  to  see.  have  a 
houseful  of  kids,  and  they  pile  all  over  me. 
I  give  them  turns  riding  on  the  handle  bars 
of  my  bike,  and  they  go  through  my  pockets 
for  candy.  Only  trouble  was  they  wanted  to 
be  with  us.  every  minute.  Wouldn't  leave 
me  any  time  alone  with  my  girl.  She  was 
their  aunt.  She  went  into  nurse's  training." 

The  little  boy  was  struggling  to  get  down. 
He  had  seen  his  father.  They  watched  him 
run.  shouting,  to  still  other  opened  arms, 
and  Kim  said: 

"Six,  I'd  say.  Six  is  about  right." 


Works  like  a  charm 
for 


DAi|(5Wy/ 


Anienia  Drexel  Earle  says — "I  wouldn't 

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•  Lanolin-soothing  Pond's  Dry  Skin 
Cream  bestows  such  soft  help  on 
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on  5  to  15  minutes,  or  overnight,  if 
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tiny  dry  lines,  bring  a  softer,  fresher 
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3  Special  Features 

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Homogenized — to  sook  in  better 

Special  Emuliifier^ex\ra  softening  aid 


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STOUT 


lam 
pleased  with 
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writes  this  cuslo?ner  of 


Mrs.  Ray  Kessler 

of  Astoria,  III. 
praises  excellent 
wear  and  service 


I  .im  writing  to  tell  you  how  much  I 
appreciate  the  excellent  wear  I  have 
received  from  your  garments,  and  also 
your  prompt  service.  I  have  had  a 
number  of  orders  from  you,  and  I  am 
happy  to  say  that  I  am  well  pleased 
with  every  purchase  I  have  made. 


752  E.  MARKET  ST.,  DEPT.  58 
INDIANAPOLIS  17,  INDIANA 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


91 


(^W. 

^^^ 


^OAN    ROBERTA 

'omen  —  fl  i  1  'T/"^"  °"d 


New 
Cream  Deodorant 

Safely  helps 

Stop  Perspiration 


Does  not  irritate  skin.  Does  not  rot 

dresses  or  men's  shirts. 

Prevents  under-arm  odor.  Helps  stop 

perspiration  safely. 

A   pure,   white,   antiseptic,    stainless 

vanishing  cream. 

4.  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 
after  shaving. 

5.  Awarded  Approval  Seal  of  American 
Institute  of  Laundering  —  harmless  to 
fabric.  Use  Arrid  regularly. 


39"^ 


Plus  tax.  Also  in  59j!  jars 


IRRID 


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Guaranleed  by   ''■^ 
Good  Housekeeping 


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winter  warmth  and  sumrner 
mfort — To  protect  your  health 
d  save  your  stockings  —  wear 
OTIETS  —  genuine  FOOTlETSi  for 
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,^%  ^  ^^»AD,SB  SHOE 
/«  EVERY  OCCASION 


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PARADER 


IS  CAREFREE  AS  THE  DANCING  WINDS!... 

FREE  BOOK,  showing  many 
Springtime  Paradise  Fashions,  is 
Gvaitable.  Write  for  yours  now! 

'The  Heel-Mark  lells  you  of  a  —.— 

glance;  she  walks  in  Paradise.  Sft95 

iKJER  BROS.  SHOE  CO.    •   ST.  LOUIS  8,  MO. 


"Four,"  Julianne  said.  "All  boys!  Did 
you  get  your  assignment,  Kim?" 

"Not  yet,  but  Bob's  got  his.  Tell  her, 
Bob!" 

"Albuquerque." 

"The  bombing  school  there?  But  that's 
where  we  met,  Kim  and  I !"  Julianne  cried. 
"That's  wonderful!" 

"No,  not  the  school.  The  convalescent 
hospital." 

"At  Sandia,  isn't  it?"  Julianne  asked. 
"They've  camps  in  the  mountains  too.  It's 
a  game  preserve  up  there.  One  spring,  when 
they'd  first  opened  up  the  road,  and  we 
drove  up  there,  I  counted  eighteen  deer  and 
fifty  wild  turkeys.  From  up  on  the  top  you 
can  see  better  than  a  hundred  miles  on  a 
clear  day.  I  think  you'll  like  it,  Bob."  She 
wanted  to  ask,  "Will  Mrs.  Yates  go  out  to 
Albuquerque?"  hut  something  in  Kim's  look 
forbade  her.  "I'd  like  you  to  know  my  par- 
ents," she  said.  "I'll  give  you  a  note  to  dad. 
And  mother,  when  she's  heard  that  we  know 
you,  will  be  coming  out  to  see  you  as  often 
as  she  can  spare  gas  for  the  trip."  , 

"What  Julie  means  is,  if  you  like  her, 
you'll  like  her  folks,"  Kim  said. 

"I'll  tell  her  folks,"  Bob  said,  "and  be 
mighty  glad  they're  there." 

"Come  on,  let's  get  in  this  line,"  Kim 
said.  "Eat  with  us,  Bob?" 

"Thanks.  I'll  wait  for  Flora  Lee."  Bob 
smiled  again  at  Julianne,  a  smile  so  wearily 
sad  that  she  did  not  like  to  leave  him  alone. 

When  they  had  reached  their  table,  a 
table  for  four,  because  Kim  liked  to  leave  a 
place  for  Pete,  Captain  Taylor  or  the  young 
navigator,  Julianne  said,  "Kim,  that  boy's 
really  very  sick.  He's  heartsick  too.  Did 
you  notice,  when  he  spoke  of  that  girl,  just 
now,  the  one  with  all  the  nieces  and  neph- 
ews, he  looked  happy,  for  a  minute?  I  think 
the  trouble  is  that  Flora  Lee  doesn't  make 
him  think  well  of  himself.  The  few  times  I've 
seen  them  together  he's  ill  at  ease,  almost 
apologetic.  He  wasn't  that  way,  speaking  of 
this  girl  of  his,  or  with  that  little  boy  either." 

"No,  she  doesn't  make  him  think  well  of 
himself,"  Kim  said,  "but  the  doctor  he 
talked  with,  this  morning,  did.  Bob  waited 
and  told  me  about  this  convalescent  hospital,' 
all  the  way  over  here.  Like  somebody  going 
off  to  school.   .   .   .  Here's  Pete!" 

Pete  grinned  broadly  and  said  to  Julianne, 
"You're  prettier  every  day,  Mrs.  Kim,  and 
that's  a  fact !  You  know,  I  was  going  to  ask 
them  to  send  me  wherever  they  sent  you, 
Kim,  and  now  fate's  taken  a  hand  and  that's 
not  to  be." 

"You're  going  back,"  Kim  said. 

"  How'd  you  know  it  ?  "  Pete  cried.  "That's 
right!  I'm  that  one  out  of  a  thousand.  They 
asked  me  what  I  wanted  to  do  and  I  said 
'Go  back.'  And  the  major  looked  up  my 
sheet  and  said,  'Okay,  back  you  go.'" 

"When?"  Julianne  asked. 

"This  evening,  likely.  Funny  thing,  you 
know  what  I  wish  I  had  me  now?" 

"A  wife,"  Julianne  said  triumphantly. 

"Roger;  and  you  know  whose  fault  that 
is?  Yours,  Mrs.  Kim.  Here,  when  I'm 
checking  out  within  hours,  I  wish  I  had  time 
to  find  me  a  wife.  Can  you  beat  that?" 

"Will  it  be  the  Pacific  again?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  go  to  a  B-24  school  for  a 
few  weeks  first." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  all  right  then,"  Julianne 
said.  "You  can  find  you  a  wife  while  you're 
in  training.   Kim  did." 

"No,  not  me,"  Pete  said.  "And  here's  my 
cure  for  that  pretty  notion  walking  into  the 
dining  room  right  now — Gorgeous!  I'll  get 
along.  She's  got  Taylor  where  he  doesn't 
know  whether  he's  afoot  or  horseback ! " 

Captain  Taylor  had  come  into  the  dining 
room,  and  he  came  and  sat  with  Kim  and 
Julianne.  She  felt  that  it  was  Captain  Tay- 
lor's interest  in  Flora  Lee  that  made  the 
strained  feeling  among  them. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,"  Captain 
Taylor  said.  "I  had  some  bad  news,  just 
now.  Buddy  I  went  to  school  with  killed. 
Undershot  the  field." 

"In  Italy?  You  just  heard?" 

"No,  here  in  the  States.  He's  been  back 
nearly  a  year.  Major  Blane  was  just  telling 
me— he  knew  him  in  Africa.    Had  a  desk 


1  Anybody  can  tell  by  look- 
ing at  me  that  I  like  to  eat! 
But  with  laundry  and  cleaning 
and  all  the  other  things  I  have 
to  do,  it  got  so  I  hated  even 
the  thought  of  mealtime!  Just 
more  work — when  I  was  al- 
ready too  tired  to  budge.  Then 
one  night  my  sister  came  to 
dinner.  I  was  so  exhausted  I 
thought  I'd  cry. 


I  She  took  one  look  and  said, 
"Maybe  you're  not  getting 
the  support  you  need."  She 
made  me  press  down  on  my 
stomach,  and  ooh  —  it  was  the 
same  dragged-down  feeling  I  had 
all  day.  Then  she  said,  "Now 
lower  your  hands  and  lift  up." 
What  a  relief!  "That's  the  nat- 
ural support  you  get  all  day  from 
a  Spirclla!"  (Pictures  show  how 
to  try  Press  and  Lift  test  yourself.) 


Q  We  called  in  the  Spirclla  cor- 
setiere.  When  she  fitted  me 
with  the  patented  Spirella  Mod- 
eling Garment,  it  felt  wonderful! 
And  I  could  tell  right  away  how 
I'd  feel  and  look  in  my  individ- 
ually-designed Spirella.  You  see, 
she  measured  my  supported  fig- 
ure so  my  garment  would  be  just 
right.  She  showed  me  X-rays 
proving  Spirella's  healthful,  up- 
lifting support. 


!  ^   I      'i-S«,i«M*> 


DOCTOR'S    X-RAYS    SHOW! 


Low  position  of  stomacli    Same  stomach  raised  3',  " 
with  ordinary  corset.  with  Spirella  support. 


4  Now  look  at  me!  My  Spirclla  has  given  me 
new  pep  and  energy,  and  fixing  meals  is  fun 
again — even  after  I've  done  all  my  iioiisework. 
And  it's  nice  too  that  my  friends  all  tell  me 
how  much  better  my  figure  looks  now.  If 
housework  or  war  work  has  yuii  down,  why 
not  call  tiic  S])irella  corseticre  today? 


TO  WOMEN   WHO  WANT  TO   MAKE   MONEY   HELPING   OTHERS 


If  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  do  full-time  war 
work,  you  can  help  other  women  find  new  com- 
fort and  happiness — and  at  the  same  time  add  to 
your  own  income.  Mrs.  M.  L.  G.  (name  on  re- 
quest) writes,  "Two  children  prevent  my  vol- 


unteering for  full-titiie  war  work,  but  I  help 
hundreds  do  their  jobs  better  with  Spirella 
figure  supports.  Last  month  1  made  $137  irom 
my  business— and  dozcnsof  new  friends.  "'Why 
don't  you  mail  coupon  today? 


KEEP  FIT  AND 
LOOK    TRIM  WITH 


INDIVIDUALLY- 
DESIGNED 
FIGURE  SUPPORT 


SENOfORT"" 

TheSpUelV|,C-^^(s!^:V^        ^^^„ 
n  Se.>d  tne  V"  '^'fcan  start  my 

J^arnt 
Aidr'ss 
City — 

In  Canada 


writs  •n-' 


92 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March, 


LENTEN  time  or  any  other  time, 
4  New  Orleans  loves  its  seafood 
and  a  crisp,  green  salad  tossed 
with  tantalizing  Wesson  Dress- 
ing! When  you  make  the  dressing 


(and  this  seafood  casserole,  too!), 
be  sure  to  use  New  Orleans'  own 
salad  oil— Wesson  Oil,  that  fine, 
delicate  salad  oil  that  coaxes  out 
the  best  in  your  seasonings. 


^   >»' 


'r'l. 


•J 

1 

1 

0 

Ch 

i  tt<: 

^'^ 

V 

^' 

^    1 

( 

■  • 

1 

SEAFOOD 

CASSEROLE 

(Serves  6-8) 

1  Vj  pounds  fish  fillets 

1  cup  carrots,  cooked  and  diced 
1  cup  onions,  coolced 
1  cup  peas 

3  tablespoons  Wesson  Oil 

4  tablespoons  flour,  sifted 

Arrange  flsli  and  vegetables  in  lay- 
ers in  greased  casserole.  Heat  Wesson 
Oil  in  pan.  (Note  how  this  sunshiny 
salad  oil  fairly  sparkles  as  it  pours, 
it's  so  clear  and  pure.  No  wonder 
more  American  women  buy  Wesson 
Oil  than  nnv  other  binnd  of  salad 


2  cups  milk 

2  tablespoons  lemon  juice 
V-!  teaspoon  Worcestershire  sauce 
1  Vj  teaspoons  salt 
%  teaspoon  pepper 

2  to  3  cups  mashed  potatoes 

oil ! ) .  Next,  blend  in  flour.  Slowly  add 
milk,  stirring  constantly  over  low 
heat  until  thick.  Add  lemon  juice, 
Worcestershire  sauce  and  seasonings. 
Pour  in  casserole.  Top  with  mashed 
potatoes,  heaping  them  lightly.  Bake 
in  hot  oven  (425°  P.)  25  to  30  minutes. 


k 


Try  this  grand  Wesson  Dressing  on  your 
favorite  salads.  (Even  salads  you  may  never 
have  thought  of  serving  with  French  dressing!)  See  if  it 
doesn't  make  rhcm  taste  fresher,  zestier.  Get  a  bottle  of  light, 
sunshiny  Wesson  Oil  today,  and  clip  the  recipes  now! 


^Vesson  Oil 

FOR  SALADS  &>  COOKING 


NEK'     ORLEANS 


job.    Kept  up  his  flying  Sundays,  when  he 
could.  His  wife  didn't  like  it.  his  flying." 

"She  was  afraid  for  him? "  Julianne  asked. 

"She  was  afraid  he'd  be  late  for  dinner," 
Captain  Taylor  said.  "She  told  him,  if  he 
went  up,  he  could  get  back  in  time  for  din- 
ner— she  was  having  guests  to  dinner — or 
else.  He  said  he'd  be  back  early.  He  was! 
He  was  married  two  years.  She'd  told  him 
she'd  file  suit  for  a  divorce  if  he  didn't  give 
up  flying." 

There  was  such  a  hurt,  such  real  sorrow, 
along  with  resentment,  in  the  captain's  face. 
Julianne  wished  suddenly,  and  very  much, 
that  he  knew  Bob  Yates,  knew  what  he  was 
going  through,  in  his  state  of  fatigue,  in  his 
marriage  to  Flora  Lee.  Surely,  if  he  knew, 
however  much  he  liked  Flora  Lee,  he  would 
not  add  to  Bob's  troubles. 

When  Pete  and  Captain  Taylor  left  them, 
Kim  said,  "You  see,  baby,  to  fly,  to  keep 
your  rating,  you  have  to  put  in  your  flying 
time,  you  have  to  keep  your  hand  in.  You 
have  to  keep  good,  to  be  good." 

"Kim,  will  you  be  flying,  do  you  think?" 

"Would  you  rather  I'd  not,  Julie?" 

"No,  not  if  you  want  it.  Our  being  mar- 
ried is  ours;  your  work's  yours.  I'd  like  to 
fly  myself.  After  the  war,  couldn't  I  learn?" 

"You?  Do  you  want  to,  baby?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Let's  have  those  six  little  boys  first,"  he 
said.  "How's  your  friend  Nora  and  the  baby? 
Gosh,  that  kid's  a  specimen !  They  ought  to 
take  him  around  to  fairs!" 

"I'm  going  to  the  beach  with  her  this 
afternoon.    She's  not  a  bit  happy,   Kim. 

Major  Blane  doesn't  get      

used  to  the  baby."  ^i^B^^BiM 

"Takes  time,  I  expect. 
Here,  don't  you  want  your 


WASTED  EFFORT 


1^  There  is  so  little  money 
^  earned  in  attending  to 
other  people's  affairs  that  we 
wonder  people  don't  quit    it. 

—  E.  W.  HOWE: 
Country  Town  Sayings.  (Crane  &  Co.) 

It  is  the  exceptional  woman 
who  goes  out  of  a  man's  life 
without  banging  the  door. 

— M,  E.  MORTON: 
Quoted  in  The  Woman. 

What  a  wonderful  world 
this  would  he  if  we  all  did  as 
well  today  as  we  expert  to  do 
tomorrow. 

—GRIT;  Quoted  in  Porade. 


pic" 

At  their  table.  Flora  Lee 
said,  "I'm  so  hungry, 
Bobby.  I'm  always  hungry 
after  I  ride.  You  haven't 
asked  me  if  I  had  a  good 
time." 

"Did  you?"  Bob  asked. 

"Yes,  I  did.  Captain 
Taylor's  sweet.  Bobby,  I 
told  him  he  wasn't  to, 
when  I  saw  he  was,  but 
he's  fallen  in  love  with 
me." 

Bob  laughed,  but  there 
was    no  pleasure    in    his      ^^^^^^^H 
laughter.     "You've  not 
asked  me  whether  I   had  a  good  time." 

"You?   Did  you  go  someplace,  Bobby?" 

"No,  but  I  am  going  someplace.  I'm  going 
out  to  Albuquerque.  They're  sending  me  out 
to  the  convalescent  hospital  there." 

"  Where's  Albuquerque,  Bobby?" 

"Out  West.  There's  a  bombing  school 
there.  Pilot  I  met  had  his  training  at  the 
bomber  school  out  there.  His  wife's  folks 
live  there.  But  you  know  them — Kim  and 
Julianne." 

"She  doesn't  like  me,"  Flora  Lee  said. 
"I  can't  help  it.  Girls,  pretty  girls,  hardly 
ever  like  me.  Papa'll  never  let  me  go  out 
there." 

"No,  I  suppose  not." 

"You  mean  you  don't  want  me  to  come 
out?"  Flora  Lee  pressed  her  napkin  to  her 
red  mouth.  "Something's  happened,  Bobby. 
What  was  it?" 

I  TALKED  with  a  doctor,  that's  all.  I  told 
him  about  the  bailing  out.  I  told  him  all 
about  it.  I  told  him  about  us  too." 

"About  us?   What  about  us?" 

"That  we've  not  been  able  to  talk;  that 
you're  not  satisfied  with  me,  want  to  be  with 
other  men.  Wish  you  were  free  to  marry 
someone  else,  for  all  I  know." 

"Why,  Bob  Yates!  That's  just  a  great 
big  story !  I  never've  said  that.  How  could 
you  say  that  to  any  old  doctor  we  don't 
know!" 

"I  know  him.  I've  talked  with  him  for  a 
few  minutes  almost  every  day  for  a  week. 
But  I'd  not  told  him  about  the  bailing  out. 
Today  I  told  him  about  it  and  how  I've 
wanted  to  tell  you— how  I  felt  I  had  to  tell 
you!" 


"  Felt  you  had  to  tell  me !  You  did  tell 
You  told  me  until  I  could  scream ! " 

"No,  Flora  Lee.  I  tried  to  tell  you. 
didn't  listen."  ,, 

"I  was  just  as  patient  as— as  a  mot 
I've  stood  by  you,  Bobby.   How  could 
tell  any  old  doctor  I  want  to  be  with  o 
men,  hke  I  wasn't  nice!    I  can't  help 
men  fall  in  love  with  me,  can  I?" 

"No,  Flora  Lee,  you  can't  help  it,  bee; 
you  don't  know  any  better,  because  tl 
the  way  you  were  brought  up.  I  've  to  un 
stand  that,  take  it  into  account,  wait  — 

"The  way  I  was  brought  up?  Why, 
Yates!  I  was  brought  up  nice ! " 

"I  didn't  mean  to  start  this.  Flora 
Not  here  in  the  dining  room.   Let's  w 

"Wait!  For  what?  For  us  to  be  ii 
that  room,  by  ourselves,  where  you 
say  these  things  and  I  have  to  liste 
them "  She  was  crying. 

Flora  lee,"  he  said,  "don't  cry!  T 
cry  here !  I  was  trying  to  tell  you :  he  ht 
me  to  see  it's  not  a  flop,  not  necessaril 
we'll  wait,  if  we'll  talk  and  try  to  unders 
each  other.  We're  married.  Flora  Lee." 
"Can  I  help  it?"  she  wept.  "I've  tri 
hard!  I  haven't  even  written  papa  a 
it ! "  She  got  up  from  the  table,  after  a  c 
look  along  the  aisles  between  the  ro\ 
tables.  "I'll  not  stay  to  have  you 
with  me  like  this,  Bobby,"  she  said 

papa "  She  went  quickly,  her  han^ 

chief  pressed  to  her  lips. 

Her  husband  looked  after  her,  and  di 
get  up  and  follow  her.   Instead,  he  beg 
^^^^^^^^^       eat.    For  the  first  tii 
^^^^^^^^H       months   he   was  hu 
ravenously  hungry, 
voice,  and  the  sharp  s 
of  her  angry  heels, 
away  from  him,  dir 
from  his  hearing.  He  \ 
eat;  then  he  would  j 
to    their  ,  room— no 
would  go   down   or 
sand   and   sleep,  sle 
long  time. 

Bob  Yates  found 
ter  from  his  mother 
his  mail  at  the  desk 
put  it  into  his  pocke 
went  up  to  his  roonr 
found  his  wife  sitti 
the  desk,  writing  am 
ing  furiously.  She  se 
^■^■^■H       more  like  a  very 

girl  in  a  movie  tl 
wife.  He  felt  no  need  to  do  anything 
her  crying. 

"Go  away,"  she  wept.  "I'm  writing 
I'm  asking  him  to  get  me  a  divorce." 

She  sounded  like  a  pretty  girl  in  a 
too.  There  was  no  need  to  answer  he 
put  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  h 
letter  and  went  to  the  bed  and  lay  dowi| 
opened  it.  There  was  another  letter  in 
letter  from  his  old  girl.    It  was  not  w 
to  him,  but  to  Jo's  parents.  Jo's  moth 
brought  it  over  for  his  mother  to  re.. 
was  a  letter  that  made  him  rememb 
clearly.  The  letter  in  his  hands  was 
more  real'to  him  than  was  his  wife. 
Suddenly  he  saw  Flora  Lee's  red 
hands  snatching  and  then  tearing  the 
and  he  felt  surprise  that  she  could  hav 
out  of  the  movie  and  across  the  rcx)i 
"You   hear   from   her!"    she   sen 
"You  write  to  her!   You're  making  1 
that  girl,  all  the  time.  That's  what's  w 
He  did  not  reach  for  the  letter.  He  I 
tired  to  do  anything  about  it.   He  t( 
his  bathing  trunks  and  went  toward  th 
"I'm  going  to  see  Captain  Taylor,' 
Lee  sobbed, ' '  and  I  'm  going  to  tell  him 
thing.   He  loves  me.   Two  can  play 
game.  Bob  Yates!" 

He  went  out  and  closed  the  door  a 
not  wait  for  the  elevator,  but  went  dop 
stairs,  talking  to  himself,  saying  Bibk 
his  mother  had  taught  him,  and  spea 

Flora  Lee's  voice," without  love— 

ing  brass!  Tinkling  cymbals."  He  ( 
place  as  far  away  from  others  as  th 
to  be  found  on  the  beach,  stretched  < 
closed  his  eyes  and  was  asleep  almost ; 
(Continued  on  Page  94) 


i 
1 

It 

II 

b 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


THIS  HUDS  COIOR 


Hut  bee  for  some 
T^ese  foods  are  fine  for  fl-o;>^'^''„|  „,,«  ,he 
^  Jnr  to  brig^^ten  the  ey  cables 

cheery  color  ^^        ^^       y^'^'t,]^ 

eating  ^^S^"  J^.'I.ch  as  corned  beef.) 

with  a  rosy  meat  su 


What  a  dmerence 


color  makes 


1 


.how  now  ..'e  sunny 
Tnges  turn  o  dullish  meal  .nto 


HERE  IS  COL'"' 


OLETS    BRAND    ^Sf  F*^^    ^^  J 


Q.    U.  S.  PAT.  OFF. 


1...  SO  their  skins  show 
Color  does  iU  ^V^^  j^^^TdeeP^-en  of  broccoh 
wtm  and  red  A  d  ^^    ^^  I,  K.blets  Brand 

-^  .^°^^  ^'^e     :tl  bright  bus  of  -e      -^ 
Mexicorn,  ^^^^^  fere's  a  meal  as  n  s    & 

and  green  P^PJ^j;,,  bell.  Good  for  morale,  too. 

Vvthcheerasadmner 

^     "*  "T^'A.    '''         ^'^t^ /^ ,  .^tS^'*''^^     '  **^  j,,rt<^  This 

'  «^    '     -  .Ha.  b-s  anchor  oH^'l^^-.^t I^UoW  corn 

,hi,  can  reminds  you  that  h  ^^  ^„j„y  ,hos. 

The  happy  G-n  Giant  or- th.^  ,         d,fl«^  ^,^,^  „,,  ^^^         ^^^ 

Niblcts  Brand  Mextco^n  gtves^Y ^  ^^,  ,„,  g,een  pcpP  ^^_  ^,_^  ^^.„  „, 

--r^ri^atand.r^^_^^^,^^^^^^^  5^^^ 

/.  Valley  Canrnng  Co.,  I  ^,;^„j  Pea.s,  Uel 

P^c^^^^^:^;t^e:!mole  Kemn  Corn,  Green  *  OV  11 


94 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


''^Cop 


'omp, 


f^b/, 


""ear 


«»«*o, 


^t 


On  . 


Out 


lb, 


*»«* 


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f'ate 


Our 


^•^"n, 


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Silt 


'«'  PL 


""■'>. 


""Or 


■'"•. 


^^dB, 


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^  toiler 


'"•«, 


are  Pi 


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rem 


air, 


'/  --/:'-'. 


uff. 


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c/,, 


Slo 
'"^oU 


°P^nh 


'•-nili    ^  '"^"rit's      I 


vcsg 


frS  FLAVOR  MAKES  A   FEAST! 


A  hint  of  Mint  in  pale  pea  soup 
...  a  whiff  of  Celery  enriching  a 
casserole  ...  a  touch  of  pungent 
Garlic  in  a  crisp  green  salad  .  .  . 
And  desserts!  The  spice  of  Cin- 
namon tucked  in  a  deep  apple  pie 
.  .  .  the  bland  flavor  of  Almond  or 
the  fragrance  of  Banana  in  tempt- 
ing puddings  and  custards  .  .  . 


Cook  the  Burnett  Flavor  way! 
There  are  29  fine  Burnett  Food 
Flavors  ...  to  make  every  dish  a 

special  treat,  a  feast  of  every  meal. 

•         •         •     ' 

For  timely  tips  on  Flavor  and  how  to  make 
the  most  of  it . . .  send  for  What's  Cooking 
—  the  Burnett  cook  booklet  for  if//fr  cooks. 
Just  write  to  Barbara  Blair,  Department  L-3, 
Joseph  Burnett  Company,  437  D  Street, 
Boston  10,  Massachusetts. 


BURNETT'S 

Toffd.  FLAVORS 


^,,,,.^Ac/i-<^^e  ■ 


"Be  patient,  dear — you're  next  over  the  threshold!" 


Alienation  of  affections?  Per- 
haps. But  how  lucky  for  the  bride 
.  .  .  landing  a  Wheaties  Man.  His 
disposition  should  be  sweeter,  his 


vitamin  content  higher.  All  be- 
cause he  goes  for  milk,  fruit  and 
tasty  whole  wheat  flakes,  Wheat- 
ies "Breakfast  of  Champions." 


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SAMPLES 


(Continued  from  Page  92) 

Julianne  found  Kim  lying  in  the  sand, 
resting  on  his  elbows  and  talking  with  Pete. 
Between  them  was  a  sand  relief  map  that 
she  thought  she  recognized  as  the  island  of 
New  Britain. 

"Mrs.  Kim,  you're  good!"  Pete  said 
approvingly. 

"  I  look  at  all  Pacific  maps,  in  papers  and 
news  magazines,"  Julianne  said,  "until  I'd 
>ee  them  in  the  dark,  if  I  woke  in  the  night.' 

"Your  missus,  Kim,  besides  being  so  easy 
to  look  at,  talks  uncommon  well.  And  what 
she  says  ain't  just  prop  wash,  either." 

"Natch!"  Kim  said.  "She's  been  brought 
up  on  books;  and  besides,  she's  had  the  bene- 
fit of  my  letters  for  a  couple  of  years." 

"I  still  regret  never  knowing  what  you 
talk  about,"  Julianne  said. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  Pete  said.  "We  talk 
about  women,  Mrs.  Kim.  All  but  Kim,  here, 
of  course.  He  just  sits  back  and  smiles. 
Mostly,  we're  thinking  how  we'll  get  along, 
when  we  get  back." 

"Do  you  know  Roberts,  Pete?"  Kim 
asked.  "Let  me  tell  you  what  he  came  home 
to.  He's  been  flying  the  shuttle,  to  Russia. 
He  sent  his  wife  everything  he  made,  prac- 
tically everything.  Wanted  to  start  up  a 
business  for  himself,  when  he  got  home. 
He'd  sent  her  better  than  two  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  do  you  know  how  much  she  has  of 
it  in  the  bank?   Six  hundred!" 

"What  had  she  done  with  it?" 

"Spent  it.  She'd  bought  a  car,  with  an- 
other girl,  paid  five  hundred  down,  on  a 
better  car  than  he'd  think  of  buying,  and  the 
other  girl  dummied  out,  and  slic  had  to  take 
over  the  whole  thing.  She  said  he'd  said  she 
was  to  have  some  of  the  things  she'd  always 
wanted.  He'd  not  been  able  to  get  her  a 
ring,  so  she  got  herself  one.  That  and  some 
clothes — she  says  she  likes  to  dress  up  when 
she  gets  out  of  overalls  —is  all  she's  got  to 
show  for  it." 

"Women!"  Pete  said. 

"Now  let  me  tell  one,"  Julianne  said. 
"\'()U  know  Rose  Ilallet,  Kim,  at  home,  who 
married  Don  Wendell?  Do  you  know  what 
she's  done  for  Don?" 

"What?" 

"Not  only  banked  his  allowance,  but 
saved,  out  of  her  earnings,  enough  to  keep 
him  in  school  a  year.  Don  wants  to  go  to 
law  school.  And  do  you  know  what  he  did? 
This  is  for  you,  Pete,  and  to  even  up!  He 
wrote  to  her  that  money  had  come  to  mean 
nothing  to  him,  and  he'd  gambled  away  every 
bit  of  it.  And  with  that,  I'll  leave  you." 

"I'm  crushed  by  your  tale,"  Pete  said. 
"You  really  wouldn't  care  about  a  blow-by- 
blow  account  of  a  poker  game,  would  you, 
Mrs.  Kim?" 

"I'm  going,"  Julianne  said. 

Flora  Lee  met  Captain  Taylor  in  the  card- 
room  where  she  had  told  him  to  wait  for  her. 
He  was  so  intent  on  listening  to  the  radio 
that  he  did  not  know  she  had  come  into  the 
room  until  she  sat  down  beside  him  and  said 
softly,  "Don't  look  at  me,  captain,  honey. 
I've  been  crying,  and  I  look  a  sight!  It's 
just,  it's  so  awful  to  have  someone  spoil  your 
whole  life— I  had  to  cry!" 

He  did  not  look  at  her.  "Those  Russians 
are  moving  right  along,"  he  said,  looking 
earnestly  at  the  radio. 

"If  I'm  disturbing  you,  I  beg  your  par- 
don," she  said.  "I'll  go,  and  right  now." 

"No,"  he  said,  and  drew  her  to  him  and 
pressed  her  head  to  his  shoulder. 

She  said,  her  voice  ready  for  tears  again, 
"Oh,  honey,  it's  so  awful.  My  husband — 
he  goes  around  like  somebody  in  a  dream. 
He's  made  them  think  he's  sick,  and  he's  not 
sick!  He  just  acts  that  way!  He's  just  a 
stranger,  and  I  don't  love  him  any  more,  and 
I've  written  papa  to  get  me  a  divorce,  and  he 
will,  too!"  She  raised  her  head  from  his 
shoulder  and  touched  his  cheek  with  her 
finger  tips. 

He  did  not  kiss  her.  Instead,  he  closed  his 
hand  hard  over  her  hand  and  said,  "You 
don't  seem  married.  You've  never  seemed 
married.  You're  like  a  girl ! " 

"I  am  a  girl,  honey,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  doing— getting  married.  We  had 


^> 


V 


?-ar 


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way  io  use 

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use  vour  old  friend,  Bon  AmiCake 
Frst  rub  a  damp  cloth  over  the 
cS;n"dapplya./a^coa-g^^^^ 
the  elass.  Then,  wipe  it  oft  bejore 
Sr£  D-t  disappears... 2^- 
sparkle... ior  Bon  An.. po^^she^^l 
;t   cleans'   Leaves  no  oily,  dust 

V   .film  Try  Bon  Ami  Cake 
catching  him.  iry  u 

this  new,  easy  way  today! 


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The  DASH  that 

makes  the  DISH 


We  Got  Back 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


95 


such  a  pretty  wedding,  and  a  trip  to  At- 
lanta, and  he  went  back  to  the  base — there 
wasn't  any  place  for  me  to  stay  there,  that 
papa'd  let  me  go  live  in " 

"Where  did  you  say  he  was  in  the  war?" 

"  In  England,  and  he  couldn't  take  it !  He 
got  all  upset,  about  the  bombing  and  the 
bailing  out.  There  was  flak,  and  they  got  be- 
hind, his  plane  did,  and  an  engine  went 
dead.  No,  I  believe  it  was  two  engines,  and 
he  told  the  men  to  bail  out— the  men  that 
were  left.  Two,  I  think  it  was,  were  dead,  and 
one,  the  crew  chief,  was  wounded.  He 
crawled  where  he  could  help  Bob  and  they 
got  things  fixed  so  Bob  got  back.  Only,  he 
was  dead  by  then,  the  chief  was.  Bob  broods 
over  it,  wants  to  talk  about  it  until  I  could 
scream." 

"Where  did  they  bail  out?" 

"I  don't  know.  After  they'd  dropped  the 
bombs  and  were  coming  back,  I  think  it 
was." 

"Were  they  all  lost?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  so.  They  were 
lost  or  they're  prisoners,  or  something." 

"Didn't  he  tell  you?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  he  did,  but  I  can't  stand  it, 
honey — all  the  flak  and  stuff,  and  men  bail- 
ing out  and  being  wounded,  and  dying !  Why 
should  he  want  to  talk  about  it?  You  don't ! 
Other  men  don't." 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  wanted  to  tell  you. 
Flora?"  he  asked  very  gravely. 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  just  on  his  mind.  The 
trouble  is,  captain,  honey,  he's  just  not  ma- 
ture. Bob  isn't,  like  you,  like  the  rest  of  them. 
He's  just  a  boy.  Bob  is,  or  he  wouldn't  mind, 
so,  things  that  happen." 
She  smiled  suddenly  and 
said,  "Don't  look  so 
dark.  I'm  here,  and  M;e're 
not  dead!" 

"No,"  he  said,  "we're 
not  dead.  .  .  .  Where 
are  they  sending  him?" 

"I've  forgotten  the 
name  of  the  place.  A 
hospital  in  Arizona  or 
New  Mexico."    - 

"You  don't  know 
where  the  hospital  is?" 

"No,  I  don't.  'Twas 
a  long  name;  I've  for- 
gotten. I've  never  been 
out  West.  Papa's  said 
we'd  go,  sometime,  and 
see  the  Grand  Canyon." 

"Why  are  they  send- 
ing him  out  there,  or  don't  you  know?" 

"You  aren't  a  bit  nice  to  me  this  evening. 
Captain  Taylor.  You're  hurting  my  hand. 
Let  me  go!" 

"You  don't  know  what's  wrong  with  him, 
why  they're  sending  him  to  a  hospital?" 

"No.  But  it's  not  anything  serious.  He's 
not  wounded  or  anything.  He's  just  tired, 
he's  got  to  rest  and  get  Iiold  of  himself 
and " 

He  took  his  arm  from  about  her  and  got  to 
his  feet.  "I  suggest  you  go  find  him,  wherever 
he  is,"  he  said,  "and  try  telling  him  some- 
thing. Tell  him  you're  not  going  to  divorce 
him,  that  you'll  try  to  grow  up  and  act  like 
a 'woman,  and  not  throw  him  down!" 

"  Why,  Captain  Taylor ! "  Flora  Lee  gasped. 

"I  wish  I'd  met  him,  the  night  I  met  you. 
I  ought  to  go  find  him  myself  and  offer  him 
my  apologies  for  taking  so  much  of  his  wife's 
time,  and  my  sympathy." 

Your  sympathy!  Captain  Taylor,  you 
can't  talk  to  me  like  that!  I  wish  I'd  never 
met  you.  I  despise  you,  I  do!" 

"That's  understandable,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  think  too  well  of  myself.  Good-by, 
Mrs.  Yates!" 

Flora  Lee  went  swiftly  along  the  hall,  and 
when,  at  the  elevators,  she  heard  footsteps 
behind  her,  she  said  fiercely,  "Go  away.  I 
don't  want  to  see  you,  ever  again!" 

"You  won't,"  a  laughing  voice  said,  and 
she  whirled  about  to  look  up  into  the  wide 
and  homely  face  of  Lt.  Pete  Copeland. 
"Captain  Taylor  took  the  stairs." 

"Lieutenant  Copeland,"  Flora  Lee  said, 
and  managed  a  faint  smile.  "  I  lost  my  tem- 
per with  Captain  Taylor.  I  have  an  awful 
temper.  I  always  have  had." 


"You  forgive  the  captain,"  he  said,  won- 
dering, as  he  spoke,  that  he  should  feel  any 
urge  to  tell  her.  "He's  had  bad  news  today. 
Friend  of  his  died — his  wife  killed  him." 
"She  killed  him.  Lieutenant  Copeland?" 
"Because  he  wanted  to  fly,  and  she 
thought  if  he  did  he'd  not  get  home  for 
supper." 

"You  are  kidding.  Lieutenant  Copeland ! " 
"No,  not  this  time.  And  besides,  the  cap- 
tain's disappointed  in  love.  He's  dis- 
illusioned. He's  going  up  to  pack — he's 
going  out,  in  hours  now,  and — here's  your 
up  car,  Mrs.  Yates." 

TLORA  LEE  did  not  find  Bob  in  their  room. 
She  felt  very  much  alone,  and  frightened  too. 
She  went  to  the  mirror  and  looked  sadly  into 
her  own  dark  eyes  and  wondered  why  it  was 
that  she  should  be  both  so  pretty  and  so 
lonely.  She  sat  down  and  thought  about 
Captain  Taylor  with  regretful  hatred.  No 
man  had  ever  talked  to  her  so  in  her  life. 
Just  why  he  had  turned  from  love  to  hatred, 
within  hours,  she  did  not  understand.  Bob, 
and  his  telling  the  men  to  bail  out,  and  his 
going  to  the  convalescent  hospital,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  "Not  throw  him  down," 
Captain  Taylor  had  said.  It  might  be  he 
knew  something  about  Bob  that  she  did  not 
know.  Anyway,  whatever  Bob  was,  he 
wasn't  ugly  toward  her.  He  had  been  so 
sweet  when  they  were  first  married,  so  much 
in  love  with  her. 

Albuquerque!  That  was  the  name  of  the 
place!  She  wished  she  could  have  remem- 
bered, talking  with  Captain  Taylor.  There 
was  a  bombing  schoolout 
there,  she  remembered 
Julianne  saying.  There 
were  dude  ranches  too. 
She  didn't  like  to  ride 
in  a  Western  saddle,  but 
she  could  have  her  father 
send  her  saddle  out  to 
her.  It  comforted  her 
that  she  knew  men  who 
rode  better  than  Captain 
Taylor  rode. 

When  Bob  came  in  she 

would  kiss  him  and  tell 

him  she  was  sorry.    She 

would  send  her  father  a 

wire  telling  him  not  to 

mind    her    letter.     She 

went    to    the    dressing 

table  to  search  for  her 

lipstick    brush,  and    as 

she  searched  she  composed  the  telegram: 

"Lovers'  quarrel.     Forgiven  him.     Never 

mind  letter." 

When  Major  Blane  put  his  key  in  the  lock, 
he  was  surprised  not  to  hear  Nora's  quick 
step  and  to  have  the  knob  turn  under  his 
hand,  and  the  door  open.  He  had  phoned 
to  tell  her  he  would  be  back  at  three-thirty. 
Nora  knew  that  he  was  punctual.  She  was 
not  in  the  room.  The  door  was  open  into  the 
bathroom  and  baby  noises  came  from  there. 

He  waited,  and  when  Nora  did  not  come 
out,  he  called,  "Nora,  I  got  my  assignment." 

She  did  not  answer.  He  went  to  the  bath- 
room door  and  looked  in.  The  baby  was 
standing  in  the  empty  tub  on  a  rumpled 
blanket.  When  he  saw  his  father  he  waved 
his  arms,  lost  his  balance  and  sat  down,  hard, 
and  looked  up  indignantly. 

"Don't  cry,"  Jack  said  to  him.  "That 
didn't  hurt  you." 

The  boy  smiled,  reached  for  the  edge  of 
the  bathtub  and  hooked  his  hands  over  the 
side  and  pulled  himself  up.  No  sooner  was 
he  on  his  feet  than  he  began  an  experiment 
that,  obviously,  was  not  a  new  one.  Holding 
fast  to  the  wide  and  slippery  top  of  the  tub, 
he  lifted  a  sturdy  leg  and  tried  to  hook  his 
toe  over  the  edge. 

"I'd  not  do  that,  sir,  if  I  were  you,"  Jack 
advised.  "Your  leg's  too  short.  Where's 
your  mother?" 

Spoken  to,  the  boy  forgot  everything, 
brought  his  arms  up  and  then  down  again, 
and  again  his  feet  went  out  from  under  him. 
This  time,  instead  of  sitting  down,  he  slid 
across  the  tub,  the  blanket  bunching  up 
under  his  feet,  and  lit  on  his  stomach  and  his 
chin.   Prone,  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked 


•  ••••••• 

B>-  Jehanne  de  Mare 

You  have  been  to  me 
That  one  safe  place 

Wherein  my  heart  could  hide 
Its  grievous  face. 

You  have  been  to  me 
All  gentle  things  alone 

Wherein  my  heart  forgot 
The  bitter  stone. 

•  •*••••• 


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96 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


^ 


% 


\^= 


up  at  his  father,  his  eyes  weUing  tears,  his 
chin  puckering  and  dimpling. 

"Don't  cry,"  Jack  said  again.  "Get  up, 
and  this  time  watch  what  you're  about. 
Don't  let  it  throw  you.  Keep  your  hand  on 
the  stick,  now." 

As  though  he  understood  him,  the  baby 
gathered  his  legs  under  him,  braced  with  his 
hands  and  brought  himself  up  to  a  hands- 
and-knees  position.  Again  he  looked  up  at 
his  father. 

"Don't  look  at  me,"  Jack  said,  and  knelt 
on  one  knee  beside  the  tub.  "If  you're  man 
enough  to  climb  out  of  this  tub.  climb  out, 
and  keep  your  mind  on  it." 

Once  more  on  his  knees,  the  boy  reached 
for  the  top  of  the  tub,  put  his  hands  over  the 
edge  of  it  and,  when  he  was  standing  again, 
raised  the  leg  until  he  could  hook  his  toes 
over  the  edge  of  the  tub. 

"Atta  boy!"  Jack  said.  "Now  don't  lose 
your  nerve  or  your  grip.  Now  you're  comin'  I 
Heave,  and  you'll  make  it!" 

To  his  surprise,  the  baby  obeyed  him.  but 
with  a  quickness  that  was  bewildering.  His 
arms  caught  the  boy  and  held  him  up  from 
falling  on  his  face. 

"You  made  it ! "  Jack  said.  "But  you  can't 
come  in,  you  can't  land  like  that,  kid.  Now 
do  it  again.  And  get  your  landing  gear  down." 

He  set  the  baby  back  in  the  tub,  and 
again  he  struggled  up  and  over,  and  again 
was  caught  from  falling,  and  at  last  was 
praised.  Jack  caught  him  up.  got  to  his  feet 
with  him,  holding  him  in  his  arms,  and  set 
him  on  his  shoulder,  and  carried  him  into  the 
other  room,  where  the  baby  began  to  kick 
and  throw  himself  about,  so  violently  that 
Jack  almost  dropped  him.  Then  he  saw  what 
the  boy  was  reaching  for,  what  he  wanted. 
Hanging   by   a   string 

from  the  ceiling  light       

fixture,  where  Nora 
must  have  had  to  climb 
up  on  the  table  to  tie 
it,  was  a  plane,  a  small 
Mustang. 

"Where'd  you  get 
that?"  Jack  asked  the 
baby.  "Where'd  you 
get  that  Mustang? 
Here,  that's  not  to 
eat ! "  He  held  the  grab- 
bing hands  away  from       

the  plane,  and  when 
the  boy  kicked  and  yelled  to  have  the  model 
back.  Jack  put  him  down  on  the  bed.  well 
toward  the  middle,  and  said,  "Now  watch! 
Sit  there  and  walcli.'"  He  loosed  the  string 
from  the  model  and,  holding  it  in  his  hand, 
sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  the  boy  and 
said,  "Now  keep  your  hands  down  and 
uatch!" 

Sitting  bolt  upright,  his  hands  on  his  fat 
brown  knees,  his  underlip  drooling,  and  his 
blue  eyes  following  the  slowly  moving  plane, 
the  baby  watched.  It  was  so  that  Nora 
found  them  when  she  opened  the  door.  For 
a  long  moment  she  stood  by  the  door,  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  throat. 

Jack  got  to  his  feet,  looked  back  at  her 
over  his  shoulder,  the  plane  stopped  in  a 
downward  swoop,  and  said.  "Shut  that  door, 
Nora.  We'ie  not  ready  for  wind  yet." 

She  came,  on  tiptoe,  and  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  watching  the  baby.  After  one 
glance  at  her,  Johnny's  eyes  had  gone  back 
to  the  moving  plane. 

"  WTiat  do  you  mean,  going  off  and  leaving 
him  in  the  tub.  Nora?"  Jack  asked.  "Don't 
you  know  he  can  climb  out?" 

"No!"  Nora  cried.  "Did  he  climb  out? 
It's  the  first  time,  the  first  day,  ever!  It 
is  the  first  time  I  left  him  too.    It " 

"WTiy  did  you?  He  could  have  broken 
his  neck ! " 

"  I  wanted  you  to  find  him,  to  come  home 
and  find  him,  and  the  Mustang  too.  Which 
did  you  find  first.  Jack?" 

"The  boy.   Nora,  I  got  mv  assignment." 

"You  did,  Jack?   What?   Where?" 

"  Where  we'll  have  to  rough  it,  all  of  us — 
him  too!" 

"Where?" 

"  Down  in  Florida.  I'm  going  to  be  train- 
ing cadets.  We'll  have  to  live  in  a  shack,  in  a 
tent,  a  trailer  or  whatever  we  can  get." 


l*OLITE>ESS 

1^  ''l{eg  jour  pardon,"  said  the  fat 
^  man.  returning  to  his  seat.  ''Did 


I  step  on  your  foot  as  I  went  out?"" 
"\es.  you  did."  said   the  injured 

one.  expeetins  an  apol«{|!y. 

"This    is    my    row.    then,""    nium- 

hled  the  other  as  he  squeezed  hy. 

THE  JOKE  TELLERS  JOKE  BOOK:  Edited  by 

Frederick  Meier  (New  Home  Library,  Blakiston  Co.) 


"Of  course,"  she  said. 

"He'll  have  to  take  whatever  I  find  for  us." 

"Of  course." 

"Nora,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"Tell  you  what?"  4 

"That  he  knows  what  you  say  to  him?" 

"Does  he?" 

"Sure  he  does.  Now  look.  Come  watch 
him,  Nora.  Come  watch  him  watch  this 
plane.  Where  did  it  come  from,  anyway?" 

"From  angels,"  Nora  said.  She  went  to 
his  side,  and  he  surprised  her  by  taking  her 
in  his  arms  and  saying: 

"Nora.  I'm  sorry.  It's  taken  me  a  while 
to  get  straightened  out.  But  here,  at  the 
station.  I've  talked  with  a  number  of  men, 
in  the  processing  line  and  in  the  hotel — 
pilots.  They  all  had  something  to  get  straight, 
Nora.  I  talked  with  a  doctor  here  the  other 
day,  and  he  told  me  about  another  pilot  who 
came  home  to  find  his  wife  had  given  their 
baby  away — given  it  away,  Nora." 

iHEY  kissed,  but  the  kiss  was  brief.  The 
baby  had  slid  to  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  was 
going  off,  head  first.  It  was  Jack  who  saw 
him  and  caught  him. 

"  We've  got  to  watch  him,  Nora,"  he  said. 
"He's  eager,  this  kid  is!" 

Bob  Yates  dreamed  that  he  was  falling, 
his  plane  afire,  and  sat  up  to  find  his  long 
legs  burned  red  and  his  shoulders  afire  with 
sunburn.  How  he  had  slept  so  hard,  had 
burned  so  badly,  he  did  not  know.  He  got  to 
his  feet  and  his  head  swam  and  felt  very 
strange.  \\"as  he  going  to  be  sick  now,  he 
wondered,  just  when  relief  from  tension  had 
come,  now  that,  at  last,  he  was  free  of  the 
terrible  need  to  think  about  the  bailing  out, 
and  to  tell  Flora  Lee 

about  it?  She  had  not 

swung  back  into  real- 
ity, for  his  having  slept 
and  rested.  She  still 
seemed  like  someone 
in  a  movie.  The  mir- 
acle was  that  she  had 
ever  seemed  real.  He 
walked  toward  the 
boardwalk,  with  his 
ears  ringing  and  the 
strange  feeling  that  his 

feet   were  walking  of 

themselves,   without 

help  from  him,  and  were  not  doing  very  well. 
Walking  between  the  rows  of  beach  chairs, 
where  a  boy  was  playing  a  guitar  and  sing- 
ing to  his  wife,  he  began  to  sing: 

"All  the  loiers,  little  loiers.  love  to  hang 
around.  .  .  . 
They  call  him  Sam,  the  Did  Accordion  Man." 

That  was  what  was  wrong.  They  were 
married,  he  and  Flora  Lee,  but  they  were  not 
lovers,  like  these  others.  Being  married, 
having  a  hone\-moon  trip,  had  not  made 
them  lovers.  Flora  Lee  did  not  really  care 
about  love,  any  more  than  she  cared  about 
him.  She  had  wanted  to  be  married  only 
because  she  thought  she  would  like  the  pic- 
ture, and  now  she  didn't  like  it.  He  was 
tired  of  the  picture  himself.  He  did  not 
want  to  go  up  to  his  room  and  find  her  crying 
or  ready  to  kiss  anfl  make  up.  He  wanted  to 
go  to  a  room  where  he  could  be  by  himself 
and  go  to  sleep  again,  until  his  shoulders  and 
his  legs  stopped  burning. 

He  heard  his  name  and  turned,  hoping  it 
would  be  Kim  Waters  calling  him,  since  it 
had  to  be  somebody.  It  was  not  Kim.  It  was 
a  red-haired  fellow  who  looked  like  someone 
he  had  known  long  ago,  someone  he  had 
known  in  training,  likely.  The  boy  came 
quite  close,  breathing  hard  from  running. 
He  must  have  followed  him  in  from  the 
beach,  must  have  recognized  him  when  he 
got  up  from  the  sand.  He  couldn't  quite  get 
him  into  focus.  He  took  hold  of  the  railing 
of  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the  boardwalk  and 
waited  for  him  to  come  up  to  him. 

"Don't  you  know  me.  Bob?"  the  boy 
asked.  "Pinkie." 

"You  got  back,"  Bob  said.  "Did  any  of  i 
the  rest?" 

"Sure.  Three  of  us  did.  Underground. 
You're  all  in,  Bob." 

(Conlinutd  on  Page  98) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


What  a  Happy/  Sensible  Daily  Rule  ...  to  give  this 

H^inq  Hand 

AGAINST  COLDS,  INFECTIONS  AND  FLU 


Protective  Vitamin  C  is  needed  every  day  •  •  •  and  canned  grapefruit  juice 
supplies  it  in  richly  generous  portions  ...  delicious  and  ready  to  serve! 


•  Colds  and  flu— wholesale  destroyers  of  time  and  health— are  ready 
to  strike  at  millions!  But  today  there  are  countless  families  prepared 
to  meet  the  threat  of  colds  before  they  even  get  started.  These  families 
have  found  an  easy,  delightful,  nafural  vtray— to  fortify  their  bodies 
v/ith  protective  vitamin  C.  At  the  very  first  hint  of  o  cold,  they  drink 
canned  Florida  grapefruit  juice— a  GOLD  MINE  of  this  vitamin. 

So  rich  in  vitamin  C  is  Florida  grapefruit  juice,  that  Uncle  Sam 
sends  millions  of  cans  to  our  fighting  men— to  supply  them  with  this 
Helping  Hand  against  colds,  fatigue,  and  infections.  And  this  very 
same  juice,  with  its  vitamin  C,  is  right  on  the  shelves  of  your  grocery 
store  a  block  or  two  away! 


y^cai  a^/  //u<0  /4c<f 

. .  .  deliciously  blended  Florida 
ORANGE-GRAPEFRUIT    JUICE 

The  luscious  sweetness  of  Florida  orange 
juice  plus  the  appetizing  tang  of  grape-     . 
fruit  juice!  Try  a  can  today. 

Other  delicious  canned  fruits  and  juices 

Florida  Canned  Orange  Juice 
Florida  Canned  Grapefruit  Sections 


!|fO     So  delicious— 

Sh  refreshing — a 
wonderful  Helping 
Hand  to  spark  up  the 
family's  appetitesl 


Ouickand  Convenient 

\  — it  is  a  welcome  Help- 
ing Hand  in  preparing 
the  family's  daily  meals. 


The  Doctor  says 

aH  every  man, 
woman,  and  child 
•needs  the  Helping 
Hand  of  vitamin  C  ev- 
ery day  without  fail. 


/rs  r//£ 

J^   COAfAf/IA/Z?0  FK(//r 
FIGHT  CoUs.' 

FIGHT  Infections! 

FIGHT  Fatigue! 

FIGHT  Flu! 


•  FLORIDA  CITRUS  COMMISSION  •  Lakalamd,  Florida 


GRAPEFRUIT  JUICE 

A   BIG   HELPING   EVERY  DAY? 


98 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


tti  -the  Af£W 

G.WASHINGTON'S»-'"COFFEE 


COSTS  NO  MORE  THAN 
OLD-STYLE  COFFEE 

It's  new!  It's  easy!  It's  delicious! 

Think  of  it — just  half  a  teaspoon- 

fuJ  of  this  NEW  G.  Washington 

added  to  boiling  water  makes  the 

best  cup  of  coffee  you  ever  tasted — 

ust  5  seconds!  No  coffee  pot;  no 

nds;  no  waste.  Always  uniform. 

it  costs  no  more  than  old-style 

ffee;  the  2  oz.  container  is 

ual  to  a  pound  of  ground 

ffee!  Try  the  NEW  G. 

shington.  You'll  like  it! 


(Continued  from  Page  96) 

"Ya,  sunburn.  Lay  out  there  and  slept. 
Sunburned." 

"Come  on,  let's  get  in,"  Pinkie  said.  "I 
saw  your  name,  scheduled,  and  I've  been 
lookin'  for  you.  Your  wife's  here  too?  Does 
she  know  you're  sick,  that  you're  burned 
like  this?  Come  on  in  and  get  your  clothes 
on,  and  let's  go  up  and  find  her." 

"No,"  Bob  said.  "I  think  she's  divorced 
me.  She  was  going  to  divorce  me.  Don't 
tell  her." 

When  Bob  got  into  his  clothes  he  was 
so  unsteady  he  could  scarcely  stand  alone. 
Pinkie  went  up  in  the  elevator  with  him  and, 
when  he  insisted  on  getting  off  at  the  second 
floor,  got  off  with  him  and  stood  by  while 
Bob  tpld  the  girl  at  the  desk  he  wanted  to 
make  a  long-distance  call,  that  he  wanted  to 
talk  to  Buffalo,  New  York.  Pinkie  took  his 
address  book  from  his  hands  and  found  the 
name  of  the  hospital  for  him,  and  stood  by 
outside  the  booth  while  he  phoned. 

When  Bob  heard  Jo's  voice,  at  last,  he 
laughed  in  a  way  a  little  boy  laughs  when  he 
finds  something  he  treasures,  lost  a  long 
time.  "I've  got  me  one  terrible  sunburn, 
Jo,"  he  said,  "and  Pinkie's  here.  He  got 
back.  Three  of  them  got  back.  Under- 
ground.  .   .   .  Can  you  hear  me,  Jo?" 

"Yes,  Bob,"  she  answered.  "Are  you  in 
the  hospital?  You're  sick.  Bob!" 

"Ya,  fatigue.  And  this  sunburn.  I'm  go- 
ing out  to  Albuquerque." 

"To  the  convalescent  hospital?" 

"Yes.   I'm  not  going  to  be  married,  Jo." 

"What  did  you  say,  Bob?" 

I'm  not  going  to  be  married.  I'm  going 
to  get  out  of  that  picture.  When  I'm  all 
right,  when  I'm  not  married — she  wants  a 
divorce,  Jo — will  you  ride  out  to  your  broth- 
er's with  me,  Sunday?" 

"Bob,  is  anybody  with  you?" 

"Sure,  Pinkie's  here.  He  got  back.  He 
says  we're  going  over  to  the  hospital,  get 
something  for  this  sunburn.  Good  idea.  I 
don't  have  to  go  up.  I  don't  have  to  see  her 
again,  not  tonight,  anyway.  Will  you  go  out 
there  with  me  Sunday,  Jo?" 

"Of  course.  Bob." 

"Jo,  I  love  you." 

"  Bob,  let  me  talk  to  Pinkie,  if  he's  there." 

"  Will  you  wait  for  me,  Jo,  until  Sunday?  " 

"Until  Sunday,  dear.  Let  me  talk  to 
Pinkie." 

"Got  a  temperature,  I'd  say,"  Pinkie  said 
to  the  girl  Bob  had  called  on  the  phone. 
"  Burned  like  a  lobster.  I'm  taking  him  right 
over  to  the  hospital.  Cuckoo  with  fever. 
They'll  look  after  him." 

"Tell  him  I  love  him,"  the  girl  said. 
"Take  care  of  him,  and  tell  him  I  love  him." 

"She  loves  you,"  Pinkie  said  to  Bob. 
"Now  come  on.  Let's  get  out  of  here! 
Where's  the  hospital?" 

The  elevator  stopped  and  an  uncommonly 
pretty,  tall  dark  girl  got  off.  She  was  looking 
for  someone.  Pinkie  thought.  She  looked  re- 
markably like  the  picture  Bob  had  had 
pinned  over  his  bed,  at  the  base  in  England. 
Pinkie  stepped  in  front  of  the  chair  where 
Bob  sat  until  she  was  safely  out  of  sight. 

Lt.  Betsy  Weston  stopped  on  the  circle 
drive  before  the  hotel  so  that  she  would  not 
walk  into  focus  of  a  camera.  A  girl  was  tak- 
ing pictures  of  a  bride  and  groom.  The  bride 
was  a  Wave  and  the  groom  an  Army  pilot, 
and  they  had  just  been  married  in  the  chapel 
in  the  Ambassador,  and  had  come  over  to 
the  Ritz,  where  they  were  to  spend  their 
honeymoon.  The  girl  was  tall  and  very  grave. 
Her  friends  were  urging  her  to  smile  and  she 
at  last  cried: 

"No,  let  me  be!  I  don't  want  to  smile. 
I'm  too  happy!" 

"And  she's  right,  the  Wave  is,"  Captain 
Howe  said. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  Betsy  said. 

"From  work  and  from  doing  what  you 
asked  me  to  do." 

"Captain  Howe,  what — what  did  you  find 
out?   Tell  mel" 

"Go  up  to  the  game  room  and  wait  for 
me.   I'll  be  up." 

The  elevators  were  too  slow  for  her.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  to  wait  for  them,  but 


How  do  ym  clean  3L 


with  a 

'/  chisel? 


Gouge  out  the  bottom  of  a  good  pan?  No! 
LTse  BrUlo — spunky  but  gentle  I 


with  a 


disk  rag? 


Hard  and  messy! 

Dish  rags  and  general-purpose  cleansers 

ha  ven'tenoughbackbonelBut  watch  Bri'Z/o/ 


Brillo/ 


Yes !  Brillo's  square,  metal-fiber  pads  scour 
neatly,  easily!  Polish  too!  Get  Brillo  Soap 
Pads;  or  Brillo  Cleanser — pads    < 

J  .         ^  •  I    OUT 

and  soap  separate.  Genuine     |  war 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


99 


ran  up  the  stairs,  stopping  on  the  second 
floor  a  moment  to  get  her  breath.  In  the 
hallway  of  the  third  floor  she  met  Julianne. 

"I  was  coming  to  look  for  you,"  Julianne 
said.  "I  wanted  to  find  you  right  away.  I 
didn't  say  anything  to  spoil  anything."  She 
took  hold  of  Betsy's  arm  and  her  hands  were 
trembling.  "Run,"  she  said.  "Run,  Betsy!" 
and  went  on  down  the  hallway  and,  when  she 
got  into  the  elevator,  leaned  against  the  wall 
and  shut  her  eyes. 

"Here,  Mrs.  Kim,  what's  wrong?"  she 
heard  Pete's  voice  asking. 

"Don't  say  anything,"  she  whispered. 
"Just  hold  your  breath  and  thank  God, 
Pete!  I  found  him,  Pete.  I  found  Dave  Al- 
berts! I  just  asked  him  who  he  was,  and 
where  he  was,  and  a  few  things  like  that,  and 
then  I  told  him  to  sit  right  there,  right 
where  he  was,  and  went  to  find  Betsy,  and 
there  she  was  in  the  hall !" 

"How'd  he  get  here?" 

"He  was  ordered  here.  He's  been  in 
hospitals,  in  a  mental  hospital  and,  since,  in 
a  convalescent  hospital.  Months  now.  He's 
well  and  is  here  to  get  his  assignment." 

"Does  he  know  his  girl's  here?"  They 
got  out  of  the  elevator  on  the  seventh  floor, 
and  Pete  held  to  her  arm.  "Why,  you're 
shaking  like  a  leaf!" 

"He  didn't  know — he  does  now!  Where's 
Kim,  Pete?  I  feel  so  strange.  I  never  felt 
like  this  in  my  life!" 

Kim  opened  the  door  to  them,  when  Pete 
bumped  it  with  his  elbow  and  yelled  for 
Kim  to  open  it.  He  was  carrying  Julianne. 

They  laid  her  on  the  bed,  and  Pete  re- 
membered to  hang  her  head  over  the  edge 


THE   BLESSED  TENTH 

^  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that 
^  this  world  is  made  up  of  50  per 
cent  natural  people,  30  per  cent  shy 
people,  10  per  cent  snobs,  and  10 
per  cent  idiots.  I  ask  you  to  be  ex- 
tremely nice  to  the  natural  people, 
to  be  tolerant  of  the  shy  people,  give 
the  snobs  a  quick  kick  in  the  pants, 
and  thank  Cod  for  the  idiots,  be- 
cause they  will  never  find  you  out! 

—SIR  SEYMOUR  HICKS:  In  The  Lancet. 


and  Kim  brought  water  and  patted  her  face 
with  a  damp  towel  and  waited  for  her  to 
open  her  eyes.  He  was  alone  with  her  when 
consciousness  came  back  to  her.  Pete  had 
gone  to  fetch  the  hotel  doctor. 

"I  feel  so  foolish,"  she  said.  "I  guess  I 
fainted." 

"  I  guess  you  did,"  he  said.  "What  was  it? 
What  was  the  matter,  baby?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  was  just  terribly  happy, 
and  excited.  I've  been  terribly  happy  and 
excited  lots  of  times  and  never  fainted  before 
in  my  life,  never  but  once." 

"But  what  were  you  excited  about?" 

"Fate,  and  mine  being  the  hand  of  it,"  she 
said,  and  raised  her  hand  limply.  "Dave 
Alberts  is  here,  and  now  Betsy's  with  him, 
in  the  game  room." 

"You  keep  still.  You  rest  until  the  doctor 
gets  here." 

"Doctor — I'm  not  going  to  have  any  doc- 
tor, Kim.   I'm  not  sick.   Let  me  up." 

"Lie  still." 

"Kim,  did  you  get  your  assignment?" 

"I  did.  But  that's  going  to  wait.  Here's 
Pete,  back." 

"Found  a  flight  surgeon,"  Pete  said 
breathlessly.  "Major  Traine,  Mrs.  Kim! 
Lieutenant  Waters,  sir." 

"I  feel  so  foolish,"  Julianne  said,  looking 
up  at  the  doctor,  who  looked  rather  angry. 
"I've  never  fainted  but  once  before  in  my 
life.  I  was  ten.  I  was  going  to  have  measles." 

"And  now,  you're  going  to  have  a  baby," 
the  doctor  said  quietly. 

"How  do  you  know?  "  Julianne  whispered. 

"How?  Because,  up  in  Alaska,  I  was 
called  on  to  deliver  a  baby  one  night  and 
they  promptly  put  me  in  the  hospital  and 
made  me  Chief  of  Obstetrics  and,  when  I 
was  supposed  to  be  on  Kiska,  I  was  helping 


few  Orleans 
Molasses  Sponge  Cake 

^\  A  LUSCIOUS  SUGAR-SAVING  CAKE  THAT  GETS  ITS 

FLAVOR  FROM  BRER  RABBIT  GREEN  LABEL  MOLASSES 


'V 


f>.; 


W.: 


You'll  love  the  delicious  lightness 
and  mouth-watering  tenderness  of  this 
easy  sponge  cake  made  with  molasses. 

But  do  be  careful  to  use  Brer  Rab- 
bit Neu)  Orleans  Molasses.  It's  full  of 
the  luscious  flavor  of  Louisiana  sugar 
cane — the  flavor  you  can  get  only 
from  New  Orleans  molasses. 

Brer  Rabbit  molasses  comes  in  two 
luscious  flavors: 

Green  Label  Brer  Rabbit  is  a  full 
flavored,  dark  molasses  especially 
recommended  for  cooking.  And  one 
tablespoonful  added  to  a  glass  of  cold 
or  warm  milk  makes  a  full  flavored 
Brer  Rabbit  Milk  Shake  that  is  rich 
in  iron  and  calcium. 

Gold  Label  Brer  Rabbit  is  the  high- 
est quality,  fancy,  light  molasses — 
sweet  and  mild  for  table  use  and  cook- 
ing where  a  mild  flavor  is  desired.  De- 
licious on  pancakes,  waffles,  French 
toast,  bread  and  cereal,  and  for  a 
delicately  flavored  milk  shake. 


NEW  ORLEANS 
MOLASSES  SPONGE  CAKE 

4  eggs,  separated 

3^2  cup  Brer  Rabbit 

New  Orleans  Molasses* 
1  teaspoon  lemon  juice 
6  tablespoons  sugar 
I  cup  sifted  cake  flour 

J4  teaspoon  salt 
1  teaspoon  cinnamon 

J 2  teaspoon  nutmeg 

I4  teaspoon  mace 

3  2  teaspoon  soda 

Beateggyolks  very  lightjgrad- 
ualiy  beat  in  molasses.  Beat 
egg  whites  until  foamy;  add 
lemon  ju:ceand  beat  untilstiff 
but  not  dry.  Gradually  beat 
in  sugar.  Fold  into  egg  yolk 
mixture.  Mix  and  sift  other 
dry  ingredients;  fold  into  egg 
mixture.  Pour  in  two  un- 
grcased  9-inch  layer  cake  pans 
lined  on  bottom  with  waxed 
paper.  Bake  in  slow  oven 
(32S°F.)  20-25  minutes.  When 
cool,  spread  vanilla  pudding 
(packaged)  between  layers 
and  sprinkle  top  with  confec- 
tioner's sugar,  using  paper 
doily  forstencil.  8-lOservings. 
*For  a  rich  molasses  flavor, 
use  Green  Label.  If  you  prefer 
a  milder  flavor,  use  Gold  Label- 


^a,^. 


!    %: 


\  FREE!    116    FINE    RECIPES 

isM^  Penick  &  Ford,  Ltd.,  Inc..  New  Orleans.  La.,  Dept.  J3-S 

\.y        Please  send  my  free  copy  of  "Brer  Rabbit's  Modern  Recipes  for 

Modern    Living,"    telling   all   about    New   Orleans    molasses   for 

table  use  and  cooking. 


(Print  Name  and  Address) 


A  ddress  . 


Brer  Rabbit 


NEW 
ORLEANS 


Molasses 


r£        VOG  U  E     STUDIOS 


>wning  The  Cory  means  owning 
tie  best!  The  best  in  coffee  flavor 
.  .  nothing  but  taste-free,  spotless 
lass  touches  your  coffee  as  it  brews 
)  full-bodied  richness  The  Cory-way 
[a  the  Cory  Glass  filter  rod.*  The  best 
styling  and  beauty  .  .  .  crystal  clear, 
and-decorated,  high  lustre  glass. 

CORY 


he  best  in  service  features .  .  .  hinged 
xanter  cover,  safety  stand  for  the 
Dper  glass,  accurate  coffee  measure, 
id  the  wonder-working  Cory  GLASS 
ter  rod.  Only  The  Cory  gives  you  all 
lese  perfections!  Sold  everywhere. 
5.75  to  $.S.25.  Slightly  higher  in 


/"< —  /-"I, 


*Look  for  the  Cory  glass  filter 
fckI  when  you  huy! 

It's  a  patented  Cory  feature.  Insures 
delicious  coffee  every  time.  Does  away 
with  messy  filter  cloths.  Eliminates 
metal,  too.  And  so  much  more  con- 
venient. Just  rinse  off,  and  it's  clean. 
Fits  all  standard  glass  coffee  makers, 
and  you  can  buy  it  separately.  50c  at 


100 

Indians,  and  officers'  wives,  have  babies.  It 
was  six  months  before  my  howl  got  through 
to  Washington  and  I  finally  got  out  of  there. 
That's  a  fact." 

"Is  she  all  right?"  Kim  asked. 

"Sure  she's  all  right." 

"Then  why'd  she  faint?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Some  do,"  he 
said.  "You  can  call  another  doctor  now  and 
leave  me  out  of  this.  That  was  a  purely  social 
and  not  a  professional  opinion  I  just  voiced. 
I  was  brought  up  here  on  false  pretenses. 
I'm  slated  to  go  on  to  an  Air  Force  con- 
valescent hospital,  from  here,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  get  sidetracked  in  Atlantic  City  as 
a  baby  doctor.  She's  all  right.  Congratula- 
tions, young  people,  and  good  evening." 

When  the  doctor  had  bowed  himself  out, 
Pete  backed  out  after  him,  grinning  his 
gentler  grin,  and  shaking  his  wide  head. 
"See  you  at  dinner,^'  he  said.  He  was  going 
to  be  gone  before  dinner,  but  he  hoped  they 
would  not  know  that. 

"That  right,  baby?"  Kim  asked,  when  the 
door  was  closed  after  Pete.  "Do  you  think 
he  knows  what  he's  talking  about?" 

"I  think  maybe,"  she  said.  "I've  been 
holding  my  breath  about  it  since  we  got  here. 
Do  you  mind,  Kim?" 

"Mind?  I'll  say  not,  baby!"  He  kissed 
her  gently. 

"Kim,  did  you  get  your  assignment?" 

"Sure  did,  baby." 

"What?" 

"Processing  line.  Desk  job,  honey.  I'll 
be  interviewing  Pacific  pilots,  men  who've 
just  got  back.    In  Classification." 


IT'S   BEEN   SAID 

1^  Has    a    woman    who    knew  that 
^  she  was  well-dressed  ever  caught 

a  Cold?_^|jj^5j-^^£.  Q„o,,j  inoNewDiclionory 

of  Quotations.    H.  L  Mencken. 

(Alfred  A.  Knopf,  Inc.) 

If  you  want  to  hear  the  whole 
truth  about  yourself,  anger  your 
neighbor. 

It  doesn't  depend  on  size,  or  a  cow 
\4<>(ild  catch  a  rabbit. 

Contentment  is  the  best  powder 
for  women's  faces. 

A  child  that  is  loved  has  many 
names. 


"Where?" 

"Here,  baby.  Will  you  like  that?" 

"Here  at  Atlantic  City,  at  this  station?" 

"That's  right.  We'll  find  an  apartment, 
somewhere,  here.  We'll  settle  down  now, 
Julie." 

"For  the  war?" 

"So  far  as  I  know,  yes." 

"Here  by  the  ocean?" 

"That's  right." 

"He'll  be  born  by  the  sea,"  Julianne  said, 
"and  when  he's  just  old  enough  to  begin  to 
remember,  we'll  take  him  home  to  the  moun- 
tains." 

"And  to  Indiana.  Say,  won't  dad  go  nuts? 
Do  you  feel  like  coming  down  to  dinner, 
Julie?" 

"Of  course,  Kim.  I  want  to  go  down.  I 
want  to  see  them  all  again,  all  of  them 
who've  not  gone  on  to  new  places.  It's  like 
a  whole  lifetime,  these  ten  days  in  this  place. 
All  of  us  here,  all  us  young  ones,  getting 
back,  finding  one  another.  We,  here  at  home, 
know  so  little  of  all  that  you've  come  home 
from,  Kim." 

He  was  looking  down  at  her  with  a  tender 
gravity  that  made  her  remember  the  chap- 
lain's saying,  "He  is  sad,  'numerously '  sad." 
She  reached  to  take  his  face  between  her 
hands  and  whisper,  "Kim,  are  you  thinking 
of  the  men,  of  Van  and  Tommy  and  the 
others?" 

"No,  I  was  thinking  of  him.  Briefed  to 
take  ofT,  in  a  time  like  this,  with  the  world 
like  it  is!" 

"He'll  make  it,"  she  said.  "It  may  even 
be  a  little  better  world,  by  spring!" 

(THE  END) 


March,  1945 


irs  The  Long  Slow 
Baking  That  Makes 
Tm  Extra  Good 

Look  for  delicious  B  &  M 
Brick-Oven  Baked  Beans 
at  your  Grocer's.  These 
New  England  favorites 
are  really  baked  (not 
steamed)  slowly  ...  all 
day  long  ...  to  give  you 
true  Down-East-recipe 
goodness.  Whenever  your 
Grocer  is  out,  remember 
it's  this  long,  slow  baking 
that  is  keeping  his  present 
supply  limited.  Burnham 
&  Morrill  Company,  Port- 
land 2,  Maine. 


n^i^ 


;i 


MATERNITY  DRESSES//*:. 

I  Smart,  yonthlul  styles  tor  Moroine,  Street,  or  f  (Gf"!" 

(Spring  I  Afternoon.  Also  Maternity  Bras  &  Lingerie.      ^--.S 
^'y'^'    I  CS.kWFO&D'S-  Dtpi.A-  l233Balt.A7«.,KansasCity,M9 


Means  "Oh,  So  Better 
salads    when    served 
with  a  genuine  French 
Dressing  that's  made 
really   genuine   with 
zestful,    superfine 
and  pure  Pompcian 
Olive  Oil — the  olive 
oil    with   the   clear 
culur    and    deli- 
cate flavor. 


pompeiax 
Olive  Oil 

BALTIMORE.  MD. 


101 


RED  IS  FOR  LAUGHTER 

(Continued  from  Page  21) 


They  need  a  pair  of  hands  at  a  typewriter, 
and  a  brain  to  condense  rafts  of  material. 
But  they  don't  need  tny  hands  or  tny  brain. 
They  don't  really  need  me  at  all." 

"Look,"  he  said.  "You'll  make  yourself 
sick  if  you  go  on  this  way." 

"I  am  sick,"  she  said.  "I  am  sick." 

"Stop  it."  He  took  her  by  the  shoulders 
and  shook  her. 

"Leave  me  alone,"  she  flared.  "You 
didn't  have  to  come  in  the  first  place.  You 
didn't  have  to  be  the  noble  good  Samaritan, 
you  didn't  have  to  listen " 

He  pushed  his  mouth  against  hers  and 
stopped  the  words,  and  held  her  so  for  a  long 
time.  "You  talk  too  much,"  he  said.  He 
drew  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
her  again.  He  felt  the  tenseness  leave  her 
body,  and  after  a  while  she  stood  quiet 
against  him,  her  head  bent  a  little,  just 
touching  his  chin. 

"I  needed  that  too,"  she  said.  "And  you 
knew  it."  She  turned  away  from  him.  "I'm 
so  ashamed." 

"Don't  be,"  he  said.  "Everybody  needs 
that  sometimes."  Still  she  would  not  look  at 
him.  He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
blotted  her  wet  cheeks.  "What's  your 
name?" 

"Pamela." 

"My  name's  Bill."  He  wiped  off  her  eye- 
lashes and  tilted  her  face  up  to  examine  his 
handiwork.  "M-h'm,"  he  said.  "It's  not  a 
bad  face,  as  faces  go.  If  you  wouldn't  soak  it 
so  long  in  the  brine.  What  are  you  trying  to 
do — make  yourself  a  pickle-puss? " 

"A  pun,"  she  said,  "is  the  lowest  form  of 
wit."  But  she  was  smiling. 

"Hold  it.  I  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
gayest  girl  in  Oakridge  County." 

"Which  way  do  you  think  she  went?" 

He  looked  back  down  the  road,  to  where 
the  sky  was  purpling  at  the  horizon. 
"Through  the  hills  and  over  that  star,  I 
think.  Do  you  want  to  track  her  down?" 

She  nodded.  "Please." 

He  stuffed  his  handkerchief  back  in  his 
pocket.  "We'll  have  to  go  back  to  head- 
quarters and  plan  our  strategy."  He  turned 
her  around,  and  just  then  the  street  lights 
came  on,  warm  and  yellow,  all  the  way  down 
the  highway  as  far  as  eye  could  reach.  They 
stood  and  looked,  the  two  of  them.  After  a 
long  minute  he  smiled.  "Pamela,  did  you 
ever  get  a  high  sign  from  heaven?  Because 
that's  it."  He  tucked  her  arm  through  his. 
"Let's  go." 

It  took  them  about  fifteen  minutes  to  get 
back  to  the  center  of  town. 

"The  first  thing,"  he  said,  "is  to  take 
you  home  and  wash  your  face.  Where  do 
you  live?" 


"It's  not  far.  Turn  right  at  the  traffic 
light  and  walk  down  three  blocks." 

"Got  that,"  he  said.  "The  next  thing  is  to 
dress  you  up  right.  Have  you  got  a  red 
dress?" 

"A  red  dress?" 

"A  girl  with  chestnut  hair  and  gray  eyes 
should  have  a  red  dress,"  he  said. 

She  considered  this.  "  I  have  a  red  suit." 

"That'll  do  it." 

The  apartment  was  dark  when  she  opened 
the  door.  "Jane  must  have  gone  to  the 
movies,"  she  said,  as  she  snapped  on  the 
Hght. 

He  got  a  hazy  feeling  of  cool  green  walls, 
and  flowers  in  the  right  places,  and  books 
by  the  fireplace.  Very  nice,  all  in  all,  but  he 
felt  cramped.  He  walked  down  the  room  and 
across  to  the  window  with  a  measured  tread. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"You  were  right,"  he  said.  "It  is  twelve 
feet  by  sixteen.  Not  big  enough.  Not  nearly 
big  enough.  Even  for  you."  He  crossed  the 
room  and  stood  in  front  of  her.  "You  may 
have  twenty  minutes,"  he  said.  "Twenty 
minutes  to  wash  your  face  and  comb  your 
hair  and  put  on  your  red  suit  and  look  like  a 
reasonable  facsimile  of  the  gayest  girl  in 
Oakridge  County.  I  think  that'll  be  the 
best  way  to  trap  her.   Use  you  as  decoy." 

"Only  twenty  minutes?" 

"That's  all,"  he  said  firmly.  "We  have  a 
bus  to  catch  to  the  city." 

He  sat  down  on  the  studio  couch  in  front 
of  the  windows  to  wait.  Yes,  it  was  a  nice 
little  apartment  all  right.  There  were  cush- 
ions where  you  wanted  them  and  ash  trays 
within  reach,  and  they  hadn't  cluttered  up 
the  place  with  too  much  furniture.  There 
was  a  feeling  about  the  place— that  it 
could  grow  into  home,  if  there  were  only 
growing  space,  space  for  more  than  just  a 
couple  of  girls. 

Pamela  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  Reporting 
for  duty,"  she  said. 

He  stood  up  and  inspected  her  gravely. 
Her  hair  gleamed  in  the  lamplight,  lipstick 
was  banner-bright  on  her  mouth,  and  the  red 
suit  gave  a  proud  set  to  her  shoulders. 

"I — I  couldn't  do  much  about  the  eyes," 
she  said.  "They're  still  a  little  swollen." 

"A  slight  Oriental  look  is  no  drawback  in 
this  sort  of  business,"  he  said.  "In  fact,  it 
might  be  good  strategy  to  emphasize  it."  He 
picked  a  nasturtium  from  the  vase  on  the 
desk.  "Here.  Put  this  in  your  hair."  He 
clipped  iton  just  aboveher  temple.  "Perfect." 

In  the  bus  he  sat  beside  her  and  watched 

the  wind  lift  the  curls  gently  off  the  back  of 

her  neck.  Her  hand  was  clenched  into  a  fist 

in  her  lap.  He  reached  over  and  spread  her 

(Continued  on  Page  103) 


7(/cke  Se^wcce 


FOR  the  iluratiuii  there  will  he  no  repairs 
for  home  lighting  installations  if  there 
are  still  usable  circuits  in  the  house.  That 
means  if  the  circuit  supplying  the  living 
room  fails,  it  can't  be  replaced  if  there  is 
a  usable  one  in  a  bedroom,  ('ircuits  are 
round-trip  paths  for  electricity  and  have 
definite  capacities.  Overloaded  circuits 
strain  the  wiring  and  lower  the  perform- 
ance of  lighlH  and  appliances.  To  trace 
circuits,  plug  lamps  into  lonvcniencc  out- 
lets and  turn  on  all  lights.  'Then  go  to  the 
fuse  box  (near  electric  meter),  loosen — but 
do  not  entirely  remove — a  fuse  and  see 
which  lights  go  out  —  that  shows  which  out- 
lets are  on  one  circuit.  Diagram  the  cir- 
cuits as  a  future  guide.  If  irons  heat  slowly 
or  lamps  dim  when  others  are  turned  on, 
it's  a  .sign  of  overloading  with  too  many 
lights  or  appliances  on  one  circuit.  Electric 
power    is    measured    in    watts,    and    most 


h«>usehold  circuits  are  designed  to  carry 
]6r)0  waits.  Stamped  on  electric  appliances 
and  light  liulbs  is  the  rating  in  watts — 
sometimes  abbreviated  "w."  Add  watts 
connected  on  a  circuit. 

("onnect  electric  appliances  to  conven- 
ience outlets — not  to  lamp  cords,  for  wires 
to  lamps  don't  carry  enough  electricity  for 
irons  or  toasters.  Keep  electric  cords  dry, 
free  from  sharp  bends  and  away  from 
grease  and  acids. 


mm 


Want  the  answers  to  hundreds  of  wartime  house- 
keeping problems?  Order  the  Wartime  Homemak- 
ING  Manual  from  the  Reference  Library,  Ladies' 
Home  .Journal,  Phila.  5,  Pa.,  No.  2007^  25  cents. 


dhefford 


for  fine  cheese 


Melted  Shefford-What  a  Rarebit! 

Zip— Snap— Handsome— Friendly— Warm" 


Call  it  "Rabbit"  or  "Rarebit"— 
but  be  sure  to  make  it  with 
Shefford  Chevelle,  the  quick-melt- 
ing, smooth-melting,  easy-melting 
cheese  food. 

Shefford  Chevelle  also  is  the 
cheese-ideal  for  souffles,  casseroles, 
and  spreads  a  friend  in  proteins, 
chum  in  flavor. 

Remember,  whether  it's  Shefford 


Chevelle  or  any  other  Shefford 
Cheese  product,  here's  what  it 
adds  up  to: 

Dairyland's  finest  ingredients, 
plus  the  greatest  skills  in  cheese 
making  equal  the  cheese  products 
you  love  to  eat. 

SHEFFORD  CHEESE  CO.,  INC. 
Green  Bay,  Wisconsin 


E  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY  DISTRIBUTORS  COVERING  OVER   2000   CITIES  —  FOR  OTHERS  WRITE   GOLDEN   GUERNSEY   INC.,  PETERBOROUGH,  N. 


lie 

ood 


each 


AMA 

Mo-La- Jac  Farms 

ORNIA 

Dra  Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 
'  Hills    Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 
k  Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 
Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 
Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 
Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 
aeles     Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 
na  Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 
enlo  Golden  State 
incisco  Golden  State 
tarb'ro  Golden  State 
V^onica  Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 

in         Clowes*  Dairy 

Happyholme  Dairy 

iRADO 

Corlson-Frink  Co. 

City  Pork  Dairy 

ng's  Guernsey  Dairy 

lECTICUT 

a  Brock-Holl 

Wood  Ford  Farm 

Dort  Brock-Hall 

Dewhifst  Dairy 

y       The  Rider  Dairy 

I's  Sunny  Valley  Fm's 
d  Brock-Hall 

;  Farms  Nyola  Form 
wich  Round  Hill  Farm 
I's  Sunny  Valley  F'ms 
rd  Bryant  SChapman 
>town 

Brock's  Lakevlew 
i  Brock-Holl 

tuck  Brock-Hall 

Red  Oak  Farm 
Haven        Brock-Holl 
New  Hoven  Dairy 
rd 

i's  Sunny  Valley  F'ms 
bury  Brock-Hall 

Maple  Hill  Dairy 
:own  Mt.  Foir  Form 
Haven  Clark  D'y,  Inc. 

WARE 

Frear 
glon  Delamore Dairy 

DA 

nville  Dinsmore  Dairy 
Pork  Lakemont  Dairy 

GIA 

a  Ponce  de  Leon 
/ickKinstle  Dairy  Form 
a     Harry  A.  Marlon 


OIS 

)o 

le 


)rl 


Bowman  Dairy 
BredehoFt  Doiry 
.  Iltiana  Dairy 
Ridolydole  Dairy 
Stomer's  Dairy 
Union  Dairy 
3rles  Riverview  Dairy 

»NA 

ille  Routh's  Dairy 

:ago  Prairie  View 
t  Eby's  Dairy 

augh  Doiry  Products 
oyne  Eskoy  Dairy  Co. 
Allen  Dairy  Prods, 
i  Hammond 
Cloverleaf  Dairy  Co. 
Dixie  Dairy  Co. 
ity  Solms  Bros, 

•t  Hillcrest  Farm  Dairy 
igton  Pure  Milk  Co. 
op's  Capitol  Dairies 
m.  H.  Roberts  &  Sons 
o  Med-O-Bloom  D'y 
itte  Furnos  Ice  Cr. 
e  Scholl  Dairy 

n  Pure  Milk  Co. 

jrnonRosenbaumBros. 
)nd  Wayne  Dairy 

Bend    Reliable  Dairy 


F.  H.  Logsdon 
port  Wyonet  Forms 
odge  Creamery  Co. 

!AS 

Country  Club  Dairy 

UCKY 

nd  Hickory  Hill  Dairy 
ille  Cherokee  S.  Milk 
isboro  Model  D'y,  Inc. 
ton  Cream  &  Butter 
lesterMorshDair/Co. 

I  A.  H.  Ouellette 
igton  Richvole  Form 
jid  Maple  Lane  Farm 
;on    A.  H.  Ouellette 

YLAND 

ore  Green  Spring  D'y 
h  Hill  Kennersley  F'm 
rick  Ideal  Farms  Dairy 
rstown 

en  Plains  Dairy  Farms 
OVoodside  Hall  Forms 
iville  Harvey  Dairy 
m  Moughon  Forms 
epositMt.  Ararat  F'ms 
ille  Sycamore  Dairy 
ury  Foirviev/  Dairy 
Homestead  Dairy 
imsport 
OVoodside  Hall  Forms 

SACHusens 

3oro  Devine's  Milk 
1  and  Vicinity 

Deerfoot  Forms 

H.  P.  Hood  &  Sons 

Wethersfield  Farm 

White  Bros. 

Whiting  Milk  Co. 

3rd  Robert  H.  Sawyer 

■on  H.  P.  Hood 

Cod 

annis  H.  P.  Hood 

White  Brothers 

nouth         H.  P.  Hood 

iods  Hole  H.P.Hood 


MASSACHUSETTS  (Con.) 

E.  Bridgewater  H.  P.  Hood 
East  Walpole  Endeon  Farm 
Fitchburg  Tri-City  CoOp. 
Fromingham  Deerfoot  Forms 
Greenf'ld  Sheldegren  Form 
Haverhill  Rob't.  H.  Sawyer 
Holyoke  F.  8.  Mollory,  Inc. 
Shadylown  Form 
Hopkinton  Fronkland  Farm 
Littleton  J.  Fred  Herpy 

Longmeodow 

F.  B.  Mallory,  Inc. 
Lowell  John  Kydd  &  Sons 
Marlboro      Deerloot  Farms. 


MASSACHUSETTS  (Con.) 

Westfield  F,  B.  Mallory,  Inc. 

Worcester    Deerfoot  Farms 

Hillcrest  Dairy 

Jensen's  Wayside  Dairy 

United  Dairy  System,  Inc. 

MICHIGAN 

Ann  Arbor  Hirth  Brothers 
Bay  City  Bay  City  Dairy 
Flint  Genesee  Dairy 

Kalamazoo  Lockshore  Form 
Lansing  Heotherwood  Form 
Midland  Smith  Dairy  Co. 
Saginaw  Huebner  Dairy 
Saginaw  Dairy 


MISSOURI 

St.  Louis         St.  Louis  Doiry 
Versailles      Repelmor  Form 

MONTANA 

Billings  Billings  Dairy 

NEBRASKA 

Lincoln  Skyline  Dairy 

Omaha  Roberts  Dairy 

NEVADA 

Reno  Model  Dairy 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

Elizabeth     Doiryland  Farms 
Wood  Brook  Farms 
Fan  wocxJ  Wood  BrookForms 
Florhom  Park 

Florhom  Park  Dairies  Inc. 

Hoddonfield  Abbotts  D'ries 

Hightstown  Conover's 

Hightstown  Guernsey  D'y 

Hillside  (with  Elizabeth) 

Mt.  Vernon  Forms 

Irvington       Alderney  Dairy 

Mt.  Vernon  Forms 

Port  Murray  Dairy 

Sunrise  Dairies 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

New  Brunswick     Krouzer's 

Kreiger  Dairy 

Mayer's  Sanitory  Dairy 

Middlesex  Form  Dairy 

Paulus  Dairy 

Schmidt's  Dairy 

No.  Arlington   Forest  Doiry 

Peterson  Fronklin  Lake 

Peopock-Glodstone  Doiry 

Perth  Amboy 

Suoreme  Milk  &  Cream 
Ploinfield       Sunrise  Doiries 
Wood  Brook 
Point  Pleasant 

Van  Schoick's  Dairy 


^i^Sti 


^OLPEA/Z 


tyyf'^naf 


Mc 


ost  people  know  that  milk  is  one  of  our 
most  perfect  foods,  but  here's  news!  GOLDEN 
GUERNSEY  Milk  is  what  many  people  call 
super  milk  because  it  gives  you  more  of  the  ele- 
ments that  promote  health  and  vitality.  Yes, 
one  quart  of  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY  Milk  ac- 
tually provides  well  over  'A  of  your  daily  pro- 
tein requirements — material  needed  for  vital 
tissue-building. 

Not  only  is  it  richer,  it's  more  delicious,  too. 
The  creamy  eye-appeal  of  GOLDEN  GUERN- 
SEY Milk  is  topped  off  by  a  taste-treat  that  will 
delight  your  family,  adults  and  children  alike. 

Backing  up  health  and  taste  extras,  the  GOLD- 
EN GUERNSEY  label  guarantees  you  uniform 
high  quality,  because  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY 
Milk  is  produced  only  on  carefully  selected 
farms,  comes  from  fine  Guernsey  cows.  And,  of 
course,  it  must  meet  the  high  requirements  of 
local  and  State  health  authorities  plus  national 
supervision  by  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY,  Inc. 

More  good  news!  With  all  its  superiorities, 
GOLDEN  GUERNSEY  Milk  costs  only  a  trifle 
more  than  ordinary  milk.  And  each  quart  gives 
you  a  full  Vi  pint  of  cream!  For  a  new  lift  in  your 
family's  life,  start  using  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY. 
War  conditions  limit  the  supply,  but  ask  your 
milkman  to  start  delivering  GOLDEN  GUERN- 
SEY Milk  to  you  as  soon  as  possible. 


MASSACHUSETTS  (Con.) 

Methuen      Greycourt  Farm 
New  Bedford  Frates  Dairy 
Gulf  Hill  Farm 
North  Adams 

Fillmore  Farms,  Inc. 

North  Attleboro     Devine's 

Northampton   United  Dairy 

No.  Eoston  LongvA/oler  Form 

Pittsheld         Crescent  Cr'y. 

Pittsfield  Milk  ExchonpT 

Shrewsbury  Hillcrest  Don/ 

Jensen's  Wayside  Dairy 

So.  Dartmouth  Gulf  Hill  Form 

So.  HodleyShodylownFarm 

SpringheldF.  B.  Mallory,  Inc. 

General  Ice  Cream  Corp. 

United  Dairy  System,  Inc. 

Swansea  Cedar  Lane  Farm 

Taunton  Devine's  Milk  Lab. 


MINNESOTA 

Austin  Marigold  Dairies 
Barnum  Bornum  Creamery 
Faribault  Marigold  Doiries 
Farmington  Brandtjen  Forms 
Mankoto  H.  N.  Best  &  Son 
Lowguern  Form 
Mcrigold  Dairies 
Minneapolis 

Ewold  Bros.  Sonitory  Dairy 
Moorheod  Fairmont  Cr'y. 
Owatonno  Marigold  D'ries 
Pipestone  Allen  Gewecke 
Rochester  Marigold  Dairies 
St.  Paul  Sanitary  Dairies 
Von  Dyke  Guernsey  Forms 
Winono     Marigold  Dairies 

MISSISSIPPI 


NEW  HAMPSHIRE 

Concord  Summit  Forms 

Hancock  The  Flagstones 
Loconio  Knowles  Dairy 

Monchester  Bochelder'sD'y 
Milford  Crosby  Form 

Noshua 

Hampshire  Hills  Forms 
Salem  Rockingham  Farm 
Wilton 

Hampshire  Hills  Farms 

NEW  JERSEY 

All  Northern  Counties 

Alderney  Dairy 
Audubon  Abbotts  Dairies 
Bloomfield  Mt.  Vernon  F'ms 
Bridgeton  Rainier's  Dairies 
Camden  Abbotts  Dairies 
Clifton  Sisco  Dairy 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

Irvington  Con. 
Phil  Knorr 

Port  Murray  Dairy 
James  burg 

Forsgote  Forms,  Inc. 
Kearney  Mt.  Vernon  Forms 
Linden  Mt.  Vernon  Forms 
Modison 

Florhom  Pork  Dairies,  Inc. 
Medford  Locust  Lone  Dairy 
Mendhom  Audley  Farms 
Merchantville 

Parks  Dairies,  Inc. 
Metuchen  Wood  Brook 
Midland  Pork  franklin  Lake 
Moorestown  Locust  Lone 
Nework  Alderney  Dairy 
Doiryland  Forms 
Ml.  Vernon  Forms 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

Port  Murroy  Dairy 

Princeton    Rockwood  Dairy 

"Rohwoy         Sunrise  Dairies 

Wood  Brook  Forms 

Ridgewood      Franklin  Lake' 

Riverside  &  Camden  County 

Abbotts  Dairies 

Millside  Forms 

Parks  Dairies 

Roselle  Sunrise  Dairies 

RosellePork  Sunrise  Dairies 

Summit     Canoe  Brook  Form 

Florhom  Pork  Doiries,  Inc. 

Union        Ideol  Dairy  Forms 

Mt.  Vernon  Farms 

WestReld       Sunrise  Dairies 

Wood  Brook  Farms 

Westville     Abbotts  Dairies 

Westwood      Franklin  Lake 


NEW  YORK 

Albany     Mark  W.  Stevens 
Boulevord  Dairy  Co. 

Norman's  Kill  Dairy 
Auburn  Auburn  Guernsey 
Buffolo  Beck's  Dairy 

Clayton  Merle  L.  'Voungs 
Conesus  Damion  Form 

Frankfort  Hillside  Dairy 

Hoosick  Falls 

Fillmore  Forms,  Inc. 
MillNeckBeaverbrookForm 
Newburg  Forge  Hill  Farm 
NewRochelle  Dellw'dD'y 
Oswego  Oswego  Dairy 
Pottersonville  W.W.JeHers 
Plottsburg  Dairy  Co. 
Rochester  Hudson  Dairy 
Nokomo  Farms  Dairy 

Schreiner  Milk  Co. 
Schenectady  Connel  ly  Bros. 
Syosset  Woodside  Acres 
Syracuse  Syracuse 

Guernsey  Dairy  Co-Op. 
Troy  Collar  City  Creamery 
Utico  Sunshine  Dairy 

White  Plains  Del  I  wood  D'y 
Yonkers       Dellwood  Doiry 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

Asheville  Southern  Dairies 
Boone  New  River  Dairy 
Concord  ClearSpringsForm 
Durham  Durham  Dairy 

Elkin  Klondike  Farm 

Hendersonville 

McNoughton  Forms 
High  Point  Clover  Brand 
Kings  Mount.  Archdale  D'y 
Laurinburg  Silver  Cup  D'y 
Lexington  Coble  Dairies 
Mount  Airy  Hotcher's  D'y 
Mt.  Pleasant  Green  Hills 
Tryon  Hidden  Valley  Farm 
Winston-Salem  Selected  D'y 

NORTH  DAKOTA 

Fargo      Foirmont  Creomety 

OHIO 

Akron         Akron  Pure  Milk 

Belle  Isle  Farm 

Chestnut  Ridge  Dairy 

Mountrose  Dairy 

Bexley  Diamond  Milk 

Cincinnati    Opekosit  Forms 

J.  H.  Berling  Dairy 

Cleveland  &  Suburbs 

Dairymen's  Ohio 

Farmers'  Milk  Co. 

O.  A.  Dean  Dairy  Co. 

Franchester  Forms 

H.  J.  Munz  Dairy 

Schneider-Bruce  Dairy 

Telling-Belle  Vernon  Co. 

Columbus        Diamond  Milk 

Doylon         Grocer's  Coop. 

Himes  Brothers  Dairy 

Shoemoke  Forms,  Inc. 

Dover      Copoeldale  Forms 

Hamilton    McGreevy  Dairy 

Loncoster         Bennett  Dairy 

Monsfield    Roemelton  Form 

Mt.  'Vernon      Jewell  Milk 

Sandusky  Esmond  Doiry 

SpringReld     Citizen's  Dairy 

&  Lynn  Guernsey  Form 

Toledo    Bobcock  Dairy  Co. 

Wooster  Ideol  Dairy 

"/oungstown    Sanitary  Milk 

OKLAHOMA 

Ardmore  Primrose  Form 

Tom  Cooper  Forms 
Enid  Jerry  Oven  Form 

Oklohomo  City 

Goylord  Guernsey  Form 
Meadow  Lodge  Form 

OREGON 

Collon 

Voncho  Guernsey  Dairy 
Eugene  Chulo  Vista  Dairy 
Hillsboro  Morningdew  F'ms 
Medford  Cloverhill  Form 
Portland  Foirview  Farms 
Shedd      Prairie  Rose  Dairy 

PENNSYLVANIA 

Allentown  Hess  Lehigh 
Altoona  J.  E.  Horshborger 
Ambler  Meyer's  Dairy 

Ambridge  Taylor  Milk  Co. 
Beaver  Falls  Bonnie  View 
Berwick  Corner  Pork  Farm 
Berwyn  Chesterbrook  Form 
Bethlehem  Mowrer's  Dairy 
Big  Run  William  Irvin  Co. 
Brockport  Keystone  Dairy 
Butler  Moser's  Dairy 

Corbondole 

Bethany-Homestead  Forms 
ChoddsFord  Hill  GirtForms 
Chombersburg  Dairy 
Chester  Miller-Floifnders 
Cornwall  Foirview  Farms 
Donoro  Triumphant  Dairy 
Doylestown  Smith's  Son. D'y 
Gordenville  Farms 
Eoston  Moyer's  Dairy 

Easton  Sanitary  Milk  Co. 
Ebensburg  Webster  Griffith 
Elizabeth  Mentor  Forms 
Ellwood  City  Fisher's  Dairy 
Erie    Meadow  Brook  Dairy 

Frommknecht  &  Heidecker 

"/ople's  Doiry 

Fayette  City    Patterson  D'y 

Greensburg         Silvis  Farms 

Hamburg        Paul  R.  Kohler 

Smith's  Model  Dairy 

Harrisburg     Goose  Valley 

Harrisburg  Dairies 

Hatboro        Ivycrest  Dairies 

Hozelton  S.  C.  Price 

Modern  Sanitary  Doiry 

Honesdole 

Bethany-Homestead  Forms 
Hummelstown  Geo.  Fromm 
Indiono  Indiana  Dairy  Co. 
Jenkintown  Taylor's  Dairy 
Johnstown  Sanitary  Doiry 
Somerset  Dairy  Co. 
Kane  Ideal  Farms 

Kennett  Souore 

Brondywine  Manor  Form 
Loncoster  Queen  Dairy 
Lebanon  Hershey  Choc,  Co. 
Lewistown 

Lewistown  Pure  Milk  Co. 
Meodville  Moore-Dovison 
Mechonicsb'g  Konhous  F'm 
Monongahelo  Hank'sDoiry 
Mopleviow 
Norristown  Holiday  Dairy 
I ^^A  n^.nj 


PENNSYLVANIA  (Con.l 

Porkers  Landing 

Parker's  View  Fc 

Phila.       Breuninger's  Dc 

(Main  Line)  Brookme 

Pittsburgh        Lewis  Doir 

Page  MilkC 

Pottstown  l^ovengood  Dc 

Pottsville  J.  H.  Brok 

Pulaski  Pleasant  Ac 

Ouorryville   Norwood  F 

Reading  Clover  Fa 

St.  Lawrence  Dc 

Red  Lion        Warners  Dc 

Roxborough 

Hamilton  Dairies,  1 

Missim 

Wood-Norcisso  Doi 

Scronton      Glendole  Fa 

Shomokin         Sanitory  A/ 

Sharon  Minner's  Dc 

Shippenville   Gruber  &  S 

Sligo  Shook's  Dc 

Stroudsburg  Penn-C 

TerreHill  White  Oak  Fc 

Tunkhon'ck    Shadow  Brt 

Uniontown      Garner  Dc 

Friendship  Hill  Dc 

Wayne   Brookmeod  Doii 

Waynesboro  AntietomFc 

West  Chester   Eochus  Dc 

Wilkes-Borre  Glendole  F 

Goodleigh  Fa 

WilkinsburgChos  .G  .Tun 

Williomsport  Milk  Prodi 

Willow  StreetC.H.Witi 

York  Warner's  Dc 

■/ork  Sanitary  ^ 

RHODE  ISLAND 

Borrington 

Cedar  Lone  Fi 
Cranston  H.  P.  He 

Powtucket  H.  P.  He 

Providence  H.  P.  He 
Worren  Cedar  Lone  f' 
Warwick  H.  P.  He 

Woonsocket      H.  P.  He 

SOUTH  CAROLINA 

Charleston  West  End  Dc 
Chester  HillbrightDe 
Columbia  Edisto  Forms  Dc 
Zimolcrest  Ft 
Hartsville  Guernsey  Dc 
Moncks  Corner  Gippyf 
Orangeburg  State  ColU 
Spartanburg  Hill  Top  Fo 
Union  Union  De 


SOUTH  DAKOTA 

Sioux  Foils    Lakeside  Dc   ' 


TENNESSEE 

Germontown  Kilalla  F< 
Knoxville  Farrogut  Fa 
Memphis         Gayoso  Fa 


TEXAS 

Dollos 

San  Antonio 


Cobe 

Doiryk 


UTAH 

Logon         Cache  Meod^ 

Ogden         Arden-Sunfr* 

Salt  Lake  City  Arden  Dc 

Cloverleof  Dc 

VERMONT 

Bennington  Fillmore  Fa 
Brottleboro 

Show-Bellville  Dairy  < 
Springfield         Estey's  Dc 

VIRGINIA 

Alexandria  Dairy  Co 
Bristol  Southern  M. 

Denbigh  Burkholder  De 
Foirfax  Willowmere  Fa 
Fredericksb'g  Farmers  C 
Golox  Round  Hill  F< 
Kenbridge  Guernsey  De 
Lynchburg  Westover  De 
Lynnhoven  Boyville  Fo 
Moftinsville  Fisher  Fa 
Norfolk  Boyville  Fa 

Portsmouth  Pine  Grove  F< 
Radford 

Clover  Creamery  Co.,  I 
Richmond     Lokeview  Dc 

Curies  Neck  Doir 

Richmond  Dairy  < 

Virginia  Dairy  < 

Roanoke   Clover  Cream 

Gorst  Brothers  De 
Roanoke  Dc 
Staunton 

Augusta  Dairies  I 
Virginia  Beach  Boyvillel 

WASHINGTON,  D.C. 

Thompson's  Dc 
Wakefield  Do 

WASHINGTON 

Bellinghom  Hillview  Do 
Bremerton  Price's  G.  Do 
Everett  Arown  Do 

Olympio  Meyer's  Do 
Port  Orchard  Price's  Do 
Seattle  Marymoor  Fc 
Golden  Arrow  Do 
VoncouverGoldenWestl 
Middole  Guernsey  Do 

WEST  VIRGINIA 

Charleston 

Imperial  Ice  Cream  C 

WISCONSIN 

Ashland  Howard  Jo» 
Chippewa  Foils 

Clover  Doiry  C 
Eou  Claire  Uecke  Da 
Dolly  Madison  Doirl 
Fond  du  Loc  Luxerin  Fo 
Green  Boy  Delwiche  For 
Kenosha  MilkPro's.Co-0 
Lo  Crosse  Dolly  Madl* 
Madison  Bowman  Form  C 
Manitowoc  Sorge  Dai 
Menosho  Gear  Dairy  C 
Milwaukee  Goldj 

Guernsey  Dairy  Co-0 
Oconomowoc 

Shoreland  Fal 
Rocine  Progressive  Doi 
Stevens  Pt.  AllenburgDai 
Superior  Russell  Cream»i 
Tomahawk 

Ta-Mo-AwkD 
Woukesho  Fox's  G'nseyD 
Wousou-  Bridgemon-  RuiM 
West  Bend  Decoroh  FormD 
Wisconsin  Rapids 

Wis.  Valley  Croom* 

WYOMING 

Tntnor    Onirv  Producll,  llH 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


103 


(Continued  from  Page  101) 
fingers  out  one  by  one,  until  they  lay  quiet 
and  relaxed. 

"You're  not  tied  up  in  knots  any  more," 
he  said.  "Remember?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  then  down  at 
her  hand  lying  the  way  he  had  smoothed  it 
on  her  lap.  "I — I  remember." 

In  the  city,  Saturday  night  strode  the 
streets  in  a  dozen  different  ways — in  the 
masses  of  khaki  in  the  shifting  crowds,  the 
brilliantly  lit  store  windows,  the  high-school 
girls  walking  four  abreast  down  the  side- 
walks, the  white  caps  of  naval  officers. 
Pamela  walked  beside  him,  her  gray  eyes 
eager,  alive,  her  lips  parted  a  little.  Satur- 
day night  was  in  her  too.  He  could  feel  it. 

"City  girl?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Yes,  yes.  I  love  the 
city.  Because  even  if  you  are  alone,  there 
are  always  lights  to  watch,  and  the  people, 
and  if  you  don't  like  Main  Street,  there  are 
always  all  the  little  side  sections  to  explore." 

"We'll  explore  them,"  he  said. 

They  walked  for  hours,  first  through  the 
downtown  theater  section,  and  then  to  the 
market  place  on  the  East  Side  where  fat 
chunky  Italian  men  cried  their  produce  in 
unintelligible  English,  and  small  children 
darted  in  and  out  of  doorways  and  around 
parked  cars  and  wagons  and  vegetable  carts. 
Then  there  was  Chinatown.  And  after 
Chinatown  came  the  amusement  park. 

They  shot  down  Japs  in  the  penny  arcade, 
and  Pamela  downed  ten  Zeros  in  a  row.  They 
munched  popcorn  and  drank  sodas.  They 
went  on  the  Ferris  wheel,  and  the  Whip, 
and  finally  the  Dodgems. 

Bill  watched  Pamela  scoot-       

ing  around  the  floor  in  her 
little  red  car.  Five  sol- 
diers ganged  up  on  her  and 
rode  her  to  the  wall. 

Bill  slammed  his  car 
into  the  melee.  "I'll  run 
interference  for  you,"  he 
shouted  to  Pamela.  He 
rammed  into  one  of  the 
cars  to  give  her  an  open- 
ing and  she  was  through 
it  in  a  split  second,  her 
hands  tight  on  the  wheel, 
her  hair  flying  in  the  wind, 
and  six-year-old  excite- 
ment   spilling    from    her 

face.   "If  I  had  a  car,"       

she'd  said,  "or  a  horse — 
anything.   Do  you  know  what  it's  like  to  feel 
the  walls  closing  in  qn  you?"  She  wasn't 
afraid  of  the  walls  now,  now  that  she  had  her 
hands  on  the  wheel  and  power  at  her  feet. 

"See?"  he  said,  when  the  ride  was  over 
and  they  were  walking  off  the  floor.  "The 
walls — you  can  drive  right  through  them." 

"Can  you.  Bill?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Can — can  I?" 

He  smiled.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "you  can." 

They  went  dancing  after  that,  at  the  Star- 
light. It  was  an  open-air  pavilion,  and  the 
stars  hung  so  low  they  could  have  reached  up 
and  brought  down  a  handful.  She  didn't  put 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  as  they  danced, 
but  there  was  something  about  the  way  she 
first  moved  into  his  arms  that  made  him  feel 
as  though  he  had  known  her  a  long,  long 
time.  It  was  a  good  feeling.  He  had  danced 
with  other  girls,  girls  whose  hair  touched  his 
cheek,  and  he  had  disliked  their  closeness,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  inside  they  were  far 
away.  She  was  closer  than  any  of  them, 
though  there  was  distance  between  her  and 
him. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  she 
asked. 

1  WAS  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  there  is 
a — a  serenity  about  you,  a  strange  serenity 
for  someone  who  is  so  trigger-quick  most  of 
the  time." 

She  looked  up  at  him  briefly  and  then 
turned  her  head  away  from  him,  and  he 
could  see  how  the  light  tipped  her  lashes 
with  gold.  "You  slow  me  down,"  she  said. 
"The  right  way.  With  other  people,  it's  a 
strain.  But  with  you,  it's  as  though  the  slow- 
ness was  always  there,  deep  insfde  me — and 
there  would  always  be  more  when  I  need  it." 


AIVriEIVT  ADACES 

^  There  is  pain  in  acquiring 
^  wealth,  pain  in  preserving 
what  has  been  acquired,  pain 
in  its  loss,  and  pain  in  ex- 
penditure— why  have  such  a 
receptrfcle  of  sorrows? 

—SANSKRIT. 

A  sure  test  of  a  person's 
sense  of  humor  is  whether  he 
will  be  angry  when  accused  of 
lack  of  humor.  — CHINESE. 

Great  men  never  feel  great: 
small  men  never  feel  small. 

—  CHINESE. 


He  didn't  say  anything.  The  beat  of  the 
music  changed  subtly  and  he  swung  her  into 
a  long  side-step  and  sway,  and  spun  her 
around  into  a  dip,  and  everything  he  did  she 
followed  perfectly, 

"Bill,"  she  said,  "how  do  you  know  so 
much?" 

"I  don't  know  very  much." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "You  know  what  I 
mean." 

Yes,  he  knew.  He  knew  because  he  had 
lived  through  loneliness,  through  lostness; 
because  he  had  wanted  something  without 
knowing  what  he  wanted;  because  he  had 
felt  the  undefeatable  emptiness  of  a  room  at 
five  o'clock,  in  that  hour  after  work,  before 
it  was  time  to  eat,  the  chill  wistful  feeling 
that  creeps  in  through  the  chinks  of  the  day, 
at  five  o'clock,  and  at  seven  in  the  morning 
when  you  begin  to  dress,  and  at  midnight 
when  you  are  back  from  the  movie  and  the 
warmth  and  the  lights  and  the  people  have 
faded.  He  knew. 

"You  learn,"  he  said.  "You  have  to.  And 
there  are  some  people  who  help." 

"Your  parents  must  be  wonderful  peo- 
ple." 

"They  were,"  he  said.  "They  died  in  a  car 
crash  when  I  was  sixteen." 

"Oh."  He  felt  wordless  sympathy  in  the 
new  warmth  of  her  hand  in  his.  "What  did 
you  do?  Were  you  all  alone?  " 
.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "I  was  due  to  enter  col- 
lege in  the  fall  and  there  was  enough  money 
to  stake  me  through  the  first  year.  After 
that  I  worked  in  the  summers,  and  managed 
all  right.   It  kept  me  too 

busy  to  think  much." 

People  liked  to  say  that, 
but  actually  it  wasn't 
true.  You  were  never  so 
busy  that  you  didn't  think 
and  wonder,  and  try  to 
make  some  sense  out  of 
things.  Only  if  you  were 
busy  enough  it  kept  you 
from  getting  into  a  mental 
treadmill  and  wearing 
yourself  out  inside  your 
head. 

"And  after  college?" 
"Oh,  then  the  war  came, 
so  I  enlisted.  There  didn't 
seem  to  be  anything  else  I 

had  to  do  that  was  more 

important  at  the  time.", 
"But  if  the  war  hadn't  come?"  ; 

He  looked  down  at  her  as  they  danced"— 
at  her  straight  nose  that  stopped  at  just  the 
right  point,  and  her  mouth,  serious  now,  for 
all  its  brightness,  at  the  scarlet  flower  at  her 
temple. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I  was  going  to  be  an 
architect.  I  like  to  build  things.  I  was  going 
to  house  that  'third  of  a  nation'  they  talk 
about  in  sociology  books." 

"Was?"  she  said.  "Aren't  you  still?" 
"Well,  yes,"  he  said.  "But  there's  a  lot 
more  we  have  to  knock  down  first.    And  the 
ground  has  to  be  cleared  all  over  the  world, 
not  just  in  one  country." 

"I  know."  She  didn't  say  anything  for  a 
little  while.  He  liked  her  small  thoughtful 
silences.  He  had  known  so  many  girls  who 
chattered.  "Get  yourself  a  gay  girl,"  she  had 
told  him.  Well,  she  could  be  gay.  He  had 
seen  that  tonight.  And  she  could  be  more 
than  gay. 

"How  about  you?"  he  said.  "What  were 
you  going  to  do  if  the  war  hadn't  come?  " 

"I?"  She  smiled  a  little  to  herself— a 
small  dead  smile.  "I  was  going  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

"Was?"  he  said.  "Aren't  you  still?"    . 
He^  mouth  set.  "Not  to  him." 
"Change  your  mind?" 
"I  was  wrong  all  round,"  she  said.  "I 
thought  he  loved  me,  needed  me,  that  I 
could  give  him  something  no  other  girl  could, 
because  I  was  I,  and  I  loved  him.    But  he 
just  wanted  a  girl,  not  really  me.  I  happened 
to  be  around,  that's  all." 
"So?" 

"So— that  wasn't  good  enough  for  me." 
Her  throat  was  tight  again— he  could  tell 
from  the  way  the  words  came  out. 
(Conlinued  on  Page  105) 


made  for  the  folks  who  like 


HEIN2^ 

Condensed 


v^^««^^' 


i^'t:u^.^^^"i 


«^^'''.cS0'*^ 


CREAM  OF  TOMATO  SOUP 

AdJ  a  wea.lth  ofHsvor  to  meat  loaf 

and  extra.  ricJiness  to  spBgKetti  J>y 

using  Heinz  Condensed  Cream,  of 

Tomato  Soup  as  a  Sauce/ 


;iili:i 


:VJSX 


•  •••Mi' 


tlUs 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


To  the 


Ladies 


ictoos 


so 


pUlt^' 


These  gallant  young  women  are  dedicated  to  the  service  of  our  country. 
WAVE,  WAC,  SPAR,  Marine,  Cadet  Nurse— they  know  that  every  ounce 
of  work  and  loyalty  is  urgently  needed  now.  They  and  millions  of  other 
Americans  are  putting  all  their  hearts  and  energies  into  the  fight  forVictory. 
To  them,  Canada  Dry,  "the  Champagne  of  Ginger  Ales,"  an  old  family  friend, 
says:  Keep  up  the  good  work! 

Just  as  soon  as  coTtditions  permit,  we  hope  to  he  able  to  jvlly  meet  the  ever- 
increasing  demand  for  Canada  Dry  Ginger  Ale.  .^and  again  make  "The  Cham^ 
pagne  of  Ginger  Ales"  available  to  you  in  the  handy  34  individual  bottle. 

CANADi^^RY 


« 


The  Champagne  of  Ginger  Ales 


99 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


•105 


(Continued  from  Page  103) 
"Look  here,"  he  said  presently,  "what  is 
I  this  about  people  not  caring  whether  it's 
)u  or  any  girl?  It  seems  to  be  an  obsession 
ith  you." 

"It  is,"  she  said.  "Can't  you  understand 
ly?  What's  the  point  of  being  alive,  of 
ling  a  person  instead  of  a  clod  of  earth  or  a 
op  of  water,  if  it  isn't  that  you're  different 
jm  every  other  person  in  the  world?  And 
lat's  the  point  of  being  different  if  what 
e  world  wants  from  you  isn't  your  differ- 
tness,  but  your  sameness,  the  part  of  you 
at  everyone  else  has?"  Her  voice  broke 
acherously  and  she  stopped.  He  could 
i\  her  holding  on  to  herself.  Then  she 
liled,  a  good  smile,  and  said,  "You're 
Lich  too  easy  to  talk  to." 
But  she  made  sense,  Pam  did.  More 
rise  than  any  other  girl  he  had  talked  to. 
id  he  wouldn't  have  much  more  time  to 
Ik  with  her. 

As  if  she  had  read  his  thoughts  she  asked 
Ti,  "When  do  you  have  to  go  back?" 
"Tonight." 

Her  eyes  widened.  "Your  leave's  up  to- 
;ht?" 
"I  have  to  catch  the  two-o'clock  train," 

said.  "But  my  bags  are  at  the  station, 
lere'll  be  plenty  of  time  to  take  you 
me." 

"Please,"  she  said,  "let  me  go  to  the  sta- 
in with  you.   It — it  would  give  us  a  little 
5re  time." 
He  looked  around  for  a  clock  and  saw  one 

the  opposite  wall.  Eleven- thirty.  If  he 
:)k  her  home  they  would  have  to  leave 
w.  And  he  didn't  want  to  let  her  go.  "All 
ht,"  he  said.  "If  you're  sure  you  can  get 
me  safely." 
("I'm  sure." 

The  station  was  even  bigger  than  he  had 
nembered  it,  and  the  few  people  walking 
wly  around  from  ticket  office  to  the 
ickroom  to  the  telephones  only  made  the 
ice  seem  emptier.  It  was  a  good  feeling  to 
y  your  ticket,  knowing  Pam  was  just  be- 
id  you;  to  stand  by  the  train  gate  and 
ch  the  half-smile  on  the  faintly  tired 
e  of  an  Army  captain  watching  you. 
u  knew  what  he  was  thinking.  Another 
dier  saying  good-by  to  his  wife.  His  wije. 
t  his  girl.  That  was  the  way  he'd  been 
ling  about  Pam.  She  was  more  than  a 
1  with  wide  gray  eyes  and  chestnut  hair 
d  spent  the  evening  with.  She  was  the 
1  who  had  walked  the  highway  beside 
1,  crying;  who  had  stood  quiet  in  front  of 
1,  while  he  put  a  flower  in  her  hair;  who 
i  said,  "You  slow  me  down — the  right 
y."    She  was  the  girl  who  stepped  into 

arms  and  danced  with  him  as  if  she  had 
ne  home.  Yes,  and  with  her  he  knew  what 
Tie  was  like. 

\\t  had  to  tell  her  all  this,  and  more,  in 
';  three  minutes  that  were  left.  He  looked 
vn  at  her,  memorizing  the  slant  of  her 
jbrows,  the  small  freckles  across  her  nose, 

good  straightness  of  her  shoulders. 

What — what  are  you  thinking  about?" 
!T  was  thinking,"  he  said  slowly,  "how 
I'ch  I  am  going  to  love  you  someday.  I 
I  e  you  so  much  now,  and  we've  had  only  a 

I  hours.  But  later,  when  there  is  time 
i.in " 

\'.  LEASE,"  she  said.  "  Don't  say  any  more." 
3 :  kept  her  eyes  on  the  second  button  of 

II  shirt.  "You've  been  kind,"  she  whis- 
ped.  "Kinder  than  anyone  I've  ever 
k  iwn.  I  won't  cry  again — not  for  a  long 
ti,e.  But  you  mustn't  try  to  do  any  more, 
p  tend  it's  love  when  it's  only  pity " 

Pam,"  he  said,  "you  idiot.  You  out-of- 
tl  ;-world  idiot." 

No,"  she  said.  "You  would  have  done  it 
fc  anybody.  That's  what's  so  wonderful 
al  ut  you.  But  it  wasn't  because  it  was 
nc  Pamela  Winters  - — " 

~he  train  was  beginning  to  move.  "I'll 
bDack,"  he  said.  "Wait  for  me.  Wait  just 
Ic  J  enough  so  I  can  come  back  and  knock 
3(ie  sense  into  your  head."  He  tipped  her 
cl  1  up  and  kissed  her  and  then  dashed  for 
tl  train,  the  words  roaring  in  his  head, 
al  ve  the  noise  of  the  wheels,  I'll  be  back  .  .  . 
n>t.  forme  .  .  .  I'll  be  back  .  .  .  wait. 


He  didn't  have  a  picture  of  her,  and  she 
never  answered  his  letters,  but  it  didn't 
seem  to  make  any  difference.  She  was  the 
realest  thing  in  his  life,  more  real  than  the 
months  that  passed,  the  shell-churned  earth 
beneath  his  feet,  or  the  sound  of  bombers 
overhead,  or  even  the  cold,  smooth  barrel  of 
the  gun  in  his  hand.  It  didn't  matter  where 
he  was — drinking  beer  in  ah  English  pub,  or 
tramping  along  the  dusty  French  roads,  or, 
as  he  was  now,  crouched  with  Joey  in  the 
little  gully,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  wipe  out 
the  Nazi  machine  gun  at  the  top  of  the 
ravine — he  had  only  to  think  of  her,  and  the 
low,  ever-changing  cadences  of  her  voice 
would  sound  in  his  ears,  he  would  feel  again 
the  softness  of  her  hair  against  his  face. 
"Get  yourself  a  gay  girl.  .  .  .  What's  the 
point  of  being  different  if  what  the  world  wants 
is  your  sameness.''  .  .  .  How  do  you  know  so 
much,  Bill?  .  .  .  The  worst  thing  that  can 
happen  to  you  is  to  be  wasted."  .  .  .  Well,  he 
wasn't  being  wasted.  He  had  time  to  think 
of  that  even  as  he  felt  the  searing  bite  of  the 
bullet  in  his  flesh,  before  the  earth  rose  up 

•     •••••••* 

By  Bianca  Bradbury 

Women  are  contrarious,  for  they 
Will  covet  tidiness,  yet  store  away 
Odd  useless  things  against  a  rainy 

day: 
A  straggling  lilac  by  a  door, 
A  row  of  small  scuffed  shoes 

beneath  a  bed, 
The  fall  of  moonlight  on  the  floor 
Of  a  silent  house,  the  look  of 

children  sleeping. 
The  touch  of  silver,  and  the  feel  of 

bread 
Raising  to  lightness.   Girls  or 

mothers,  wives, 
Women  all  their  lives 
Sort  out  the  odds  and  ends  for 

keeping. 
Let  the  great  things  go. 
Letters,  buttons,  bits  of  lace, 
A  look  or  word  or  laughing  face; 
Just  as  their  cluttered  cupboards 

grow. 
Their  years  are  scrapbooks.  And 

they  hold 
Forever,  in  the  heart's  hot  painful 

mold. 
Dreams  cherished,  and  grown 

shabby,  and  grown  old. 

•     •••*•••• 

before  him,  and  the  very  noise  seemed  to 
lift  him  up  and  dash  him  to  the  ground. 

They  sent  him  back  to  the  States.  It  was 
going  to  take  a  long  time  to  put  him  together 
again.  Well,  that  would  be  all  right,  so  long 
as  they  did  put  him  together.  And  he  could 
see  Pamela.  She  would  come,  even  though 
there  was  half  the  country  to  cross,  even 
though  she  had  not  answered  his  letters. 

Still,  he  had  not  expected  her  so  soon. 
Not,  certainly,  on  that  particular  afternoon 
with  the  cold  rain  slanting  slowly  past  his 
window,  and  the  landscape  gray  and  soggy 
as  far  as  eye  could  reach.  He  didn't  know 
how  long  she  had  been  there,  watching  him, 
but  when  he  turned  his  head  there,  sud- 
denly, miraculously  and  yet  naturally — yes, 
above  all,  naturally — there  she  was. 

She  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
the  curtains  white  behind  her.  She  was 
wearing  a  red  suit,  and  there  was  a  scarlet 
nasturtium  in  her  hair.  He  had  remem- 
bered that  she  was  beautiful,  but  he  had 
not  remembered  how  beautiful.  They  said 
women  became  more  beautiful  when  they 
were  loved.  Did  she  know  how  he'd  been 
loving  her  all  these  months? 

He  swallowed.  "A  girl  with  chestnut  hair 
and  gray  eyes,"  he  said,  "should  always 
wear  red." 


She  nodded  wordlessly.  He  noticed  how 
her  knuckles  strained  white  across  the  bed- 
rail.  "There  was  a  boy  who  told  me  that 
once." 

"Was  there?  He  must  have  been  a  smart 
guy." 

"He — he  was." 

He  shifted  in  the  bed.  This  blasted  strait 
jacket.  "Would  you  mind?"  he  said.  "Com- 
ing a  little  closer,  I  mean.  I've  got  only  one 
good  eye  to  see  you  with  and  you  were  al- 
ways just  a  little  too  beautiful  even  for  two." 

She  was  beside  him  then,  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed,  her  gray  eyes  searching  his 
face.  "Bill,"  she  said,  "they  wouldn't  tell  me 
anything.  How  are  you?  Is  it — bad?" 

I'm  all  right,"  he  said.  "That  is— I  will 
be.  Right  now  I'm  their  favorite  jigsaw  puz- 
zle, with  a  couple  of  pieces  missing  here  and 
there.  But  the  doctors  will  find  them. 
They're  very  bright  boys  indeed." 

"How — how  has  it  been  so  far?" 

"Not  bad,"  he  said.  "Not  bad  at  all." 
He  thought  of  the  weeks  he  had  spent  star- 
ing at  the  ceiling,  thinking  maybe  he  couldn't 
walk  again;  thinking.  Maybe  she  won't  come; 
thinking,  What  do  I  do  now,  how  do  I  start? 
He  looked  away  from  her.  "It's  just — the 
walls.  Did  you  ever  feel  them  closing  in  on 
you?  " 

He  felt  her  breath  trapped  in  her  throat  for 
a  split  second,  but  when  she  spoke  her  voice 
was  steady.  "Oh,  the  walls,"  she  said. 
"You— you  can  just  drive  right  through 
them." 

"Can  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Can  I?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "You  can." 

He  looked  down  the  length  of  the  bed, 
where  his  body  raised  the  covers  in  a  queer, 
distortedly  angular  fashion.  "Well,  maybe. 
But  not  right  away." 

"*Yes,  right  away."  She  looked  at  him, 
her  gray  eyes  level  on  his.  "I'll  just  run  inter- 
ference for  you  a  little  while." 

My  girl.  The  words  towered  in  his  heart. 
This  is  my  girl.  But  he  kept  his  voice  flat. 
"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "You've  been  very  kind. 
Kinder  than  anyone  I've  ever  known.  Do 
you  think  I  don't  know  what  you've  done? 
But  I  can't  let  you  pretend " 

She  stopped  the  words  on  his  mouth,  her 
lips  moving  warm  and  full  against  his. 
"You — you  talk  too  much,"  she  said. 

He  stayed  where  he  was  on  the  pillow  and 
looked  at  her.  She  kept  her  gaze  carefully 
on  a  point  just  below  his  chin.  "Well,"  he 
said.  "The  forward  type.  Who'd  have 
thought  it?" 

Her  eyes  were  bright,  a  little  too  bright'. 
The  brightness  quivered  like  quicksilver  on 
her  lashes,  brimmed  over.  He  traced  the 
wetness  down  her  cheek  with  his  finger. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  where  I  came  in. 
What  are  you  trying  to  do — make  yourself 
a  pickle-puss?  " 

"Oh,  Bill,"  she  said.  "You  lug,  you  lug." 
And  the  tears  stormed  her  face.  She  buried 
her  head  in  the  bedclothes. 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  her  hair,  feeling 
it  strong  and  thick  and  soft  against  his  hand. 
"I  had  to  say  it,"  he  said,  "so  you'd  realize 
how  silly  the  words  are.  They  sound  silly 
even  when  I  say  them." 

"  I — I  was  such  a  dope,"  she  said,  between 
sobs.  He  felt  her  trying  to  get  hold  of  her- 
self, failing,  crying  against  her  will. 

"Listen,  nearest  of  kin,"  he  said.  "This 
is  a  fine  exhibition  of  the  stiff  upper  lip." 

She  raised  her  head.  "What — what  did 
you  call  me?  "  she  whispered. 

"It's  an  old  Army  phrase,"  he  said. 
"Nearest  of  kin.  Everyone  has  to  have 
one.  So  I  picked  you.  I  thought  perhaps 
you  wouldn't  mind.  We'll  have  to  make  it 
legal,  of  course.  The  War  Department  is  a 
little  stuffy  on  these  points." 

"Nearest  of  kin,"  she  said  slowly.  "Pam- 
ela Winters,  nearest  of  kin."  He  watched 
her  taste  the  words. 

"Pamela  Winters  Brownell,"  he  cor- 
rected. "Dearest  of  kin."  He  raised  himself 
on  one  elbow.  He  could  feel  the  smile  start 
way  inside  him,  right  up  through  the  band- 
ages. "Dearest,"  he  said,  "come  a  little 
nearest." 


Taste  Peanut  Crunch  ...  see  why 
folks  are  so  enthusiastic  about  the 
extra  rich  flavor  of  this  improved 
peanut  butter!  Peanut  Crunch  is 
deliciously  different  .  .  .  made  from 
finest  selected  peanuts  .  .  .  full  of 
crisp,  chewy  "bits"  of  fresh  roasted 
peanuts.  Ask  at  your  food  store  for 
Peanut  Crunch.  Treat  your  family 
to  a  deligVitful  surprise! 

Packed  only  by     HOLSUM    PRODUCTS 

Brooklyn  Cleveland 

Kansas  City  Milwaukee 


106 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


For  outstanding  service  to  tne  Red  Cross 
and  to  America  ay  materially  aiding  morale 
on  tne  Lattleiield,  Avon  presents  tne  Medallion 
or  Honor  for  Women  or  Acnievenient  to 
Miss  Elizatetk  Sckuller  of  Montclair,  N.  J. 

Miss  Scnuller's  devotion  to  duty  is 
typical  of  tne  unstinting  contribution  tnat 
tnousands  of  Red  Cross  workers,  kere 
and  akroad,  are  making  to  alleviate 
tke  suffering  of  otkers.  On  all  fronts 
tke  Red  Cross  is  tke  first  to  kring 
comfort  to  figkting  men  and  prisoners, 
and  ckeer  to  distressed  civilians. 
Our  efforts  at  kome  must  not  slacken. 
Give  likerally  NOW  .  .  .  KEEP  YOUR 
RED  CROSS  AT  HIS  SIDE  IN  1945! 


Tnie  Avon  Medallion  of  Honor 
nae  Leen  created  in  recognition 
or  tne  work  women  are  doing  in 
tne  service  oi  numanity.  Tnis 
award  to  Miss  Scnuller  is  first 
of  a  series  to  ne  presented  to 
women  of  outstanding  acnieve- 
ment,  wno  nave  Leen  cnosen 
by  tne  following  committee  or 
prominent  women: 


an 


Mies  Fannie  Hurst, 
jamoue  novelist 

Misfi  Gladys  Swarthout, 
I^ieiropoliian  Opera  Star 

Miss  C.  Mildred  Tnompeon, 
Dean  oj  Vasaar  College 


COSMETICS    •    AT    RADIO    CITY,    NEW   YORK 


TIME  TO  GO 

(Continued  from  Page  31) 


It  was  inconceivable,  but  it  was  true.  Audrey 
couldn't  bear  to  read  a  book.  Audrey  had  no 
ideas  about  anything  outside  her  immediate 
circle.  Only  her  blazing  vivacity  hid  that. 
Audrey's  talk  was  vivid  until  you  analyzed 
it.  Audrey  did  some  things  so  well — riding, 
dancing,  swimming — that  you  never  realized 
there  was  nearly  nothing  in  her  mind. 

Mum  knew.  Mum  had  known  all  along. 
Mum  had  never  liked  Audrey  much,  but 
she'd  played  fair.  She'd  never  said  so,  not 
even  when  her  son  had  been  intense  inside 
and  sulky  outside  and  undoubtedly  a  horror 
to  live  with  merely  because  he  was  counting 
the  minutes  till  he  could  see  Audrey  again. 

Not  knowing  all  this,  dad  was  desperately 
trying  to  be  tactful.  "The  lovely  lady  and 
your  gang  will  be  down  to  see  you  off,  I  sup- 
pose. What  time  does  the  train  go?" 

"They  said  so,"  Johnny  told  him,  and  he 
suddenly  had  a  distaste  for  being  seen  off  by 
Audrey  and  her  friends.  They'd  scream  and 
chatter  so. 

"The  train,  my  dear,"  mum  said,  "has 
always  gone  at  three  o'clock." 

Dad  got  up,  dusting  himself  off  and 
making  a  terrible  fuss  about  it.  "I  suppose 
I'll  have  to  be  there." 

Johnny  looked  at  him  gravely.  "It 
wouldn't  look  right  if  you  weren't." 

His  father  and  his  mother  were  a  lot  of 
fun— a  lot  more  fun  than  anyone.  They 
flicked  over  things  so  lightly,  for  dad  wouldn't 
miss  being  at  the  train  for  anything  and  he 
was  only  going  to  work  this  morning  so  he'd 
be  out  of  the  way,  so  Johnny  could  do 
what  he  wanted  these  last  few  hours. 

Dad  smiled.  "Oh,  well,  I  will.  Nuisance, 
though." 

Dad  looked  quite  old,  and  Johnny  re- 
membered that  there'd  been  another  war 
once,  a  dim,  dusty,  forgotten  one,  and  dad 
had  been  in  it.  It  didn't  seem  possible,  but 
dad  must  have  been  about  his  age  then. 


"Dad,  what  do  you  remember  most  about 
when  you  were  in  the  Navy?" 

"Standing  on  street  corners  in  strange 
cities  without  a  nickel  in  my  pocket,"  dad 
said  promptly. 

He  began  to  walk  toward  the  hall  anc 
Johnny  could  see  him  very  sharply  twentj 
years  ago  and  more:  the  slight,  tall  figure  ir 
blues — there  in  the  roar  of  Boston  or  Balti- 
more or  Philadelphia — young  and  lonely  anc 
broke.  It  made  dad  seem  entirely  differeni 
somehow.  He  rose  and  followed  him. 

"Look,  dad,  did  you  ever  feel  as  if  yoi 
didn't  know  anything  really?" 

Mum  was  much  amused.  "My  dea 
Johnny,  your  father  hasn't  known  anythini 
for  years  and  years.  .  .  .  Yes,  Richard 
that  really  is  your  hat  and  so  you  migh 
stop  staring  into  it  and  put  it  on.  It's  quit 
used  to  being  on  your  head,  you  know." 

"Woman,"  dad  said,  "I  detest  you! 
He  slammed  the  door. 

Mum  began  picking  up  the  dishes  and  sh 
didn't  do  it  very  well.  "You  mustn't  min 
your  father,  Johnny.  He's  upset."  Mui 
had  her  little-girl  look,  that  clear,  cool  lool 
but  some  shadow  underlay  it  now. 

"I  know,  mum.  I'm  upset  myself.  Suj 
pose  I  help  you  clear  up?" 

Mum  kept  pushing  her  hair  back,  thoug 
it  didn't  need  it.  "Suppose  you  don't.  Suj 
pose  you  go  out  and  don't  think  a  thir 
about  me  or  your  father  and  do  anythir 
you  want  to  do — anything  you  really  wai 
to  do — no  matter  what  it  is." 

Mum  was  right.  It  would  be  strained  ar 
awkward  if  they  spent  the  morning  togethe 
and  their  eyes  would  stray  to  the  clock  ar 
there'd  be  less  and  less  time  till  there  wasr 
any  at  all. 

"All  right,  mum."  \ 

He  went  out  on  the  steps  and  stood  ther 
blinking.  What  do  you  do  when  you  ha' 


Bestform  Brassieres 
79^  to  $1.50 

Bestform  Foundations 
52.50  to  $6.50 


BESTFORM 


\;« 


only  five  short  hours  left?  He  didn't  know, 
so  he  went  slowly  down  the  street,  savoring 
the  tall  trees,  the  little  pools  of  light  along 
the  walk  and  all  the  hot,  sweet  smells  of 
summer. 

"Hi,  there,  Johnny!" 

He  turned  and  Mr.  Thompson  was  doing 
something  to  Doctor  Livingston's  front 
steps.  Mr.  Thompson  looked  more  than  ever 
like  some  elderly  bird.  His  hair,  almost 
white,  was  a  mass  of  cowlicks,  and  his  face 
was  a  little  like  a  bird's,  too,  all  pinched  to- 
gether as  if  his  mouth  and  nose  and  ears  had 
slid.  Mr.  Thompson  was  the  best  carpenter 
m  town,  and  long  ago  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
when  Johnny'd  been  a  Bi^^^^^^^B 
small  boy,  Mr.  Thomp- 
son had  been  his  almost 
constant  companion. 

Johnny  went  up  the 
walk  and  Mr.  Thomp- 
son ceased  hammering 
and  sat  down  on  the 
steps,  his  face  and  eyes 
quick' and  keen  for  all 
he  was  so  old. 

"Hear  you're  goin' 
in  the  Navy,  Johnny." 

There  was  the  smell 
of  shavings  again,  hot 
and    sweet    and   like       ^^^^^^^^^^ 
nothing  else  on  earth:       ^^^^^^^^^ 
a  smell  that  took  him 
straight  back  to  being  six.  "This  afternoon." 

"Going  with  a  gang  of  other  boys?" 

Johnny  shook  his  head.  "All  alone  from 
here.  I  get  off  at  Decatur  and  then  I'll  have 
some  company." 

"Prob'ly  won't  feel  so  funny  then,"  said 
Mr.  Thompson  and  took  up  his  saw.  "Don't 
seem  to  have  seen  much  of  you  for  a  long 
time,  Johnny." 

That  was  true  and  it  was  queer,  too,  for  he 
knew  now  that  Mr.  Thor.ipson  had  been  one 
of  his  best  friends.  Only  he'd  lost  track  of 
him  when  he'd  begun  going  around  with 
Audrey's  gang.  There'd  been  so  much  to  do, 
so  much  to  say  that  there'd  been  no  time  for 


107 


long,  lazy  hours  with  Mr.  Thompson.  But 
there  had  been  once,  for  even  a  small  boy 
had  known  that  Mr.  Thompson  was  the 
wisest  man  in  town. 

There'd  been  the  time  when  mum  and  dad 
had  been  thinking  of  sending  him  away  to 
Essex  School.  He'd  heard  them  talking 
about  it  one  night  and  dad's  voice  had 
sounded  tired  and  old: 

"We  ought  to  do  it,  Margaret,  but  it'll 
make  things  tight — awfully  tight.  A  boy 
should    go    to    a    good    boarding    school, 


but 

Mum  had  said, 


KXO^VLEDGE 

^  When  you  notice  how  much 
^  smarter  you  are  today  than  you 
were  ten  years  ago,  don't  stop  there. 
Follow  the  same  line  of  thinking 
until  you  partly  realize  how  much 
dumber  you  are  today  than  you  will 
be  ten  years  hence.  That  ought  to 
hold  you  a  while. 

What  you  don't  know  doesn't  hurt 
you,  says  our  friend  William  Feather, 
but  it  amuses  a  lot  of  people. 

—STRICKLAND  GILLILAN:  Quoted  in  Your  Life. 


We  can  manage." 

It  had  troubled  him 
all  night,  and  so  next 
day  he'd  told  Mr. 
Thompson  about  it. 

Mr.  Thompson  had 
listened  most  atten- 
tively.   "Don't  sound 
right  to  me,"  he'd  said. 
"Trouble  with  parents 
is  they're  always  dead 
set  on  sacrificin'  them- 
selves for  their  children 
and  then  it  don't  work 
out.   I  done  some  work 
out  at  Essex  and  it  ain't 
near  as  good  a  school  as 
^^^^^^^^^^       they  say.  I'd  bet  you'd 
^^^^^^^^^^^       learn  more  goin'  to 
high  right  here." 
So  Johnny'd  told  his  parents  he  didn't 
want  to  go  to  boarding  school,  and  he  had 
learned  a  lot  at  high  and  he'd  had  a  good 
time.   Mr.  Thompson  had  been  right,  as  he 
always  was.  He  was  a  good  man  to  consult 
when  you  were  in  trouble. 

"Mr.  Thompson,"  he  said,  stretching  his 
legs  out,  for  it  was  warm  and  lazy  in  the  sun, 
"  I  used  to  think  I  knew  a  lot,  but  this  morn- 
ing when  I  woke  up,  I  knew  I  didn't  know 
anything.    It's  a  funny  feeling." 

"Sensible  one,  though,"  said  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, still  sawing.  "Most  boys  don't  get  it  till 
they  come  out  of  college  and  go  slam-bang 
up  against  the  world.  Then  they  either  grow 


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And  listen! 

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Truly,  here  are  shoes 

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revelation  .  .  ,  this  new 
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you'll  never  again  go  nacK  to  tne  nurry, 
scurry  way  or  sliopping  tor  dresses. 
"Fasnion  Frocks  Style  Snow  brougnt  to  your  liome" 

is  the  convenient  way  .  .  .  the  economical  way. 
You'll  like  it,  too!    Just  a  post-card 

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Wo]rnrrto   tlo    V^.U^..    I^.^^U    P^^>^^^^/^/;.,^    WTL^^    .Q/.^   H^tL 


108 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


DURA-GLOSS^ 


Let  Dura-Gloss 

make  your  nails  gay  ana  sparkling. 
Ine  Dura-Gloss  you  put  on  ior  tonignt's  date 
will  stay  on  for  Jays. 
A  smootn-rlowing,  lustrous  polisn  tnat  aaas  romance 
ana  Leauty  to  all  your  nignts  and  days. 

In  demand  at  Leauty  counters  everywnere. 
10<i5  plus  tax. 

Cuticle  Remover  Polish  Remover  Dura-Coat 

lORR  LABORATORIES,  PATERSON,  N.  J.    •    FOUNDED  Br  E    7    REYNOLDS 


up  or  they  don't.  Ones  that  don't  just  stay 
college  kids  all  their  lives." 

Johnny  wondered  if  Audrey's  father  had 
ever  grown  up  and  decided  he  hadn't;  with 
all  his  noise  and  his  back  slapping,  he  was 
just  a  college  senior  still. 

"All  that's  happened  to  you,  Johnny," 
Mr.  Thompson  drawled,  "is  that  you've 
woke  up  a  mite  early.  Lucky  thing  for  you, 
too,  because  the  Navy'll  know  darned  well 
you  don't  know  anything,  and  if  you're  both 
agreed  you'll  get  on  better." 

"  I  wonder  what  it'll  be  like." 

Mr.  Thompson  consulted  his  plug  of  chew- 
ing tobacco.  "Somethin'  like  goin'  to  school 
all  over  again,  I  spose.  Keep  your  eyes  open 
and  your  mouth  shut  and  remember  to  say 
■  sir '  to  your  officers  and  you'll  skin  along  all 
right." 

It  was  quite  comfortable  to  be  talking 
with  Mr.  Thompson,  because  he  knew  every- 
thing. 

"Queer  about  Jean  Underwood,"  Mr. 
Thompson  said,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  bright 
blue  sky.  "One  minute  she  was  a  leggy  little 
filly  and  the  next  she's  downright  good- 
lookin'.  Wouldn't  wonderbut  what  she's  the 
handsomest  girl  in  town.  I  can  remember 
when  you  and  she  used  to  make  mud  pies 
together." 

Jean  came  into  his  mind,  so  sharp  and 
clear  she  might  have  been  standing  there. 
And  he  couldn't  get  up  quick  enough. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Thompson." 

"So  long,  son.  What  time  was  it  you  said 
you  went?" 

"Three  o'clock." 

He  was  hurrying  down  the  street  now,  for 
he'd  wasted  time — years  and  years  of  time — 
and  now  there  was  nearly  none  left.  And 
there'd  always  been  Jean  ever  since  he  could 
remember:  Jean  plump  and  chubby,  to  play 
jackstones  and  marbles  with;  Jean,  suddenly 
all  arms  and  legs,  and  always  good  for  a 
game  of  one  ol'  cat;  Jean  to  share  an  ice- 
cream cone  with,  or  a  single  soda  and  two 
straws.  Jean  had  been  so  much  a  part  of  his 
youth — his  very  young  youth — that  he 
wondered  how  he'd  ever  let  her  slip  away. 
No  time  at  all  now,  and  Maple  Street  seemed 
leagues  long.  He'd  never  get  there — and 
then,  suddenly,  he  had. 

Ihere  was  the  Underwoods'  little  house; 
there  was  the  picket  fence;  there  was  Jean 
in  striped  shirt  and  hard  at  work  with  a 
paintbrush  on  the  fence.  He  was  all  at  once 
unaccountably  shy  and  his  shoes  wavered 
all  over  the  sidewalk. 

"Jean!" 

"Hello,  Johnny."  Jean  straightening  up 
with  a  hand  on  her  back,  as  if  she'd  stooped 
so  long  she  had  a  stitch  in  it;  Jean's  hair, 
swirling  out  in  those  soft  dark  wings;  Jean's 
face,  brown  over  rose;  Jean's  eyes,  so  clear 
and  gray  they  were  like  cool,  deep  water. 
Jean,  tall  now  without  being  lanky,  and  all  a 
soft,  flowing  grace  when  she  moved.  No 
wonder  Mr.  Thompson  said  she  was  the 
handsomest  girl  in  town.  Jean,  calm  and 
poised  and  not  startled  or  surprised  or  any- 
thing. "I  hear  you're  off  to  the  Navy, 
Johnny." 

"Today's  the  day." 

"Excited,  Johnny?" 

"No,  I  feel  sort  of  funny." 

Jean  nodded  as  if  she  understood.  "It'll 
be  all  right  when  you're  actually  in  it."  She 
took  up  the  paintbrush  again.  "I  suppose, 
since  it's  almost  the  last  minute,  you're  sim- 
ply rushed  to  death." 

Johnny  leaned  on  the  fence,  and  he'd  done 
that  so  many  times  that  even  its  sharp  wood 
felt  friendly.  "No-o.  This  morning  I'm  doing 
just  a  few  things  I  really  want  to  do." 

Jean  flushed  just  a  little.  "I'm  flattered. 
And  when  you  make  a  formal,  farewell  call, 
I  would  be  all  over  paint." 

Johnny  said  simply,  "I  guess  I've  wanted 
to  see  you  for  a  long  time." 

Something  was  between  them  that  hadn't 
been  there  before,  some  swift  current,  warm 
and  pulsing  as  the  summer  itself.  It  was  a 
good  feeling — only  it  was  a  trifle  awkward. 

Jean  broke  the  awkwardness  to  bits. 
"That's  nice,  Johnny.  I'm  glad  you  did. 
If  you'd  just  gone  away " 


m^y^kcUim  yOmuleci 

MlT-OR-MISS  mixing  of  face  pow- 
ders is  like  hit-or-miss  blending 
of  anything  else  ...  a  failure 
nine-tenths  of  the  time.  Don't 
trust  YOUR  good  looks  to  any 
such  guessv^ork  when  you  can 
have  the  color  blended  scien- 
tifically by  Elizabeth  Arden 
herself.  Their  subtly  modulated 
shades  are  accomplished  by 
exact  formulas,  guarded  by  instru- 
ments of  hair-breadth  delicacy, 
blended  with  the  utmost  skill,  in  a 
laboratory  of  the  most  modern 
equipment.  They  are  reduced 
to  incredible  delicacy  of  texture 
by  being  forced  at  tremendous 
pressure  throuqh  silken  mesh  fine 
as  butterfly  wings.  There  is  no 
guesswork  about  Elizabeth  Arden 
Powders.  There  are  many  glorious 
shades  to  complement  the  skin 
...among  them  the  one  YOUR  skin 
needs  for  beauty.  Used  alone, 
or  with  the  famed  Two  Powder 
Technique,  these  inimitable 
powders  will  open  up  to  you  a 
whole  world  of  loveliness. 

ILLUSION  POWDER,  1.75  and  3.00 
CAMEO  POWDER,  1.75  and  3.00 

(prices  plus  taxes) 


Jean,  he  suddenly  saw,  was  honest  with 
eryone — even  herself.  She  didn't  pretend, 
nd  so  it  wouldn't  be  right  to  pretend  with 
:r  either.  "It's  been  such  a  long  time  since 
i've  seen  much  of  each  other,  Jean.  I  don't 
low  what's  been  the  matter  with  me." 
She  gave  him  a  clear,  level  look.  "There 
sn't  been  anything  the  matter  with  you, 
hnny.  Since  father  died  and  mother's  been 
ill,  I've  just  been  slipping  out  of  things. 
re  had  so  much  on  my  hands  I  haven't 
en  much  fun.  And  anyone  likes  to  have 
n,  Johnny — anyone  does." 
It  hadn't  been  much  fun  for  Jean,  he  could 
;,  and  suddenly  saw  much  more.  When 
r.  Underwood  had  died,  there  hadn't  been 
jch  money  and  everything  had  fallen  on 
an  too  young.  She'd  braced  herself  to 
jet  it;  she'd  done  the  shopping,  the  cook- 
;,  the  cleaning,  she'd  looked  after  her 
jther.  She'd  done  it  all  without  making 
e  slightest  bit  of  fuss. 
Mum  had  known  that  and  so  had  dad, 
t  Jean,  harried,  worried  Jean,  had  slowly 
pped  away  from  the  old  crowd  and  the  old 
lys  and  he'd  let  her  slip  clear  out  of  his  life 
3.  That  had  been  a  stupid  thing  to  do. 
"  I  don't  think  you've  had  much  fun  your- 
f,  Jean." 

Jean  dropped  her  paintbrush  into  the  pail, 
don't  know,  Johnny.  If  I'd  been  smarter, 
night  have  managed  some.  But  I'm  not 
lart."  She  tossed  her  head,  and  her  dark 
ir  was  like  a  wave.  "Let's  not  be  so  mourn- 
.  Come  into  the  kitchen  and  have  a 
ughnut." 

It  was  just  like  old  times  in  the  clean, 
ight  kitchen:  Jean  sitting  on  the  table, 
inging  her  legs;  Jean 

liling  as  if  she'd  gone      

long  way  back  and 
s  almost  a  small  girl 
ain — a  small  girl 
lom  unhappiness 
aid  never  touch  be- 
use  there  were  so 
my  bright,  shining 
ars  ahead. 

"We  used  to  have 
ch  good  times, 
tinny." 

'I  guess  that  we'll 
ve  some  good  times 
ain,  Jean,"  he  told 

r.  "I  guess " 

But  there  was  the 
chen  clock,  ticking 
ay  like  mad,  and  its 

nds  simply   seemed       

spin. 

'Oh,  Johnny!  Johnny!  I'll  never  get  that 
rned  fence  painted.  And  there  must  be  lots 
things  you  want  to  do  before" — her  voice 
)ke  just  a  little — "before  you  go." 
'Only  one.  I  want  to  see  Miss  Wescott." 
'I'm  glad,  Johnny.  She's  getting  very 
|l."  Her  cheek  seemed  to  brush  his,  and 
tether  she'd  actually  kissed  him  or  not  he 
jln't  know  then  or  after. ' '  Good-by ,  Johnny. 
'Od  luck." 

E  STUMBLED  out  into  the  sunshine  and  he 
L  dizzy  as  if  something  quite  new,  some- 
ng  quite  extraordinary,  was  singing  away 
lis  head — something  that  really  must  have 
;n  there  all  the  time  if  he'd  only  realized  it. 
lean  came  flying  out  on  the  steps, 
ohnny!  Your  train?  What  time?" 

The  library  was  red  brick  and  covered 
h  ivy — a  very  quiet,  peaceful  place. 
-ie  went  slowly  in  the  door  and  there  were 
the  books,  shelves  and  shelves  of  them. 
There  was  the  great  desk  with  Miss 
;scott  behind  it,  bent  over  a  catalogue,  a 
woman  in  a  soft  faded  dress:  a  big  woman 
h  a  rosy  face  and  her  iron-gray  hair  still 
le  up  into  a  hard,  tight  knot  on  top. 
'Wipe  your  shoes,"  said  Miss  Wescott 
hout  looking  up. 

lohnny  was  suddenly  six  again  and  he'd 
mght  back  a  book  and  fallen  down  on  the 
y  and  it  hadn't  done  the  book  much  good. 
11  wiped.  Miss  Wescott." 
The  big  woman  whipped  off  her  glasses 
1  she  had  grown  old.  Miss  Wescott  soon 
uldn't  be  here  any  more  and  that  was  too 
1,  for  she  was  the  library  and  all  the  books 


CREED  FOR  LlVII^Ci 


^  Humanity  is  no  empty  word.  Do 
^  not  be  taken  in  by  the  claptraps 
of  this  troubled  epoch,  by  the  run- 
ners amolv,  by  the  St.^  itus's  dancers 
and  the  howling  dervishes  of  «hat- 
soe^er  creed  the)'  may  ujihold.  To  be 
true,  to  be  simple,  to  be  gentle  of 
heart,  to  remain  cheerful  and  col- 
lected in  sorrow  and  in  danger,  to 
love  life  and  not  to  fear  death,  to 
serve  the  spirit  and  not  be  haunted 
by  spirits — nothing  better  has  ever 
been  taught  since  this  world  first 
began. 

—BRUNO  FRANK:  In  the  London  Mercury; 
quoted  in  Fiction  Parade. 


109 

that  had  ever  been  written  or  ever  would  be. 
"Why,  Johnny  Swain!" 

"I'm  going  away  today.  Miss  Wescott,  so 
I  thought " 

The  big  woman  came  out  from  behind  the 
desk  and  her  glasses  clattered  on  their  gold 
chain  as  they  always  had.  "Johnny!  You're 
not  nearly  grown  up  enough " 

"Navy,  Miss  Wescott." 

The  big  woman's  eyes  blurred  as  if  she 
were  seeing  many  small  boys — small  boys 
who  simply  wouldn't  wipe  their  shoes. 

"I  don't  suppose  it'll  be  much  like  Mr. 
Midshipman  Easy  now,  Johnny." 

She  was  bringing  them  all  back,  all  the 
long,  lazy,  golden  days  he'd  spent  curled  up 
on  the  window  seat  with  a  book — a  book 
Miss  Wescott  had  chosen  for  him.  And  he 
had  the  queer  sense  that  when  all  the  wars 
were  over  and  all  the  captains  and  the  kings 
gone  down  to  dust,  the  people  who  came 
swarming  out  of  those  books — those  old, 
old  books — would  still  be  vivid  and  alive. 
"I  don't  know  what  it'll  be  like,  Miss 
Wescott." 

Miss  Wescott  dabbed  at  her  eyes.  "You'll 
be  all  right,  Johnny.  You'll  be  all  right. 
Would  you  like  me  to  send  you  a  letter 
sometimes,  Johnny?" 

"I'd  like  it  a  lot.  Miss  Wescott." 
Someone  was  about  to  come  in,  and 
Johnny  must  have  grown  quite  young  again, 
for  Miss  Wescott  had  certainly  folded  him 
to  her  soft,  ample  bosom.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  a  kiss  this  time. 

Miss    Wescott    backed   away.    "Francis 

Perkins,  you  go  straight  back  and  wipe  your 

shoes!  .  .  .  What  time 

do  you  go,  Johnny?" 

she  asked. 

"Three  o'clock." 
He  went  blindly  out 
into  the  sunshine. 


Two-thirty  at  the 
sad  brown  station,  and 
not  a  soul  on  the  plat- 
form but  mum  and  dad 
and  himself. 

Dad  was  having 
trouble  with  his  hat 
again.  "I  wish  that 
train  would  come.  I 
hate  seeing  people  off 
almost  as  much  as  I 
hate  being  seen  off  my- 
self. Have  you  got  that 

money   I  gave    you, 

Johnny?" 
"Yes,    sir."     Dad    was    right.     It    was 
awkward — awfully  awkward — waiting  here 
in  the  slow  sun  with  nothing  more  to  do  and 
nothing  more  to  say. 

Mum's  little-girl  look  was  still  there,  but 
it  was  troubled.  She  kept  staring  around  the 
corner  of  the  station.  "Didn't  Audrey  and 
your  crowd  say  they'd  come,  Johnny?  " 

They  wouldn't  come,  he  knew.  There'd  be 
one  more  hole  of  golf,  one  more  set  of  tennis 
to  play,  and  so  they'd  be  too  late. 

"Gosh,  I  hope  they  don't,  mum.  It's  just 
right  as  it  is." 

Only  mum  didn't  think  so;  mum  was 
troubled  because  no  one  was  coming  down 
to  see  him  off. 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "Look,  mum,  I 
want  to  say  something."  The  words  had  a 
hard  time  coming  out.  "Well,  we've  always 

had  an  awfully  good  time  together " 

"Better  leave  it  at  that,  son,"  dad  said. 
There  was  a  terrible  tightness  over  every- 
thing— a  tightness  you  could  almost  touch — 
and  mum  turned  her  head  away. 

Mr.  Thompson  shambled  slowly  around 
the  corner  of  the  station.  "Afternoon,  Miz' 
Swain.  Afternoon,  Mr.  Swain.  Just  passing 
by,  so  I  thought  I'd  step  over."  He  held 
out  a  square  white  package.  "Brought  a 
little  something  for  you,  Johnny.  Most 
likely  you  can't  use  it." 

Mum's  face  was  all  alight.  "How  nice  of 
you,  Mr.  Thompson !  How  very  nice ! " 

Mr.    Thompson    shifted    uncomfortably 

from  one  foot  to  the  other.    "Johnny  and 

I've  known  each  other  a  pretty  long  time." 

There  was  a  queer  scurrying  sound,  and 

Miss  Wescott  had  a  large  hat  on  one  side  of 


*^^ec^^ 


With  the  first  crocus,  tye  first  robin's  chirp,  a  lady  starts  taking 

stock  of  her  household.  "Hot  (/ays  ahead,"  she  muses,  "wonder  how  my 

towels  will  hold  out?'    •  If  her  towels  are  Martex,  their  fresh 

colors  and  sturdy  plied-yarn  /nderweove  will  last  through  many  a  spring 

and  summer.^f  course,  it  would  be  nice  to  replenish  the 

supply,  add  a  new  pattern  or  luscious  shade  — but 

towel'stocks  are  somewhat  limited,  due  to  the  war. 

/  •   In  fact,  by  the  time  this  appears,  wor- 

tfme  regulations  may  be  applied  to  the  making 

/  of  towels.  If  so,  Martex  will  offer  towels  of 

\iximum  Quality  permitted  by  War  Regulations. 

/  •   However,  if  you  want  to  give  an  extra- 

'  special  birthday  or  wedding  gift, 

Martex  towels  can  still  be  found  at  fine  linen 

or  department  stores.  Wellington  Sears 

Company,  65  Worth  St.,  New  York  1 3,  N.  Y. 

BUY  MORE  WAk   BONDS 
BATH  TOWELS    •    CHENILLE  MATS    •    DISH  TOWELS 


m<!HaM.«rL-SJLffeiJ;/!-At:wwtJs.sai.WaJ 


no 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


^ 


Egg-Salad  Sandwichat 
are  superb  with 
plenty  of  French's 
mixed  with  the 
mayonnaise.  So 
smooth  it  blends 
perfectly,  this 

famous  mustard 
[0      gives  a  fine, 
zesty  flavor 
hungry  men  are 
sure  to  enjoy. 


SMOOTHER 
CREAMIER 


—millions 
prefer 
its  finer 
flavor! 


her  head,  a  hat  with  a  bird  on  it.  Her 
glasses  were  a  goldcii  jangle  and  she  was  all 
out  of  breath. 

'■  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  coming  down. 

You  see,  Johnny — Johnny  and  I "  She 

pressed  a  square  white  package  into  his  hand. 
"Just  a  trifle,  Johnny." 

Dad  took  off  his  hat.  "Miss  Wescott, 
we're  delighted.  Fact  is,  we  were  having 
rather  hard  going  till  you  and  Mr.  Thomp- 
son showed  up." 

Miss  Wescott  looked  at  Mr.  Thompson  as 
if  she  were  sure  he  wouldn't  wijDe  his  shoes. 

Here  it  came  at  last— what  Johnny  knew 
now  he'd  been  listening  for — the  sound  of 


running  feet.  Jean  burst  through  the  station 
door  and  she  was  laughing.  There  were  gray 
smudges  on  her  face,  and  a  gaping  tear 
showed  on  one  leg  of  her  blue  slacks. 

"It's  all  your  fault,  Johnny  Swain.  The 
front  tire  came  off  my  bicycle  and  I  ran  into 
a  tree  and  I'm  a  dreadful  disgrace,  but  I 
don't  care  because  I  got  here  in  time  all  the 
same.  And  Johnny" — she  fumbled  in  her 
pocket— "here's  a  small  gift."  She  held  out 
a  square  white  box  and  then  saw  the  other 
two  in  Johnny's  hand.  "Oh.  dear!" 

Johnny  grinned.  Whatever  he'd  do  with 
three  wrist  watches  he  was  sure  he  didn't 
know. 


Dad  looked  much  amused.  Dad  whipped 
something  white  from  his  pocket.  "Handker- 
chief. Wipe  your  face  with  it,  Jean.  It's  been 
my  sad  experience  that  when  a  gentleman 
doesn't  tell  a  lady  her  face  is  dirty^she  de- 
tests him.  I  am,  of  course,  used  to  being 
detested  by  my  wife." 

Up  the  track,  the  signal  dropped  and 
Johnny  just  stood  still  for  a  second,  taking 
them  all  in — the  five  people  who  meant  the 
most  to  him  of  everyone  in  the  world :  mum 
and  dad  and  his  three  good  friends.  It  was 
fine  to  have  friends  like  these. 

Faint  and  far  away,  there  came  the  long- 
drawn  whistle  of  a  train.   Time  to  go. 


THEY  SHALL  NOT  GROW  OLD 


Lorgcil  ScJ/ing  Prepared  Muttard  in  U.S.A.  Today 
Alto  told  in  Canada 


ground-strafe  an  airdrome  called  Rayak. 
We  flew  past  Hermon,  who  had  a  hat  of 
snow  upon  his  head,  and  we  came  down  out 
of  the  sun  onto  Rayak  and  on  to  the  French 
bombers  on  the  airdrome,  and  began  our 
straling.  I  remember  that  as  we  flew  past, 
skimming  low  over  the  ground,  the  doors  of 
the  French  bombers  opened.  I  remember 
seeing  a  whole  lot  of  women  in  white  dresses 
running  out  across  the  airdrome;  I  remember 
particularly  their  white  dresses. 

You  see,  it  was  a  Sunday,  and  the  French 
pilots  had  asked  their  ladies  out  from 
Beyrouth  to  look  over  the  bombers.  Ihe 
Vichy  pilots  had  said,  "Come  out  on  Sun- 
day morning  and  we  will  show  you  our  air- 
planes." It  was  a  very  Vichy-French  thing 
for  them  to  do.  So  when  we  started  shoot- 
ing, they  all  tumbled  out  and  began  to  run 
across  the  airdrome  in  their  white  Sunday 
dresses. 

I  remember  hearing  Tinker's  voice  over 
the  radio  saying,  "(iive  tiiem  a  chance,  give 
them  a  chance,"  and  the  whole  squadron 
wiieeled  around  and  circled  the  airdrome 
once  whilst  the  women  ran  over  the  grass  in 
every  direction.  One  of  them  stumbled  and 
fell  twice,  and  one  of  them  was  limping  and 
being  heliK'd  by  a  man,  but  we  gave  them 
time.  I  remember  watching  the  small  bright 
flashes  of  a  machine  gun  on  the  ground  and 
thinking  that  they  should  at  least  have 
stopiK-'d  their  sh(K)ting  while  we  were  waiting 
for  their  white-dressed  women  to  get  out  of 
the  way. 

I  n.\T  was  the  day  after  Fin  had  gone.  The 
next  day  the  Stag  and  I  sat  once  more  at 
readiness  on  the  wooden  boxes  outside  the 
hangar.  Paddy,  a  big  fair-haired  boy,  had 
taken  Fin's  place  and  was  sitting 
with  us. 

It  was  noon.  The  sun  was  high 
and  the  heat  of  the  sun  was  like 
a  close  fire.  The  sweat  ran  down 
our  necks,  down  inside  our  shirts, 
over  our  chests  and  stomachs, 
and  we  sat  there  waiting  for  the 
time  when  we  would  be  relieved. 
The  Stag  was  sewing  the  strap 
onto  his  helmet  with  a  needle 
and  cotton  and  telling  of  how 
he  had  seen  Nikki  the  night  be- 
fore in  Haifa,  and  of  how  he  had 
told  her  about  Fin. 

Suddenly  we  heard  the  noise  of 
an  airplane.  The  Stag  stopped 
his  talking  and  we  all  looked  up. 
The  noise  was  coming  from  the 
north,  and  it  grew  louder  and 
louder  as  the  airplane  flew  closer, 
and  then  the  Stag  said  suddenly: 

"It's  a  Hurricane." 

The  next  moment  it  was  cir- 
cling the  airdrome,  lowering  its 
wheels  to  land. 

"Who  is  it?"  said  the  fair- 
haired  Paddy.  "No  one's  gone 
out  this  morning." 

Then,  as  it  glided  past  us  onto 
the  runway,  we  saw  the  number 
on  the  tail  of  the  machine,  H- 
4427,  and  we  knew  that  it  was 
Fin. 

We  were  standing  up  now, 
watching  the  machine  as  it  taxied 
toward  us,  and  when  it  came  up 


(Continued  from  Page  41) 

close  and  swung  round  for  parking  we  saw 
Fin  in  the  cockpit.  He  waved  his  hand  at 
us,  grinned  and  got  out.  We  ran  up  and 
shouted  at  him: 

"Where've  you  been?"  .  .  .  "Wherein 
the  hell  have  you  been?"  .  .  .  "Did  you 
force-land  and  get  away  again?"  .  .  .  "Did 
you  find  a  woman  in  Beyrouth?"  .  .  . 
"Fin,  where  in  the  hell  have  you  been?" 

Others  were  coming  up  and  crowding 
around  him  now,  fitters  and  riggers  and  tlie 
men  who  drove  the  fire  tender,  and  they  all 
waited  to  hear  what  Fin  would  say.  He 
stood  there  pulling  off  his  helmet,  pushing 
back  his  black  hair  with  his  hand,  and  he 
was  so  astonished  at  our  behavior  that  at 
first  he  merely  looked  at  us  and  did  not 
speak.  Then  he  laughed  and  said: 

"What's  the  matter?  What's  the  matter 
with  all  of  you?" 

"Where  have  you  been?"  we  shouted. 
"Where  have  you  been  for  two  days?" 

Upon  the  face  of  Fin  there  was  a  great  and 
enormous  astonishment.  He  looked  quickly 
at  his  watch.  "F"ive  past  twelve,"  he  said. 
"I  left  at  eleven,  one  hour  and  five  minutes 
ago.  Don't  be  a  lot  of  damn  fools.  I  must  go 
and  report  quickly.  The  Navy  will  want  to 
know  that  those  destroyers  are  still  in  the 
harbor  at  Beyrouth." 

He  started  to  walk  away.  I  caught  his 
arm.  "Fin,"  I  said  quietly,  "you've  been 
away  since  the  day  before  yesterday.  What's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

He  looked  at  me  and  laughed.  "I've  seen 
you  organize  much  better  jokes  than  this 
one,"  he  said.  "It  isn't  so  funny.  It  isn't 
a  bit  funny."  And  he  walked  away. 

We  stood  there,  the  Stag,  Paddy  and  I, 
the  litters,  the  riggers  and  the  men  who 


"Personally,  /  </on'f  kiioiv  what  In' 
sees  in  her.    She's  such  a  mess!" 


drove  the  fire  engine,  watching  Fin  as  he 
walked  away.  We  looked  at  one  another,  not 
knowing  what  to  say  or  to  think,  under- 
standing nothing,  knowing  nothing  except 
that  Fin  had  been  serious  when  he  spoke, 
and  that  what  he  said  he  had  believed  to  be 
true.  We  knew  this  because  we  knew  Fin, 
and  we  knew  it  because  when  one  has  been 
together  as  we  had  been  together,  then  there 
is  never  any  doubting  of  anything  that 
anyone  says  when  he  is  talking  about  his 
flying;  there  can  only  be  a  doubting  of 
oneself.  These  men  were  doubting  them- 
selves, standing  there  in  the  sun  doubting 
themselves,  and  the  Stag  was  standing  by 
the  wing  of  Fin's  machine,  peeling  off  with 
his  fingers  little  flakes  of  paint  which  had 
dried  up  and  cracked  in  the  sun. 

Someone  said,  "Well,  I'll  be "  and 

the  men  turned  and  started  to  walk  quietly 
back  to  their  jobs. 

Ihe  next  three  pilots  on  readiness  came 
walking  slowly  toward  us  from  the  gray 
corrugated-iron  hangar,  walking  slowly  un- 
der the  heat  of  the  sun  and  swinging  their 
helmets  in  their  hands  as  they  came.  The 
Stag,  Paddy  and  I  walked  over  to  the  pilots' 
mess  to  have  a  drink  and  lunch. 

The  mess  was  a  small  white  wooden  build- 
ing with  a  veranda.  Inside  there  were  two 
rooms,  the  one  a  sitting  room  with  armchairs 
and  magazines  and  a  hole  in  the  wall  through 
which  you  could  buy  drinks,  and  the  other  a 
dining  room  with  one  long  wooden  table.  In 
the  sittiag  room  we  found  Fin  sitting  down 
talking  to  Tinker,  our  CO.  The  other  pilots 
were  sitting  around  listening,  and  everybody 
was  drinking  beer.  We  knew  that  it  was  really 
a  serious  business,  in  spite  of  the  beer  and 
the  armchairs;  that  Tinker  was 
doing  what  he  had  to  do,  and 
doing  it  in  the  only  way  possi- 
ble. Tinker  was  a  rare  man,  tall 
with  a  black  mustache,  an  Italian 
bullet  wound  in  his  neck  and  a 
casual  friendly  efficiency.  He 
never  laughed  out  loud;  he  just 
choked  and  grunted  deep  down 
in  his  throat. 

Fin  was  saying,  "You  must 
go  easy,  Tinker;  you  must  help 
me  to  stop  thinking  that  I've 
gone'mad."  Fin  was  being  seri- 
ous and  sensible,  but  he  was 
worried.  "I  have  told  you  all  I 
know,"  he  said.  "I  took  off  at 
eleven  o'clock,  climbed  up  high, 
flew  to  Beyrouth,  saw  the  two 
French  destroyers,  and  came 
back,  landing  at  five  past  twelve. 
YVi____  I  swear  to  you  that  is  all  I  know." 
'-]  jHZ^  He  looked  around  at  us,  at  the 

Stag  and  me,  at  Paddy  and 
Johnny  and  the  half-dozen  other 
pilots  in  the  room,  and  we 
smiled  at  him  and  nodded  to 
show  him  that  w-e  were  with 
him.  not  against  him,  and  that 
we  believed  what  he  said. 

Tinker  said,  "What  am  I  going 
to  say  to  Headquarters  at  Jeru- 
salem.? I  reported  you  missing. 
Now  I've  got  to  report  your  re- 
turn. They'll  insist  on  knowing* 
where  you've  been." 

(Continued  on  Page  113) 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


X  m  just  waiting  for 
you  to  say  the  word  that 


these  ^ 


\\\i///j//. 


/ 


are  back!" 


7/M\7p\^\ 


"The  minute  you  say  Holmes  &  Edwards  is  back  on 
sale,  I'm  making  a  bee  line  for  my  silverware  counter. 

"I've  waited  such  a  long  time  for  your  wonderful 
silverware,  over  three  years  to  be  exact,  but  I  know 
it's  well  worth  while.  I've  always  dreamed  of  owning 
a  beautiful  pattern  like  'Danish  Princess,'  but  I  want 
to  be  sure  it's  Sterling  Inlaid  so  it  will  remain  lovely 
through  the  years. 

"And  I  also  know  I'm  only  one  of  many,  many 
women  who  feel  the  same  way  about  it.  So,  should  I 
be  among  the  few  to  get  one  of  the  'first'  sets,  I'll 
consider  myself  a  very,  very  lucky  girl." 

The  backs  of  bowls  and  handles  of  the  most  used  pieces 
are  inlaid  with  two  blocks  of  Sterling  Silver.  Thus,  lovely 
Holmes  &  Edwards  patterns  remain  lovelier  longer. 


LOVELY  LADY 


DANISH  PRINCESS 


YOUTH 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 

STERLING  INLAID^ 
SILVERPLATE 


HERE  AND  HERE 
It's  Sterling  Inlaid 


Copyrlghll945,  InternoMonol  Silver  Co.,  Holmes  &  Edwards  Division, 
Meriden,  Conn.  In  Conodo.  The  T.  Eaton  Co.,  ltd.  °Reg.  U .  S.  Pat.  Off. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Every  Time 


Was  there  ever  such  a  homey  dish  as  big, 
thick  sHces  of  bread  smothered  with  rich 
brown  gravy? 

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you  can  make  gravy  "as  you  hke  it"  with 
Wilson's  B-V.  Good,  rich,  smooth  brown 
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Look  at  my  favorite  recipe.  It's  foolproof! 
Anybody  can  make  delicious  B-V  gravy  and 
have  it  come  out  right  every  time.  (Added 
to  gravy  made  the  customary  way,  Wilson's 
B-V  provides  lots  oS.  extra  meat  Jhivor .) 

Enjoy  good  old-fashioned  Bread  and 
Gravy  lor  luncheon  or  supper.  It's  a  hearty 
hot  treat  you'll  want  to  repeat — again  and 
again 

/OT* 


Wilson's  B-V  is  a  delicious  concentrated  blend  of  rich 
meat  juices  and  selected  vegetable  flavors,  with  many 
uses !  Send  selj-nddressed  envelope  Jor  Ilomermiker's  Pri-e 
Recipe  Book  to  Wilson  &  Co.,  Dept.  L,  41  st  and  Ashland 
Ave.,  Chicago  9,  Illinois. 


B-V  GRAVY 

2  tbsp.  fats  or  drippings        1  cup  liquid  (water,  milk 
2  tbsp.  Hour  or  vegetable  water) 

1  tsp.  Wilson's  B-V 
Melt  fat,  add  flour  and  blend  well.  Add  liquid  and 
stir  until  smooth.  When  hot  add  B-V  which  has  been 
dissolved   in  a  small   amount  of  the   hot   mixture. 
Serves  3  or  4. 


March,  1945 


To  make  a  bracing,  hot  drink  or 
a  delicious  broth,  merely  stir 
B-V  in  hot  water,  as  directed. 


Hf 


WILSON  &   CO. 


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products,  all  seasoned  "the  WILSON  way." 
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^toM^ 


Sl 


ti 
lat 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


113 


(Continued  from  Page  110) 

The  whole  thing  was  getting  to  be 
too  much  for  Fin.  He  was  sitting  up- 
right, tapping  with  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  on  the  leather  arm  of  his 
chair,  tapping  with  quick  sharp  taps, 
leaning  forward,  thinking,  thinking, 
fighting  to  think,  tapping  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair,  and  then  he  began  tap- 
ping the  floor  with  his  foot  as  well. 

The  Stag  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
"Tinker,"  he  said,  "Tinker,  let's  just 
leave  it  all  for  a  bit.    Let's  leave  it, 
and  perhaps  Fin  will  remember  some-      ^| 
thing  later  on."  ^fl 

Paddy,  who  was  sitting  on  the  arm 
of  the  Stag's  chair,  said,  "Yes,  and 
meanwhile  we  could  tell  H.Q.  that  Fin 
had  force-landed  in  a  field  in  Syria, 
taken  two  days  to  repair  his  aircraft, 
then  flown  home." 

Everybody  was  helping  Fin.  The 
pilots  were  all  helping  him.    In  the 
mind  of  each  of  us  was  the  certain 
knowledge  that  here  was  something 
that  concerned  us  greatly.  Fin  knew      ,^^^ 
it,  although  that  was  all  he  knew,  and      ^ffl 
the  others  knew  it — one  could  see  it      ^^ 
upon  their  faces.  There  was  a  tension,      ^^ 
a  fine  high-drawn  tension  in  the  room, 
because  here  for  the  first  time  was 
something  which  was  neither  bullets 
nor  fire  nor  the  coughing  of  an  engine 
nor  burst  tires  nor  blood  in  the  cockpit 
nor  yesterday  or  today  or  tomorrow. 

Tinker  felt  it,  too,  and  he  said, 
"Yes,  let's  have  another  drink  and 
leave  it  for  a  bit.  I'll  tell  H.Q.  that 
you  force-landed  in  Syria  and  man- 
aged to  get  off  again  later." 

We  had  some  more  beer  and  went 
in    to   lunch.     Tinker  ordered  bot- 
tles  of  Palestine  white    wine    with 
the  meal  in  order  to  celebrate  Fin's      ^,  -^ 
return. 

After  that  no  one  mentioned  the  thing  at 
all;  we  did  not  even  talk  about  it  when  Fin 
wasn't  there.  But  each  one  of  us  continued 
to  think  about  it  secretly,  knowing  for  cer- 
tain that  it  was  something  important  and 
that  it  was  not  finished.  The  tension  spread 
quickly  through  the  squadron,  and  it  was 
with -all  the  pilots. 

Meanwhile  the  days  went  by  and  the  sun 
shone  upon  the  airdrome  and  upon  the  air- 
craft, and  Fin  took  his  place  among  us, 
flying  in  the  normal  way. 

Then  one  day,  I  think  it  was  about  a  week 
later,  we  did  another  ground-strafe  of 
Rayak  airdrome.  There  were  seven  of  us,  with 
Tinker  leading  and  Fin  flying  on  his  star- 
board side.  We  came  in  low  over  Rayak 
and  there  was  plenty  of  light  flak  and,  as  we 
went  in  on  the  first  run,  Paddy's  machine 
was  hit. 

As  we  wheeled  for  the  second  run  we  saw 
his  Hurricane  wing  gently  over  and  dive 
straight  to  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  the 
airdrome.  There  was  a  great  billow  of  white 
smoke  as  it  hit,  then  the  flames;  and  as  the 
flames  spread,  the  smoke  turned  from  white 
to  black  and  Paddy  was  with  it. 

Immediately  there  was  a  crackle  over  the 
radio  and  I  heard  Fin's  voice,  very  excited, 
shouting  into  his  microphone,  "I've  re- 
Tiembered  it.  Hello,  Tinker,  I've  remem- 
oered  it  all,"  and  Tinker's  calm,  slow  reply, 
'O.K.,  Fin,  O.K." 

We  did  our  second  run  and  then  Tinker 
ed  us  quickly  away,  weaving  in  and  out  of 
:he  valleys,  with  the  bare  gray-brown  hills 
'ar  above  us  on  either  side;  and  all  the  way 
lome,  all  through  that  half  hour's  flight,  Fin 
lever  stopped  shouting  over  the  R.T.  First 
le  would  call  to  Tinker  and  say,  "Hello, 
j Tinker,  I've  remembered  all  of  it,  every  bit 
)f  it."  Then  he  would  say,  "Hello,  Stag,  I've 
•emembered  it,  all  of  it;  I  can't  forget  it 
low."  He  called  me  and  he  called  Johnny 
ind  he  called  Wishful;  he  called  us  all  sep- 
irately  over  and  over  again,  and  he  was  so 
;xcited  that  sometimes  he  shouted  too 
oudly  into  his  mike  and  we  could  not  hear 
vhat  he  was  saying. 

When  we  landed,  we  dispersed  our  air- 
craft, and  because  Fin,  for  some  reason,  had 
o  park  his  at  the  far  side  of  the  airdrome. 


We  o/r^  me  -ymina 

BY  JESSE  STUART 

We  are  the  young  today;  the  power 

is  ours 
To  clear  the  hills  of  brush  and  plow 

the  ground, 
And  all  the  hours  we  live  are  silver 

hours. 
Fresh  nourishment  from  earth  is  in 

our  veins. 
We  are  the  young,  and  beauty  of 

the  flowers 
Makes  strong  impressive  channels 

in  our  brains. 
Look  to  the  east  and  west:  the 

purpling  sky 
Over  the  earth  is  lazily  floating 

by- 
We  are  the  young  and  we  can 

reach  the  sky; 
Put  out  your  hands:  the  sky  will 

come  to  us 
And  to  our  loves;  green  leaves  will 

sing  for  us — 
The  green  tobacco  and  blue  corn- 
flowers 
That  hang  out  in  the  wind  and  love 

the  hours. 
We  are  the  young  today:  the  power 

is  ours. 


From  Album  of  Destiny,  recently  published  by 

E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.    Copyright,  1944,  E.  P. 

Dutten  &  Co. 


the  rest  of  us  were  in  the  operations  room 
before  him. 

The  ops  room  was  beside  the  hangar.  It 
was  a  bare  place,  with  a  large  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  on  which  there  was  a 
map  of  the  area.  There  was  another  smaller 
table  with  a  couple  of  telephones,  a  few 
wooden  chairs  and  benches,  and  at  one  end 
the  floor  was  stacked  with  Mae  Wests, 
parachutes  and  helmets.  We  were  standing 
there  taking  off  our  flying  clothing  and 
throwing  it  onto  the  floor  at  the  end  of  the 
room,  when  Fin  arrived.  He  came  quickly 
into  the  doorway  and  stopped.  His  black 
hair  was  standing  up  straight  and  untidy 
because  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  pulled 
off  his  helmet;  his  face  was  shiny  with  sweat 
and  his  khaki  shirt  was  dark  and  wet.  His 
mouth  was  open  and  he  was  breathing 
quickly.  He  looked  as  though  he  had  been 
running.  He  looked  like  a  child  who  has 
rushed  downstairs  into  a  room  full  of  grown- 
ups to  say  that  the  cat  had  had  kittens  in 
the  nursery,  and  who  did  not  know  how  to 
begin. 

We  had  all  heard  him  coming,  because  that 
was  what  we  had  been  waiting  for,  and  every- 
one stopped  what  he  was  doing  and  stood 
still,  looking  at  Fin. 

Tinker  said,  "Hello,  Fin,"  and  Fin  said, 
"Tinker,  you've  got  to  believe  this,  because 
it's  what  happened." 

Tinker  was  standing  over  by  the  table 
with  the  telephones;  the  Stag  was  near  him, 
square,  short,  ginger-haired  Stag,  standing 
up  straight,  holding  a  Mae  West  in  his  hand, 
looking  at  Fin.  The  others  were  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room.  When  Fin  spoke,  they  be- 
gan to  move  up  quietly  until  they  were  closer 
to  him,  until  they  reached  the  edge  of  the 
big  map  table,  which  they  touched  with 
their  hands.  There  they  stood,  looking  at 
Fin,  waiting  for  him  to  begin. 

He  started  at  once,  talking  quickly,  then 
calming  down  and  talking  more  slowly  as  he 
got  into  his  story.  He  told  everything, 
standing  there  by  the  door  of  the  ops  room, 
with  his  yellow  Mae  West  still  on  him  and 
with  his  helmet  and  oxygen  mask  in  his 
hand.  The  others  stayed  where  they  were 
and  listened,  and  as  I  listened  to  him  I  for- 
got that  it  was  Fin  speaking  and  that  we 
were  in  the  ops  room  at  Haifa;   I   forgot 


everything  and  went  with  him  on  his 
journey,  and  did  not  come  back  un- 
til he  had  finished. 

"I  was  flying  at  about  twenty 
thousand,"  he  said.  "  I  flew  over  Tyre 
and  Sidon  and  over  the  Damour  River 
and  then  I  flew  inland  over  the  Leb- 
anon hills,  because  I  intended  to  ap- 
proach Beyrouth  from  the  east.  Sud- 
denly I  flew  into  cloud,  thick  white 
cloud  which  was  so  thick  and  dense 
that  I  could  see  nothing  except  the  in- 
side of  my  cockpit.  I  couldn't  under- 
stand it,  because  a  moment  before 
everything  had  been  clear  and  blue  and 
there  had  been  no  cloud  anywhere." 

tl  T 

1  STARTED  to  lose  height  to  get  out 
of  the  cloud,  and  I  went  down  and 
down  and  still  I  was  in  it.  I  knew 
that  I  must  not  go  too  low  because 
of  the  hills,  and  at  six  thousand  the 
cloud  was  still  around  me.  It  was  so 
thick  that  I  could  see  nothing,  not 
even  the  nose  of  my  machine  or  the 
wings,  and  the  cloud  condensed  on 
the  windshield  and  little  rivers  of 
water  ran  down  the  glass  and  got 
,.,  blown  away  by  the  slip  stream.  I  have 
*/  ''  never  seen  cloud  like  that  before.  It 
^  was  thick  and  white  right  up  to  the 

edges  of  the  cockpit,  and  I  felt  like  a 
man  on  a  magic  carpet,  sitting  there 
alone  in  this  little  glass-topped  cock- 
pit, with  no  wings,  no  tail,  no  engine 
and  no  airplane. 

"  I  knew  that  I  must  get  out  of  this 

cloud,  so  I  turned  and  flew  west  over 

the  sea,  away  from  the  mountains,  and 

then  came  down  low  by  my  altimeter. 

I  came  down  to  five  hundred  feet, 

four   hundred,    three   hundred,   two 

hundred,  one  hundred,  and  the  cloud 

was  still  around  me.   For  a  moment  I 

paused.    I  knew  that  it  was  unsafe 

to  go  lower.    Then,  quite  suddenly,  like  a 

gust  of  wind,  came  the  feeling  that  there 

was  nothing  below  me;  no  sea  or  earth  or 

anything  else,   and   slowly,   deliberately   I 

opened  the  throttle,  pushed  the  stick  hard 

forward  and  dived. 

"I  did  not  watch  the  altimeter;  I  looked 
straight  ahead  through  the  windshield  at 
the  whiteness  of  the  cloud,  and  I  went  on 
diving.  I  sat  there  pressing  the  stick  for- 
ward, keeping  her  in  the  dive,  watching  the 
vast  clinging  whiteness  of  the  cloud,  and  I 
never  once  wondered  where  I  was  going.  I 
just  went. 

"I  do  not  know  how  long  I  sat  there— it 
may  have  been  minutes  and  it  may  have 
been  hours;  I  know  only  that  as  I  sat  there 
and  kept  her  diving,  I  was  certain  that  what 
was  below  me  was  neither  mountains  nor 
rivers  nor  earth  nor  sea,  and  I  was  not 
afraid. 

"Then  I  was  blinded.  It  was  like  being 
half  asleep  in  bed  when  someone  turns  on 
the  light.  I  came  out  of  the  cloud  so  sud- 
denly and  so  quickly  that  there  was  no  space 
of  time  between  being  in  it  and  being  out  of 
it.  One  moment  I  was  in  it,  and  the  white- 
ness was  thick  around  me,  and  in  that  same 
moment  I  was  out  of  it,  and  the  light  was 
so  bright  that  I  was  blinded.  I  screwed  up 
my  eyes  and  held  them  tight-closed  for  sev- 
eral seconds. 

"When  I  opened  them  everything  was 
blue,  more  blue  than  anything  that  I  had 
ever  seen.  It  was  not  a  dark  blue,  nor  was  it 
a  bright  blue;  it  was  a  blue  blue,  a  pure  shin- 
ing color  which  I  had  never  seen  before  and 
which  I  cannot  describe.  I  looked  around. 
I  looked  up  above  me  and  behind  me,  and  I 
sat  up  and  peered  below  me  through  the 
glass  of  the  cockpit,  and  everywhere  it  was 
blue.  It  was  bright  and  clear,  like  pleasant 
sunlight,  but  there  was  no  sun. 
"Then  I  saw  them. 

"Far  ahead  and  above,  I  saw  a  long  thin 
line  of  aircraft  flying  across  the  sky.  They " 
were  moving  forward  in  a  single  black  line, 
all  at  the  same  speed,  all  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, all  close  up,  following  one  behind  the 
other,  and  the  line  stretched  across  the  sky 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  It  was  the  way 
they  moved  ahead,  the  urgent  way  in  which 
they  pressed  forward,  forward,  forward  like 


"It  really  SAVES 
LEFTOVERS! 


"TAKE  CHANCES? 

Not  me!  Food's  pre- 
cious —  so  I  protect 
mine  with  Cut-Rite 
—  the  waxed  paper 
made  for  better 
food  care!  " 


w 


"FOODSare  SAFER 

from  drying  out — 
because  Cut -Rite 
is  double  -  waxed, 
and  super-calend- 
ered !  Safer,  too, 
because  it's  really 
sanitaryl" 


"IT  COSTS  LESS  to 

use  Cut -Rite  for 
it  goes  farther  — 
it's  so  strong,  so 
pliable, and  always 
the  right  weight  I 
Try  Cut -Rite  for 
1  your  leftovers, too!" 


CUT-RITE 

WAXED     PAPER 


IN  THE 
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\'\t\ 


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114 

ships  sailing  before  a  great  wind,  it  was  from 
this  that  I  knew  everything.  I  do  not  know 
why  or  how  I  knew  it,  but  I  knew  as  I  looked 
at  them  that  these  were  the  pilots  and  air 
crews  who  had  been  killed  in  battle,  who 
now.  in  their  own  aircraft,  were  making 
their  last  flight,  their  last  journey. 

"As  I  flew  higher  and  closer  I  could  recog- 
nize the  machines  themselves,  and  I  saw  in 
that  long  procession  nearly  every  type  that 
there  was.  I  saw  Lancasters  and  Domiers, 
Halifaxes  and  Hurricanes,  Messerschmitts, 
Spitfires.  Stirlings.  Savoia  79's,  Junker  88's, 
Gladiators,  Hampdens,  Macchi  2(X)'s,  Blen- 
heims, Focke-Wulfs,  Beaufighters.  Sword- 
fishes  and  Heinkels.  All  these  and  many 
more  I  saw,  and  the  moving  line  reached 
across  the  blue  sky  both  to  the  one  side  and 
to  the  other  until  it  faded  from  sight. 

"  I  was  close  to  them  now,  and  I  began  to 
sense  that  I  was  being  sucked  toward  them, 
regardless  of  what  I  wished  to  do.  There  was 
a  wind  which  took  hold  of  my  machine,  blew 
it  over  and  tossed  it  about  hke  a  leaf,  and  I 
was  pulled  and  sucked  as  by  a  giant  vortex 
toward  the  other  airplanes.  There  was  noth- 
ing I  could  do.  for  I  was  in  the  vortex  and  in 
the  arms  of  the  wind.  This  all  happened  very 
quickly,  but  I  remember  it  clearly.  I  felt  the 
pull  on  my  aircraft  becoming  stronger;  I 
was  whisked  forward  faster  and  faster,  and 
then  suddenly  I  was  flying  in  the  procession 
itself,  moving  forward  with  the  others,  at 
the  same  speed  and  on  the  same  course. 
Ahead  of  me.  close  enough  for  me  to  see  the 
color  of  the  paint  on  its  wings,  was  a  Sword- 
fish,  an  old  Fleet  Air  Arm  Swordfish.  and  I 
could  see  the  heads  and  helmets  of  the  ob- 
ser\'er  and  the  pilot  as  they  sat  in  their  cock- 
pits, the  one  behind  the  other,  .\head  of  the 
Swordfish  there  was  a  Domier.  a  Flying 
Pencil,  and  beyond  the  Domier  there  were 
others  which  I  could  not  recognize  from 
where  I  was. 

"  We  flew  on  and  on,  and  I  could  not  have 
turned  and  flown  away  even  if  I  had  wanted 
to :  I  do  not  know  why.  although  it  may  have 
been  something  to  do  with  the  vortex  and  the 


March,  194S 

wind,  but  I  knew  that  it  was  so.  Moreover,  I 
was  not  really  flying  my  aircraft.  It  flew  it- 
self; there  was  no  maneuvering  to  reckon 
with,  no  speed,  no  height,  no  throttle,  no 
stick,  no  nothing.  Once  I  glanced  down  at 
my  instruments  and  saw  that  they  were  all 
dead,  just  as  they  are  when  the  machine  is 
sitting  on  the  ground. 

"So  we  flew  on.  I  had  no  idea  how  fast  we 
went.  There  was  no  sensation  of  speed,  and 
for  all  I  know  it  was  a  million  miles  an  hour. 
Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  once  dur- 
ing that  time  felt  either  hot  or  cold  or  hun- 
gry or  thirsty;  I  felt  none  of  those  things.  I 
felt  no  fear,  because  I  knew  nothing  of  which 
to  be  afraid.  I  felt  no  worry,  because  I  could 
remember  nothing  or  think  of  nothing  about 
which  to  be  worried.  I  felt  no  desire  to  do 
anything  that  I  was  not  doing,  or  to  have 
anything  that  I  did  not  have,  because  there 
was  nothing  that  I  wished  to  do  and  there 
was  nothing  that  I  wished  to  have.  I  felt 
only  pleasure  at  being  where  I  was,  at  seeing 
the  wonderful  light  and  the  beautiful  color 
around  me.  Once  I  caught  sight  of  my  face 
in  the  cockpit  mirror,  and  I  saw  that  I  was 
smiling,  smihng  with  my  eyes  and  with  my 
mouth,  and  when  I  looked  away  I  knew  that 
I  was  still  smiling,  simply  because  that  was 
the  way  I  felt. 

"Once  the  observer  in  the  Swordfish  ahead 
of  me  turned  and  waved  his  hand,  and  I  slid 
back  the  roof  of  my  cockpit  and  waved  back. 
I  remember  that  even  when  I  opened  the 
cockpit,  there  was  no  rush  of  air  and  no  rush 
of  cold  or  heat,  nor  was  there  any  pressure 
of  the  slip  stream  on  my  hand.  Then  I  no- 
ticed that  they  were  all  waving  at  one  an- 
other, like  children  on  a  roller  coaster,  and  I 
turned  and  waved  to  the  man  in  the  Macchi 
behind  me. 

"But  there  was  something  happening 
along  the  line.  Far  up  in  front  I  could  see 
that  the  airplanes  had  changed  course,  were 
wheeling  around  to  the  right  and  losing  height. 
The  whole  procession,  as  it  reached  a  certain 
point,  was  banking  around  and  gliding  down- 
ward in  a  wide,  sweeping  circle.    Instinc- 


Trims,  slims  and  streamlines  your 

figure  with  sublime  comfort. 

Raschel  Knit,  \a%}iicme.i.  to 

fit  . .  .won't  run,  roll  or 

creep  up.  Coming . . . 

as  soon  as  Lastex 

is  available. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


11  = 


lively  I  glanced  down  over  the  cockpit,  and 
there  I  saw  spread  out  below  me  a  vast  green 
plain.  It  was  green  and  smooth  and  beauti- 
ful, and  it  reached  to  the  far  edges  of  the 
horizon,  where  the  blue  of  the  sky  came  down 
and  merged  with  the  green  of  the  plain. 

"And  there  was  the  light.  Over  to  the 
right,  far  away  in  the  distance,  was  a  bright 
white  Ught,  shining  bright  and  without  any 
color.  It  was  as  though  the  sim,  but  some- 
thing far  bigger  than  the  sun,  something 
without  shape  or  form  whose  light  was  bright 
but  not  blinding,  was  lying  on  the  far  edge 
of  the  green  plain.  The  light  spread  outward 
from  a  center  of  brilliance  and  it  spread  far 
up  into  the  sky  and  far  out  over  the  plain. 
When  I  saw  it,  I  could  not 
at  first  look  away  from  it. 
I  had  a  desire  to  go  toward 
it,  into  it,  and  almost  at 
once  the  desire  and  the 
longing  became  so  intense 
that  several  times  I  tried 
to  pull  my  aircraft  out  of 
the  line  and  fly  straight 
toward  it;  but  it  was  not 
possible,  and  I  had  to  fly 
on  with  the  rest. 

"As    they    banked      

around  and  lost  height  I 
went  with  them,  and  we  began  to  glide  down 
toward  the  green  plain  below.  Now  that  I  was 
closer,  I  could  see  the  great  mass  of  aircraft 
upon  the  plain  itself.  They  were  everywhere, 
scattered  over  the  ground  like  currants  upon 
a  green  carpet.  There  were  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  them,  and  each  minute,  each 
second  almost,  their  numbers  grew  as  those 
in  front  of  me  landed  and  taxied  to  a  stand- 
still. 

"Quickly  we  lost  height,  and  soon  I  saw 
that  the  ones  just  in  front  of  me  were  lower- 
ing their  wheels  and  preparing  to  land.  The 
Domier  next  but  one  to  me  leveled  off  and 
touched  dowm.  Then  the  old  Swordfish.  The 
pilot  turned  a  little  to  the  left  out  of  the  way 
of  the  Domier  and  landed  beside  him.  I 
turned  to  the  left  of  the  Swordfish  and  lev- 


PROVERBS 

It  is  in  his  own  interest  the 
cat  purrs.  —IRISH. 

The  man  who  wants  to  do 
something  finds  a  way,  the 
other  finds  an  excuse. 

There  are  no  faults  in  a 
thing  we  want  badly. 


eled  off.  I  looked  out  of  the  cockpit  at  the 
ground,  judging  the  height,  and  I  saw  the 
green  of  the  ground  blurred  as  it  rushed  past 
me  and  below  me. 

"I  waited  for  my  aircraft  to  sink  and  to 
touch  dowTi.  It  seemed  to  take  a  long  time. 
'Come  on,'  I  said,  'come  on,  come  on,'  as  I 
sat  there  looking  out  of  the  cockpit  watching 
the  green  of  the  ground  as  it  rushed  by.  I  was 
only  about  six  feet  up,  but  still  she  would 
not  sink.  'Get  down,'  I  shouted.  'Please 
gel  down.'  I  began  to  panic.  I  became 
frightened.  Suddenly  I  noticed  that  I  was 
gaining  speed.  I  cut  all  the  switches,  but  it 
made  no  difference.  The  aircraft  was  gather- 
ing speed,  going  faster  and  faster,  and  I 
looked  around  and  saw  be- 

hind  me  the  long  proces- 
sion of  aircraft  dropping 
dowTi  out  of  the  sky  and 
sweeping  in  to  land;  I  saw 
the  mass  of  machines  upon 
the  ground,  scattered  far 
across  the  plain,  and  away 
on  one  side  I  saw  the  light, 
that  shining  white  light 
which  shone  so  brightly 
over  the  great  plain,  and 

to  which  I  longed  to  go. 

I  know  that  had  I  been 

able  to  land,  I  would  have  started  to  run 
toward  that  light  the  moment  that  I  got  out 
of  my  aircraft. 

"And  now  I  was  flying  away  from  it.  The 
fear  grew,  and  as  I  flew  faster  and  farther 
away,  it  took  hold  of  me  imtil  soon  I  was 
fighting-crazy  mad,  pulling  at  the  stick, 
wrestling  with  the  airplane,  trying  to  turn  it 
around,  back  toward  the  light.  When  I  saw- 
that  it  was  impossible,  I  tried  to  kill  myself. 
I  really  wanted  to  kill  myself  then.  I  tried 
to  dive  the  aircraft  into  the  ground,  but  it 
flew  on  straight.  I  tried  to  jump  out  of 
the  cockpit,  but  there  was  a  hand  upon 
my  shoulder  which  held  me  down.  I  tried 
to  bang  my  head  against  the  sides  of  the 
cockpit,  but  it  made  no  difference,  and  I  sat 
there  fighting  with  my  machine  and  with 


heer  as  gossamer  yet  long 
wearing  —  lovely,  and  full- 
fashioned  to  fit  perfectly  — 
that's  Berkshire  Stockings. 
Be  style-wise  and  smart  — 
always  ask  for  Berkshire 
Stockings. 


.V^liire  / 


e« 


BERKSHIRE    KNITTING    MILLS   •    READING,   PENNA 


She's  chosen  this  Mexican-inspired  dirndl  in  sultry, 
muted  shades  of  rayon  jersey,  by  Samuel  Chapman 


Jin'^-^^^ 


The  minute  her  husband  wires  the 
■word,  Peggy  Shields  is  off  acr^s 
the  continent.  Then  it's  south  of  the 
border  for  a  postponed  honeymoon. 

"He  has  built  up  a  dream-girl... 
I  can't  disappoint  him!'  says  Mrs. 
Shields.  '"So  I've  taken  the  DuBarry 
Success  Course. ..and  discovered  a 
plan  for  the  professional  care  of  my 
skin  with  DuBarry  Beauty  Prepa- 
rations. It  has  done  such  wonders 
for  me,  I'm  following  it  for  life!' 

More  than  175.000  women  have 
used  DuBarry  Beauty  Preparations 


exrlusivelv  in  this  famous  Course. 
Like  -Mrs.  Shields,  they  know  that 
DuBarry  Preparations  contain  no 
ingredients  known  to  cause  com- 
mon skin  allergies. ..know  that  they 
are  co-related  to  work  together  for 
greater  effectiveness. ..know  why 
they  are  accepted  for  advertising  in 
publications  of  the  American  Med- 
ical Association. 

Wouldnt  you  like  to  see  uhat 
DuBarry  Beauty  Preparations  can 
do  for  you?  Then  ask  at  any  good 
cosmetic  counter  for  the  DuBarry 
Success-0-Plan, 


Du  BARRY 

THE  BEAUTY  PREPARATIONS 
OF  THE  SUCCESS  SCHOOL 

BY 


116 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


our  foundation  need  be  no  heavier  than  a  cobweb  . . . 
soft  as  a  cloud,  if  it's  designed  by  Gossard.  The  photograph  is  proof 
that  smooth  control  is  a  matter  of  deft  cut,  rather  than  heavy  restraint. 


C^ 


Gossard 


JLi^ 


e^zc 


THE    H.   W.   GOSSARD   CO.,   Chicago,  New  York, 
San  Francisco,  Dallas,  Atlanta,  Toronto,  Melbourne,  Sydney,  Buenos  Aires 

%\\\    MORE    WAR    %OHDS    AND    SAV/N6S    STAMPS 


everything,  until  suddenly  I  noticed  that  I 
was  in  cloud.  I  was  in  the  same  thick  white 
cloud  as  before;  and  I  seemed  to  be  climb- 
ing. I  looked  behind  me,  but  the  cloud  had 
closed  in  all  around,  and  there  was  nothing 
now  but  this  vast  impenetrable  whiteness.  I 
began  to  feel  sick  and  giddy.  I  did  not  care 
any  longer  what  happened,  one  way  or  the 
other,  I  just  sat  there  limply,  letting  the  ma- 
chine fly  on  by  itself. 

"It  seemed  a  long  time,  and  I  am  sure 
that  I  sat  there  for  many  hours.  I  must  have 
gone  to  sleep.  As  I  slept,  I  dreamed.  I 
dreamed  not  of  the  things  that  I  had  just 
seen,  but  of  the  things 
of  my  ordinary  life, 
of  the  squadron,  of 
Nikki,  and  of  the  air- 
drome here  at  Haifa. 
I  dreamed  that  I  was 
sitting  at  readiness 
outside  the  hangar 
with  two  others,  that 
a  request  came  from 
the  Navy  for  some- 
one to  do  a  quick 
r^cco  over  Beyrouth; 
and  because  I  was  first 
up,  I  jumped  into  my 
Hurricane  and  went 
off.  I  dreamed  that 
I  passed  over  Tyre 
and  Sidon  and  over 

the  Damour  River,  climbing  up  to  twenty 
thousand  as  I  went.  Then  I  turned  inland 
over  the  Lebanon  hills,  swung  around  and 
approached  Beyrouth  from  the  east.  I  was 
above  the  town,  peering  over  the  side  of 
the  cockpit,  looking  for  the  harbor  and  try- 
ing to  find  the  two  French  destroyers.  Soon 
I  saw  them,  saw  them  clearly,  tied  up  close 
alongside  each  other  by  the  wharf,  and  I 
banked  around  and  dived  for  home  as  fast  as 
I  could. 

""The  Navy's  wrong,'  I  thought  to  my- 
self as  I  flew  back.  'The  destroyers  are  still 
in  the  harbor.'  I  looked  at  my  watch.  'I've 
been  quick,'  I  said.    'They'll  be  pleased.'    I 


If  Your  Copy  is  Late 

Because  of  the  uncertainties 
of  wartime  transportation, 
many  periodicals  will  frequently 
be  late  arriving  at  destination. 
If  your  Journal  or  Reference 
Library  order  does  not  reach  you 
on  time,  please  do  not  write 
complaining  of  delay.  The  delay 
is  caused  by  conditions  arising 
after  your  copy  or  order  has  left 
Philadelphia. 


tried  to  call  up  on  the  radio  to  give  the  in- 
formation, but  I  couldn't  get  through. 

"Then  I  came  back  here,  and  when  I 
landed  you  all  crowded  around  me  and 
asked  me  where  I  had  been  for  two  da^'s,  but 
I  could  remember  nothing. 

"  I  did  not  remember  anything  except  the 
flight  to  Beyrouth  until  just  now,  when  I 
saw  Paddy  being  shot  down.  As  his  ma- 
chine hit  the  ground  I  found  myself  say- 
ing, 'You  lucky  man.  You  lucky,  lucky 
man,'  and  as  I  said  it  I  knew  why  I  was 
saying  it  and  remembered  everything.  That 
was  when  I  shouted  to  you  over  the  radio." 
Fin  had  finished. 
No  one  had  moved 
or  said  anything  all 
the  while  that  he  had 
been  talking,  and  now 
it  was  only  Tinker 
who  spoke.  He  shuf- 
fled his  feet  on  the 
floor,  turned  and 
looked  out  the 
window  and  said 
quietly,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  "Well,  I'll  be 
damned,"  and  the  rest 
of  us  went  slowly  back 
to  the  business  of  tak- 
ing off  our  flying 
clothing  and  stack- 
ing it  in  the  comer  of 
the  room  on  the  floor;  all  except  the  Stag, 
square  short  Stag,  who  stood  there  watch- 
ing Fin  as  Fin  walked  slowly  across  the 
room  to  put  away  his  clothing. 

After  Fin's  story,  the  squadron  returned 
to  normal.  The  tension  which  had  been  with 
us  for  over  a  week  disappeared,  and  the  air- 
drome was  a  happier  place  in  which  to  be. 
But  no  one  ever  mentioned  Fin's  journey. 
We  never  once  spoke  about  it  together,  not 
even  when  we  got  drunk  in  the  evenings  at 
the  Excelsior  in  Haifa. 

The  Syrian  campaign  was  coming  to  an 
end.  Everyone  could  see  that  it  must  finish 
soon,  although  the  Vichy  people  were  still 


EVEN  MORE  TANTALIZING! 


The  "Secret  Beauty  Weapon" 

Of  So  Many  Of  The 

Loveliest  Actresses  and  Socialites! 

You  may  think  your  lips  attractive  now 
but  wait  until  you  see  the  ravishing  new 
beauty  Louis  Philippe  angelus  Lipstick 
brings  them!  Tiien  watch  vour  lips  capture 
"him" — your  kisses  set  his  heart  on  fire. 

For  years  many  of  the  world's  most 
beautiful  women  have  used  angelus  and 
they'll  use  no  other  lipstick.  Because  they 
discovered  only  angelus  can  give  their 
lovely  lips  even  more  enchanting  lip-allure. 

This  is  due  to  angelus  special  creamy 
base,  its  evenly  balanced  texture  (not  too 
hard,  not  too  soft,  but  "just  right"),  its 
famous  "stay -put"  qualities.  And  of  course 
its  always  divinely  flattering,  up-to-the- 
minute  fashion  shades.  For  a  real  beauty- 
thrill  buy  angelus  today.  Attractively 
priced  at  49$;.  De  luxe  size  19^.  {plus  tax) 
All  cosmetic  counters. 


For  Beauty's  Sake — Use  Coniplclc  Line  of  ANGELUS  Products 


THE  HOUSE  OF 


ANCEIUS  LIPSTICK  — ROUGE— FACE  POUDRE—CREMES  — MAKE-UP 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


117 


ighting  fiercely  south  of  Beyrouth.  We 
vera  still  flying.  We  were  flying  a  great  deal 
n-er  the  fleet,  who  were  bombarding  the 
:oast,  and  we  had  the  job  of  protecting  them 
rem  the  Junker  88's  which  came  over  from 
Rhodes.  It  was  on  the  last  one  of  these 
lights  over  the  fleet  that  Fin  was  killed. 

We  were  flying  high  above  the  ships  when 
he  J u  88's  came  over  in  force  and  there  was 
I  battle.  We  had  only  six  Hurricanes  in  the 
lir:  there  were  many  of  the  Junkers,  and  it 
vas  a  good  fight.  I  do  not  remember  much 
ibout  what  went  on  at  the  time,  because  one 
lever  does,  but  I  remember  that  it  was  a  hec- 
ic,  chasing  fight,  with  the  Junkers  diving 
or  the  ships,  with  the  ships  barking  at  them, 
hrowing  up  everything  into  the  air,  so  that 
he  sky  was  full  of  white  flowers  which  blos- 
omed  quickly  and  grew  and  blew  away  with 
he  wind.  I  remember  the  German  who  blew 
ip  in  mid-air,  quickly,  with  just  a  white 
lash,  so  that  where  the  bomber  had  been 
here  was  nothing  left  except  tiny  little 
iieces  falling  slowly  downward.  I  remember 
he  one  that  had  its  rear  turret  shot  away, 
nd  how  it  flew  along  with  the  gunner  hang- 
ng  out  of  the  tail  by  his  straps,  struggling  to 
et  back  into  the  machine.  I  remember  one, 
brave  one  who  stayed  up  above  to  fight  us 
.hilst  the  others  went  down  to  dive-bomb, 
remember  that  we  shot  him  up  and  I  re- 


member seeing  him  turn  slowly  over  onto 
his  back,  pale-green  belly  upward  like  a  dead 
fish,  before  finally  he  spun  down.  And  I  re- 
member Fin.  I  was  close  to  him  when  his 
aircraft  caught  fire,  and  I  could  see  the 
flames  coming  out  of  the  nose  of  his  machine 
and  dancing  over  the  engine  cowling.  There 
was  black  smoke  coming  from  the  exhaust. 

I  flew  up  close,  and  I  called  to  him  over 
the  R.T.  "Hello,  Fin,"  I  called,  "you'd  bet- 
ter jump." 

His  voice  came  back,  calm  and  slow.  "  It's 
not  so  easy." 

"Jump,"  I  shouted,  "jump  quickly." 

I  could  see  him  sitting  there  under  the 
glass  roof  of  the  cockpit,  and  he  looked  to- 
ward me  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  not  so  easy,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  a  bit 
shot  up.  My  arms  are  shot  up,  and  I  can't 
undo  the  straps." 

"Get  out,"  I  shouted.  "For  God's  sake, 
get  out,"  but  he  did  not  answer. 

For  a  moment  his  aircraft  flew  on,  straight 
and  level,  then  gently,  like  a  dying  eagle,  it 
dipped  a  wing  and  dived  toward  the  sea.  I 
watched  it  as  it  went;  I  watched  the  thin 
trail  of  black  smoke  which  it  made  across  the 
sky  and,  as  I  watched,  Fin's  voice  came 
again  over  the  radio,  clear  and  slow. 

"I'm  a  lucky  man,"  he  said.  "A  lucky, 
lucky  man." 


WE  HAVE  LOST  OUR  GRIP  OX  EDUCATIOIV 

(Continued  from  Page  27) 


rorld  is  full  of  admirable  machinery,  from 
he  League  of  Nations  downward,  which  is 
iseless  because  there  is  not  the  idealism  or 
he  inspiration  to  move  it.  Ideals  will  create 
machinery;  machinery  without  ideals  rusts 
ito  decay. 

The  P.H.S.  has  achieved  the  task  of  edu- 
ating  a  nation.  Can  we  use  its  methods  to 
olve  our  problem?  There  is  no  difficulty  in 
arning  a  lesson  from  two  of  its  featufes: 
m,  too,  could  base  national  education  not 


on  adolescent,  but  on  adult,  study;  we,  too, 
could  make  it  a  spiritual  force,  awakening 
and  inspiring. 

When  compulsory  military  service  was  in- 
troduced before  the  war,  men  had  to  leave 
their  employment  to  perform  it;  a  sacrifice 
actually  made  for  military  needs  could  also 
be  made  for  other  purposes,  if  we  came  to 
believe  that  education  was  no  less  important 
than  readiness  for  war. 

(Continued  on  Page  119) 


O'OOHfMY 

//A/\fD$ 

ARESOSORB 


HERE'S  SOOTHING  RELIEF     W^^ 


f  your  hands  get  so  red  and  chapped  that 
ley  actually  feel  sore,  take  a  tip  from 
urses!  Get  a  jar  of  the  Medicated  Skin 
Iream,  Nox2enia,  and  see  how  quickly  it 
rings  soothing,  grateful  relief. 
Noxzema  is  so  eflfective  because  it's  a 
ledicated  formula.  It  not  only  relieves 
the  stinging  sore- 
ness, but  helps  heal 
the  tiny  cracks. 
Actual  tests  with 
Noxzema  show  it 


helps  heal  chapped 
hands  faster — definite 
improvement  often  be- 
ing sho'wn  overnight! 
Surveys  reveal  that  scores  of  nurses  (who 
have  trouble  with  their  hands  from  fre- 
quent washings)  use  Noxzema  and  recom- 
mend it  to  their  patients. 

Noxzema  is  greaseless,  non-sticky.  Get  a 
jar  at  any  drug  counter  today  and  see  how 
quickly  it  helps  heal  >o«r  chapped  hands! 
10«i,  25(5,  50(f  and  $1  (plus  tax). 


NOXZEMA 


bring  out /^j^y^/ sparkling 
beauty  in  their  hair 


John  Robert  Powers* 

Advice  To  His 

"Million  Dollar"  Models 


Miss  Exilona  Savre— whose  lustrous,  shining 
locks  are  so  typical  of  Powers  AloJels  who 
wash  their  hair  with  Kreml  Shampoo 


Leave's  Hair  Silken-Soft 

With  Glossy  Brilliance 

That  Lasts  For  Days 

So  exquisitely  lovely  are  Powers 
Models  that  one  of  the  foremost 
illustrators  in  this  country  called  them 
"long  stemmed  American  Beauties." 

And  how   smart   these  stunning 
Powers  Girls  are  to  have  discovered 
the  remarkably  beautifying  action  of 
Kreml  Shampoo! 
Thoroughly  Cleanses  Hair  and 
Scalp  of  Loose  Dandruff 
Kreml   Shampoo   washes   hair   and 
scalp  "spanking  clean."  It  thoroughly 
washes  out  dirt  and  loose  dandruff 
and  leaves  hair  so  much  softer,  easier 
to  set— just  gleaming  with  natural 
brilliant  highlights  and  glossy  lustre. 

Kreml    Shampoo    actually    "un- 
locks" the  natural  sparkling  beauty 


John  Robert  Powers  is  one  of  the 
greatest  authorities  on  feminine 
beauty  in  America.  And  to  every 
Powers  Model  he  says:  "Use  only 
Kreml  Shampoo  if  you  want  your 
hair  to  be  naturally  silken-soft, 
easier  to  set  and  aglow  with  its 
own    brilliant   highlights." 


that  lies  concealed  in  your  and 
every  girl's  hair. 

There  are  no  harsh  caustics  or 
chemicals  in  Kreml  Shampoo.  Instead 
it's  a  ?n}ld.  gentle  Shampoo  with  a 
beneficial  oil  base  which  helps  keep 
hair  from  becoming  dry  or  brittle.  It 
rinses  out  like  a  breeze  and  never 
leaves  any  excess  dull,  soapy  film. 

Also  excellent  for  shampooing 
children's  hair. 


Buy  the  large  FAMILY  SIZE— lei  your  whole  family  enjoy  Ihe  benefits  of: 

Krefnl SHAMPOO 

FOR  SILKEN-SHEEN  HAIR -EASIER  TO  ARRANGE      (coodZ^k'opV 

MADE   BY   THE   MAKERS   OF  THE    FAMOUS    KREML    HAIR   TONIC  " 


118 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1^45 


MEDICAL  SCHOOLTESTS  PROVE 

LYSOL  KILLS  FLU  "BUG" 


go!  Help  protect  your  family  against  the  danger  of 
infected  house  dust.  Clean  with  Lysol  disinfectant. 
Get  Lysol  at  any  druggist's — today! 


^ 


In  the  laboratory  of  a  famous  medical  school  these 
startling  facts  liave  been  revealed: 

Influenza  virus  can  dry  out  in  house  dust 
and  live  to  cause  infection  6  weeks  later. 

Lysol  disinfectant  quickly  kills  the  influenza 
virus  on  contact ! 

What  a  comfort  to  knotc  that  every  time  you  clean 
with  Lysol  you're  helping  to  reduce  the  risk  of  in- 
fluenza from  infected  dust. 


infected  person  sneezes,  the  flu  virus  can  be  scat- 
tered as  far  away  as  12  feet.  It  can  continue  to  live 
on  the  floors,  woodwork,  furniture  for  weeks  and 
still  infect  your  family  with  flu  when  stirred  up  with 
house  dust. 

So  take  this  precaution:    Add  2Vz  tablespoons  of 
Lysol  to  each  gallon  of  cleaning  water.    You'll  find 


MAKE  THIS  TEST 


See  how  much  less  "elbow  grease"  cleaning 
takes  when  you  add  2'/2  tablespoons  of  Lysol 
to  each  gallon  of  water  before  you  begin! 


Try  it  on: 


Sinks,  tubs,  toilets 
Woodwork,  doorknobs,  rails 
Closets  and  shelves 
Nursery  and  sickrooms 
Bathroom,  kitchen  floors 
Garbage  pail 


DISINFECT— DEODORIZE— CLEAN  WITH 


In  the  flu  season  it's  especially  important  to  clean 
with   Lysol  throughout  the  house.   Anywhere  an 


cleaning's  far  easier,  too.  Because  Lysol  itself  is 
"soapy".  Clean  with  it  wherever  dust  collects  ...  in 
the  bathroom,  kitchen,  cellar — on  floors,  wooJwork, 
handrails.  You  see  the  dirt  go — you  know  the  germs 


*  The  "hug"  which  causes  flu  is  a  virus  {an  organism  much  smaller 
even  than  a  germ),  visible  only  under  the  new  electronic  microscope. 


i 


For  FREE  Booklet  on 
family  health  protec- 
tion, send  postcard  or 
letter  to  Dept.  G-A^, 
Lehn&Fink,683Fitth 
Avenue,  New  York 
City  22,  N.  Y. 


ODpyrlffbt  1946,  by  LahD  &  ¥\Dk  ProdocU  Corp. 


NEEDED  URGENTLY:  Army  Nurses,  Cadets,  Aides,  Volunteers  for  Home  Nursing  Courses.  Vou  can  help! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


119 


(Continued  from  Page  117) 

Education.  But  what  education?  The 
question  might  have  been  easier  to  answer  in 
the  age  of  a  restricted  curriculum  than  to- 
day, when  art,  folk  dancing,  choral  singing, 
drama,  handicrafts,  health  subjects  and 
much  more  have  taken  their  place  with  the 
older  studies.  Education  is  like  a  restaurant 
which  used  to  offer  a  few  old-fashioned  dishes 
and  now  has  a  menu  covering  several  pages. 
There  are  advantages  in  this.  But  there  is  a 
:ertain  risk.  For  the  bill  of  fare  in  these 
restaurants  of  education  is  not  divided  into 
any  categories  or  courses.  Soup,  fish,  en- 
trees, joints,  sweets,  dessert  are  flung  to- 
gether in  indiscriminate  disorder;  the  customer 
selects,  but  there  is  nothing  to  guide  his 
selection,  nor  any  suggestion  that  in  educa- 
tion, too,  there  are  such  things  as  food  values 
ind  order  in  a  meal. 

Perhaps  this  is  an  unfair  description  of 
education,  but  most  people  who  have  taught 
5r  learned  will  know  what  I  mean  by  de- 
scribing it  as  a  maze  without  a  clue.  Yet 
there  are  clues  to  the  maze.  One  clue  is  the 
)ld  conception  of  a  liberal  education. 

In  itself,  "liberal  education"  is  an  odd 
phrase.  What  has  the  adjective  "liberal"  to 
io  with  education?  To  answer  that  ques- 
tion, we  must  go  back  to  the  Greek  world 
.vhere  the  great  distinction  was  between  free 
Tien  and  slaves,  and  a  liberal  education  was 
l:he  education  fitted  to  a  free  citizen. 

Of  slaves  the  Greeks  took  little  account. 
But  they  held  that  the  free  man,  the  com- 
Dlete  man,  must  be  something  more  than  a 
nere  breadwinner,  and  must  have  something 
Desides  the  knowledge  necessary  to  earn  his 
iving.  He  must  have,  also,  the  education 
Afhich  will  give  him  the 

;hance   of  developing       

:he  gifts  and  faculties 
Df  human  nature  and 
Decoming  a  full  human 
being.  That  was  the 
•neaning  of  a  liberal 
education,  and  that  is 
ts  aim— the  making 
')f  men;  and  clearly  it 
^  s  different  from  a  tech- 
;iical  education  which 
.jimply  enables  us  to 
iarn  our  bread. 

And  what  is  a  com- 
Dlete  human  being? 
'Vgain  I  shall  take  the 

jreek  answer  to  this       '■ 

question.  Human  be- 
ngs  have  bodies,  minds  and  characters. 
Each  of  these  is  capable  of  what  the  Greeks 
ailed  "virtue"  or  what  we  might  call  "ex- 
;ellence."  The  virtue  or  excellence  of  the 
Dody  is  health  and  fitness  and  strength,  the 
.irm  and  sensitive  hand,  the  clear  eye;  the 
ixcellence  of  the  mind  is  to  know  and  to 
anderstand  and  to  think,  to  have  some 
idea  of  what  the  world  is  and  of  what  man 
las  done  and  has  been  and  can  be;  the 
excellence  of  the  character  lies  in  the  great 
irirtues.  This  trinity  of  body,  mind  and 
zharacter  is  man:  man's  aim,  besides  earning 
lis  living,  is  to  make  the  most  of  all  three, 
to  have  as  good  a  mind,  body  and  character 
is  possible;  and  a  liberal  education,  a  free 
Tian's  education,  is  to  help  him  to  this. 

Ihis  is  not  to  despise  technical  education, 
which  is  essential.  But  they  are  not  to  be 
»nfused.  They  are  both  important,  but  they 
ire  different.  And  yet  to  some  extent  they 
werlap.  Take  French.  A  man  may  study  it 
.n  order  to  be  able  to  order  his  meals  in  a 
French  restaurant,  or  for  business  purposes; 
■Jien  it  is  technical  education.  But  he  may 
study  French  to  extend  his  knowledge  of  the 
houghts  and  history  and  civilization  of  a 
jreat  people;  then  it  is  liberal  education.  Or 
-Jake,  carpentering:  its  study  may  be  a  means 
;o  a  living;  then  it  is  technical  education. 
But  it  may  also  give  a  clearer  eye,  a  finer 
'sense  of  touch,  a  more  deft  hand,  and  in  so 
'ar  make  a  better  human  being;  then  car- 
3entering  is  liberal  education.  In  fact,  as 
\ristotle  remarked,  "in  education  it  makes 
ill  the  difference  why  a  man  does  or  learns 
my  thing;  if  he  studies  it  for  the  sake  of  his 
>wn  development  or  with  a  view  to  excel- 
ence  it  is  liberal." 


TE<$T  FOR  CHILDREIV 

^  Here  are  a  few  of  the  outstanding 
^  things  which  Dr.  Lewis  M.  Ter- 
man,  noted  authority,  says  parents 
should  look  for  in  children  to  deter- 
mine whether  they  are  gifted  with 
unusual  intelligence:  marked  desire 
for  knowledge,  retentive  memory, 
rapid  progress  at  school,  great  range 
of  general  information,  early  speech, 
asking  intelligent  questions,  keen 
observation,  unusual  vocabulary, 
expressive  reading,  good  ear  for 
music,  quick  with  figures,  liking  to 
copy  pictures,  repairing  things. 


This  is  the  kind  of  education  (without 
prejudice  to  others)  which  we  want — that 
people  should  study  "for  the  sake  of  their 
own  development  or  with  a  view  to  excel- 
lence," so  that  they  may  become  human 
beings  in  the  Greek  meaning  of  the  words. 
If  so,  we  have  a  clue  to  the  maze  of  educa- 
tion, a  guide  to  choosing  dishes  from  the 
educational  menu.  Whatever  else  we  select 
to  meet  our  personal  tastes  or  needs,  the 
dinner  must  include  the  vitamins  necessary 
to  human  health,  so  that  we  achieve  that 
liberal  education  which  makes  men  fully  de- 
veloped, within  the  range  of  their  individual 
capacities,  in  body,  character  and  mind. 

Intellectual  study  has  two  sides.  There  is 
the  advancement  of  knowledge  and  the  as- 
certainment of  truth,  mostly  a  matter  of 
minute  investigation,  whose  results  fill  scien- 
tific journals  and  learned  literature.  But 
there  is  another  side  to  study,  equally  hon- 
orable and  at  least  as  important.  Knowledge 
once  found,  it  remains  to  use  it.  Education 
is  a  handmaid  of  the  art  of  living,  and  to 
conceive  it  otherwise  is  to  reduce  it  to  a  mere 
activity  of  the  intelligence.  We  proceed  from 
pure  science  to  science  applied  in  the  service 
of  man,  from  pure  history  and  literature  to 
their  use  as  repositories  of  wisdom  and  guides 
to  life.  English  literature  is  the  contents  of 
innumerable  books.  But  it  is  also  the  record 
of  visions  of  life  seen  by  men  with  rare  pow- 
ers of  sight  and  expression,  from  whose  ex- 
perience we  can  learn;  as  we  can  also  learn 
from  that  record  of  human  success  and  fail- 
ure which  is  called  history. 

This  view  of  history  as  a  help  to  life  has  a 
respectable  ancestry.  "Now  all  these  things," 
says  St.  Paul,  speaking 
of  events  of  Jewish  his- 
tory, "happened  unto 
them  for  examples ;  and 
they  were  written  for 
our  admonition,  upon 
whom  the  ends  of  the 
agesarecome."  So,  sim- 
ply and  almost  crudely, 
the  apostle  describes 
the  uses  of  history.  And 
in  this  spirit  the  Old 
Testament  was  written. 
Hence  it  was,  and  is, 
as  fascinating  to  the 
child  as  to  the  adult, 
to  the  uneducated  and 

even  the   illiterate  as 

to  the  scholar.  Its 
writers  knew  one  side  of  history,  the  art  of 
telling  a  story,  and  the  mere  narrative  at- 
tracts any  reader — the  deaths  of  Jezebel  and 
Ahab,  the  wanderings  of  the  patriarchs.  But 
the  Bible  is  a  philosophy  of  history,  as  well 
as  a  collection  of  stories,  and  in  general,  if 
not  in  detail,  it  is  the  best  philosophy  yet 
written  for  the  ordinary  man.  It  is  signifi- 
cant that  no  history  has  ever  entered  so 
deeply  into  the  common  mind  or  affected 
human  conduct  so  strongly  as  the  history  of 
the  Jewish  people,  as  conceived  and  written 
by  the  writers  of  the  Bible. 

Unless  they  are  taught  from  this  aspect, 
history  and  literature  will  never  reach  the 
masses.  The  most  brilliant  teacher  is  not 
likely  to  interest  them  in  Alexander's  use  of 
cavalry  or  even  his  administrative  methods 
in  Persia.  But  all  human  beings  are  inter- 
ested in  the  problem  of  how  to  live,  and  his- 
tory will  have  a  meaning  for  the  ordinary 
man  if  he  sees  in  it  the  faces  of  human  beings 
engaged  in  the  common  struggle  of  humanity 
toward  better  things. 

The  same  is  true  of  literature  and  of  its 
fine  flower,  poetry.  Recently,  at  a  London 
settlement,  lectures  were  given  on  twentieth- 
century  poetry  by  a  well-qualified  university 
graduate.  They  were  good  lectures  in  them- 
selves, but  the  hearers  dwindled  and  the  un- 
suitability  of  poetry  for  the  particular  alidi- 
ence  was  apparently  demonstrated.  Then  a 
workingman,  with  none  of  the  qualifications 
of  the  lecturer  but  with  a  gift  for  reading 
poetry,  tried  the  experiment  of  reading  it, 
without  comment,  to  the  same  audience. 
And,  so  long  as  he  read,  poetry  reading  re- 
mained a  popular  entertainment  in  that  set- 
tlement. The  story  is  instructive.  The  ordi- 
nary man  is  not  primarily  interested  in 


o^  c^  -^ee^nzy  ^n^ 


Is  it  peaceful . . .  radiant . . .  that  future  world  you  seem  to 
see  so  clearly  with  your  bright  child  eyes? 
THINK  OF  YOU  IN  THAT  WORLD  working  with  Strong  hands... 

a  tall,  well-made  man,  your  shoulders  comfortably  ample. 
How  can  I  realize  my  dream  for  you?  By  finding  a  practical  means  of 
building  toward  that  future  . . .  This  I  promise  to  do ! 

A  CRITICAL  FACTOR,  THE  KEY— Give  your  baby  the  help  he  must 
have  to  build  a  well-skaped  head,  a  fine,  full  chest,  a  strong  back  and 
straight  legs  by  providing  plenty  of  Vitamin  D  every  day.  With  the 
help  of  this  critical  factor  your  baby  can  transform  valuable  food 
minerals  into  a  sound,  strong  framework.  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil  is 
a  rich,  dependable  source  of  Vitamin  D ;  also  of  Vitamin  A.  Start 
your  baby  on  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil  today! 


How  tall  will  your  baby  grow? 

Boys  of  today  tend  to  be  23^  inches 
taller  on  the  average  than  boys  of  20 
years  ago.  Given  plenty  of  Vitamin  D 
and  the  right  food,  they  may  make 
even  greater  gains.  Be  sure  your  baby 
gets  the  Vitamin  D  he  needs  now  to 
reach  his  full  height.  Give  Squibb's! 


67.5" 


19ilil6 


194(36 


19  A56 


Squibb  e^^  ^^j^s^  o// 


eO/TZ'  t7'-CC<6.i' 


120 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


.  •  I'm  cortiiiiily  K^nd  I'm  sclliiif;  War  Bonds  in  this  latest  drive.  It's  made  me 
feel  lliat  I'm  really  helj)inf(  our  fif^liling  men  — and  it's  wonderful  lo  find  people 
so  willing  lo  ])uL  an  extra  investment  into  this  urgent  eausc. 


I  make  several  ealls  each  day.  The  other 
day  I  called  on  Marie,  an  old  friend,  only  to 
arrive  in  the  midst  of  a  dispute.  She  and  her 
mother  were  arguing  about  Marie's  baby. 


3.  "Whal's  111.  I,  ,  ;,  I  asked.  Marie 
sighed,  "Mother  says  I'm  spoiling  the  baby, 
because  I  have  so  many  s|)ecial  things  for 
iiim  . .  .  even  a  special  laxative!" 


4»  "Naturally!"  I  said.  "A  child's  system 
needs  special  care.  INIy  nurse  sister  always 
gives  gentle,  effective  Fletcher's  Castoria — 
the  laxative  made  especially  for  children." 


When  I  stopped  in  yesterday,  I  fovmd 
Marie  giving  her  baby  Fletcher's  Castoria. 
And  Marie's  mother  said,  "I've  thought  it 
over.  You  girls  are  right .  . .  100  per  cent!" 


Look  for  these  features  on  the  new  Fletcher's 
Castoria  package: 

1 .  The  green  band  aroimd  each  package  identi- 
fies the  new  stocks  of  Fletcher's  Castoria. 

2.  Tlie  Serial  Control  Number  is  visible  through 
a  "window"  in  the  package.  It  verifies  the  three 
different  kinds  of  rigid  tests  — chemical,  bacte- 
riological, and  biological  — made  on  each  batch 
,of  Fletcher's  Castoria. 


Always  take  a  laxative  only  as  directed  on  the  package  or  by  your  physician. 

cLmh^mh  castoria 

The  laxative  made  especially  for  children 


literary  criticism ;  but  he  may  be  interested  in 
poetry — that  is,  in  what  interested  the  poet. 
The  academic  approach  to  poetry  is  a  stony 
and  repellent  road  for  the  man  in  the  street. 

Yet  interest  in  literature  is  clearly  natural 
and  universal.  Children — quite  young  ones — 
read.  If  you  ask  them  why  they  like  reading, 
you  will  get  no  satisfactory  answer.  But  the 
answer  is  that  a  child  lives  in  a  little  world: 
little  in  space — a  certain  house,  in  a  certain 
part  of  a  tovm;  a  world  thinly  populated  by 
parents,  brothers,  sisters,  a  few  grownups 
and  other  children.  Reading  enlarges  this 
world  enormously,  taking  the  child  into  a 
much  larger  world  with  a  much  larger  popu- 
lation: kings  and  queens,  princesses  and 
princes,  pirates  and  robbers  and  giants,  other 
children  and  other  grownups  and  all  their 
ways  and  lives  and  adventures.  That  is  why 
nearly  all  children  enjoy  reading. 

That  interest  does  not  cease  in  adult  life, 
otherwise  the  cinemas  would  be  empty.  And 
it  is  through  this  instinct  and  interest  that 
the  ordinary  man  can  be  drawn  on  to  poetry, 
to  other  forms  of  literature  and  to  history. 
Literature  is  a  railway  ticket,  costing  very 
little,  that  takes  men  to  every  country  in  the 
world.  Do  you  wish  to  meet  more,  and  more 
interesting,  human  beings  than  most  people 
meet  in  a  lifetime?  Take  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare  from  your  shelf.  Do  you  wish 
to  visit  the  hills  near  Sorrento?  Read 
Browning's  Englishman  in  Italy.  Or  to  see  a 
famous  view  over  the  Lombard  plain?  Read 
Shelley's  Lines  on  the  Euganean  Hills.  The 
visit  can  be  made  from  an  armchair;  and  be- 
sides seeing  Italy,  you  will  be  seeing  it  with 
the  eyes  of  a  poet.  We  are  on  a  hilltop,  with 
rooks  gathering  at  sunrise  and  flying  away 
to  their  feeding  grounds;  the  green  plain  of 
Lombardy  is  below,  and  in  the  distance  the 
sea  with  the  sun  rising  red  above  its  waves, 
and  the  domes  and  towers  of  Venice;  and  so 
the  poem  takes  us  tlirough  its  succession  of 
sights  and  moods  and  thoughts.  Nothing 
except  actual  travel  can  give  us  such  an  ex- 
perience, and  even  travel  cannot  give  it.  For 
we  should  see  the  scene  then  with  our  own 
dull  eyes.  But  reading  the  poem,  we  view  it 
through  the  eyes  of  genius  and  see  and  feel 
what  Shelley  saw  and  felt. 

Adult  education,  rightly  conceived,  might 
do  something  to  meet  the  most  serious  dan- 
ger to  our  civilization.  Fifty  years  ago 
nearly  everyone,  through  readings  from  the 
Bible,  in  prayers,  and  sometimes  in  ser- 
mons, heard  once  a  week  a  great  philosophy 
of  life  expounded.  Much  of  the  seed  fell  on 
stony  places,  much  among  thorns,  yet, 
whatever  the  defects  of  ministers  and  con- 
gregations, it  was  something  to  have  listened, 
even  with  half-shut  ears,  to  the  sacred  Book 
of  the  purest  and  greatest  of  religions,  and 
the  hearers  learned,  if  not  to  speak,  at  least 
to  understand,  a  common  language  in 
thought  and  conduct. 

UHAT  are  our  equivalents  for  the  church- 
going  of  our  fathers?  What  are  today  the 
chief  constant  influences  on  the  minds  of  the 
masses  of  the  people?  They  are  the  films 
and  the  cheap  press.  These  substitutes  for 
religion  will  not  help  us  to  recover  a  philos- 
ophy of  life,  or  teach  us  again  to  speak  a 
common  language  or  even  to  speak  intelli- 
gibly at  all.  Such  philosophies  are  not 
adequate  guides  to  life. 

I  do  not  believe  that  our  need  can  be  fully 
met  except  through  religion;  but  an  adult 
education  based  on,  or  largely  infused  with, 
history  and  literature  rightly  taught  might 
help  to  bring  some  order  into  the  spiritual 
chaos  of  today. 

So  far  I  have  been  speaking  of  adult  edu- 
cation for  the  masses.  But  there  are  other 
people  besides  the  masses.  There  is  what  is 
known  as  the  educated  class,  in  whose  hands, 
though  the  composition  of  the  class  may 
change,  the  direction  and  leadership  of  the 
country  will  always  rest.  Paradoxical  as  it 
may  sound,  they  need  adult  education  more 
than  anybody. 

Our  preseijt  theory  of  education — or  at 
any  rate,  our  practice — is  that  every  human 
being  finishes  his  systematic  education  at  a 
specific  age;  most  of  us  at  fourteen  or  fifteen, 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


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the  majority  of  the  remainder  at  seventeen 
or  eighteen,  the  rest  between  twenty-one  and 
twenty-three.  But  it  is  absurd  to  regard 
formal  education  as  ended  when  a  man  has 
been  through  school  and  university.  Who 
can  suppose  that  the  need  of  knowledge  and 
wisdom  does  not  grow  more  urgent  with  the 
passing  of  the  years  which  bring  us  to  posi- 
tions in  life  when  our  influence  on  others  is 
greatest? 

Were  we  sent  out  from  the  university 
finished  articles,  requiring  simply  to  be  sea- 
soned by  experience  of  life?  Perhaps,  if  the 
world  stood  still,  the  answer  to  the  question 
would  be  yes.  Unfortunately,  the  world  does 
not  stand  still.  By  the  time — indeed,  be- 
fore— a  man  is  forty,  the  world  of  his  twen- 
ties will  have  changed,  new  problems,  ideas, 
forces  revealed  themselves,  and  with  all 
these  he  ought  to  make  his  reckoning. 

This  is  one  of  the  great  problems  of  the 
age,  the  problem  of  how  to  keep  the  middle- 
aged  young.  It  is  an  individual  problem; 
but  it  is  much  more  than  that,  for  it  affects 
social  and  political  life  at  every  point.  For 
the  purposes  of  that  life,  the  middle-aged  are 
more  important  than  the  young:  they  occupy 
inevitably  most  of  the  key  posts  and  direct- 
ing positions  in  national  life. 

It  would  be  disastrous  if  men  were  physi- 
cally old  in  their  fifties,  as  they  used  to  be, 
but  it  is  an  even  greater  national  loss  if  most 
of  them  lose  their  intellectual  and  spiritual 
energy  by  that  age.  In  the  physical  realm 
we  have  solved  the  problem;  today  a  man  of 
si.xty  or  seventy  may  be  physically  almost 
a  young  man,  and  our  attention  needs  to  be 
given  to  the  even  more  important  question 
of  preserving  his  intellectual  vitality,  if  not 
intact,  at  any  rate  in  good  repair.  It  can 
only  be  done  in  one  way.  The  body  will  not 
remain  fit  if  its  owner  leads  a  sedentary  life; 
nor  will  the  mind. 


VIRTUE  OF  SILEIVCE 

^  I  think  the  first  virtue  is  to  re- 
^  strain  the  tongue:  he  approaches 
nearest  to  the  gods  who  knows  how 
to  be  silent,  even  though  he  is  in 
the  right.  — CATO. 


We  need  to  become  familiar  with  the  idea 
that  everyone  engaged  in  routine  or  practi- 
cal work,  especially  if  he  occupies  a  directing 
position,  needs  periods  of  systematic  study 
in  order  to  refresh  and  re-equip  and  re- 
orientate his  mind.  There  is  no  occupation 
or  profession  in  which  the  resumption  of 
systematic  education  in  later  life  would  not 
be  profitable,  and  there  are  few  human 
beings  who  would  not  greatly  profit  by  it. 

If  the  conventional  stranger  from  Mars 
arrived  in  Europe  at  this  moment — after  a 
journey  through  the  air  more  hazardous 
than  usual — he  would  not  so  much  be  sur- 
prised by  the  fact  that  a  war  is  in  progress — 
for  war,  unfortunately,  is  nothing  new — but 
he  would  be  struck  by  something  far  more 
serious:  by  the  appearance  of  a  new  philos- 
ophy of  life.  Suddenly  and  somehow  the 
whole  bottom  has  fallen  out  of  our  civiliza- 
tion, and  a  change  come  over  the  world 
which,  if  unchecked,  will  transform  it  for 
generations.  It  is  the  death,  or  deathlike 
swoon,  of  Christianity. 

If  our  Martian  had  visited  England  in 
prewar  days,  what  would  he  think  of  the  in- 
telligence and  energy  which  we  devote  to 
football  pools  and  the  like?  What  would  he 
suppose  to  be  the  view  of  life  which  created 
those  characteristic  products  of  our  era,  its 
advertisements,  films  and  cheap  press?  If  he 
noticed  how  largely  our  novels  were  pre- 
occupied with  the  sordid  aspects  of  sex  life, 
what  would  he  suppose  the  conscious  or 
unconscious  philosophy  of  the  authors  who 
wrote  and  the  public  which  tolerated  them? 

He  would  suppose  that  it  had  no  philos- 
ophy at  all;  or  at  least  that  many  of  its  in- 
habitants were  of  the  type  which  Plato  calls 
the  "democratic  man"  and  which  Ibsen 
portrayed  in  Peer  Gynt.  The  essence  of 
Plato's  "democratic  man"  is  that  he  has  no 
(Continued  on  Page  1^3) 


Take  a  blue-ribbon  bunnyl  He's  as 

soft  and  warn  and  clean  as  he  can  be. 
And  if  Vanta  bunny-soft  garments  vjere 
really  and  truly  made  from  bunny  fur, 
it  would  be  the  fur  of  blue-ribbon  bun- 
nies, you  can  be  sure.  And  this  bunny 
would  be  just  tickled  pink! 


blue  ribbon  on  a 
Dunny  and  a  DonneT 

Vanta  garments  are  bunny-soft,  and  yet  they're  as 
durable  as  can  be.  They're  as  kind  to  tender  baby- 
skins  as  science  and  patience  and  skill  and  care  can 
make  them.  'Way  back  when'  Vanta  introduced  the 
'^no  pins  — no  buttons'  theme-song  into  baby  gar- 
ments, using  famous  Vanta  twistless  tapes  instead. 
And  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  Vanta  has 
been  making  even-betfct^-for-hahy  clothes  and  win- 
ning recognition  from  baby  specialists  everywhere.     • 


>'Vv^_ 


Im/^ 


^^\M.' 


GARMENTS       "i^ 

FOR  INFAMTS  &  CHILDREN) 


Now  take  a  blue-ribbon  baby,  fl's 

a  prize-winner  because   it's   a   happy 
baby,  so  comfy  and  snug  in  Vanta-knit, 
Vanta-madc  clothes.  Vanta  babies  have 


!i::\N 


lots  of  health  and  happiness— that's 


what  makes  'cm  chuckle  and  crow. 
And  the  high  styling  of  Vanta  gar- 
ments   means  they're  the  best-dressed 
guys  and  gals  in  town. 


I  T*-*^^ 

n)^ 


''V'*^_    -N 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Tor  Young  Bundles 
f  Ener^  I 

These  shoes  will  hop,  skip  and  jump  with  the  most 
active  youngster  alive . . .  and  protect  youthful  feet 

every  step  of  the  way!  They'll  leap  over 
hedges  and  slog  through  the  mud . . .  stand  up  and 
"take  it"  and  come  back  for  more 
. . .  because  of  the  Brand  name  they  carry. 


^^f  that's  the  thing! 

because  of  important  differences  in 
construction.  But  they're  hidden  differences . . .[ 
inside  the  shoe!  Differences  you  can't  see!  So  choose 

a  Brand  you  can  trust . . .  one  with  a  long  history 
of  rugged  wear  and  lasting  comfort, 
like  Poll-Parrot  or  Star  Brand!  These 

long-wearing  shoes  keep  their  shape . . .  help 
young  feet  grow  strong  and  straight/,  .long 

after  many  others  that  "looked  good". . .  are  gone! 


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DivisioD  of  International  Shoe  Compaoy 


Poll-Parrot 


AND 


STAR  BRAND  SHOES 


I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


123 


(Continued  from  Page  121) 
ruling  principle,  no  clear  end,  no  standard 
by  which  he  approves  or  rejects  except  the 
impulse  of  the  moment;  and  his  disease  is 
that  he  does  not  know  what  goodness  is,  has 
no  real  hold  on  it,  and  so  drifts  to  and  fro. 
It  is  almost  worse  to  have  no  principle  than 
to  have  a  wrong  one.  For,  as  Ibsen  remarked, 
if  you  are  really  good  you  may  go  to  heaven, 
and  if  you  are  really  bad  you  may  go  to  hell. 
But  if  you  are  neither,  the  button  molder 
will  come  for  you  and  put  you  into  the  scrap 
heap,  to  be  melted  down  with  other  worth- 
less metal.  Or,  if  there  is  no  button  molder,  a 
Hitler  or  a  Mussolini  will  come  and  do  his 
work. 

To  treat  a  disease  one  must  diagnose  its 
causes,  and  the  diagnosis  of  our  disease  is 
not  difficult.   It  is  a  sickness  of  the  spirit. 

The  spiritual  life  of  Europe,  its  civiliza- 
tion in  the  full  and  deep  sense  of  the  word, 
comes  from  two  sources,  Greece  and  Pales- 
tine. The  share  of  the  latter  is  obvious,  but 
we  must  not  underestimate  the  former — no 
one  who  knows  the  Greek  achievements  will. 
Christianity  and  Hellenism,  these  are  the 
sole  sources  of  the  spiritual  civilization  of 
Europe. 

But  if  you  allow  the  spiritual  basis  of  a 
civilization  to  perish,  you  first  change  and 
finally  destroy  it.  Christianity  and  Hellen- 
ism are  the  spiritual  bases  of  our  civilization. 
They  are  far  less  powerful  today  than  fifty 
years  ago.  Therefore,  we  are  losing  that 
spiritual  basis,  and  our  civilization  is  chang- 
ing and  on  the  way  to  destruction  unless  we 
can  reverse  the  process. 

What  is  to  be  done?  What  practical  steps 
can  we  take?  My  first  suggestion  is  that  we 
should  co-ordinate  our  chaos  of  subjects. 
But,  how  co-ordinate  it?  What  common 
element  connects  the  miscellaneous  elements 
in  a  curriculum — mathematics,  geography, 
French,  history,  science;  have  they  any  link 
except  that  they  are  supposed  to  be  items  in 
the  mental  equipment  of  an  educated  per- 
son? It  is  a  difficult  problem,  and  yet  these 


and  all  studies  fall  naturally  into  two  great 
categories — they  deal  either  with  means  or 
with  ends. 

This  suggestion  will  sound  unintelligible, 
but  it  is  all  in  the  opening  of  Aristotle's 
Ethics,  where  he  points  out  that  our  actions 
aim  at  an  end,  and  are  means  to  achieving 
it:  we  cook  food  in  order  to  eat,  we  build 
ships  in  order  to  sail  in  them,  we  study  medi- 
cine with  a  view  to  health.  The  more  effec- 
tively our  means  achieve  their  ends,  the 
more  successful  our  lives  will  be.  That  is 
true  of  education  as  well  as  of  life.  The  child 
comes  to  school  to  be  given  means  and  ends; 
to  discern,  or  begin  to  discern,  an  ultimate 
end  at  which  his  activities  should  aim,  and 
to  learn,  or  begin  to  learn,  the  means  which 
will  enable  him  to  do  his  work  in  the  world. 

I  suggest,  then,  that  the  best  way  of  bring- 
ing order  into  this  chaos  of  the  curriculum 
is  for  the  teacher  to  have  clearly  in  his  mind 
this  distinction  of  means  and  ends,  and  to 
feel  that  he  is  training  his  pupils  to  live  a 
life  that  is  a  symphony  and  not  a  series  of 
disconnected  noises — to  see  that,  while  they 
acquire  the  means  which  they  need  for  the 
practical  purposes  of  life,  they  should  also 
form  an  idea  of  the  end  at  which  they  should 
aim.  If  that  could  be  done,  we  should  have 
cured  the  chief  disease  of  our  times.  If  you 
want  a  description  of  our  age,  here  is  one: 
The  civilization  of  means  without  ends;  rich 
in  means  beyond  any  other  epoch,  and  al- 
most beyond  human  needs;  squandering 
and  misusing  them  because  it  has  no  over- 
ruling ideal;  an  ample  body  with  a  meager 
soul. 

University  teachers  are  familiar  with  a 
type  of  boy  who  is  well  educated  in  the  con- 
ventional sense,  but  who  has  no  clear  philos- 
ophy of  life,  nothing  to  fall  back  on  in  the 
hours  of  stress,  discouragement  or  indolence 
that  all  men  experience.  It  is  this  type,  so 
characteristic  of  the  age,  that  ought,  if  not 
to  disappear,  to  become  more  uncommon. 

What  kind  of  teaching  will  achieve  this? 
It  is  more  a  matter  of  the  teacher's  attitude 
than  of  the  subjects  taught;  and  the  right 


THIS  IS  A 
WONT -HEAR  4i 


TfilS  13  /^ 

WATCHBiRP 

WATCf1lN6 

YOU 


THIS  1^  A  W/^TCHPlf  p, 
VVATCHING  A 
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Ihis  is  one  of  the  most  irritating  people  you  can  meet. 
It  is  a  Won't-Hear.  It  isn't  deaf  at  all,  but  it  acts  as 
though  it  can't  hear  anything  that  it  doesn't  want  to 
hear.  This  Won't-Hear's  mother  wants  it  to  come  in 
and  do  some  work,  but  the  Won't-Hear  wants  to  skate. 
So  it  is  pretending  that  it  doesn't  hear  its  mother  call- 
ing. She  will  probably  get  mad  at  it  and  take  its  skates 
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124 


LADTES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1Q45 


$0  Mild- . .  So  Sweet 
So  OsastDf-f!^  i„'pi^^^l 

More  and  more  good  cooks  are  discovering  that  Durkee's 
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made  by  a  scientific  process  that  churns  the  pure,  nutri- 
tious vegetable  oils  right  in  with  the  fresh,  pasteurized 
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Vitamin  A.  No  wonder  easily-digested  Durkee's  Margarine 
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SutritioH  Food  Rules 


,  Famous  foods 


Oiher  Dur\(ee  Famous  Foods 

Durk*«'»  Fomou9  Dreittng  .  .  .  Durkee's  Sp!c«s  .  .  ,  Durkee'ft  Worcestershire  Sauce 
DIVISION  OF  THE  GLIDDEN  COMPANY 


attitude  can  be  found  in  the  books  dealing 
with  education  in  Plato's  Republic.  The 
subjects  in  his  curriculum  are  also  in  ours. 
But  in  the  Republic  they  are  not  regarded 
as  lessons,  still  less  as  examination  subjects. 
Always  in  the  educator's  mind  is  the  sense 
that  everything  in  school  is  there  in  order  to 
contribute  to  the  making  of  human  beings, 
developed  in  body,  mind  and  character, 
equipped  for  the  business  of  living,  and  ruled 
in  their  aims  and  actions  by  the  vision  of 
what  Plato  calls  the  Idea  of  the  Good. 

The  mere  existence  in  the  teacher  of  such 
a  view  of  education — and  therefore  of  life — 
will  communicate  itself  to  the  pupil,  tliough 
the  teacher  may  never  mention  it  nor  the 
child  consciously  realize  it  until  long  after; 
for  a  teacher's  outlook  educates  more  than 
anything  that  he  says. 

But  there  are  more  definite  ways  of  im- 
parting a  sense  of  ends.  In  earlier  years — 
and  not  only  then — it  comes  indirectly 
through  what  is  read.  In  this  connection  I 
should  like  to  stress  the  importance  of  learn- 
ing poetry  by  heart,  and  of  learning  the  right 
poetry.  I  doubt  if  anything  learned  at 
school  is  of  more  value  than  great  literature 
learned  by  heart. 

History  is  the  other  great  storehouse  of 
ends.  Carlyle  said  that  it  is  the  essence  of 
innumerable  biographies;  at  any  rate,  this 
side  of  it  is  the  most  intelligible  and  attrac- 
tive to  the  young ;  and  you  cannot  talk  about 
any  great  man  without  immediately  dis- 
tinguishing two  sides  of  him — his  abilities 
and  his  ends.  It  is  most  important  to  dis- 
tinguish them,  and  too  often  they  are  not 
distinguislted.  The  dazzling  abilities  of  Na- 
poleon and  Bismarck  blind  us  to  the  evil 
legacy  they  left  to  the 
world.  

I  should  like  to  see 
every  child  carry  away 
from  school  portraits  of 
a  few  great  men  of  an- 
other type,  as  stand- 
ards for  judging,  and 
touchstones  for  testing 
human  character.  They 
must  not  be  merely  the 
great  men  of  a  day ;  they 
must  be  men  of  all  time 
and  they  should  repre- 
sent difterent  types  of 
human  excellence.  Half 
a  dozen  would  be  am- 
ple, and  every  man  will      

makeadifTerentlist;my 
own  would  include  Christ  and  Socrates,  who 
presumably  would  find  a  place  in  every  list, 
possibly  St.  Francis,  and  certainly  President 
Masaryk.  He  is  on  a  different  level,  and  yet 
among  the  statesmen  of  the  modern  world 
perhaps  no  figure  is  so  instructive  as  this 
coachman's  son  who  became  head  of  a  state. 
He  can  be  studied  excellently  in  Capek's 
biography,  President  Masaryk  Tells  His 
Story. 

bo  F.^R,  I  have  been  concerned  with  a 
mainly  unconscious  habituation  to  right 
ends  acquired  by  living  with  people  who 
have  had  them,  bringing  the  child  into  the 
atmosphere  of  spiritual  health,  so  that  a 
tainted  atmosphere  becomes  repugnant  to 
him.  At  early  ages  it  is  not  necessary  to 
moralize  about  good;  it  is  enough  to  exhibit 
it.  But,  especially  if  the  pupil  stays  on  at 
school  till  seventeen  or  eighteen,  he  needs 
something  more  definite.  There  is  nothing 
more  acute  or  more  true  in  Plato  than  his 
insistence  that  "habit  without  a  settled 
principle"  is  not  enough.  It  may  be  enough, 
perhaps,  in  an  age  of  settled  beliefs:  houses 
built  on  the  sand  are  secure  in  fine  weather. 
But  ours  is  not  such  an  age.  The  rains  de- 
scend and  the  floods  come,  and  the  winds 
blow  and  beat  on  us;  and,  unless  the  founda- 
tions of  character  go  down  below  the  sands 
to  a  granite  rock  of  principle,  a  definite 
philosophy  of  life  clearly  seen  and  firmly 
held,  the  house  is  not  likely  to  stand. 

So  I  would  suggest  that,  before  they  leave 
school,  those  who  have  not  learned  Greek 
should  be  introduced  to  Greek  thought  in 
translation.  There  seems  to  be  a  curious  idea 
tiiat  Greek  is  not  relevant  to  our  world. 
Nothing  could  be  more  relevant;  for  Greek 


TA<  T 

^  Tho  r«"al  reason  why  the  taetfiil 
^  [MTson  is  so  rare  is  that  laetful- 
iiess  implies  a  union  of  a  ^reat  many 
<|ualilies:  qiiiek  ohservation  of  tones 
of  voiee  and  faeial  expression  and 
lillh"  sestnr«"s.  a  ^ixxl  memory,  gen- 
nine  sympathy,  gotxi  humor, 
promptness,  jnslioe.  an<l  a  eonsid- 
erahh-  range,  not  onl>  of  intelleet iial 
inler€'sls  hut  of  current  interests  of 
every  kind.  And  this  eomhination  is 
not  a  common  one. 

—  A.  C.  BENSON:  Along  the  Rood; 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons). 


made  modern  civilization.  Greek  literature 
is  a  view  of  life.  Here,  as  nowhere  else  in 
European  literature,  is  a  clear,  unflurried 
vision  of  a  rational  human  existence,  which 
balances  justly  the  claims  of  body,  chftracter 
and  intellect,  of  material  and  spiritual 
civilization,  of  the  individual  and  the  state. 
If  you  ask  what  is  meant  by  introducing 
people  to  Greek  thought,  I  mean  getting 
such  knowledge  of  Plato  as  can  be  got  from 
the  volume  of  selections  from  him  in  transla- 
tion which  has  just  appeared  in  the  World's 
Classics.  And  that  might  be  supplemented 
by  some  reading  of  the  first  four  books  of 
Aristotle's  Ethics;  or  at  any  rate  of  the  ac- 
count of  the  virtues  in  the  third  and  fourth 
books.  Few  things  are  more  stimulating 
than  to  take  this  account,  consider  what  we 
should  add  to  Aristotle's  list,  what  he  prized 
and  we  do  not,  where  we  agree  with  or  differ 
from  him,  and  how  far  we  ourselves  practice 
or  wish  to  practice  what  he  taught. 

All  this  leads  up  to  Christianity,  for  which 
Greek  thought,  no  less  than  the  Roman  Em- 
pire, prepared  the  way.  And  here  we  come 
to  a  difficulty.  For  Christians  there  are  no 
difficulties  in  teaching  it  except  those  which 
belong  to  the  teaching  of  a  great  subject. 
But  there  are  teachers  who  do  not  feel  cer- 
tain enough  about  their  beliefs  to  teach  it 
confidently.  What  are  they  to  do? 

My  answer  would  be  that  there  are  cer- 
tain things  about  Christianity  which  almost 
any  intelligent,  candid  and  serious  person 
believes  and  can  teach,  and  that  anyone  who 
does  not  believe  them  may,  indeed,  teach 
mathematics  or  science  or  pure  linguistics, 
but,  in  schools  at  least,  had  better  leave 
history  and   literature 

alone. 

For  the  first  and 
the  most  important 
thing  in  Christianity 
is  the  actual  portrait, 
preserved  in  the  Syn- 
optic Gospels,  of  a 
carpenter's  son  who, 
gathering  some  follow- 
ers round  him,  taught, 
healed  and  lived  his 
life  in  Palestine  and 
was  crucified  by  the 
Roman  authorities. 

To  see  Christ  so  is 
to  see  Him  as  His  con- 

temporaries   saw  Him 

in  Galilee  and  in  Ju- 
dea  during  His  earthly  life;  to  see  what 
convinced  the  men  closest  to  Him,  and  who 
knew  Him  best,  that  He  was  not  an  ordinary 
man  but  the  Son  of  God.  That  conviction  of 
a  few  Jewish  peasants  in  a  minor  dependency 
of  the  great  and  highly  civilized  Roman  Em- 
pire seemed  to  most  of  its  citizens  an  ex- 
travagant folly,  but  persisted  as  the  empire, 
apparently  so  stable  and  permanent,  fell 
into  collapse,  and  outlived  every  other  creed 
and  philosophy  of  the  Greco-Roman  world. 
This  much  everyone  must  admit.  It  is  a 
mere  matter  of  fact.  These  facts  do  not 
exhaust  Christianity,  but  they  are,  in  the 
witness  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  it.  ^ 

To  sum  up.  We  have  lost  our  grip  on  ed- 
ucation. It  has  become  a  mass  of  unco- 
ordinated subjects,  a  chaos  instead  of  a 
cosmos.  For  this  we  need  to  substitute  a 
system  whose  ruling  principle  is  the  making 
of  human  beings.  Many  things  go  to  their 
making,  but  essentially  it  is  the  training  of 
three  aspects  of  man — body,  mind  and  char- 
acter. And  neither  mind  nor  character  can 
be  made  without  a  spiritual  element. 

That  is  just  the  element  which  has  grown 
weak,  where  it  has  not  perished,  in  our  edu- 
cation, and  therefore  in  our  civilization, 
with  disastrous  results.  Nothing  can  be 
done  till  that  element  is  restored.  Its  only 
sources  in  western  civilization — it  would  be 
different  if  we  were  Chinese  or  Hindus — are 
Palestine  and  Greece;  and  I  suggest  that  we 
may  adapt  and  adopt  as  our  motto  the  ad- 
vice which  Apollo  gave  to  the  Trojans: 
"Seek  out  your  ancient  mothers."  Anyhow, 
the  problem  is  there;  it  is  the  greatest  of  our 
problems;  and,  unless  we  solve  it,  our  civili- 
zation will  perish. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


when  you  think  of  Aladdin... 


when  you  think  of  energy . . 


ptfH^Htn/bui 


..you  think  of  his  lamp 


think  of  dextrose  sugar 


There  is  nothing  magical  about  energy  ...  or  about  dextrose. 

It  is  simply  a  sugar  . . .  pure,  white,  sparkling  . . .  but  Nature 
made  it  the  one  sugar  your  body  uses  directly  for  energy.  All 
other  sugars,  all  other  car-bo-hy-drate  foods  must  be  changed  into 
dextrose  by  digestion  before  the  body  can  use  them  for  energy. 

That's  why  dextrose  is  recognized  as  the  basic  fuel  sugar  of  the 
body  .  . .  the  chief  source  of  all  body  energy. 


Practically  all  the  dextrose  produced  in  America  is  used  by  food 
manufacturers  ...  to  improve  the  quality,  texture,  flavor  of  fine 
foods  .  .  .  breads,  candies,  cereals,  soft  drinks,  ice  creams,  table 
syrups  .  .  .  and  many  others. 

At  present,  the  demand  for  dextrose  far  exceeds  the  supply  of 
this  valuable  sugar.  The  several  producers  of  dextrose  are  work- 
ing at  full  capacity  . , .  and  distributing  dextrose  fairly  and  equita- 
bly among  thousands  of  food  processors. 


Corn  Products  Refining  Company 

One  of  the  producers  of 


'^''rk/, 


"^9wh 


».  dextrose 


''ofural  q^ 


\cVc'«^ 


e« 


9V  ^"9|^ 


p.  S.  "dextrose"  is  not  a  brand  name  or  a  trademark  ...  it  is  the  scientific  name  for  the  basic  fuel  sugar  of  the  human  body. 


So  long,  doggie — it's  time  to  eat! 

Most  babies  who  start  with  Gerber's  look  forward  to  feeding  time!  For 
Gerber's  Baby  Foods  taste  extra  good,  are  always  smooth  and  finely  textured. 
Packed  with  goodness,  too,  because  they  are  cooked  the  Gerber  way  with 
steam  to  preserve  precious  minerals  and  vitamins.  (There  are  15  Gerber's 
Strained  Foods,  also  8 'kinds  of  Gerber's  Chopped  Foods  for  older  babies.) 

You've  Got  Something  Good  There 

I'm  talking  about  the  varicty-in-cereals  helps  nie  cat  better.  Both  cereals  have 

idea.   First   Mummy   gives   me  Gerber's  added    iron   and  Vitamin   Bi.   Both  are 

Cereal  Food,  and  then  Gerber's  Strained  pre-cooked  — just  add  hot  or  cold  milk 

Oatmeal   at   the    next   feeding.   Variety  or  formula  and  serve. 


lee  sa^ft/fle. 


erber's 

FREMONT.  MICH  OAKLAND.  CAl 


H.  ARMSTRONG  ROBERTS 

Thanhs  to  modern  medical  science,  today's  children  can 
/lore  an  easier  time  with  measles  than  their  parents  had. 


Sever  llnderdimate  Measles! 

Bff  itr.  Hfrman  \.  BundeHfn 

President,  i^hiraf^o  Bf>ar<]  of  Health 


lease  send  me  free  samples 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal 
Gerber's  Cereal   Food. 


C«reaU         Strained  Foods        Chopped  Foodt 

Address:  Gerber  Products  Company,  Dept.  83-5,  Fremont,  Michigan 


Name.. 


MTINE  out  of  ten  children  get  measles. 
■  Thanks  to  modern  medical  science,  how- 
1  ever,  your  youngster  can  have  an  easier 
11  time  with  measles  than  you  had.  You 
can  improve  his  chances  of  having  a  light 
case  instead  of  a  serious  one.  You  can  make 
sure  that  he  is  more  comfortable  than  you 
were  when  you  had  measles.  Most  important 
of  all,  you  can  help  the  doctor  keep  down  the 
likelihood  of  complications  and  thus  avoid 
the  lasting  aftereffects  which  made  measles  a 
tragedy  for  many  children  of  your  genera- 
tion. 

Measles  is  highly  contagious  for  several 
days  before  the  onset  of  the  acute,  char- 
acteristic symptoms.  That's  why  it  spreads 
so  rapidly.  By  the  time  a  child  has  recog- 
nizable measles,  he  may  already  have  ex- 
posed dozens  of  his  schoolmates  and  play- 
mates to  the  infection.  Measles  is  caused  by 
a  filtrable  virus— a  living  organism,  or  germ, 
so  tiny  that  it  passes  through  the  pores  of  an 
earthenware  filter.  This  virus  spreads  di- 
rectly when  an  infected  child  sprays  drop- 
lets of  moisture  from  the  nose  or  throat  on 
another  child  by  sneezing,  coughing  or  even 
talking;  it  may  also  spread  indirectly  by 
means  of  droplets  carried  on  clothes,  bed- 
ding, utensils,  schoolbooks,  pencils  and  other 
objects. 

Thus  the  first  rule  to  follow  when  there  is 
measles  in  your  community  is:  Play  safe! 
If  your  child  has  a  "runny"  nose,  watery 
eyes,  cough,  sore  throat  or  fever,  keep  him 
home.  Especially,  if  your  child  is  under 
three  years  old  or  is  inclined  to  be  frail, 
banish  any  neighbor's  youngster  with  snif- 
fles. Better  risk  offending  the  child's  mother 
than  take  a  chance  on  measles.  Complica- 
tions are  particularly  grave  in  very  small 
children  and  in  those  who  are  sickly  or 
undernourished. 

From  exposure  to  the  appearance  of  symp- 
toms, the  "incubation  period"  of  measles  is 
from  eight  to  ten  days.  During  this  time 
the  virus  is  multiplying  rapidly  in  the  body 
preparatory  to  attacking  the  membranes 
lining  the  nose  and  throat.  Sometimes 
symptoms  are  delayed,  but  if  they  don't 
appear  within  two  weeks  after  a  suspected 
exposure,  the  child  is  probably  safe. 


Three  or  four  days  after  the  beginning  of 
catarrhal  symptoms  and  fever  comes  the 
familiar  rash.  This  starts  inside  the  mouth 
and  throat,  then  spreads  to  the  face  and 
body.  As  the  rash  grows,  the  sick  child's 
misery  mounts.  Fever  soars,  often  to  103  or 
104  degrees;  eyes  discharge  heavily,  become 
inflamed,  sore  and  sensitive  to  bright  light. 
There  may  also  be  "grippy"  aches  and 
pains,  headache,  cough  or  bronchitis.  This 
acute  phase  lasts  for  two  or  three  days;  then 
the  rash  begins  to  fade,  finally  becoming 
scaly  and  encrusted  in  the  convalescent 
period.  Other  symptoms  subside  gradually 
and,  generally,  in  about  ten  days  the  child 
feels  well,  though  final  disappearance  of  the 
scaly  rash  may  take  several  more  days. 
(Continued  on  Page  128) 


(jRATEFUL  young  mothers 
from  Maine  to  California  tell 
lis  that  Doctor  Biindesen's 
habv  booklets  have  been  of 
the  greateijt  help  to  them  in 
raring  for  their  own  babies. 
The  first  eight  booklets  cover 
voiir  baby's  first  eight  months. 
They  sell  for  50  cents.  The 
second  series  of  booklets  cov- 
ers the  baby's  health  from 
nine  months  to  two  years — 
seven  booklets  for  50  cents. 
The  booklets  will  be  sent 
monthly;  be  sure  to  tell  us 
when  you  want  the  first  book- 
let. A  complete  book  on  the 
care  of  the  baby,  a  nvot»»- 
gary  nupplvntpnt  to  the 
monthly  booklets,  OliR  B,4- 
BiES,  No.  ],'}15,  is  25  cents.  A 
booklet  on  breast  feeding,  .'V 
Doctor's  First  Duty  to  the 
Mother,  No.  l.'ift),  sells  for 
6  cents.  Address  all  requests 
to  the  Reference  IJbrary, 
L  vniEs"  Home  JoiiRN.\i,,  I'liil- 
adelpliia  5,  IV-niisylvania. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


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Any  baby  is  eligible  for  this  Swanderful  pres- 
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Swan's  pure  as  fine  castiles!  Safe  and  mild. 
■  Which  is  why  so  many  doctors  recommend 
Swanning  the  baby. 

So  if  you  have  a  baby  born  any  time  from 
January  1st  through  December  31st,  1945,  fill 
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Baby's  Date  of  Birth 

Mother's  full  name 


Doctor's  Name 

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(Potfe  obova  coupon  on  penny  po>#  card  onif  mail  to  SwanI) 


128 


LADIES'  IfOME  JOURNAL 


March,  WIS 


LET'S  GET  GROWING 

Straight  and  Sturdy 

ON  A    KANTWET   CRIB    fAATTRESS^ 

Doctor  said  I  needed  firm  level  sleeping 
support.  That's  why  I  sleep  on  a  Kantvvet. 
Sealed  tufting  keeps  Kantwet's  extra 
r-M>»'filling  from  shifting  .  .  .  satiny-soft  wetproof 
covering  wipes  clean  and  dry  in  a  second. 
Yes,  indeed!  When  you  shop  for  a  crib  mattress, 
the  name  to  look  for  is  KANTWET.* 


AND  THE  BABY  WORE 

Dainty  Cuddle-Nestt  keeps  baby    -^^ 
cozy  and  out  of  drafts,  makes  carrying 
easy.  An  ideal  gift.  Of  quilted  rayon 
satin  with  wetproof  lining,  this 
lovely  combination  coverlet-pad-and- 
pillow  is  tops  for  all  baby's  outings. 

Kantivet  products  aresold  by  leading  stores 
ROSE-DERRY  CO.,  Newton  58,  Mass. 


•Pat.  No.  2,106,065 


tPat.  No.  2,358,410 


CRIB  MATTRESSES  •   CUDDLE-NEST  •  NURSERY  FURNITURE   PADS 


Don't  try  to 
blow  that  cold 


UwWUlf  ^y^'  ('li)^g('d  with 
»  tliick  iiiiiciis,  and 
breathing  tlirouj^ii  that  cold-.sick 
nose  is  almost  iiiipossililo — don't 
try  to  lili>\v  the  congcslcd  jjas.sagcs 
open!  Hard  hhiwing  niake.s  leiidc 
nu'niliran(\s  .sore,  may  even  increase 
the  stoppcd-up  discomlort! 

No  cure  for  a  head  cold  has  yet 
been  found,  but  that  tormenting, 
smothering  stiifrmess,  thai  smarting 
irritation  around  nose  and  iiiou 
can  be  relieved  quickly.  See  how 
Mentholalum  helps. 

Easy  way  to  open  stuffy 
nostrils . . .  soothe  irritation 

Applied  right  in  the  nose  and  snuffed 
well  back,  Meiitholatum  strikes 
promptly  at  nasal  discomforts  with 
4  vital  actions: 

I.  Helps  thin  out  thick  mucus — your 
nose  starts  to  clear. 

2>  Soothes  eohl-innanied  membranes 
— iiost'  soreness  eases  up. 

3*  Helps  re<luee  swellinp.  eonfiestion 
— soon  you  can  brfiilhv  u^ain- 

4.  Helps   Nature   heal    by 
creasing   circulation   i 
"sick"  area. 

Don't  go  on  "suffering" 
right  through  a  heavy 
colli.  At  any  stage,  use 
Mentholalum  for  quick 
relief!  Jars,  tubes  ;Wji. 


Get  MENTHOLATUM! 

Helps  clear  clogged  noses  .:  '.  .  quickly,  safely! 


V  GuoroDieed  by  ^A 
^GoodHousakeepingJ 

t  *,.    "  Dincrm  o*    .,♦  > 


(Continued  from  Page  126) 
Miserable  as  the  child  with  measles  feels, 
the  complications  which  may  follow  are  to 
be  feared  most.  Chief  among  these  is  pneu- 
monia. Measles  lowers  the  body's  resistance 
and  makes  it  susceptible,  especially  in  the 
already  weakened  bronchial  area,  to  attack 
by  pneumonja  germs.  Infections  of  the  mid- 
dle ear,  sometimes  causing  lasting  loss  of 
hearing,  may  follow  measles.  Many  other 
infections  are  also  quick  to  invade  the 
child's  weakened  body.  Hence  another  rule 
for  mother:  Build  strength  as  rapidly  as 
possible  by  encouraging  the  child  to  eat 
well-balanced  meals  as  soon  as  he  is  con- 
valescent. 

While  there  is  no  sure  way  of  preventing 
measles,  your  doctor  has  several  means  of 
giving  temporary  protection  after  a  known 
exposure.  Possibly  these  will  not  keep  your 
child  from  getting  measles,  but  they  will 
greatly  diminish  the  severity  of  the  attack. 
Thus,  if  you  are  alert  and  call  the  doctor  as 
soon  as  an  exposure  has  taken  place,  your 
child's  measles  will  be  mild  but  will  still 
leave  him  permanently  protected  against 
another  attack. 

Protective  measures  are  all  based  on  the 
fact  that  the  blood  of  people  who  have  had 
measles  contains  antibodies  to  fight  the 
disease.  One  of  the  methods  used  is  con- 
valescent serum,  made  directly  from  the 
blood  of  patients  recovering  from  measles. 
Another  is  "placental  extract";  this  is  a 
material  prepared  from  the  placenta,  or 
afterbirth,  in  which  the  antilxjdies  are  found 
in  a  concentration  greater  than  that  in  the 
blood.  The  third  means  of  protection  against 
measles,  developed  only  recently,  gives  prom- 
ise of  being  most  useful  because  it  is  most 


A   PEl^JI^Y  SA%E»- 

^  A  story  is  toUl  of  a  yoiiii^  man 
^  «  lio  ealle<l  one  ev«'ning  on  an  old 
farmer  to  ask  liim  liou  it  was  he  had 
he<'omc  rich. 

"Il  is  a  long  story,'"  said  the  old 
man,  "an<l  uhile  I  am  telling  it  we 
might  as  well  save  the  candle."  And 
he  put  it  out. 

"^  oil  m-ed  not  tell  the  story." 
sai<l   lli4'  youth.  "I   iinilersland." 

—  THE  SPEAKER'S  DESK  BOOK:  Edited  by  Mortha 
Luplon.  (Maxwell  Droke.) 


easily  available.  This  method  utilizes  a  pro- 
tein substance  in  the  blood  known  as 
"gamma  globulin."  Happily,  this  is  recover- 
able from  the  millions  of  pints  of  blood  do- 
nated to  provide  plasma  for  the  nation's 
lighting  forces.  Gamma  globulin  has  been 
allocated  to  city  and  state  health  depart- 
ments for  distribution  to  local  doctors. 

Warned  in  time  that  measles  is  imminent, 
mother  and  doctor  can  work  together  to 
modify  its  effects.  But  whether  or  not  these 
proteAive  steps  are  taken,  you  can  help  ease 
the  child's  suffering  and  safeguard  against 
dangerous  complications.  Here  are  some 
things  to  remember: 

1.  Keep  the  child  in  a  warm,  comfortable 
room,  with  enough  fresh  air.  See  that  he 
rests. 

2.  Keep  bright  sunlight  and  artificial 
light  away  from  the  youngster's  sensitive 
eyes.  No  reading.  But  it  isn't  necessary  to 
keep  the  room  in  total  darkness.  This  only 
adds  to  the  child's  wretchedness  and  makes 
it  harder  to  care  for  him. 

3.  Provide  a  light,  balanced  diet,  with 
plenty  of  fluids,  as  long  as  the  fever  lasts. 
Then  add  nourishment  to  build  strength. 

4.  Don't  use  nose  drops  unless  the  doctor 
prescribes  them  and  shows  how  they  are  to 
be  given.  These  may  add  to  the  danger  of 
bronchial  complication.  No  laxatives  except 
on  the  doctor's  orders. 

5.  Report  untoward  symptoms  to  the 
doctor.  Watch  especially  for  earache,  and  for 
a  wheezy  "rattle"  in  the  chest. 

Finally,  never  under ealimale  measles!  Be- 
cause nearly  everyone  has  had  the  disease, 
many  mothers  think  it  is  trivial.  This  is  a 
mistake.  Measles  is  a  vicious  and  sometimes 
dangerous  infection — an  enemy  worthy  of 
your  best  generalship. 


Open -WEAVE  Curity  Diapers  cut 
washing  time  in  half.  Old-fashioned 
scrubbing  is  unnecessary,  and  you  get 
longer  wear.  But  ease  of  washing  is 
only  one  of  five  reasons  why  extra- 
soft  Curity  Diapers  are  more  popular. 

1.  Faster  drying  speeds  diaper 
laundering,  indoors  or  out. 

2.  Highly  absorbent  —  surgical 
weave  absorbs  more  thoroughly. 

3.  Foldline,  woven  permanently  in- 
to fabric,  makes  it  easy  to  adjust  the 
fold  to  growing  babies. 

4.  Have  no  hems  to  irritate  baby's 
tender  skin. 

5.  Easier  to  >vash  —  open  weave 
speedily  cleansed  with  pure  Ivory 
Flakes. 

Mothers,  medi/:al  authorities,  and 
leading  hospitals  use  and  endorse 
Curity  Diapers.  Buy  Curity  Diapers 
at  your  favorite  infants'  store. 

Kendall  Mills,  Walpole,  Massachusetts 

A  XEHDALl  1^  PRODUCT 


NURSERY   PADS   ■    BIBS   ■   MASKS   •   COTTON 


Curity  Surgical  Dressings  at  drug  stores 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


129 


AROYALDISIf 

\o  set  before  a  King! 

Containing  vitamins  "A"  and  "D" 
ind  iodine,  that  effective  preventive  of 
lutritional  goiter,  these  famous  brands 
if  tuna  are  ideal  food  for  growing 
youngsters.  And  how  the  kids  love 
xina . . .  hot  or  cold. 

Because,  even  with  wartime  short- 
iges,  only  the  tender,  light  meat  is 
jacked,  these  quality  brands  give  you 
una  at  its  best  . .  .  always  tender,  del- 
cate  and  delicious! 

VAN  CAMP  SEA  FOOD  CO.,  INC. 
Terminal  Islond,  California 


Buy  EITHER  brand... 
the  quality  is  the  same 


You  ore  on  American 
...buy  WAR  BONDS! 


THE  LID'S  OFF 

(Continued  from  Page  45) 

CASSOULET 

Soak  1  12-ounce  package  of  navy  beans 
overnight  in  1  quart  of  water.  The  next 
morning  add  2^  quarts  of  water,  !4  pound 
of  diced  salt  pork,  '/4  teaspoon  of  salt,  1 
onion,  chopped,  2  tablespoons  of  chopped 
parsley,  a  pinch  of  thyme  and  half  a  bay 
leaf,  crumbled.  Cook  about  twenty  min- 
utes and  add  '^  pound  of  salami  or  Italian 
sausage,  skinned  and  cut  into  small  pieces. 
Cook  slowly  until  beans  are  tender.  Bone 
and  cut  1^  pounds  of  shoulder  of  lamb  and 
1  pound  of  pork  shoulder  into  chunks. 
Season  with  salt  and  pepper.  Brown  the 
meat  in  a  heavy  stew  pan  or  roaster  with  5 
onions,  chopped,  using  only  enough  fat  to 
prevent  sticking.  Pour  off  the  fat  after 
browning.  Add  the  bones  for  flavor,  1  clove 
of  garlic,  finely  minced,  and  1  cup  of  to- 
mato sauce.  Cover  and  bake  about  one 
and  one  half  hours  in  a  moderately  slow 
oven,  325  F.  Now  to  prepare  the  casserole: 
Remove  bones.  Drain  liquid  from  the 
beans  and  save.  Arrange  beans  and  meat  in 
alternate  layers  in  the  casserole.  Pour 
over  this  the  gravy  from  the  pork  and  lamb 
mixed  with  the  liquor  from  the  beans. 
Repeat  until  all  is  used.  Put  back  in  oven 
for  another  hour.  Serve  in  the  casserole  in 
which  it  was  baked.  And  serve  it  as  hot  as 
ever  you  can.    No  loitering  now,  Belinda. 

You  know  all  that  I  do,  and  maybe  more, 
about  green  salads.  So  no  more  words  as  to 
that.  Only  make  sure  that  the  dressing  is 
right  and  the  salads  are  crisp  and  dry  before 
you  dress  them.  Then  toss  very  lightly  until 
every  curling  leaf  and  tricky  tendril  is  per- 


^  How  fine  it  is  that  children  never 
^  hold  anything  against  one,  no 
amount  of  silliness  or  selfishness.  At 
least  my  children  are  like  that,  and 
I  dare  say  all.  It  is  never  a  question 
with  them  of  forgiveness;  they  never 
think  they  have  anything  to  forgive. 
(I  try  to  be  like  that,  too,  but  it  is 
not  easy.) 

—  FRANCES  STUART:  Things  to  Live  For. 


fectly  and  completely  dressed.  I  put  the 
dressing  in  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  and  it's 
better,  to  my  mind,  than  pouring  it  over  the 
greens.  There,  that's  enough. 

Collet'tor'g  it»m.  Everybody  collects,  al- 
though some  may  claim  that  their  shelves 
and  cupboards  and  mantels  are  as  bare  as  a 
barkless  rail.  But  they  collect,  just  the  same. 
Somewhere  along  the  line  they  have  a  little 
hobby.   I'm  sure  of  that. 

So,  should  you  collect  receipts,  here  is  one 
for  your  collection.  One  to  pass  on  and  hand 
down,  as  all  such  items  are  destined  to  be, 
whether  they  are  receipts  or  Staffordshire" 
figurines  or  piggy  banks  or  whatever. 

SLICED  ORANGES 

liVlTH   CARAMEL  SAUCE 

AIV»   ALMONDS 

Blanch  ^  cup  of  almonds.  (Just  put  in 
hot  water  a  few  minutes  and  rub  off  the 
skins.)  Cut  into  lengthwise  strips.  Toast 
lo  a  light  brown  in  a  slow  oven,  300°  F. — 
without  benefit  of  butter.  Caramelize  154 
cups  of  sugar  over  low  heat,  stirring  con- 
stantly until  all  the  sugar  is  dissolved. 
Don't  leave  this  a  second  or  it  will  burn. 
Take  from  the  stove  and  add  34  cup  of  boil- 
ing water  and  1  teaspoon  of  butter  and 
stir  until  it  becomes  a  smooth  sirup.  Cool. 
Peel  and  slice  seedless  oranges.  Allow  3  or 
4  slices  for  each  serving.  Arrange  in  over- 
lapping layers.  Pour  the  caramel  sauce 
*)ver  the  oranges.  Sprinkle  wilb  the 
toasted  almonds.  Does  that  sound  all 
right?    Well  it  is  all  right. 

Sprina  fruit.  Pretty  soon  now  rhubarb 
will  be  all  over  the  place.  It  is  a  beautiful 
plant  with  its  intricately  veined  great  leaves 
and  its  red  fruit  stalks  standing  so  firm 
against  the  garden  wall.  But  I'm  ahead  a  lit- 
tle, for  if  rhubarb  isn't  around  where  some 
of  you  are,  wait  for  it,  and  just  put  in  its 
place,  on  this  second  meal,  some  of  those  fine 
plums  you  canned  last  year — and  if  they  are 


•  ••for  its  Superiority  in 
3  BASIC  VITALITY  ELEMENTS* 


For  Growth  and  Stamina,  no  other  cereal 
matches  whole-grain  oatmeal  in  the  great  indis- 
pensable key  element  Protein. 

For  Your  Doily  Energy,  oatmeal  leads  all  cereals 
in  Food-Energy,  the  "fuel"  for  all  your  daily 
activity. 

To  Help  You  Fight  Fatigue,  oatmeal  provides 
more  Vitamin  Bj    than  any  other  natural  cereal. 

in  a   Recent  Survey  of  2500   Food    Authorities, 

whole-grain  oatmeal  led  overwhelmingly  .  .  . 
was  named  best  for  you,  best  tasting. 

Always  remember,  it  does  make  a  difference  which 
cereal  you  serve.  When  you  serve  your  family 
delicious  whole-grain  Quaker  Oats,  you  give 
them  the  extra  oatmeal  advantages  recognized 
by  so  many  Food  Authorities.  Remember  to  get 
Quaker  Oats  today.   »Protein,  Food-Energy,  Vitamin  Bi. 

Quaker 
Oats 


^. 


Quaker  Gals 

and 
Mother's  Gals 
Are  the  Same 


130 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Hew  Vesserf  -for  your 

Next  My ! 

And  a  grand  salad  for  the  family's  dinner... 
both  from  this  same  easy  Knox  recipe! 


Make  this  heavenly  Angel  Pie  for 
your  next  party . . .  and  with  the  same 
basic  recipe  fix  a  tempting  salad  for 
next  day's  dinner.  (If  you  wish,  of 
course,  you  need  make  up  only  one 
of  these  dishes.)  See  how  Knox  saves 
you  time  with  this  2-in-l  recipe. 


Being  pure,  unflavored  gelatine, 
Knox  blends  with  almost  every 
food.  And  remember,  every  Knox 
dish  has  vitamins  and  nutrition  you 
don't  get  with  imitation-flavor 
gelatine  dishes  made  with  hot  water! 
Try  Knox  today! 


*^ox 


start  with  Bask  Recipe  j^^t  ^ater 

2  envelopes  Knox  Gelatine             ^ ,  ^^^^^^^  ^all 

'-  '''''  ^°''  ""'"2  tbsp.  lemon  juice  ^^^  ^,,,,.  ^dd  salt  and 

3  eggs  1  ^'°^^-  f           ,   :  e  (all  the  vita- 

>i  cup  sugar  e  juice,  le>non  juice  *      ^^  ^^^,^,g 

Beat  yolks  until  lie*^',^  1  Jt  |re  m  Knox  dishesK  Cool^>^  ^^  j.^m  fire. 
Garnish  with  nuts,  u  " 


FOR  JtWEl  SAIAD,  you'H  need:  horseradish  (if  desired) 

'°  V  basic  gelatine  mixture        ^^  cup  diced  celery 

I  cup  hot  water  -  ,^p  di^ed<=°f/d^ded  cabbage 

2  tbsp.  sugar  ,^  gup  finely  snreu"      pepper 

>,i  teaspoon  salt  2  tbsp.  chopped  green  p  w 

1  tbsp.  lemon  juice  3  tbsp.  minced  onion  vinegar  and 

'rteTchT untU  flJm.  Serves  6.  ^         ^/^  /^^^^^ 


watef .  Chill  until  nrm.  ^..  -  ^-  - 

KNOX  GEtATlME 


■Tit^. 


rt\tt'  90  recipes  for  main  dishes,  salads,  desserts,  pies  In  Mrs. 
Knox's  beautifully  illustrated  40-page  recipe  book.  Send  a  postal 
today  to  Mrs.  Knox,  Box  23,  Johnstown,  New  York. 


all  gone,  applesauce  isn't  to  be  sneezed  at. 
I  love  it.  With  lemon  in  it  and  not  strained 
either.   Definitely  not  strained. 

But  to  get  back  where  I  belong,  here's  the 
receipt  for  the  ramekins  you  observe  in  the 
picture;  and  along  with  these  you  see  com 
sticks,  but  more  of  those  another  time.  I 
have  to  get  on  with  this  deviled  dish,  so  here 
it  is. 

DEVILEn  SHRIMP   AND 
HADDOCK 

Put  .3  pounds  of  fresh  shrimp  in  boiling 
water  to  cover  with  a  slice  of  lemon.  1  whole 
onion  stuck  with  a  clove,  a  handful  of  cel- 
ery leaves,  a  seasoning  of  salt  and  pepper. 
Simmer  until  the  shrimps  turn  pink  and 
are  tender;  takes  about  fifteen  minutes. 
Drain  and  cool  the  shrimps.  .Strain  and 
save  the  liquid.  Shell  the  shrimps  and  take 
out  the  thin  black  veins.  In  another  pan, 
cook  2  pounds  of  fillet  of  haddo<-k  with  the 
same  seasonings  you  used  for  the  shrimp. 
Drain  the  fish,  flake  and  remove  any  bits 
of  bone.  Make  4  cups  of  medium  cream 
sauce,  using  3  cups  of  milk  and  1  cup  of 
shrimp  stock  for  the  liquid  and  adding  1 
teaspoon  «)f  dry  mustard  with  the  flour. 
.Season  with  salt  and  pepper  to  taste.  Mix 
with  I heshrimpand haddock. Tastcandre- 
tast«-  for  seasoning.  Pour  into  indivi<lual 
casseroles  or  ramekins.  This  quantity  will 
serve  eight.  Have  ready  2  cups  of  freshly 
mashetl  potatoes  and  pipe  the  casseroles  all 
iIk'  way  around.  I  se  a  pastry  bag  or  spatula 
to  i>i|n'  on  the  potato  border.  Sprinkle  dry 
grated  coconut  on  the  mashed-potato 
trim  and  bake  the  casseroles  in  a  moder- 
ately hot  oven,  ."17.S°  F.,  about  twenty  min- 
utes, or  until  the  mixture  bubbles  and  the 
bor<l<'r  brow  IIS. 

ThfM'  irill  ht'i'P—maubt'.  Of  course,  I 
mean  cookies.  I  always  admire  to  read  "This 
cake  keeps  well"  or  "These  cookies  last  a 
long  time."  It  is  perfectly  true,  no  doubt, 
but  in  my  long  and  coloratura  career  I  have 
found  that  somehow  things  good  to  eat  never 
got  to  the  sere-and-yellow  stage,  lock  them 
never  so  well.  As  they  used  to  say  up  north, 
"they  get  et." 


March,  194S 

However,  eat  or  keep,  I  recommend  the 
receipt  that  I  now  set  down  with  one  hand. 
By  the  way,  it  comes  out  to  around  forty 
eight  cookies.  Do  you  need  a  new  cooky  jar 
by  any  chance?  ■* 

MARMALADE  DROP  COOKIES 

Cream  together  54  cup  of  shortening 
with  1  cup  of  sugar.  Add  2  Veil-beaten  eggs 
and  beat.  Sift  .3  cups  of  flour  with  5^2  tea- 
spoon of  baking  soda  and  J4  teaspoon  ol 
salt.  Work  into  the  creamed  mixture.  Last 
of  all  stir  in  1  cup  of  orange  marmalade,  01 
any  combination  of  citrus  marmalade  you 
like.  Mix  well.  Drop  by  teaspoonfuls,  sev- 
eral inches  apart,  on  a  greased  cooky  sheet 
Bake  in  a  moderate  oven,  350°  F.,  about 
fifteen  minutes.  Store  in  a  covered  eookj 
crock.  There  it  is  again.  Anything  to  keep. 

Old  Number  3.  When  I  was  a  little  girl 
one  of  the  wildest  things  my  friends  and  j 
could  think  up  to  do  was  to  go  down  to  the 
depot  to  see  the  trains  come  in.  (My,  that's 
quite  a  sentence,  but  how  could  I  split  it  up?) 
Our  favorite  was  a  train  from  Boston  tc 
Montreal  known  as  Old  Number  3.  To  oui 
eyes  it  was  the  last  word  in  transportatior 
elegance,  plush  seats,  (guessed  at)  romantic 
couples  gazing  from  glistening  windows, 
grime-stricken  yardmen  tapping  the  wheels 
well,  it  had  everything.  It  was  our  train.  It 
came  from  far  away,  going  on  to  even  more 
mysterious  destinations,  forbidden  marvels, 
but  ours  j  ust  the  same.  It  was  Old  Number  3 

Baek  on  the  traek.  I  don't  know  why  1 
thought  of  it  just  now.  It  went  the  way  ol 
all  old  iron,  long  ago,  I  suspect.  But  it  hac 
its  day.  It  had  glamour.  And  that  is  al 
many  things  can  boast. 

But  here  is  your  No.  3  menu  coming  up. 
and  first  on  the  agenda  is  a  Creole  fish  dish 
all  in  a  casserole;  and  now  for  ways  and 
means  to  get  it  that  way. 

CASSEROLE  OF   FISH  CREOLE 

Kither  a  whole  fish  or  Ij^  to  2  pounils  ol 
fillets  can  be  u.sed  for  this  dish.  Have  a 
whole  fish   boned.     It   pays.    Take  off  the 


NOT  RATiONEDI 


^^hUy^. 


NEW  TASTY 
WAY  TO  SERVE 

BROILED  HAM  STEAK 

Boil  sweet  potatoes  until  tender,  peel,  mash,  then 
whip  them  up  with  butter  or  margarine,  salt,  5  drops 
of  Frank's  Red  Hot  Sauce  and  a  little  top  milk.  Broil 
ham  slice.  When  golden  brown  on  both  sides,  serve 
with  mounds  of  hot  mashed  potatoes  topped  witji 
cherry  preserves.  Garnish  with  parsley.  Add  1  drop  of 
Frank's  Red  Hot  Sauce  to  eacli  serving  of  ham  and 
watch  the  man  in  your  life  smile  I 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


131 


tail  and  wash  the  boned  fish.  Season  it 
well  all  over  with  salt  and  pepper  and 
brush  with  oil.  Lay  it  in  a  greased  cas- 
serole. Now  make  your  sauce  Creole.  Cot 
to  get  Creole  into  this  some  way.  And  only 
the  sauce  can  do  it.  To  2  cups  of  canned 
tomatoes,  add  "3  cup  of  canned  condensed 
tomato  sauce  or  condensed  tomato  soup. 
Put  on  to  cook  with  1  green  pepper,  diced, 
2  onions,  chopped  fine,  !4  cup  sliced  canned 
or  fresh  mushrooms,  1  teaspoon  of  meat 
paste  or  powder  or  a  bouillon  cube.  Season 
to  taste  with  salt  and  pepper.  Cook  to- 
gether fifteen  to  twenty  minutes  until  the 
sauce  is  smooth  and  creamy  and  vegetables 
are  tender.  Pour  the  sauce  over  the  fish 
and  bake  about  forty-five  to  fifty  minutes 
in  a  moderate  oven,  3.50°  F.  Before  serving, 
garnish  with  freshly  cooked  peas  and 
carrots. 

The  filled  baked-potato  shells  can  brown 
in  the  same  oven  with  the  fish.  And  these  are 
just  baked  potatoes,  scooped  out,  the  pulp 
beaten  up  with  a  little  cream,  the  beaten 
white  of  an  egg,  seasoned  and  put  back  in 
the  shells  and  browned  and  puffed  in  the 
oven. 

B»rrtes  in  Marfh?  'Whu  not?  It's  got 
so  now  that  things  do  crop  up  in  the  most 
unexpected  places  and  at  the  most  unusual 
times.  Since  they  fell  to  freezing  everything 
but  the  water  pipes,  you  just  drop  around 
and  get  yourselves  corn  on  the  cob  or  garden 
peas  or  even  spinach — if  that  is  what  you 
want — right  spank  in  the  middle  of  winter. 
So  we  put  strawberries  in  Old  Number 
3's  dessert.  And  there  is  no  law  against 
anyone's  using  any  fruit,  canned,  frozen  or 
fresh.  We  just  went  for  strawberries,  that's 
all.  Look  well,  don't  they?  Red  is  my  fa- 
vorite shade. 

CAKE  RI]V«   WITH   FRtJIT 

Cream  J4  cup  of  shortening  and  1  cup  of 
sugar  together.  Add  2  eggs,  well  beaten. 
Beat  very  thoroughly.  Flavor  with  1  tea- 
spoon of  vanilla.  Sift  together  144  cups  of 
cake  flour,  2  J^  teaspoons  of  baking  powder 
and  Yi  teaspoon  of  sail.  Add  alternately  to 


the  creamed  mixture  with  }^  cup  of  milk. 
Beat  until  smooth.  Fill  a  greased  and 
floured  ring  mold  half  full.  Any  batter  left 
over  makes  a  few  cupcakes.  Bake  in  a 
moderate  oven,  350°  F.,  about  forty-five 
minutes  or  until  done.  Now  this  is  only 
a  simple,  everyday  "2-egger,"  as  Me  say. 
But  the  cake  as  well  as  the  filling  is  as 
changeable  as  March  weather.  Just  make 
the  cake  the  way  you  like  best.  Fill  with 
strawberries  or  any  cooked  or  canned  fruit 
that  you  like  and  serve  with  a  smooth  soft 
custard. 

K.et  it  blotr.  March  isn't  all  gusts  and 
frenzy  though.  There  is  promise  in  the  air. 
The  promise  of  spring. 

There's  another  thing  too.  This  is  the 
maple  sugar  and  sirup  month.  That  ought 
to  help.  Up  on  the  softly  blanketed  hills,  in 
the  sugar  bush,  they  are  looking  to  the  sap 
pails;  and  if  the  cold  nights  and  sunny  days 
hold  out,  the  run  ought  to  be  as  usual,  which 
is  plenty  good  enough. 

I  have  a  maple  tree  at  my  place,  and  felt 
that  I  might  tap  it,  just  for  fun.  But  some 
know-it-all  told  me  that  it  wasn't  a  sugar 
maple,  but  some  other  kind  of  maple,  and 
added  that  I  might  as  well  tap  the  flagpole — 
the  result  would  be  the  same.  And  such  is 
the  power  of  suggestion  that  I've  about 
given  the  whole  project  up.  I  feel,  however, 
that  there's  sap  in  that  thar  tree ! 

It  can't  last  long,  this  boisterous  going- 
on.  And  think  what  it  will  be  like  when 
the  first  daffodil  lifts  its  golden  chalice  to 
a  sun  getting  higher  and  higher  in  the 
heavens. 

And  when  the  smell  of  fresh-turned  earth 
greets  us  in  the  early  morning,  and  when  the 
lawn  mower  makes  its  debut  and  the  blue- 
birds nest  again.  All  wonderful,  all  worth 
waiting  for.  I  guess  the  weeds  did  quite  a 
business  last  fall,  but  remember — every 
flower  was  once  a  weed.  That  helps. 

And  so  good-by  until  another  day.  Let  it 
blow.  No  weather,  however  bad,  lasts  for- 
ever, and  "even  the  weariest  river  winds 
somewhere  safe  to  sea." 


There's  energy  a'plenty  in  a  meal 
like  this.  And  it's  simpler  than  it 
looks,  tool  Duffs  Waffle  Mix  makes 
waffles  quicker,  better,  tastier. 
Buy  a  box  for  tomorrow  morning! 


1^ 


Sugaring-off  draws  New  England  youngsters 
to  the  sugar  house !  Hot  maple  syrup,  cooled 
on  snow,  makes  delicious  candy  —  "sugar  on 
snow." 

Full  of  real 
maple  sugar  flavor 

If  you've  ever  tasted  "sugar  on  snow" — 
and  remember  the  luscious  goodness  of 
that  real  maple  sugar — then  you  know  the 
delicious  flavor  of  Vermont  Maid  Syrup. 

To  give  you  this  rich  maple  sugar  flavor, 
we  first  select  a  maple  sugar  that  has  a 
good,  full  flavor.  Then  blend  it  with  cane 
sugar  and  other  sugars. 

This  blend  enhances  the  flavor  of  the 
maple — makes  it  richer,  more  delicious. 
Always  uniform,  too.  Get 
Vermont  Maid  at  your  grocer'; 

Penick  &  Ford,  Ltd.,  Ir 
Burlington,  Vermont. 


Syrup 


CIVE  A 
tSMTBM 


t^'- 


„   ,    A  VUh*     Scalloped  row 
Baked  Fish  g^^^^, 

lemon  Hutter*: 
Cole  Slaw*     Muffins 

lemon  Pie 
Hot  Tea  ivith  lemon 


LENTEX  FAVORITES  become  something  neiv  when  you 
add  a  lively  touch  of  lemon.  Such  grand  flavor  and  smart  color! 
See  how  easily  lemons  help  any  course  of  a  dinner. 


APPEtlZiR  — Vegetable  Juice 

Any  vegetable  or  fruit  juice  responds  to  the  wake-up 
tang  of  lemon.  Soups,  both  clear  and  thick,  sea  foods 
and  most  other  appetizers  need  the  lift  that  lemon 
gives  them,  too. 

MAIN  DiSH— Baked  Fish* 

You  wouldn't  think  oise7ving  fish  without  lemon,  but 
have  you  tried /*re/>arz?jg  it  with  lemon?  No  trick  at  all. 
To  bake,  broil  or  fry  any  fish  (without  that  fishy  odor) 
simply  rub  with  fresh  lemon  juice  inside  and  out,  salt 
to  taste,  dot  with  butter  or  margarine  and  cook  until 
done.  You  won't  taste  the  lemon,  but,  mmm . . .  there's 
fish  with  a  flavor!  And  lemon  does  much  for  chops, 
roasts  (both  lamb  and  veal)  and  other  main  dish  stand- 
bys.  See  pages  6, 7  and  8,  Sunkist  Lemon  Recipe  Book. 

VEGETABLE  —Lemon  Buttered  Beets* 

A  sprinkling  of  fresh  lemon  juice  performs  wonders 
with  most  vegetables.  Beets,  for  example,  are  some- 
thing new  with  lemon  butter:  ^4  cup  melted  butter  or 
margarine  blended  with  2  tbs.  of  fresh  lemon  juice. 
Pour  over  beets  just  before  serving. 

SALAD  — Cole  Slaw* 

Lemon  adds  a  real  wake-up  tang  to  most  salads.  With 
cole  slaw,  use  fresh  lemon  juice  in  place  of  vinegar 
in  your  favorite  dressing.  Then  watch  it  disappear. 

DESSERT  — Lemon  Pie 

The  perfect  ending  for  any  meal.  Lemon  pie,  banked 
high  with  snowy  meringue,  is  so  popular  that  every 
cookbook  has  1  or  2  recipes.  For  variety  get  Sunkist's 
famous  Lemon  Recipe  Book  with  7£  pie  recipes  — 
all  lemon. 


As  you  see,  lemons  can  be  your  most  helpful  food  in  setting  a  tastier  table.  But 
there  is  another  reason  for  using  lemons  liberally —HEALTH.  Lemons  are  a  rich 
source  of  vitamins  C  and  P,  a  good  source  of  B 1 .  They  aid  digestion  and  alkalin- 
ize  the  system.  Sunkist's  famous  Lemon  Recipe  fiook  has  over  100  interesting 
recipes.  It's  free.  Write  Sunkist,  Sec.  203,  Los  Angeles,  55,  California. 

Sunkis/  Lemons  in  tradeinarhed  tissue 
wrappers  are  t lie  finest  and  juiciest  from 
14,500  cooperating  California  and  Ari- 
zona  citrus  growers. 


L 


FOR  GOOD  HEALTH  AND  GOOD  FLAVOR 

Sunkist 

California  Lemons 


LET'S  FINISH  THE  JOB  — BUY  WAR  BONDS 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 

'   •'.{'■■yy;-,  ■  >, 


March,  1945 


Her  lovely  hair  shines  just  like  jet,  no  wonder  she's  the  brunette  threat! 


\&^^'^ 


V 0  vmk  j^hfiMihoii 

L[AVES  YOUR  HAIR  SO  LySlROySJETSO  [ASY 10  MANAGE! 


&  Smart,  new  combination  .  .  .  checks  and  stripes  worn  together!  A 
blouse  of  crisp  rayon  over  a  sweater  of  soft,  warm  cotton  and  wool.  Her 
lovely  hair,  swept  up  from  her  face  in  an  unusual  new  center-part 
arrangement,  owes  its  shining  smoothness  to  Drene  with  Hair  Condi- 
tioner. No  other  shampoo  leaves  hair  so  lustrous,  yet  so  easy  to  manage! 


'^"  WyiU/w^^yA. 


MAKE    A    DATE    W 


Tonight .  . .  don't  put  it  off  .  .  .  shampoo  I  your  hair  the  new  glam- 
our way!  Use  Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair  V/  Conditioner!  Get  the 
combination  of  beauty  benefits  only  this  wonderful  improved  shampoo 
can  give!  ^  Extra  lustre  .  .  .  up  to  33%  more  than  with  soap  or 
soap  shampoos!  f^ Manageable  hair  .  .  .  easy  to  comb  into  smooth 
shining  neatness!  ^  Complete  removal  of  dandruff!  Insist  on  Drene 
Shampoo  with  Hair  Conditioner,  or  ask  your  beauty  shop  to  use  it. 


Only  Drene 

with  Hair  Conditioner  reveals 

up  to  33%  more  lustre  than  soap 

.  .  .  yet  leaves  hair  so  easy  to 

arrange,  so  alluringly  smooth!  r 


Does  your  hair  look  dull,  slightly  tnousy? 

No  wonder — if  you're  washing  it  with  cake  soap  or 
liquid  soap  shampoo!  Because  soap  of  any  sort  leaves 
a  soap  film  which  dulls  lustre,  robs  your  hair  of 
glamour!  Change  to  Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair 
Conditioner!  Drene  never  leaves  any  dulUng  film. 
That's  why  it  reveals  up  to  33%  more  lustre! 

Does  your  hair-do  require  constant  fiddling? 

Men  don't  like  this  business  of  running  a  comb 
through  your  hair  in  public!  Fix  your  hair  so  it  stays 
put !  And  remember  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioner 
leaves  hair  wonderfully  easy  to  manage,  right  after 
shampooing!  No  other  shampoo  leaves  hair  so  lus- 
trous, yet  so  easy  to  arrange! 

Sssssshhhhh!  But  have  you  dandruff? 
Too  many  girls  have!  And  what  a  pity.  For  un- 
sightly dandruff  can  be  easily  controlled  if  you 
shampoo  regularly  with  Drene.  Drene  wth  Hair 
Conditioner  removes  every  trace  of  embarrassing 
dandruff  the  very  first  time  you  use  it! 


u-)/im5C 


WITH 


HAIR     CONDITIONER 

'■■'^  Guoranteed  by  'i\    p,o(Iiirt  of  I'rocler  &:  Gamble 
L  Good  Housekeeping^ 


MUNKACSI 


?M'-'A 


BY    BETTY   HANNAH   HOFFMAN 

CHAPLAIN  CLYDE  HAHN  stood  on  the  deck  of  an  Army  transport  off  Attn  and  won- 
dered how  long  a  man  could  last  in  the  gray,  icy,  sub-infested  waters  below.  He  peered 
through  the  fog  at  the  frozen  ridges  of  the  Aleutians  and  tried  to  picture  what  the  attack 
would  be  like  and  how  he  would  react  under  fire.  Three  months  ago,  he  had  been  a 
preacher  in  an  indolent  little  Southern  town.  Now  he  was  about  to  go  over  the  side  of  the 
ship  with  the  assault  troops  and  follow  them,  unarmed,  into  battle.  The  stomach-chilling 
hunch  that  he  would  never  come  out  alive  did  not  alter  his  determination  to  accompany 
them  right  under  the  muzzles  of  the  Jap  guns. 

A  heavy-set,  mild- looking  fellow  in  his  early  thirties,  with  big  football  shoulders  and  a 
pair  of  blue,  faintly  troubled  eyes  that  give  him  the  look  of  Bing  Crosby  dressed  up  to  play 
Father  O'Malley,  Hahn's  easygoing  manner  conceals  the  tenacity  of  a  bulldog.  One  of  six 
children  of  a  blacksmith  he  had  worked  in  a  grocery  store  to  put  himself  through  theologi- 
cal school,  then  spent  four  more  years  as  factory  hand,  gas-station  attendant  and  milkman 
before  he  got  his  first  call— a  one-room  mission  church  by  the  side  of  a  dusty  red-clay  lane 
in  West  Columbia,  South  Carolina,  with  a  congregation  of  exactly  nine  souls. 

But  Sunday  morning  aboard  an  Army  transport  off  Attu  is  not  Sunday  morning  m  a  tiny 
Lutheran  church.  And  the  bare  whitewashed  windows  and  hard  brown  pews  grouped  around 
an  iron  stove  back  home  were  not  like  the  surroundings  below  deck  where  Chaplain 
Hahn  now  went  to  preach  his  last  sermon  aboard  ship  two  days  before  D  day. 

217.5%  of  Ameriean  familifs  bave  inooinvsof  less  than  92000  a  year. 


•  HOW  mmu  \,\m  * 


133 


In  the  transport's  mess  hall,  where  a  temporary  altar  had  been  set  up,  the  hand- 
some gold  crosses  provided  by  the  Navy  gleamed  in  the  candlelight.  The  three 
hundred  or  so  men  gathered  there  looked  tense  and  slightly  unhappy.  Nerves 
wound  tight  for  attack,  stiff-muscled  from  inactivity  and  sniffling  from  an  epi- 
demic of  colds  which  plagued  their  cramped  shipboard  quarters,  they  stood  and 
shuffled  their  cold  feet.  It  was  May  9,  1943,  and  the  temperature  outside  stood 
around  zero.  They  had  forty-eight  hours  to  pass  somehow,  endlessly,  minute  by 
minute,  before  they  were  spilled  on  the  frozen  shores  of  Attu  to  blast  and  hack 
and  bayonet  the  Japs  from  United  States  soil. 

The  chaplain  began  his  sermon  by  reminding  the  men  that  it  was  Mother's  Day 
back  home.  As  he  spoke,  he  thought  of  the  fresh,  gentle  face  of  his  wife  and  the 
bravery  in  her  clear  blue  eyes.  He  saw  his  mother's  face  with  the  same  gentleness 
and  courage,  but  with  the  freshness  gone  and  something  lonely  in  its  place.  Simply 
and  gravely  he  told  the  men,  despite  the  hardships  they  were  undergoing,  to  think 
of  the  hardships  each  mother  had  gone  through  bringing  them  to  manhood.  The 
restless  feet  grew  still.  The  grim  faces  melted  with  remembrance.  A  few  wept. 

Afterward  they  came  to  him  with  letters  laboriously  and  hegrt-searchingly 
written  to  their  wives  and  mothers.  "Would  you  mind  sending  this  for  me.  Chap- 
lain, just  in  case "  They  never  finished  that  sentence.    Some  wanted  private 

communion  and  he  gave  it  gladly,  at  any  hour:  "Seems  like  a  chaplain  can  get 
closer  to  men  than  a  minister.  Maybe  it's  because  they're  scared,  but  mostly 
it's  because  they're  all  men  together."  And  he  adds  thoughtfully,  mindful  of  how 
women  outnumber  men  more  than  two  to  one  at  church  services  back  home, 
"Maybe  more  men  would  go  to  church  if  there  were  special  services  for  them." 

At  Fort  Ord,  California,  where  he  was  stationed  with  the  men  just  before  em- 
barking, he  found  that  money  messes  and  woman  trouble  ruin  more  good  soldiers 
than  anything  else.  If  the  men  felt  their  wives  were  too  extravagant  and  getting 
them  into  debt,  "  I'd  write  the  wives  that  they  should  be  willin'  to  make  the  easy 
sacrifices  when  their  husbands  are  willin'  to  give  up  their  lives.  I  sure  hope  it  did 
some  good."  The  younger  married  men  brood  about  their  wives'  fidelity.  "If  they 
suspected  their  wives  of  runnin'  around  or  livin'  with  other  men  while  coUectin' 
their  allotments,  I'd  have  the  Red  Cross  check  up  on  'em.  The  older  married  men 
don't  worry  so  much,  but  they  make  the  worst  soldiers.  Guess  their  wives  sof- 
tened 'em  up  too  much — they  jest  loll  round  and  think  of  nothin'  but  home." 

But  you  can't  judge  how  a  man  is  going  to  react  under  fire  by  the  way  he  acted 
at  training  camp,  the  chaplain  found.  "Some  of  the  biggest  and  toughest,  those 
who  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  any  chaplain  at  camp,  are  the  first  to  holler 
for  'im  when  the  goin'  gits  bad.  Seems  like  they  don't  have  the  confidence  of  the 
boys  who've  always  lived  with  their  religion." 

Clyde — or  Tony,  as  his  wife  calls  him — was  the  only  chaplain  to  land  with  the 
three  thousand  men  who  stormed  the  Holtz  Bay  area.  They  were  part  of  the  fa- 
mous Seventh  Division  that  later  took  Kiska  and  the  Gilberts,  and  Leyte.  With 
Hahn  was  his  clerk,  Corp.  Wally  Schulenberg,  son  of  a  Lutheran  minister  in  Chi- 

134 


led  nerves  and  aiveak  memory  plague  I  he  parson 

his    Attn    experiences.    "After    Sun€lay    service, 

n  a  jerk.''''    But    he   keeps  gamely  on,   hopes   to 

rn  to  Alaska  with  wife  ami  child  us  a  missionary. 


now  mmm  um 


into  on«  >^«^^-  ■  ,„  — -^^  t^'"^^    M^II^^B^^M 


PHOTOS    BY   MUNKACSI 


cago.  At  Army  camps,  this  clerk  keeps  the  chaplain's  files,  types  up  church  pro- 
grams, generally  plays  the  organ.  On  the  battlefield,  Wally's  job  was  to  see  that 
his  chaplain  didn't  get  killed. 

No  Jap  fire  greeted  the  landing  barges  as  they  wove  among  the  rocks  onto  a 
beach  so  narrow  and  inaccessible  that  the  Japs  had  not  bothered  to  fortify  it.  The 
terrain  was  so  abrupt  and  steep  that  Tony  spent  the  first  day  advancing  with 
troop  commander  Major  Hartl,  on  his  hands  and  knees.  As  they  climbed  higher 
into  the  snowy  peaks,  the  temperature  dropped  to  twenty  below  and  their  sweat- 
soaked  clothes  froze  on  them.  Two  and  a  half  miles  inland,  the  infantry  ahead  en- 
countered the  first  Japs.  That  night  the  husky  reverend  dug  a  narrow  foxhole  in 
the  side  of  a  cliff  and  tossed  sleeplessly  until  dawn,  shivering  with  cold  and  fatigue, 
his  clerk  Wally  alert  with  his  gun  near  by. 

The  second  day  he  was  back  at  the  landing  beach,  helping  to  rig  hospital  tents, 
when  he  received  word  from  Major  Hartl  to  find  a  level  space  of  ground  away  from 
the  fighting  area  for  a  cemetery.  The  first  casualties  were  coming  back  from  the 
hills. 

Maj.  Albert  V.  Hartl  was  a  short,  stocky,  precise-speaking  soldier  from  Bis- 
marck, North  Dakota,  who  looked  like  the  accountant  he  formerly  was.  In  action, 
however,  he  proved  a  competent  and  fearless  commander,  winning  the  profound 
admiration  of  his  men.  As  Hahn  came  up,  the  major  was  almost  crying,  saying,  "  I 
can't  stand  to  see  my  men  butchered  up  like  this."  The  Japs  had  depressed  their 
antiaircraft  batteries  until  the  shrapnel  was  bursting  a  few  feet  over  the  heads  of 
men  wrestling  in  hand-to-hand  combat,  mangling  Japs  and  Americans  alike. 

Along  with  the  terrible  head  and  chest  wounds  from  the  AA  guns,  the  men  suf- 
fered cruelly  from  frozen  feet  as  their  leather  boots  grew  stiff  in  the  snow.  Hahn, 
whose  own  feet  were  frostbitten,  gave  away  all  his  dry  socks  and  moved  tirelessly 
among  the  wounded,  giving  one  a  sip  of  stimulant,  kneeling  to  pray  beside  another 
in  the  snow.  "Some  of  them  cursed,  and  some  of  'em  prayed.  No  use  forcin' 
yourself  on  those  who  cursed.  There  were  plenty  who  prayed." 

The  men  all  seemed  to  know  and  wanted  to  hear  the  Lord's  Prayer.  "Our 
Father,  which  art  in  heaven" — their  lips  moved  with  Hahn's  as  he  spoke.  The  lit- 
ter bearers  staggered  back  with  a  lad  whose  neck  was  riddled  with  shrapnel.  It 
was  a  boy  Hahn  had  baptized,  along  with  his  infant  daughter,  just  before  leaving 
California.  He  died  in  Tony's  arms  without  ever  regaining  consciousness. 

Eating  only  cold  field  rations,  and  sleeping  perhaps  one  hour  in  twenty-four, 
Tony  moved  back  and  forth  between  the  front-line  foxholes  and  the  aid  station. 
Once  a  Jap  sniper  pinned  him  down  in  the  snow  for  three  hours,  the  bullets  coming 
so  close  they  kicked  snow  into  his  face,  but  he  kept  on.  'By  the  sixth  day,  most 
of  the  Holtz  Bay  area  was  in  American  hands,  but  a  lone  Jap  machine-gun  nest 
hidden  in  a  high  peak  still  harassed  the  men  at  the  landing  beach. 

At  dusk  a  group  of  volunteers  started  after  them,  Tony  bringing  up  the 
rear.  "Some  chaplains  stay  back  at  the  field  hospitals,  but  I  figured,  if  they  need 
me  at  all,  it's  where  the  goin's  the  worst."  His  doughty  clerk  Wally  at  his  side, 

135 


lAhe  Bing  Crosby,  tvhom  he  resembles,  the  husky  reverend  is  a  good 
golfer,  also  referees  basketball  games  and  likes  to  hunt  and  fish. 
Stand-offish  G.I.'s  were  soon  won  by  his  Irish  wit  and  easygoing 
tolerance.  Friends  called  him  ^^Tony."  Badly  injured  while  advancing 
toward  a  Jap  machine-gun  nest,  he  was  hospitalized  for  six  months, 
came  home  to  Carolina  to  preach  funeral  service  for  his  infant  son. 


Walther  League  listens  owl-eyed  to  hints  on  happy  wifehood.    Par- 
son''s  rule  for  mending  sliaky  marriages:  "First  remove  the  in-laws.^^ 


rishioners—"none  of  ^etn  better  off  ^n  us,^''  says  Lib— arrive  regu- 
larly with  gifts  to  stock  parson^s  pantry.   Food  costs  her  $50  a  month. 


Lib  Hahll  iior/.ci/  ciiihl  M'<irs  ill  ii  lii>si<T\  mill  hvjiire  she  i/iiit 
to  have  I'lui.  I'nrson  iranis  "as  many  kills  as  I  lie  /,<»rrf  sends; 
He'll  find  a  tvav  to  provide.'''    I'resenI  salary  is  $:{,'}  a  iveek. 


^aw  /^mertea  ^0/C4. 


M 


.^T    *         -•'!  .'^m  >»3>4tM 


HOW  THE  HAHM  SPEKD  THEIR  mil\ 

Food $600.00      Recreation $15.00 

Clothing 120.00  Taxes  (poll  and  state)  .    .  18.00 

Car  upkeep 300.00      Laundry 30.00 

Fuel  (5  tons  coal)  ....        50.00  Newspapers, 

Electricity 54.00  church  literature 

Phone 36.00  and  magazines   ....  55.00 

Insurance 75.00  Doctor's  and 

Hospitalization 48.00  dentist's  supplies  .    .    .  50.00 

Contributions 168.00      Chicken  feed 50.00 

Retirement  fund    ....       67.20      jMiscellaneous 78.80 

$1815.00* 

*  Yearly  expected  income  from  salary,  weddings  and  small  amount  from  plate 
collections.    House  payments,  upkeep  and  improvements  paid  by  the  church. 


Tony  sweated  and  pulled  himself  up  the  face  of  the  cliff 
for  seven  hours  through  the  semi-darkness  of  the  Arctic 
night.  Suddenly  the  fog  and  dark  lifted,  and  he  was 
gazing  right  into  the  ugly  mouths  of  the  Jap  guns  on 
the  summit.  He  slid  back,  lost  his  balance  and  [blunged 
down  the  precipice. 

Wally's  anxious  face  was  bending  over  him  wlien  he 
awoke  at  the  aid  station  hours  later.  It  was  he  who  had 
rushed  back  for  litter  bearers  as  soon  as  he  found  his 
chaplain  unconscious  in  the  snow.  Major  Harll  hurried 
over,  shaking  his  head  and  saying  sadly,  "Of  all  men 
1  hated  to  lose,  it  was  my  chaplain."  Tony  smiled  and 
tried  to  get  up.   He  was  paralyzed  from  the  waist  down. 

Litter  bearers  carried  him  from  the  aid  station  to  the 
hospital  on  the  beach,  a  distance  of  several  miles,  with 
snipers  firing  at  them  the  wiiole  way.  From  the  beach, 
Tony  was  evacuated  to  the  hospital  ship  in  the  harbor. 
His  faithful  clerk  Wally  cried  to  see  him  go,  and  his 
grief  reached  through  the  bitterness  and  defeat  in 
Tony's  heart.  Paralyzed  for  life,  so  he  thought,  he  lay 
helpless  in  the  hold  of  the  ship  as  they  zigzagged  full 
speed  out  of  the  harbor,  dodging  the  torpedoes  from 
enemy  submarines. 

His  wife  Lib,  clumsy  with  the  child  that  was  ex- 
pected in  a  few  weeks,  was  rocking  on  the  front  porch 
one  stilling  June  night  when  the  news  came.  She  had 
just  put  their  young  daughter  to  bed  and  was  looking 
up  at  a  ripe  Carolina  moon  and  fretting  over  Tony's 
long  silence,  when  some  neighbors  arrived  with  a  tele- 
gram: "Regret  to  inform  you  .  .  .  your  husband 
First  Lt.  Clyde  Hahn  wounded  in  action  Alaska 
Defense  Command."  She  sat  there  stunned,  unable  to 
speak  or  cry,  her  eyes  taking  in  the  message  but  her 
mind  refusing  to  believe  it.  Upstairs,  young  Pud  woke 
suddenly  and  started  to  wail.  Lib  said  good  night 
politely  to  her  friends,  and  went  into  the  house.  After- 
ward, she  returned  and  resumed  her  rocking  until  dawn. 

She  remembered  the  first  time  she  met  Tony.  He  was 
selling  gasoline  to  help  pay  his  way  through  Concordia 
Theological  Seminary,  at  St.  Louis,  and  enjoying  the 
passing  sliow  of  pretty  girls  who  stopped  by  the  pumps 
every  day.  The  moment  the  slender,  blue-eyed  Miss 
Gantt  drove  into  the  station  he  thought,  so  he  told  her 
later,  "That's  nice.  \"ery  nice."  One  remark  led  to  an- 
other and  he  discovered  he  had  been  selling  her  married 
sister  gasoline  for  weeks.  She  hadn't  made  it  too  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  get  himself  invited  to  dinner.  Elizabeth 
Ola  soon  became  "Lib,"  and  mightily  concerned  about 
the  prospects  of  young  Lutheran  preachers. 

In  1936,  still  depression  times,  they  were  far  from 
good,  especially  in  a  Baptist  stronghold  like  the  Caro- 
linas.  "I  knew  all  'bout  tight  squeezes  when  it  came 
to  money,"  observes  Lio  today.  "There  were  nine  of 
us  children  and  my  father  was  a  plumber.  I  didn't 
allow  as  how  marrying  a  preacher  who  hadn't  even 
got  started  was  very  good  sense." 

But  Lib  had  a  job— pairing  stockings  in  a  Hickory 
hosiery  mill  for  $25  a  week.  She  bought  a  maple  bed- 
room suite  and  saved  SlOO:  Tony  borrowed  $L^0  from 
the  bank  and  they  were  married  the  autumn  after  he 
graduated  from  theological  school.  With  a  headful  of 
Biblical  quotations  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  Tony  went 
to  work  knitting  hosiery  in  the  same  factory  where 
she  worked.  Hardly  were  they  settled  in  a  two- 
room  apartment  of  their  own,  however,  when  he  came 


down  with  pleurisy  and  they  moved  in  with  her  mother 
and  her  family.  That  winter.  Lib  supported  them  both 
with  her  slender  earnings.  When  he  recovered,  Tony 
got  an  $18-a-week  job  as  a  bookkeeper,  then  ran  a  milk 
route.  Four  years  after  their  marriage.  Lib  was  still 
matching  stockings  eight  hours  a  day,  living  in  a  one- 
room  apartment  and  eating  all  meals  out.  She  began 
to  doubt  that  Tony  would  ever  get  a  church,  but  he 
never  gave  up  hope,  turning  down  a  fine-paying  job  as 
manager  of  a  dairy  because  he  reckoned  he  couldn't  be 
happy  in  that  kind  of  business  at  all. 

In  1940,  there  was  an  opening  in  the  Holy  Trinity 
Lutheran  Church  in  West  Columbia,  an  old  frame 
church  as  gray-white  as  the  sand  that  drifts  up  against 
the  steps  and  under  the  pecan  trees  and  Southern  pines. 
The  first  Sunday  he  preached  there,  nine  people  turned 
out  to  see  the  new  minister.  When  he  left  to  join 
the  Army  he  had  "close  to  a  hundred,  countin'  the 
kids"— a  sizable  flock  he  shepherded  from  their  snug 
homes  by  tramping  up  and  down  each  street  ringing 
doorbells. 

Tony  thought  of  his  mission  work  as  he  lay  paralyzed 
aboard  the  hospital  ship  headed  for  Adak,  and  de- 
spaired of  the  future.  On  the  second  day,  he  thought 
he  felt  a  faint  prickling  sensation  in  one  foot.  To  his 
great  joy,  the  numbness  began  to  disappear,  until  he 
could  move  botii  legs  freely.  However,  the  tumble 
down  the  mountainside  which  caused  the  temporary 
paralysis  also  damaged  two  vertebrae,  requiring  a  cast 
from  shoulder  to  hip. 

By  this  time,  he  was  fretting  to  be  back  with  his 
men:  but,  as  his  back  improved,  the  horrors  he  had  seen 
on  Attn  began  to  obsess  his  mind  and  he  suffered  a 
frightening  loss  of  memory.  Tony  feels  twelve  weeks  of 
Army  life  were  not  enough  to  season  a  man  of  peace  to 
battle-front  conditions  and  that,  if  he  had  had  more  sea- 
soning, he  probably  would  ha\-e  come  out  all  right. 

Still  very  jumpy,  but  able  to  get  about  with  a  back 
brace,  he  went  home  to  a  joyful  reunion  with  Lib  and 


his  daughter  in  July.  Two  days  after  he  arrived,  his 
first  son  was  born,  a  husky,  black-haired  youngster 
weighing  almost  nine  pounds.  Tony  barely  had  time  to 
get  acquainted  before  he  was  sent  to  McCloskey  General 
Hospital,  in  Texas,  where  he  remained  until  he  was 
discharged  from  the  Army  the  following  winter. 

One  bright  February  day,  he  drove  up  to  Hickory, 
North  Carolina,  where  Lib  was  staying  with  her  mother, 
to  bring  back  his  family  to  the  red-roofed  white  parson- 
age in  West  Columbia.  On  the  hundred-and-fifty-mile 
trip  back,  the  new  baby,  Timothy,  took  sick.  Two  days 
later  he  died  of  a  raging  fever  from  some  unknown  ail- 
ment, at  seven  months. 

Tony  and  Lib  still  cannot  mention  their  loss  with 
composure.  The  reverend  can  listen  to  parishioners' 
woes  all  day  long  and  half  the  night,  too,  without  get- 
ting morbid  or  depressed.  "And  I  get  more  than  their 
spiritual  problems,"  he  says  with  a  small  smile.  But 
funerals  have  a  devastating  effect  upon  him.  "By  the 
time  I've  finished  a  funeral  service,  I'm  every  bit  as 
cut  up  as  the  family."  The  one  he  conducted  over  the 
tiny  coffin  of  his  infant  son  was  the  hardest  thing  he 
ever  did. 

Their  red-haired  three-year-old,  christened  Becky  but 
generally  called  Pud.  with  the  u  soft  as  in  "pudding." 
has  so  far  shown  none  of  the  rambunctious  traits  of  a 
minister's  child  except  for  lisping  innocently  into  the 
phone,  "Daddy  isn't  here,"  and  hanging  up  before 
Tony  can  get  there.  He  is  out  of  the  house  so  much  that 
Lib  never  sets  a  pan  on  the  stove  until  he  is  actually 
inside  the  front  door.  Even  at  that,  the  parishioners 
seem  to  wait  for  the  precise  moment  when  she  is  setting 
a  delicately  crisp  plate  of  fried  oysters  on  the  table  be- 
fore they  phone  for  Tony  to  visit  a  sickbed  side. 

Ask  Lib  how  she  came  to  fall  in  love  with  her  husky 
preacher,  and  she'll  tell  you  ruefully  she  guesses  it  was 
his  love  of  good  times.  With  a  guest  membership  at  a 
near-by  country  club,  he  still  finds  time  for  golf  and 
tennis  in  the  summer,  and  every  fall  is  out  with  his  fish- 
ing rod  or  gunning  after  squirrels  and  pheasants.  But, 
on  a  salary  of  about  $33  a  w-eek,  with  guests  dropping  in 
continually  for  meals  or  overnight,  the  "recreation" 
item  in  the  budget  runs  to  maybe  a  movie  a  month  for 
Lib,  with  Ladies'  Aid  meetings  and  visiting  with  the 
reverend  her  only  outside  activities. 

It  helps  a  lot  that  they  pay  no  rent  or  upkeep  on  their 
stove-heated  four-room  cottage,  bought  by  the  church 
brand  new  for  $3500  four  years  ago.  With  mop  and 
broom,  because  she  owns  no  vacuum.  Lib  keeps  it  neat 
and  shining  as  a  pin.  In  the  rear,  the  handy  reverend 
has  hammered  up  two  swings  for  Pud,  a  pen  for  their 
dozen  chickens,  and  a  doghouse  for  their  two  coal-black 
cockers.  The  men's  club  at  the  church  plowed  up  the 
meadow  grass  that  was  their  front  lawn  in  preparation 
for  grass  seed  next  summer,  as  well  as  digging  six  holes 
for  some  pecan  trees,  good  for  shade  and  a  small  in- 
come too. 

In  Tony's  study  is  the  deed  for  a  plot  of  land  for  the 
new  brick  church  he  plans  to  build  down  the  lane,  big 
enough  to  hold  250  people.  After  that,  when  his  nerves 
and  shaky  memory  are  back  to  normal,  he  wants  to 
make  personally  sure  that  a  better  world  means  more 
than  a  pint  of  milk  a  day  for  the  coming  generations. 
Young  spirits  need  just  as  careful  nourishing  as  bodies. 
This  Attn  veteran  plans  to  become  a  missionary. 


( />  at  seven,  the  /Hirsoii  fries 
hisoHii  breakfast,  bitl  is  never 
ranfiht     trashing    any  dishes. 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


TAKING 


^^^^S^^^#^ 


try  this  DELICIOUS  WAY  for  better  results ! 

Auf^or/fies  a^ree,  they  t/o  more  ^ooJ  in 
eomhinafioii  w/fh  cerfa/n  other  fooi/  e/ementsf 

Today  millions  of  people  are  discovering  a  better  way  to 
take  their  extra  vitamins.  A  way  urged  by  authorities  for 
better  results — keener  vitality,  better  all-round  good  health. 
Discarding  earlier  methods,  they  now  take  their  extra  vita- 
mins in  food.    Ordinary  food,  or  fortified  food. 


MORE 


For  authorities  agree,  vitamins  do  not  ivork  alone.  They 
work  as  a  team  with  certain  other  food  elements  which  are 
absolutely  necessary  for  best  results. 

Today  people  by  the  thousands  are  turning  to  Ovaltine. 
For  it  is  a  specially  fortified  food  that  contains — besides 
vitamins — nearly  all  the  precious  food  elements  necessary 
for  health  and  top  vitality.  And  especially  those  elements 
needed  for  vitamin  teamwork. 

For  example,  Vitamin  A  and  protein  are  both  necessary 
in  cell-building^and  they're  both  in  Ovaltine.  Vitamin  Bj 
and  fuel-food  also  act  together  for  sparkling  vitality — and 
they're  combined  in  Ovaltine.  Vitamin  D,  Calcium  and 
Phosphorus  must  work  together — and  you  get  them  all  in  a 
glass  of  Ovaltine  made  with  milk. 

So  why  be  satisfied  to  take  mere  vitamins  alone — which 
fail  to  supply  these  other  important  food  elements.'  Why 
not  change  to  Ovaltine,  as  thousands  are  doing.  If  you're 
eating  average-good  meals,  2  glasses  of  Ovaltine  give  you 
all  the  extra  amounts  of  vitamins  and  minerals  you  need. 

^^  PLAIN      AND     CHOCOLATE      FIAVO 


MORt 


Its  Of 


PLAIN     AND     CHOCOLATE      FLAVORED 


3    out    of    every    4-    people  need  extra  vitamins 
or  minerals — according  to  Government  reports.  Reasons 
for  this  include  vitamin  deficiencies  of  many  modern 
foods  —  also  losses  in  shipping,  storing  and  cooking. 


138 


^-^ 


FIFTYDOLMR  PHILOSOPHY 


luirW  spring  ami  JuU — Mrs.  llahn  lives  in  shirts, 
skirls  antl  sweaters  in  pretty  colors;  buys  at  sales. 


BOTOGKAPUS 


BV  Pl-UCEB 


Canteen     apron,     rickrack    cuUletl 
Mollytvood  Pattern  1097, 12  to  42,  25< 


MVkV 


./ 


nit  e pique  dickey  to  make, 
Hollywood  Pattern  1085; 
pique  gloves,  JOVKNAL  glove 
Wpattern  1941,  5c;  order  from 
Journal  Reference  Library, 
Philadelphia     5,     Penna. 


^'^> 

.■^•C-^ 


^'Qp^ 


L't'i 


<    ^ 


*'iif 


m^ 


/-• 


\0 


„    gray   shadoic- 
^  blouse. 


'-f 


A  felt  bag,  scarf  to  wear  cravat  -fashion, 
extra  ghtves,  complete  her  acces.sories. 


)  HOLLYWOOD 


tton-down  -fron  t  dress :  Hollywood 
ttern  1345,  12  to  20,  30  to  38,  25c. 


f:^ 


Pol  ha -do  I 
I'ou 


'loi  ray,,,,  .  -         '  *  '  *-WNN|^^1 


JT rap-around   cotton   dress:    Holly-] 
wood  Pattern  1086, 10  to  20, 28  to  44, 1.5c. 


BY^   IIUTH    MAIiY  I*A4  KARD 


.O 


TTTE  answer  is — I  don't  try  to  buy  too  much,"  Mrs.  Hahn  explained  with  her  quiet  smile 
as  we  discussed  her  fifty-dollar-a-year  clothes  budget.  "Just  one  complete  new  costume  a 
year — something  I  can  be  proud  of  and  wear  a  lot  of  places — then  I  fill  in  with  leftovers." 
Mrs.  Hahn  knows  values  and  saves  a  lot  by  shopping  at  sales.  This  spring  she  plans  to  have 
a  new  gray  suit  with  white  accessories.  If  it  weren't  her  year  to  buy  a  suit,  she  might  choose 
instead  a  good  crepe  dress  and  an  extra  sweater-and-skirt  costume,  which  she  loves  for  every  day. 
Kach  season  she  makes  several  aprons  and  pretty  cotton  dresses  to  wear  at  home,  to  market 
and  for  warm  summer  afternoons  .  .  .  fabric  for  only  a  few  dollars.  Mrs.  Ilalui  knows  how  to 
combine  clothes  philosophy  with  arithmetic.    That's  why  her  plan  works  so  well. 

Buy  Hollywood  l'atl«-riiK  al  the  store  >vhi<;h  sells  iheni  in  your  «-ity.  Or  order  i>y  mail,  postage  pr<-|>aid, 
from  Ilollywooti  Pattern  Service,  I'utiiaiii  Avenue,  (ireeiivt  i<-h,  Oonii.,  or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario, 
Canada.    .Send   nu>ney   and  give  sixe   to   Hollywood   l*att«-rii   Service   to  gel  y«>ur  pullern  without  delay. 


;     I 


~U 


llnek  vit'ivN  of 
ll»llyw«>»fl  I'at- 
ItTDN  on  pai(<*  lUn 

/ 


.. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


ROXANA  •  Smooth  Ming, 
sling-back  slep-in 
with  crossed-over  vamp. 
Supple  Bluejackef  calf. 


r 


Twice  as  smart  to  wear 
Vitality  Shoes, 
because  one  pair  doubles 
for  working  hours  or 
after-hours.  Also  twice 
as  smart  to  choose 
double-duty  accessories, 
such  as  the  scarf  designed 
by  John-Frederics,  which 
doubles  for  a  turbani 


,    •  The  sana®  H  these  »»*" 

.>„.»,eo».«-  ,„.„»• 


WILMA  •  Bo/h  preffy  and 
practical.  Open  foe,  patent 
leather  pump,  neatly  perforated. 
Wean  beautifully,  fits  superbly. 


BUY    U.    S.    WAR    BONDS 


Complete  Konge  of  Size  t  and  Widths 

Vitolily  Open  Road  Sheet 

for  Oufdoor  and  Campus  Weor 

$S.SO  and  $6.00 


ITALITY      SHOE      COMPANY      .       DIVISION      OF      INTERNATIONAL      SHOE      COMPANY 


•      ST,      LOUIS,       MISSOURI 


140 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Jbisten  to  women  rave  ahout 


Deodorant  ! 


Y 


OUR  DREAM — and  the  dream  of  millions  of  fastidi- 
ous >vomeu  like  you — has  at  last  t-ome  true! 


MODESS — the  softer,  safer  sanitary  napkin — now 
comes  \\ith  a  fine  deodorant  ponder  actually  sealed 
inside — to  help  you  stay  fresh  and  dainty  at  all  times! 

This  inar\'elous  new  Modess  has.  been  tried  out  by 
thousands  of  women  for  a  whole  year.  And  unsoUcited 
letters  are  pouring  in  testifying  to  their  enthusiasm. 

Well-known  impartial  laboratories  have  tested 
Modess  with  deodorant — compared  it,  in  26  different 
studies,  with  the  only  other  sanitary'  napkin  containing 
a  deodorant.  Result:  Modess  was  found  twice  as  effective! 

REMEMBER,  TOO— 3  out  of  4  women  fovmd  Modess 
softer  to  touch  in  a  nationwide  poll;  209  nurses,  in 
hospital  tests,  proved  it  saf^ — far  less  likely  to  strike 
through — than  nationally  known  layer-tj-pe  napkins. 

Now  you  can  enjoy  an  added  sense  of  ease  and 
security — a  new  dainti- 
ness "extra"' — at  no  extra 
cost.  Ask  for  the  wonder- 
ful new  Modess  with  deo- 
dorant this  very  day! 


So/^er,  safer  MODESS 
with  DEODORANT 


PLEASE  NOTE:  Your  store  sells  tu'o  kinds  of  softer,  safer 
Modt<i>s.  If  you'd  rather  have  it  without  deodorant, 
just  ask  for  "Standard  Modess." 


^ 

^ 

> 


^^.c^Z^^^c^  ^ 


^ac^  /^^Ufn^^^^  .^ 


BY   LOUISE  PAII¥E   BENJAMIN 

Beauty  Editor  of  the  Journal 


ELIZABETH  HAHN  is  as  slim  as  they  come — too  slim, 
really.  She  is  pretty  too.  But  she  does  have  one  fa- 
miliar problem:  a  back  that  tires  easily.  This  country 
is  full  of  women  just  like  her.  They  look  fine  on  the 
outside,  haven't  any  organic  problem,  aren't  overweight, 
and  yet  they  find  that  after  a  few  hours  of  bustling  about, 
their  tiredness  all  seems  to  center  in  their  backs.  A  nagging, 
mean-tempered  sort  of  ache  develops  that  frays  the  nerves, 
puts  shadows  under  the  eyes  and  writes  lines  on  the  face. 

Perhaps  our  national  vitality  and  the  hard  nervous  drive 
which  impels  us  to  "get  everything  finished  today"  are 
partly  accountable.  I  suspect  a  lot  of  housewives  who  have 
begun  to  worry  secretly  about  recurrent  backaches  are 
actually  suffering  only  from  an  overdose  of  "housekeeper's 
conscience" — and  bad  posture  habits.  Fortunately,  both 
conditions  can  be  treated  without  operation  or  expense. 
Common  sense  is  the  first  requisite.  Does  the  ironing  al- 
ways have  to  be  finished  on  Tuesday,  or  the  baseboards 
washed  at  regular  intervals?  Will  the  world  come  to  an 
end  if  the  kitchen  curtains  are  not  laundered  today,  or  the 
books  dusted?  In  housework  as  in  other  businesses,  com- 
petence often  lies  in  compromise. 

Moreover,  the  housework  itself  would  not  be  nearly  so 
burdensome  if  the  body  were  properly  carried  on  its  daily 
round.  Better  posture  and  regular,  intelligent  relaxation 
is  the  prescription  for  these  feminine  dynamos,  whose  poor 
protesting  backs  are  only  asking  for  an  opportunity  to 
operate,  or  rest,  in  a  more  normal  position. 

Take  the  case  of  Mrs.  Hahn.  First  of  all  we  had  her 
expertly  checked,  as  everyone  with  an  aching  back  should 


be,  to  make  sure  there  was  no  organic  or  structural  ailment. 
Examination  indicated  she  was  somewhat  underweight, 
but  otherwise  all  right.  She  had,  however,  slipped  into  a 
bad  posture  habit,  common  to  slender  women  who  lead 
very  active  lives  and  are  subject  to  nervous  fatigue.  There 
was  a  tendency  to  slump.  She  needed  to  re-educate  her 
back,  shoulders  and  hips  to  a  new  line.  She  needed  to 
learn  how  to  relax,  which  does  not  mean  just  lying  down, 
but  resting  in  such  a  way  that  the  body  derives  definite 
benefit.  The  pictures  show  her  receiving  lessons  in  a  famous 
body-building  salon,  which  you  can  duplicate  at  home. 

BEGIN  THIS  WAY 

Before  a  full-length  mirror,  in  a  minimum  of  clothing, 
take  an  honest  look  at  yourself.  Turn  sideways.  If  a  line 
were  dropped  from  the  front  of  your  ear  to  the  forward 
part  of  your  foot,  would  it  go  straight  through  your  body? 
That  is,  would  it  coincide  with  the  center  line  of  your  torso, 
neatly  and  straightly?  Or  would  there  be  strange  protuber- 
ances on  either  side  of  this  imaginary  standard?  Zigzag 
figures  are  regrettably  common.  If  you  deviate  from  the 
proud  normal  figure  you  should  have,  you  had  better  start 
work  before  you  are  a  day  older.  A  good  carriage  and  an 
erect  back  have  always  been  symbols  of  pride.  But  they 
are  more  than  that.  They  are  the  natural  equipment  of 
a  young  and  beautiful  body  and,  more  importantly,  a 
healthy  one. 

Start  disciplining  yourself  with  the  first  exercise  given 
Mrs.  Hahn,  illustrated  in  the  upper  right-hand  corner. 
With  feet  about  six  inches  from        (Continued  on  Page  164) 


Mrs.  Hahn  tries  "back  flattening"  for  th 
straight  line  of  health  and  youth.  Wall  climb 
ing  (below)  is  more  advance<l  work,  but  fun 


141 


PHOTOS    BY   STUAJIT 


Relaxation  from  a  new  angle  I  Offsets  drag  of  gravity, 
permitting  organs  to  rest  in  natural  position.  At  home 
prop  feet  on  bed  end;  use  pillows  for  hip  and  leg  support. 


TEST  mmw 


An  aching  back  Is  not  the  only  symptom  of  bad  posture.  When  you 
try  on  ready-made  clothing,  you  automatically  receive  a  checkup  on 
your  stance — and  shape!  If  any  of  the  following  probleius  sound  fa- 
miliar, better  start  pulling  your-self  together  .   .  .   and  in   .   .   .  and  i<p. 


'turkey  lall"    !■  tbe 


C  Doea  yonr  skirt 
bark? 

Probably  your  stomach  is  riding  high,  wide 
and  handsome.  Pull  it  in,  before  you  start 
resting  your  hands  on  it. 

#  Or  are  you  tbe  opposite  typev  vrbose 
faemllBe  always  seems  to  describe  aa 
upward  vurve  la  tbe  back,  exposlatf  the 
baeks  of  yonr  pluasp  kaees? 

If  so,  you  really  are  a  back  number;  straight 
front,  prominent  rear.  Tuck  under!  Pretend 
a  tau  is  whizzing  by  your  posterior,  too 
close  for  comfort.  Draw  yourself  in,  sharply. 
There!  That's  tbe  position  for  you  to  work 
for.  You  will  look  ten  pounds  lighter,  ten 
years  younger. 

•  Are  you  afraid  of  a  beltliae?  Uo  yon 
dodsie  styles  ivitb  sbarply  defined  waists? 

You  may  need  to  lose  some  weight,  but  the 
trouble  may  simply  be  that  you  have  slumped 
so  long  you  have  encouraged  a  relaxed  roll  of 
flesh   around   your   middle.     Straighten   up. 


Stretch  the  upper  part  of  your  body  as  though 
you  were  trying  to  pull  it  away  from  your  hips, 
as  though  you  hoped  to  add  two  inches  to 
your  height.  Think  tall. 

(tH  Vo  most  of  the  flothes  you  try  on  pull 
a<*ro8s  the  shoulders? 

It  is  possible  you  are  a  handsome  Amazon, 
with  fine  square  shouhlors,  but  be  sure  that's 
the  reason,  not  that  you  are  nursing  a  slump: 
that  rounded-back  effctt  that  starts  at  twenty 
and,  by  forty,  strains  the  seams  of  anything 
but  a  cape.  Encourage  your  shoulders  back 
into  their  natural  proud  place.  Lift  your 
chest,  straighten  your  hack. 

9  Does  a  ready-made  suit  Jaeket  "break" 
in  the  small  of  your  buek  instead  of  fol- 
lowintf  a  smooth  line  from  shoulder  to  hip? 

You  are  probably  protruding  beyond  the 
rear  line  of  beauty.  Once  again:  tuck  under, 
stand  tall,  and  ask  yourself  if  you  wouldn't  be 
well  advised  to  reduce  that  hip  circumference 
with  diet  and  exercise  as  well  as  a  newj 


bu 


^H^  "iJriinei 


142 


.  .  .  Drain  1  can  Veg-AU  Mixed  Vege- 
talile»,  saving  li(inid.  Beat  2  eggs.  Add 
J^  cup  Veg-All  li<iuid  and  114  cups 
milk  and  blend.  Add  drained  Veg-AU, 
1  >^  cups  cooked  macaroni,  1  tablespoon 
chopped  parsley,  1  tablespoon  chopped 
onion,  J^  cup  chopped  pimento,  1  !^ 
teasijoon  salt,  3  tablespoons  fat,  ^  cup 
grated  cheese.  Place  in  greased  cas- 
serole. Sprinkle  cheese  over  top.  Bake 
in  moderate  oven  (350°  F.)  1  hour. 
Serves  5-6.  Delicious! 


with 


VEG-ALL 


MIXED  VEGETABLES 

Add  variety  to  Springtime  meals 
with  this  new,  easy  recipe!  You 
can  make  it  so  quickly  with  Veg- 
All.  These  gay  colorful  vegetables 
are  all  cleaned,  peeled,  diced, 
cooked,  ready  to  serve.  A  tempting 
combination  of  green  and  yellow 
vegetables  in  every  can  .  .  .  they 
add  vitamins  and  flavor  to  main 
dishes,  and  salads.  Ask  for  Veg-All, 
America's  most  popular  Mixed 
Vegetables,  at  your  food  store. 


TIME-SAVER 


RECIPES 

FRSSf 


Save  timfe!  Save 
work!  Send  for 
these  new  Quick- 
Easy  Recipes. 
Mail  Coupon. 


The  Larsen  Company, 
Dept  J-345,  Green  Bay,  Wis. 

Please  send  me  FREE  New  Time- 
Saver  Recipes. 

Name 


Address . 
City 


.State. 


The  parson's  mighty  partial  to  apple  pie. 


MONE\'  doesn't  grow  on  trees  in 
most  ministers'  families.  Yet  on  a 
small  income  the  Hahns  manage 
to  be  host  and  hostess  to  friends 
and  relatives  for  dinner  at  least  once  a 
week.  When  it's  her  turn,  Lib  provides 
refreshments  for  at  least  35  Ladies' 
Aiders,  and  at  other  times  18  to  20 
young  folks.  That  takes  some  doing. 
Just  how  they  do,  makes  sense. 

Imttatl-nflahbor  palify.  A  good 
Samaritan  grocer  friend  and  church 
member  helps  to  keep  the  cupboard 
shelves  stocked  with  unrationed  foods. 
This  is  Lib's  providing  for  "drop-in- 
and-stay"  suppers.  With  a  neighbor, 
she  buys  potatoes  and  tomatoes  by  the 
basket — leaves  the  tomatoes  green, 
ripening  as  needed.  Neighbors  share 
their  garden  stuff  in  summer,  and  this 
year  a  flock  of  chickens  and  turkeys  will 
take  the  place  of  company  roasts. 

A  juHt'Pintaah  rook.  Few  leftovers 
clutter  Lib's  refrigerator.  She  counts 
appetites  as  well  as  noses,  whether 
she's  having  2  for  dinner  or  30  for  sand- 
wiches and  coffee. 

FusHy  mvalH—adifu.  Sociable  folks, 
the  Hahns  enjoy  their  company.  Meals 
are  simple,  and  Lib  makes  little  more 
fuss  than  there'd  be  for  dinner  just  for 
themselves.  A  roast  with  browned  po- 
tatoes, vegetable  salad  and  fruit, 
canned  by  Mrs.  Hahn's  mother,  is  their 
usual.  Chile  con  carne,  hot  as  chili 
powder  can  make  it,  is  another  favorite 
for  company.  Mr.  Hahn  does  the  con- 
cocting; uses  half  a  box  of  chili  pow- 
der— whew !  Both  like  hot  spicy  foods — 
use  Louisiana  pepper  sauce  like  mad. 

Th»  Lord  hvlp»  thosv  u>ho  help 
thfmarlres.  Make  a  bufifet  dinner  out 
of  a  simple  everyday  casserole  such  as 
sausage  and  rice,  or  a  smacking  good 
stew  beautifully  seasoned  and  roofed 
with  biscuits  or  pastry,  and  your  com- 
pany meal  will  be  and  look  just  as 
"party"  any  day  as  a  roast.  Few  of  us 
these  days  ever  have  a  look  at  one  any- 
way. Keep  your  menu  modest,  with- 
out too  much  leading  up  to  or  away 
from  the  main  dish — just  a  really  good 
salad  and  fruity  dessert  and  coffee  will 
not  only  be  in  better  taste,  but  it  will 
not  cost  you  that  extra  money  for  fancy 
fixings.  Here  is  the  way  of  the  rice  cas- 
serole. 


RICE-AIVD-SAUSAGE 
CASSEROLE 

Fry  1  pound  link  sausages.  Drain  off 
fat.  Have  ready  .3  cups  cooked  rice. 
Add  I'/i  cups  water  to  1  can  condensed 
tomato  soup  and  mix  in  1  onion, 
chopped,  1  teaspoon  chili  powder  and 
about  'A  cup  dry  grated  cheese.  Season 
to  taste  with  salt  and  pepper.  Break 
up  sausa$;es  with  a  fork  and  arrange 
rice,  sausage  and  some  of  the  tomato 
sauce  in  alternating  layers  in  a  casse- 
role, finishing  with  the  tomato  sauce. 
Bake  forty-five  minutes  in  a  moder- 
ately hot  €»v2n,  375°  F.  Scrv>'  from  the 
casserole.    Serves  6. 

MfM  thf  littlf  thinaa  that  count— 

for  company  meals.  Any  good  dish  has 
company  manners.  The  fact  that  you 
serve  an  ordinary  dish  in  an  unordinary 
way  is  enough  to  establish  you  as  an  in- 
genious hostess.  For  instance,  canned 
corned-beef  hash  doesn't  always  have 
to  be  served  as  patties,  with  or  without 
poached-egg  top  hats.  It  makes  an 
enticing  stuffing  for  peppers.  When  you 
serve  them  on  a  platter  or  chop  plate, 
garnish  with  tiny,  new,  cooked  carrots, 
rolled  in  lemon  butter  and  chopped 
parsley.  Skip  the  dinner  salad  and 
serve  it  first  with  leftover  pastry  rolled 
and  cut  into  strips,  generously  pap- 
rika'd  and  baked  just  to  the  right  stage 
for  the  something  to  eat  with  it.  Plenty 
of  hot  homemade  rolls  or  biscuits  and  a 
spicy  pickle  relish  brought  up  from 
your  own  cellar  hoard  go  along  with  the 
corned-beef  dish  perfectly.  Finish  up 
with  grapefruit  and  coffee — but  just 
plain  grapefruit,  while  good,  can  take  a 
beauty  treatment  too.  Narrow  sticks  of 
apple — skin  oi)— tucked  into  the  seed 
cavity  are  wonderful  crunchy  bites 
with  grapefruit.  Drizzle  the  tops  with 
honey.  And  here's  the  pepper  hash. 

PEPPER   HASH 

Cut  3  large  green  peppers  in  half, 
lengthwise.  Remove  seeds.  Parboil 
five  minutes  in  boiling  salted  water. 
In  the  meantime  break  up  1  can 
corned-heef  hash  with  a  fork.  Add  1 
onion,  finely  chopped,  and  2  cups 
canned  tomatoes.  Mix  together  well 
and  season  with  salt  and  pepper. 
Bake  in  moderately  hot  oven,  375°  F., 
foraboutthirty-five minutes.  Serves6. 

Toati  up  a  meal.  It's  SO  nice  to  say 
"Do  stay  for  supper"  when  friends 
drop  in  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  Lib 
leans  heavily  on  her  cupboard  shelves 


for  such  occasions.  Even  with  your 
point  pocketbook  to  think  of,  it's 
amazing  what  a  good  cache  you  can 
keep  on  hand,  particularly  if  you  have 
some  home-canned  prizes  in  the  cellar. 
With  a  jar  of  chipped  beef  and  some  of 
your  own  canned  string  beans  you  can 
stir  up  a  main  dish  in  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  that's  good  eating. 

SKILLET  SCRAMBLE 

Frizzle  Va  pound  shredded  ehipped 
l>eef'in  2  tablespoons  baeon  tirippings. 
.*\<ld  1  onion,  chopped.  Slir  in  1  pint 
home-canned  green  beans  or  1  No.  2 
can  commercial  beans,  juice  and  all. 
Cook  about  ten  minutes,  then  add  1 
cup  milk  and  2  teaspoons  prepared 
mustard.  Blend  2  tablespoons  flour 
with  just  enough  water  to  make  a 
smooth  paste  and  stir  into  the  liquid. 
Stir  constantly  until  of  a  nice  smooth 
gravy  consistency.  Season.  Amount 
of  salt  will  depend  on  how  salty  the 
chipped  beef  was  to  begin  with — so  go 
easy.  Pour  over  boiled  or  mashed  po- 
tatoes. For  company  serve  in  a  rice  or 
noodle  ring.   Serves  6. 

A  aowd  nouit  is  a  cheering  sight  to 
any  guest.  There's  pleasure  by  the 
bowlful;  and  as  a  retriever  for  the 
budget,  soup  has  few  equals.  It's  not 
first-course  "clears"  I'm  thinking  of, 
but  hale-and-hearty  bowls  that  you 
serve  as  the  main  attraction.  Yes,  soup 
is  company  even  if  the  Hahns  have 
company  first  and  soup  afterward — but 
it  must  be  the  best  of  its  kind,  a  happy 
blend  of  good  materials  and  cooked 
with  considerable  affection.  One  of 
these  that  can  really  be  superb  is  the 
old-fashioned  vegetable  soup  or  its  for- 
eign counterparts,  minestrone,  pot-aii- 
feu,  and  so  on.  Of  course,  you've  got  to 
start  somewhere  and  have  something  to 
start  with.  The  Hahns  usually  have,  as 
they  save  the  bones  from  their  once-a- 
week  roast.  Lacking  that,  there  are 
always   bones    to    be    had    from    the 


butcher,  and  you're  really  in  luck  if  he 
throws  in  a  marrowbone  and  a  cracked 
knuckle. 

VEGETABLE  SOUP 

Brown  some  bones  in  a  deep  kettle  in 

2  tablespoons  drippings.  Add  4  quarts 
water,  1  teaspoon  salt,  a  handful  of 
celery  and  parsley  leaves,  2  onions. 
1  tomato  and  about  4  whole  black 
peppers.  Bring  to  a  boil,  skim  well 
and  turn  down  to  simmer,  covered, 
for  two  or  three  hours.  Sometime 
during  this  waiting  session  prepare 
the  vegetables.  Here  you  can  be  as 
ingenious  as  you  like — almost  any 
vegetable  in  almost  any  amount. 
Surely    onions,    finely   choppetl;    2   or 

3  carrots,  diced;  cabbage  and/or  cel- 
ery, chopped;  minced  parsley;  some 
folks  like  a  turnip  or  a  parsnip  cut  up 
in  the  soup,  but  I'll  leave  it  out  for 
mine.  If  you  live  in  the  South,  you'll 
add  okra  and  more  tomato;  if  you  like 
minestrone  you'll  have  some  cooked 
dried  beans  and  minced  bacon  to  add. 
It's  all  up  to  you — this  soup  in  the 
making.  After  the  soup  has  been 
strained,  skimmed  of  fat  and  the  vege- 
tables added,  cook  until  the  vege- 
tables are  tender.  It  will  need  more 
seasoning — simple  salt  and  pepper  or 
perhaps  a  bit  of  thyme  or  a  favorite 
herb  blend  from  your  seasoning  shelf. 
If  the  bones  were  not  meaty  and  you 
had  no  left-ov«M-s  to  give  it  substance, 
add  a  few  spoonfuls  of  meat  paste  lo 
give  the  stock  body  and  flavor.  Hot 
rolls,  good  cheese  and  the  salad  for 
which  you're  famous  make  this  soup 
a  comforting  dish  on  a  cold  March 
night.  Never  be  ashamed  of  serving 
"just  soup." 

SIX   BY  SIX 

Cook  separately  6  eggs,  6  potatoes,  6 
frankfurters.  Peel  and  slice.  Arrange 
in  layers  in  baking  dish,  seasoning 
well.  Pour  over  3  cups  seasoned 
thin  cream  sauce.  Cover  with  cra«'ker 
crumbs.  Bake  in  moderately  hot  oven, 
375°  F.,  thirty  minutes. 


PHOTOS    BY   STUART 


"After  a  Saturday  splurge  on  a  roast,  it^s  soup  for  us  on  Monday." 


143 


Fels-!Taptha 
Primer 


FAMILIAR  LAUNDRY  TERMS  EXPLAINED  FOR  THE  HOUSEKEEPER 


FELS-NAPTHASOAP_banishesTattIe-TaleGray 


HAROLD    FOWLi 


A  sevonty-yodt  -old  ni^fiiniislus  llic  color  scheme  for  this  bright,  modern  room.  The 
iil>h(>lslery  and  slip  covers  are  wool  felt  used  on  dated,  elderly  pieces  of  furniture  too 
sludiliY  for  use  as  they  ivere.  Tables  are  the  caslofj'  viniety,  sawed  down  and  painted 
black.   The  chest  is  an  old  chijfonier  painted  with  Jlond  motifs  tahen  from  the  rug. 


BY   HEI¥RIETTA  MURDOCK 

Interior  Decaratinn  Editar  «/  the  Journal 


THERE  is  a  new  way  to  do  over  old  furniture  so  that 
it  has  a  modern,  streamlined  look,  like  that  in  the 
postwar  rooms  you  have  seen  pictured.  It  works  by 
recipe,  and  you  need  not  be  talented  or  experienced 
to  get  results  as  good  as  those  in  the  room  photographed 
above. 

Begin  with  a  group  of  shabby,  worn  furniture;  if  you  are 
a  bride,  buy  secondhand  pieces  with  substantial  joints,  and 
as  plain  and  comfortable  as  you  can  find.  Next,  arrange 
the  furniture  in  the  room  before  you  start  to  do  it  over. 
This  is  so  you  can  eliminate  extra  pieces  or  fill  in,  before 
you  begin  decoration. 

The  rug  furnishes  the  color  for  the  scheme  in  the  room 
photographed  above.  Made  more  than  seventy  years  ago, 
it  looks  strikingly  modem,  as  do  most  of  the  old  hooked 
rugs  reclaimed  for  present-day  rooms.  And,  by  the  way, 
have  you  noticed  these  old  hooked  rugs  in  the  larger  stores 
throughout  the  country?  Carpet  shortages  have  brought 
them  forth  and  made  them  fashionable  again.  They  are 
both  Canadian  and  American  in  origin,  made  of  fine  wools 
and  patterned  in  exquisite,  bold  colors.  A  rug  the  size  of  the 
one  shown  sells  for  from  $65  to  $85,  depending  on  locality. 
Of  course  no  two  are  alike,  but  colorings  are  similar.  If  you 
already  own  such  a  rug,  use  it  for  the  basis  of  your  scheme. 


Or,  if  you  buy  a  new  one,  use  it  in  your  living  room  now  and 
later  do  a  bedroom  around  it.  Don't  forget  to  put  a  cushion 
under  your  rug  to  make  it  lie  flat  and  save  wear;  and  edge 
it  with  felt,  as  we  did,  if  you  want  to  enlarge  the  size  and 
give  it  more  style. 

Follow  these  steps  for  easy  doing: 

Choaitins  the  Bua.  The  rug  you  choose  for  your  room 
may  have  a  quite  different  scheme  from  this  one,  but  the 
procedure  of  building  a  room  around  it  will  be  the  same. 
Nearly  all  the  flowers  in  hooked  rugs  are  red  roses  and 
nearly  all  the  leaves  are  green.  Scrolls  are  often  tan  or 
gray,  and  backgrounds  are  dark.  But,  whatever  the  colors 
in  your  rug,  remember  that  one  of  them  will  be  picked  up 
in  quantity  and  so  should  be  beautiful.  All  the  softer  reds, 
pinks,  blues  and  foliage  greens  are  good  pickup  colors. 

Painting  the  Furniture.  Study  your  furniture  before 
painting.  Tables  and  chests  are  lower  now  than  when  the 
old  pieces  were  made,  so  you  may  want  to  cut  off  a  few 
inches  from  the  legs.  We  changed  the  shape  of  the  splats 
in  our  old  side  chairs,  took  the  arms  off  the  Victorian  chair, 
and  put  a  wider  frame  on  the  mirror.  These  are  simple 
alterations   that   take   the  dated   look   away   from   old 

pieces.  (Continued  on  Page  163) 


!"■■ 


Hat 


144 


*    *      IIIIW    AMERICA    LIVES     *    * 


'1  t\ 


'fiOM  sm  '00-  p/iD  s0  '0'-  ^ji^^  2mm  mmoi" 


A  smart  girl  impresses  her  family 

in  the  first  dress  she  made 
with  Singer  Dressmaking  Lessons 

ITY  family's  hard  to  impress — but  I 
^1  did  it! 

hat's  the  windup  of  my  story,  though, 
re's  the  background: 

I'm  eighteen.  Have  a  part-time  job. 
almost  engaged  to  a  boy  from  my 
m,  who's  overseas. 

I  don't  have  much  money  for  clothes 
(ud  it  doesn't  go  far,  these  days.  Or  at 
5t,  it  didn't — till  I  found  out  about  my 
ger  Sewing  Center's  wonderful  Dress- 
kmg  Lessons! 

'Did  I  learn  fast  when  the  Singer  ex- 
ts  took  me  in  hand!  They  helped  me 
k  a  pattern  and  material.  {Just  what  I 
nted!)  Showed  me  how  to  adjust  the 
tern  to  fit  me.  Guided  me  through  the 
ting  and  fitting  and  putting  together^ 
\  taught  me  plenty  of  tricks  as  I  went 
ng! 

'So  here  I  am — with  this  dream  of  a 
ss,  and  ideas  for  lots  of  others.  What's 
re,  I  can  afford  'em — it's  breath-taking, 
at  you  save  on  even  one  outfit! 

'And  just  between  us,  besides  all  the 
and  satisfaction  I'm  having  now  with 
sewing — I'll  be  a  much   better  vvite, 

en  the  time  comes!" 


sre's  What  the  Lessons  Cosf.  Only  $1.50 
a  two-hour  lesson.  310  for  an  8-lesson 
rse!  (I  saved  almost  that  much  on  this  first 
ss!)  Special  rates  for  lessons  for  girls  12  to 
Singer  also  gives  lessons  in  Make-Over  and 
erations,  and  Home  Decorations." 


"Singer  Made  my  Belf  for  me!  What  a 
pleasure — to  have  Singer  do  fussy  finish-up 
jobs.  Like  covering  buckles  and  buttons; 
making  buttonholes;  picoting  and  hem- 
stitching!" 


'ound  This  Peasant  Braid  at  Singer!  Just 
of  the   fascinating  things   they   have   at 
y  Singer  Sewing  Center's  Notion  Counter! 
5t  Notion  Counter  in  town,  /  think!)" 


"This  Collar  Was  Another  Singer  Find!  Singer 
has  a  whole  department  of  smooth  accessories 
— collars  and  cuffs — dickies  and  jabots — lovely 
flowers  and  scarfs  too." 


"I  aslced  about  Singer  Sewing  Machines.  Just  in  case! 

Riglit  now,  some  new  Singrrs  are  availalile.  (Of  course, 
you  may  have  to  wait  your  turn.)  Also  smooth-run- 
ning reconJitionrd  Singers.  And  Singers  to  rent — by 
the  month  at  home;  by  the  hour  at  Singer  Centers. 
(Incidentally,  I  steered  the  Singer  man  to  our  house 
to  tune  up  mother's  sewing  machine!)" 

Singer  SewiriK  Centirs  are  listed  in  your 
teleplione  directory  under  "Sinper  Sewing 
Macliine  Company,"  and  arc  identiticd  by  the 
Famous  Red  "S"  on  tlic  windows. 


SINGER 

SEWING    CENTERS    EVERYWHERE 
Singer  Sewing  Machine  Co. 


Copyrtwht  U.  S.  A.,  1946,  by  The  SinKcr  ManufacturinB  Co.  All  rinhtB  resorved  for  all  coantrfeB, 


.t.-:.-^^-A^<L^mTwaw7j^ac--w?wML-.'.-.^v 


146 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1941 


are  you 
cutting 


!$tockiiig  life 
in  lialf  ? 


Strain  tests  prove  LUXed 
stockings  last 

TWICE  as  long! 


OVER   90%   OF   THE   MAKEI 


Warning !  You're  getting  only  half  the  wear  yo 
could  when  you  wash  stockings  carelessly.  Strai 
tests  prove  rubbing  with  cake  soap  or  using 
strong  soap  makes  runs  come  sooner  —  cut 
stocking  life  in  half,     r 

Luxed  stockings  last  so  much  longer,  it 
just  like  getting  an  extra  pair  every  time  yo 
buy  a  pair.  That's  because  Lux  saves  elastic 
ity— cuts  down  runs. 

Lux  stockings  after  every  wearing.  Don 
wear  rayons  damp,  of  course.  Dry  thei 
at  least  24  hours. 


>CKINGS   RECOMMEND    LUJI 


•     HOW    AMERICA    LIVES     ir 


147 


^ica^^^drfi 


''^»'X^ 


eovenA,  6ta*UUtA,  oh  taUtt  Uhca. 


"iOAeK  €0u^,  ttUic  'cMt  doom  and 
^otd  'em  ttfo^  tvU^  ^on€4ifAcf 


BY  JVDV  BARRY 


M 


RS.  HAHN  is  "ironing  bored"  pretty  often,  she  confessed  to  us.  And  we  hope 
we  made  her  feel  better  by  confessing  right  back  that  she  has  lots  of  company ! 
Now,  the  first  antidote  against  this  peculiar  form  of  boredom  begins  way  back, 
long  before  you  set  up  your  ironing  board  for  an  afternoon's  bout  with  it. 

Be  wity,  when  you're  ghopping.  Give  a  thought  to  the  many  things  which  re- 
quire little  or  no  ironing.  Like  jersey  slips  and  panties.  Many  are  completely  glam- 
orous in  spite  of  being  so  easy  to  care  for.  In  fact,  knitted  clothes  of  any  kind  are  like 
old  friends — comfortable,  especially  good  traveling  companions,  and  usually  don't 
have  to  be  "lived  up  to."  Or  ironed.  Dress  children  of  tumble-down  age  in  corduroy 
overalls,  with  pull-overs  of  cotton  or  wool  jersey.  Never  forget  seersucker — cool  fresh 
fabric  beloved  of  all  sufferers  from  ironing  boredom.  Look  the  world's  best  house- 
keeper straight  in  the  eye  if  you  never  iron  a  turkish  towel,  but  dry  them  smoothly. 

The  simplest  thing  to  do  with  straight  curtains  is  to  stretch  them;  and  even  slip 
covers,  if  they're  cotton  and  color-fast,  can  get  along  and  look  very  trim  with  just  a 
quick  flip  of  the  iron.  Here's  how : 

If  the  slip  cover  has  pleats,  which  you've  basted  into  place  carefully  before  launder- 
ing, iron  them  till  they're  crisp  and  perky.  Then  while  it's  still  slightly,  evenly  damp, 
work  the  slip  cover  over  the  chair  or  whatever,  hand-pressing  as  you  ease  it  o.i. 

Candlewick  bedspreads  don't  need  ironing,  only  flufifing  up,  nor  does  anything 
made  of  nylon  (lovely,  lovely  word!). 

But  no  matter  how  clever  you  are  about  choosing  clothes  that  will  manage  without 
ironing,  you'll  never  be  able  to  escape  it  completely  unless  you  join  a  nudist  colony. 
More  likely,  you  too  are  like  Mrs.  Hahn,  who  'fessed  up  still  further  that  she's  a  weak 
woman  when  it  comes  to  clothes  for  her  small  daughter.  She  just  buys  whatever  will 
make  Becky  look  her  prettiest,  closing  her  ears  to  that  nasty  little  voice  that  whispers 
"That  will  be  awfully  hard  to  iron."  Life  wouldn't  be  nearly  so  much  fun  if  we  were 
all  rocks  of  common  sense  all  the  time,  would  it? 

Begin  your  ironing  ut  the  wringer.  No  use  crunching  wrinkles  in — if  you're 
persuasive  with  the  wringer  you  can  probably  squeeze  some  out.  Treat  everything  to  a 
brisk  "snap-out"  shaking  before  you  pin  it  up  to  dry.  Hang  from  where  they're 
heaviest — by  the  hems  on  skirts  and  dresses,  by  belts  on  shirts  and  shorts.  Fold  large 
fiat  things,  like  sheets  and  tablecloths,  hem  to  hem  and  hang  straight  over  the  line, 
with  hem  edges  overlapping  it  about  six  inches. 

The  shape  of  things  when  dry  is  a  guide  to  artful  hanging.  Parallel  lines  help  big 
cumbersome  slip  covers  or  spreads  to  keep  their  figures,  and  let  them  take  advantage 
of  every  little  breeze  over  and  under  and  around  them. 

When  it's  time  to  take  clothes  down,  I  know  how  much  quicker  it  seems  to  just 
give  the  line  a  strip  tease  and  bundle  everything  into  a  heap.  But  don't.  Only  a  prune 
is  improved  by  extra  wrinkles.  Be  a  good  girl  and  fold  them  neatly  into  a  basket. 

SprinMing  shoulH  be  lihe  April  showers,  light  and  delicate  as  the  sound  of  the 
word  itself.  Flick  warm  water  from  a  bottle  with  a  sprinkler  top.  (You  can  make 
one  by  poking  holes  in  a  bottle  cap.)  An  atomizer's  good  too. 

Linens  will  take  a  good  deal  of  sprinkle,  cottons  a  little  less.  Most  washable  rayons 
iron  best  if  they're  fairly  dewy,  but  spun  rayons  that  make  those  dry  crisp-feeling 
fabrics,  and  the  delicious  cuddly  brushed  rayons,  need  to  be  almost  dry.  If  you're 
lucky  enough  to  have  anything  pure  silk  left,  press  it  just  when  it's  reached  that 
middling-damp  stage  in  the  drying  process.  While  the  sprinkle's  spreading,  collect 
everything  you  need  to  work  with — and  we  mean  every- 
thing! A  portable  board  has  its  good  points,  because^ 
you  can  set  it  up  in  a  sunny  window,  near  your^ 
record  player,  wherever  the  surroundings^ 
please  you. 

Well-«iressetl   ironing    boartts 

wear  firm  lint-free  covers  of  unsized  4 
cotton;    and    underneath,    smooth 
pads.  (Continued  on  Page  l'>o) 


tAe  Acat  eCocA  tAe  AtttootAiM^. 


"7^  itift  oaM  eUfr  u*Uc4A  ^«u 
in«H  tuUA  tA*.  6ia^-cuC  ^fuUtt. 


Here's  how  Mrs.  Hahn  hopes 
ironing  days  of  the  postwar 
future  will  find  her — serenely 
seated  at  her  very  own 
ironer,  whizzing  through  the 
weekly  stint.  We  hope  so 
too — ironers  are  a  big  help. 


7«Me  <W  C^  >UfAC 
eitcvic-coHttol  eU<xt. 


SKETCHES  BY  ROVVAT 


148 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  19'^ 


yOUR    COUNTRY   NEEDS    YOUR    MONEY    HO"*/ -  BUY    WAR    BONDS    AND    HOLD    ON    TO  THEMl 


We're  making  Telechron  Alarm  Clocks  again! 

A  recent  WPB  survey  showed  that  I2V2  million  American 
families  need  and  want  alarm  docks.  We're  pitching  in  to  help 
by  making  the  Telechron  Alarm  Clock  shown  here.  They're 
being  made  in  limited  quantities  in  non-critical  labor  areas, 
without  interfering  with  Telechron's  important  war  work. 


The  Call  off  * 'Nurse"  Grows  Louder 

Yes,  nurses  are  needed,  urgently. 
Right  now  bullet-shattered  limbs  need 
care  in  France  ...  in  the  Pacific  .  .  . 
and  in  Italy. 

YOU  can  help !  If  you  are  untrained,  take  a  home  nursing  or  nurse's 
aide  course.  If  you  are  a  senior  cadet  nurse,  serve  your  final  six  months 
in  an  Army  hospital.  If  you  are  a  registered  nurse,  join  the  Army 
Nurse  Corps.  For  information,  visit  or  write  your  local  Red  Cross, 
or  the  Surgeon  General,  U.  S.  Army,  Washington  25,  D.  C. 


RS6. u.  s.  PAT.  orr, 

ELECTRIC     CLOCKS 


WARREN    TELECHRON     COMPANY,    ASHLAND,    MASS. 


OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 

(Continued  jrom  Page  13) 


No  Sub-Debs  In  EntUand 

White  End,  Latimer,  Chesham, 
Bucks,  England. 

Dear  Bruce  and  Beatrice:  Your  article 
on  sub-debs  made  my  heart  ache.  It  made 
me  homesick,  but  not  lor  myself.  A  lump 
came  into  my  throat  as  I  read  it  and 
thought  of  all  my  own  precious  teen-agers 
are  missing. 

Though  I'm  a  middle-aged  woman  now 
and  have  lived  in  England  for  a  great 
many  years,  I  don't  think  America  has 
changed  very  much.  My  parents  had  the 
same  worries  some  twenty-odd  years  ago, 
about  me  and  my  crowd,  that  American 
parents  are  having  now. 

They  made  a  rule  about  week-end  dates 
only,  and  midnight  was  the  curfew  hour. 
They  worried  about  alcoholic  drinks  and 
petting  (the  name  for  it  hasn't  changed  !). 
They  also  tore  their  hair  over  disorder, 
bad  manners  and  general  thoughtless- 
ness. But  they  gave  us  a  marvelous  time. 
The  kind  of  time  you  remember  all  your 
life  with  a  happy,  satisfied  feeling.  I'll 
never  forget  the  crowd  rolling  up  on 
Sunday  afternoon  and  staying  on  for  sup- 
per— ham,  chicken  salad  and  chocolate 
layer  cake.  I'll  always  remember  my  first 
full-skirted  tulle  party  dress,  and  the 
games  of  touch  football  on  crisp  fall  after- 
noons. 

But  my  sub-debs  won't  have  anything 
like  that  to  remember.  At  sixteen  they 
were  hiding  from  bombs,  in  a  cellar.  They 
couldn't  go  to  the  movies  because  the 
danger  of  being  blown  up  was  too  great. 
They  couldn't  have  dates,  week  ends  or 
weekdays,  because  of  the  blackout  and  a 
very  real  gas  shortage. 

Casual  dropping  in  for  an  informal  get- 
together  or  icebox  party  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. There  wouldn't  be  enough  in  the  ice- 
box, and  the  boys  who  are  not  yet  called 
up  are  in  the  A.T.C  or  some  similar  or- 
ganization. Most  of  the  boys  spend  their 
spare  time  in  rigorous  training  and  pre- 
paring for  the  day  when  they  will  be 
called  up. 


Of  course  there  is  an  occasional  party 
now  that  the  blitz  and  the  worst  of  the 
doodlebug  menace  is  over.  But  it  has 
to  be  a  very  formal  party  in  London, 
which  everyone  can  reach  by  train  or  bus. 
It  has  to  be  in  a  hotel,  and  it  has  to  be 
chaperoned  heavily,  because  you  can't  let 
teen-agers  go  to  a  big  hotel  by  themselves. 
Also  it  can't  happen  very  often — perhaps 
once  during  vacation — because  with  in- 
come tax  seventeen  shillings  and  sixpence 
in  every  twenty  shillings,  it's  much  too 
expensive. 

What  saves  our  lives  to  a  great  extent 
is  all  the  delightful  American  boys  who 
are  over  here.  They  come  often  to  see  us 
and  they  bring  a  lightheartedness  with 
them.  They  also  bring  their  food  packages 
from  home,  and  that  helps  to  make  the 
rations  look  festive. 

At  seventeen  my  girls  started  full-time 
war  jobs,  which  means  working  eight 
hours  a  day,  five  days  a  week,  and  half  a 
day  on  Saturday. 

Their  clothes  are  pathetic.  They  have 
sixty  coupons  a  year  each,  and  a  coat-and- 
skirt  takes  eighteen  coupons.  A  pair  of 
shoes  takes  seven  coupons,  a  pair  of  gloves 
two  coupons,  and  a  party  dress  at  least 
eleven.  This  adds  up  to  thirty-eight  and 
doesn't  leave  much  for  undies,  nighties 
and  hankies,  all  of  which  are  couponed. 
The  prices  are  incredible  and  the  material 
not  very  good.  My  two  were  astonished 
when  they  read  about  Robin's  nine 
skirts.  Luckily,  the  three  of  us  are  very 
much  the  same  size,  and  so  we  pool  our 
resources.  It's  easier  now  that  they  are 
both  in  uniform. 

I  wish  I  had  some  of  the  American 
mother's  worries,  and  I  wish  I  could  wave 
a  magic  wand  and  give  my  sub-debs  just 
one  of  the  happy  times  I  had.  But  mine 
have  had  to  turn  into  women  overnight, 
and  they  are  such  good  sports  about  it 
that  I  want  to  cry. 

Anyway,  I  don't  think  the  mothers 
should  worry  too  much.  Their  teen-agers 
turn  out  awfully  well.  In  my  job,  as 
assistant    director    of    personnel    at    the 


i 


FANS 


•  1  taking  up  knitting. 
Smart  g""* J'**^'"J,  ,W.ng  ber 
Smart   mother    too    ^t  ^^ 

-^  -''''  \het::t^AndFleisbers 
jnoretousethebe  ^^^^  ^^ 

^^^^ThSa  Suh;oughcount- 
kmt  with  ^t'^y '°  .  ti^eir  bright, 
lesstubbmgs^Reta-       ^^^y^,,,,e 

St^n-^or  over  .8  years. 


FLEISHER'S  YARNS,  INC. 

32  Mercer  St.,  New  York  13,  N.  \. 

Please  send  me  your  Fleisher's  "Children's 

Book,"  Vol.  66,  for  which  I  am  enclosing  25?. 

Name 

Address 

City 


-Zone- 


-State- 


Chest  Cold  Miserj 

Relieved  by 

Moist  Heat  of 

ANTIPHLOGISTINE 


SIMPLE 
CHEST  COLD 
SORE  THROAT 
BRONCHIAL 

IRRITATION 
SIMPLE 

SPRAIN,  BRUISE 
SORE  MUSCLES 
CHARLEY  HORSE 


The  moist  heat  of  an 
ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  relieves 
cough,  tightness  of 
chest  muscle  sore- 
ness due  to  chest 
cold,  bronchial  irri- 
tation and  simple 
sore  throat. 


Apply  tha^  ANTIPHLOGISTINE 
poultice  just  hot  enough  to  be 
comfortable — then  feel  the  moist 
heat  go  right  to  work  on  that 
cough,  tightness  of  chest  muscle 
soreness.  Does  good,  feels  good 
for  several  hours. 
The  moist  heat  of  an  ANTIPHLO- 
GISTINE poultice  also  relieves 
pain  .  .  .  reduces  swelling,  limbers 
up  stiff  aching  muscles  due  to 
a  simple  sprain,  bruise,  charley 
horse,  similar  injury  or  condition. 
Get  ANTIPHLOGISTINE  (Aunty 
Flo)  in  tube  or  can  at  any  drug 
store  NOW. 

Antipklogistina 

TheWhitePackagewiththeOrangeBand    '    -"..Z.^  1  N 

iJ^Dtiplilo^isrine  il.?^'^  -v 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


149 


American  Red  Cross  headquarters  in 
London,  over  six  hundred  American  girls 
ha%'e  passed  through  my  hands. 

They  were  sub-debs  the  day  before 
yesterday,  but  now  they  are  splendid, 
self-reliant,  unselfish  workers.  They  are 
the  clubmobile  girls,  and  you  know  their 
record ! 

Tell  the  mothers  to  thank  God  they  can 
give  their  sub-debs  some  fun,  and  that 
they  turn  out  to  be  such  wonderful  women 
with  such  very  happy  memories. 

With  love  to  you  both, 
MARION. 

{Lady  Chesham.) 

Dorothy's  Postwar  Plans 

The  Duke's  Cottage 
Rudgwick,  England 

My  dear  Bruce  and  Beatrice:  Last 
night  we  had  one  of  those  farewell  parties 
I  expect  you  over  there  know  all  about. 
Joan  Cooper,  a  WREN  officer,  and  a 
friend  of  Mary's,  is  off  overseas,  and 
pleased  as  a  dog  with  fifteen  tails !  I 
couldn't  help  envying  the  girl  myself. 
There  is  a  chance  she  may  go  East — 
and  to  go  East,  when  you  are  young, 
is  something !  I  have  always  been  a  cata- 
strophic sailor,  but  not  for  anything 
would  I  have  missed  going  down  to  the 
sea  in  ships. 

I  have  more  voyages  planned  for  the 
moment  the  war  is  over:  one  to  Egypt, 
to  see  my  Jock's  grave,  and  one  —  oh! 
one  to  you-wards — to  see  again  the  Statue 
of  Liberty  against  that  lovely,  lovely 
sky  line,  holding  aloft  to  welcome  me 
that  ice-cream  cone  you  people  think 
is  the  Torch  of  Liberty !  Believe  it 
or  not,  I  have  already  got  passages 
booked ! 

Later.  I  had  a  session  in  the  City  yes- 
terday with  my  accountant.  Anyone  over 
your  way  who  doesn't  care  about  his  tax 
demands  ought  to  try  ours. 

Later.  Daughter  Mary  arrived  yester- 
day, unexpectedly,  with  her  baby  neatly 
done  up  in  a  sort  of  blue  linoleum  parcel. 
It  is  a  huge  baby,  very  pink  and  white, 
and  quite  square;  and  Mary  handles  it 


with  a  brisk  aplomb  that  leaves  me  gasp- 
ing. It  is  a  soldier's  daughter,  she  says, 
and  has  got  to  learn  to  be  tough. 

They  crossed  from  Ireland  in  a  storm, 
but  apparently  the  babj*  thought  that 
grand  fun.  They  are  quite  undaunted 
at  the  prospect  of  the  journey  back, 
though  the  thermometer  is  almost  at 
zero. 

Later.  I  have  just  been  round,  straight- 
ening the  pictures.  There  is  a  swell  rumor 
going  on  over  here  that  on  the  mountain- 
tops  of  Norway  there  is  something  cooking 
for  you-all.  Seems  like  an  awful  shot  in 
the  dark  to  me;  but  still,  do  let  us  know 
if  you  ever  notice  anything. 

Later.  In  the  middle  of  one  of  the  worst 
gales  of  the  year,  we  made  the  sad  dis- 
covery that  one  of  the  ancient  chimneys 
on  this  house  was  literally  hanging  by  a 
thread !  It  is  a  nice  gamble  whether  it 
will  go  on  standing  till  Mr.  Port  can  get 
a  ladder  to  it,  and  hoist  Mr.  Killick  aloft, 
to  cope !  If  not,  wham !  Several  things 
will  go.  But  there  is  something  to  be  said 
for  our  inefficient  muddling  ways. 

It  was  Gladys  Taber  telling  me  all  the 
domestic  disasters  that  would  occur  at 
Stillmeadow,  if  the  electricity  failed,  that 
brought  this  home  to  me.  Over  here, 
we  don't  have  all  our  eggs  in  one  basket 
that  way;  and  to  the  running  of  my 
home,  not  less  than  four  different  schemes 
are  in  play!  The  cooking  stove  (Aga,  run 
on  anthracite)  never  should  go  out  at 
all,  but  if  it  did,  we  have  the  hot-water 
heater  to  fall  back  on  (coke)  or  the  elec- 
tric ring  and  toaster — and  if  a  bomb 
wrecked  all  that,  there  are  still  the  wood 
fires,  with  their  hot  ash  that  can  always 
be  used  for  cooking  in  an  emergency.  A 
bit  scrappy,  all  this — but  marvelously 
convenient  for  a  bombing!  It  is  this  bril- 
liant aptitude  for  improvising  that  holds 
the  British  Empire  together!  I  have  just 
been  talking  to  a  man  who  told  me  he 
once  fried  his  supper  sausages  by  tying 
a  frying  pan  onto  a  broom  handle  and 
using  an  incendiary  bomb  that  had  fallen 
in  his  back  yard. 

With  best  love  to  you  both, 

DOROTHY  BLACK. 


I  JOHNNY   SPARKLE  SAYS  .  .  . 


Made  by  the  makers  of 
Expello  Moth  Products 


Expeiio  Corporation,  Dover,  N.  H 


t?3fvic*^» 


I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  with  an  automo- 
bile if  I  got  my  teeth  into  it— but  I  just 
can't  resist  chasing  cars. 

Sure  it's  dangerous.  That's  why  I'm  tell- 
ing you  that  a  pal  of  mine  took  the  cure 
for  car  chasing  when  his  master  got 
Sergeant's  Dog  Book.  It's  got  a  system 
that  works  every  time. 

Sergeant's  Dog  Book  also  tells  how  to 
feed  and  take  care  of  me,  what  to  do  when 
I  get  fleas  and  worms.  It's  a  wonderful 
book.  Boss.  Get  it  free  at  drug  or  pet  store, 
or  with  this  coupon. 


\  feel  better  nov4 


There's  so  much  we  want  to  know 

g..50   MUCH   HE   WANTS   TO   FORGET i 

He  will  be  coming  back  with  memories  he  would  rather  leave 
in  far  places.    Let  no  thoughtless  word  of  ours  ...  no  probing 
question    .  .  .  waken  old  fears  and  silent,  half-forgotten  griefs. 

Let  him  forget.    Let  him  take  up  again  the  life  for  which  he 
has  endured  so  much  .  .  .  the  simple  pleasures  .  .  .  the  laughter 
and  fellowship  of  friends  .  .  .  the  deep  understanding  of  family 
...  a  job  that  makes  the  earth  seem  solid  beneath  his  feet. 


Yes,  let  him  forget.   He  can.   He  will.   But  in  the  days 
ahead  .  .  .  when,  in  our  hearts,  we  measure  our  sacrifice 
against  his  .  .  .  let's  be  sure  there  is  not  something  we 
can't  forget.   Let's  be  sure  we  bought . .  .  and  held 
on  to  ...  every  War  Bond  we  could.  That  we  went 
to  the  blood  bank  instead  of  just  "intending  to." 
That  we  shunned  the  black  market, 
stuck  to  our  war  jobs.   That, 
as  we  look  back,  our  hearts  do 
not  tell  us  we  shirked,  we 
failed,  we  were  not  worthy 
of  those  who  fought  for  us. 


The  Clark  Czrave  Vault  Com- 
pany, world's  largest  manufac- 
turer of  metal  grave  vaults,  is 
now  totally  engaged  in  the  manu- 
facture of  weapons  of  war  to  has- 
ten the  day  of  victory. ..and  peace. 

Copr.  1945,  The  Clark  Grave  Vault  Co.,  Col.,  0. 


GRAY 


VAULTS 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


One  of  the  host  of  enthusiastic 
wartime  owners  of  General  Elec- 
tric Refritierators  is  Mrs.  Mabel  I. 
Sit  Iphen ,  of  Dunellen,  New  Jersey. 

Ilere^s  what  she  wrote  us: 


THIS  IS  the  1929  model  G-E  Refrigerator  so  highly  praised  by  Mrs.  Sutphen. 


"I  have  a  G-E  Monitor  Top  Rofriffcrator  piirthasod  in  March  1929, 
15  years  ago.  It  lias  run  summer  and  winter  ever  since.  The  only 
repair  job  was  a  new  loc^k  when  the  box  was  about  6  years  old. 

"I  might  also  add  that  when  it  is  running,  oven  alter  all  these 
years,  one  can  hardly  detect  the  fact  that  it  is  working.  Really, 
gentlemen,  I  think  you  will  have  to  go  sonic  to  top  this  refrigerator 
of  mine  regardless  of  all  the  new  appointments  which  no  doubt 
will  adorn  the  new  boxes. 

"All  I  can  say  is  I  have  .myne  refrigerator." 


THIS  BEAUTIFUL  (i-E  model  is  the  lust  made  before  the  war.  Vou  ean  expect 
somelliiiif;  even  finer  for  your  postwar  all-eleetrie  kiUheii. 


•  Getting  letters  like  this  from  G-E  owners  has  always  been 
gratifying  to  us. 

•  But  it's  been  even  more  gratifying  during  the  war  years — 
when  efficient,  dependable  refrigeration  has  played  an 
important  part  in  conserving  the  nation's  vital  food  supply. 

•  We  feel  particularly  proud  that  the  high  standards  we  set 
long  before  the  war  have  borne  fruit  in  the  years  when  no 
new  refrigerators  could  be  made. 

•  And  we  agree  with  Mrs.  Sutphen  that  G.E.  has  had  to 
"go  some"  to  top  the  performance  and  efficiency  of  her 
15-year-old  refrigerator.  Yet  it  has  been  done.  By  1941, 
the  operating  cost  of  G-E  Refrigerators  had  been  halved, 
freezing  speed  tripled,  and  prices  lowered. 

•  This  steady  advance  in  G-E  design  and  performance  is 
your  assurance  of  the  finest  refrigerators  ever — when  G.E. 
can  build  refrigerators  again.  General  Electric  Company, 
Bridgeport,  Connecticut. 

BUY  AND  HOLD  WAR  BONDS!    KEEP  ON   BUYING  THEM! 

TUNE  IN:  "The  G-E  House  Party,"  every  afternoon,  Monday 
through  Friday,  4.  p.  m.,  E.W.T.^  CBS  —  "The  G-E  All-Girl 
Orchestra,"  Sunday,  10  p.  m.,  E.  W.  T.,  NBC  —  "The  World 
Today"  news,  every  weekday,  6:45  p.  m.,  E.  \^.  T.,  CBS. 


Hefri^erators 


A  MILLION  IN  SERVICE  TEN  YEARS  OR  LONGER 

GENERAL  ^  ELECTRIC 


The  puppies  smoosli  aiomul  in  ihc  March  mud,  but 
Honey  is  a  lady.    She   keeps    her  golden  Jeel    dry. 

Diary  of  Doniestieity 


'■IHIS  is  a  brave,  clean,  new  page  in  the 
I  '  book  of  New  England  seasons.  March 
I  wind  is  a  very  new  broom,  sweeping 
-1-  exceptionally  clean.  It  is  not  at  all  like 
ifinter  winds,  at  least  not  to  me.  It  has  life 
n  it,  and  promise  of  melting  ice  and  snow, 
nd  already  that  first  tinge  of  earth  smell 
hat  is  so  good  in  the  lungs. 

And  the  sun  has  a  new  quality — not  a 
[old  dazzle,  but  a  breathless  glory.  In  the 
tarly  morning,  all  along  the  winter  etching 
)f  driftways,  the  sun  is  a  gold  paintbrush 
hanging  the  composition  to  something 
nysterious  and  magical.  The  little  spillways 
if  the  brooks  are  dipped  in  gold  too. 

It  will  be  four  weeks  or  more  until  plowing 
ime,  but  we  begin  to  go  out  to  the  vege- 
able  garden  and  just  feel  of  the  earth, 
vlaybe  the  frost  will  go  early  this  year, 
naybe  the  rich  mud  will  dry  quickly,  maybe 
ve  could  get  in  the  first  peas  a  week  or  so 
head  of  schedule.  We  are  excited  about 
)lanting,  and  seed  packages  appear  in  the 
ddest  places:  behind  the  teapot  on  the  shelf, 
mder  the  National  Geographic,  in  my  blue 
)itcher.  I  accuse  Jill,  my  sister,  of  counting 
hem  seed  by  seed,  just  for  amusement.  And 
/hen  she  begins  to  lay  them  out  in  rows  on 
he  living-room  table,  I  know  the  end  is  not 
ar  off.   Plowing  time  must  be  coming. 

Mr.  Bennet,  the  postman,  is  constantly 
lelivering  books  this  month:  Grow  Your 
)wn  Fruit;  Grow  Your  Own  Vegetables; 
'loughman's  Folly.  People  who  write  gar- 
len  books,  I've  noticed,  seem  to  have  the 
)iggest  and  best  of  everything.  Most  of 
hem  make  money  too.  The  Mcdlock  Farm 
aan,  for  instance,  seems  able  to  harvest 
irge  crops  of  perfectly  ripened  vegetables 
nth  one  hand,  butcher  a  perfect  pig  with 
he  other,  and  keep  accurate  records  with 
lis  teeth  at  the  same  time.  We  just  have  a 
arden  and  grow  things  and  can  them  and 
at  them. 

As  far  as  the  cockers  are  concerned,  this 
5  the  month  of  mud.  The  puppies,  Melody 

nd  Hildegardc  and  Silver,  love  best  of  all 
o  smoosh  around  in  the  mud  awhile  and 
hen  bounce  up  in  my  arms  because  they 
eel  good  and  it's  going  to  be  spring.  Clover 
las  a  squirrel  look  in  her  eye.  Honey  sits 
•n  the  terrace  keeping  her  golden  feet  nice 


and  dry.  Saxon  doesn't  care,  and  there  is  so 
much  of  him  to  get  muddy  and  he  is  so 
blond. 

Snow  looks  the  worst,  because  her  white 
is  so  very  white  and  her  fur  so  soft  in  texture 
that  the  mud  gives  her  the  look  of  a  wet 
mop.  I  try  not  to  wash  her  until  she  can 
stay  clean  at  least  a  day  or  so.  She  has  nice 
long  petticoats  and  they  make  a  snowy 
fringe  after  she  is  laundered.  She  stands 
proudly  waiting  for  them  to  be  brushed  out; 
I  suspect  Snow  of  being  on  the  vain  side 
about  her  looks.  But  Snow  is  almost  too 
good,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  She  is  so  gentle 
and  unselfish  and  reliable  and  anxious  to 
make  everyone  happy.  I  always  feel  apolo- 
getic that  she  can't  go  to  the  Red  Cross  and 
roll  bandages  every  afternoon.  And  she  is 
just  the  kind  of  girl  who  would  peel  the 
potatoes  for  the  church  supper  and  wash  the 
pots  and  pans  afterward. 

Esme  loves  to  hide  behind  the  stair  rail 
and  reach  her  arm  out  and  slap  Snow  as 
Snow  goes  about  her  own  business.  Snow 
just  turns  the  other  cheek. 

It  would  surprise  anyone  who  didn't  know 
Siamese  cats  to  see  how  perfectly  Esme 
knows  the  different  personalities  of  ten 
cockers.  She  is  perfectly  willing  to  cuddle 
down  with  Honey  on  the  couch,  but  she 
wouldn't  stay  near  Melody.  She  feels 
Melody  is  too  childish  and  irresponsible. 
She  and  Silver  chase  each  other  all  over  the 
house,  knocking  down  bric-a-brac  and  skid- 
ding over  rugs,  but  she  never  plays  ball  with 
Saxon.  She  as  much  as  says  Sister  and 
Clover  are  all  right,  but  not  very  exciting, 
and  Windy  is  a  wolf. 

When  Tigger  and  Esme  begin  to  play 
basketball,  some  of  the  cockers  think  it  is 
pretty  silly.  Hildegardc  wishes  to  play 
too.  Melody  will  step  right  in  and  get 
cuffed  for  it.    Honey  is  bored  to  extinction. 

By  March,  Tigger  is  a  lot  of  cat.  He  is 
the  blackest  Manx  and  the  biggest,  and  in 
winter  he  lets  his  hunting  slide  a  little.  It  is 
too  cold  to  racket  around  after  mice  in  the 
barn,  he- feels;  he'd  rather  lie  on  the  radiator. 
When  he  thinks  he  should  eat,  he  stretches 
and  yawns  and  moves  to  the  kitchen  and 
{Conlinxud  on  Page  153) 


151 


Sudrjor  Uwo 

"Remember  before  you  left  for  camp,' Jim,  when  I  dragged 
you  downtown  to  help  me  pick  out  our  sterling  pattern? 
We  were  married  in  such  a  rush,  but  I  had  to  get  our  silver 
service  started !  Mother  and  Father  have  been  helping  me 
buy  pieces;  when  you're  home  on  your  next  leave  I'll  have 
a  service  for  six.  Our  service — in  Reed  &  Barton  sterling! 
Every  time  I  look  at  it,  I  dream  of  the  future  with  us 
together  in  our  home." 

Through  five  wars,  as  in  peacetime,  American  brides  have 
turned  to  Reed  &  Baiton  for  the  finest  in  silverware.  War 
production  limits  patterns  and  pieces  available,  but  among 
the  lovely  patterns  shown  here  you  will  find  your  favorite. 
You  can  buy  knives,  forks  and  the  other  usual  place-setting 
pieces,  as  well  as  tablespoons,  with  confidence  that  your 
service  can  be  completed  when  the  war  permits. 

HELPFUL  HOSTESS  HINTS.  For  fascinating  and  valuable 
book,  "How  To  Be  A  Successful  Hostess",  send  lo  cents  to 
Reed  &  Barton,  Box  pgo,  Dept.  J,  Taunton,  Massachusetts. 

Reed  &  Barton 

ESTABLISHED    1824.    TAUNTON.    MASSACHUSETTS       ^fT^K 


man 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 , 


iC 


JUST  IMAGINE, .  I  Sent  My 
Old  Rugs,  Clothing  and 
Received  the  Loveliest 
Rugs  I  ever  had  " 


OLD  RUGS.  CLOTHING 


It's  All  So  Easy!  AVrite  for  tlie  beautiful 
Free  Olson  Catalog  and  Decorating  Guide 
in  full  colors  that  tells  how  your — 

Materials  are  picked  up  at  Our  Expense  at 

your  door  by  Express  or  Freight  and  shipped 
to  the  Olson  Rug  Factory,  where, 

By  the  Famous  Olson  Re- Weaving  Process 

we  shred,  sterilize,  sort,  merge  and  reclaim  the 
good  usable  wool  and  other  valuable  materials 
in  old  carpets,  rugs,  clothing,  blankets  of  all 
kinds;  then  steam,  picker,  card,  comb,  bleach, 
spin,  redj'e  and  weave  beautiful,  deep-textured. 

New  Broadloom  Rugs  •  •  •  fuller-bodied  rugs 
that  are  Reversible  for  extra  wear  and  luxury. 


Choice  of  54  lovely  18th  Century  Floral  and 
Tonc-on-Tone  Leaf  designs,  fascinating  Early 
American  and  Oriental  patterns,  popular  Solid 
Colors,  practical  Tweed  Blends  in  the  subtle 
new  "twist  texture  weave"  that  disguises  foot- 
marks, colorful  0\al  rugs. 

Siies  for  Every  Need  .  .  up  to  Ki  feet  wide 
witliout  seams— and  any  length. 

Look  Ahead.  Save  materials  of  all  kinds  and 
colors.  They're  more  valuable  than  ever. 

Over  2  Million  Customers.  Read  praise  from 
editors,  radio  home  experts,  women  everj-where. 

Our  71st  Year — Factory-to-You!  We  guaran- 
tee to  please  j'ou  or  pay  for  your  materials.  We 
never  employ  agents  or  sell  through  stores. 
(Sorry,  if  War  Work  sometimes  causes  de- 
la  tjs,  but  Olson  Rugs  are  worth  waiting  for). 

OLSON    RUG   CO.     Chicago    New  York    San  Francisee 

Largest  Makers  of  Rugs  Decdmg  Direct  with  Home. 


Authentic 

Early  American 

designs 


BROADLOOM 

Woven 
REVERSIBLE 

for  Extra  Wear 
and  Luxury 


Tear  off  and  Mail  this  Coupon  (or  Ic  Postcard)  to:- 

OLSON  RUG  CO.,  Dep.  £-21,  Chicago  41,  IIL 

Gentlemen:  Please  mail,  FREE  and  without  obligation, 
the  big  money-saving  Olson  Rug  &  Decorating  Book  to: 

Name.__ _ - 

Address — 

Town State 


Pagv  after 
page  of  RUGS 
and  Model  Rooms. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


153 


(Conlinned  from  Page  151) 
down  by  the  stove  and  waits.  If  he  is 
Dred,  he  draws  attention  to  the  clock  by 
sring  faint  pitiful  wails.  It  sounds  as  if 
ry  wail  were  the  last  breath  ke  could 
w  in  this  alien  world,  but  he  keeps  on 
il  his  dinner  is  put  down.  Then  he  gives 
l;w  resounding  purrs  and  begins  to  eat. 
?ob— my  husband— is  finishing  a  few 
icil  jobs,  preparatory  to  spring  work  out- 
i.  Transforming  an  old  and  ugly  maple 
ad  mto  a  soft  Pennsylvania  Dutch  maga- 
j  rack  is  one  of  his  best.  He  used  a 
iple  of  the  taproom  wallpaper  and 
nted  the  whole  piece  in  the  taackground 
!e.  Then  he  did  a  lovely  bird-and-heart 
icil  in  the  colors  of  the  figured  hunting 
ne.  The  effect  is  perfect.  Soft  yellows  and 
ens  and  faded  pinks  and  blues  are  the 
des,  and  there  is  a  little  border  of  an- 
le  blue.  The  only  trouble  is  that  such  a 
utiful  piece  in  the  room  made  the  old 
i.irs  look  even  worse,  especially  the  two 
t  Melody  tried  to  eat. 
[Jtenciling  is  a  fascinating  hobby  with 
[Hess  possibilities.  Furniture,  trays,  ciga- 
te  boxes,  window  silll,  cupboards,  chairs 
i  chests  all  respond  to  stencil  work.  I 
jld  recommend  it  to  any  man  or  woman 
D  is  confined  at  home  for  any  reason  or 

10  has  extra  hours  to  spare. 

)f  course,  at  Stillmeadow  we  don't  hunt 
hobbies — we  have  so  many  we  never 
ch  up  with  them.  And  just  as  we  think 
really  are  more  or  less  settled  down,  we 
Tt  something  new  and  exciting  and  we 
off  again,  like  hunters  after  a  fox. 
"or  instance,  milk  glass.  We  have  a 
ir  friend  who  was  suffering  a  great  grief, 
so  many  do  in  these  days.  She  found 
self  in  a  desperate  state,  as  we  all  do  at 
les.  So  she  sat  down  one  day  after  a 
jpless  night  and  said,"  Now  look  here,  you 
/e  got  to  stop  thinking  only  about  this, 
i  about  yourself.  It's  time  you  did  some- 
ng."  She  had  a  short  vacation  from  her 
r  job  at  this  same  time,  but  family  duties 
)t  her  confined  to  the  same  place.  "All 
]ht,"  she  said,  "I'll  just  collect  some- 
:ng."  So  she  spent  her  vacation  wander- 
in  little  shops  and  riding  busses  and 
setcars  to  remote  secondhand  stores,  and 
ng  to  the  library  to  read  about  milk 
ss.  Now  she  has  a  beautiful  collection  of 
iss;  but  more,  she  learned  the  value  of  a 
'i\y  interest  in  some  external  things, 
/henever  I  got  too  low,"  she  said,  "I 
;d  to  match  the  blackberry  creamer." 

E  didn't  need  to  have  our  minds  taken 
m  anything  personal  at  that  moment, 
t  we  saw  the  milk  glass  she  had  and  it 
iquered.  And  now  our  own  modest  coi- 
tion keeps  us  in  a  constant  fever  of  ex- 
ement.  There  is  really  something  amazing 
collecting.  Going  into  a  dusty,  grimy  junk 
)p  and  seeing  two  one-o-one  plates,  for 
.tance,  just  waiting  to  come  home  and  be 
'ed.  Finding  a  blackberry  eggcup  in 
ixbury  and  another  like  it  in  Brooklyn. 
Somehow,  since  the  war  has  destroyed  so 
ich  beauty,  I  hoj^  many  people  will  begin 
save  and  love  the 
1  things  that  are 
t,  to  cherish  and 
;serve  whatever  is 
ailable.  It  is  good 
•  us  to  keep  our 
3ts  in  the  past, 
>t  as  we  draw  so 
jch  strength  and 
urage  from  great 
;n  and  women  who 
ve  lived  before  our 
Ine.  Change  is  a 
e  thing;  growth  is 
jcessary  in  our  ideas, 
r  institutions  and 
r  ways  of  life.  And 

1 1  think  we  should 
'   very  careful   not 

become  a  regi- 
ented  people,  and 
[it  to  discard  the 
.lue  of  individu- 
lity. 

Whatever  wisdom 
;  have  in  the  next 


generation  will  come  from  around  the  sup- 
per table,  not  the  political  halls  or  the 
statehouses.  The  woman  who  brings  in  the 
pot  roast,  and  father  who  carves  it  and  com- 
plains that  the  knife  needs  sharpening,  and 
the  children  who  talk  about  what  the  his- 
tory course  in  school  is  like.  This  is  the  real 
cradle  of  government  and  this  is  the  great 
job  for  every  woman  who  has  her  family 
around  her. 

The  years  of  war  have  tired  out  the 
women  at  home.  But  we  may  still  do  the  best 
we  can — indeed,  we  must — as  cheerfully  as 
possible.  And  when  I  go  down  to  the  fruit 
cellar  and  begin  to  count  the  cans  of  vege- 
tables that  are  left,  and  the  jellies — and  yes, 
there  is  still  a  little  chili  sauce — I  can  usu- 
ally satisfy  the  hungry  family. 

IHE  last  jar  of  canned  chicken  is  a  special 
treat  with  home-canned  asparagus  and 
potatoes  whipped  to  a  cream.  I  am  using 
up  all  the  rhubarb  and  asparagus  and  chard 
now,  because  they  come  in  the  earliest  in 
the  garden.  A  perfectly  elegant  casstJrole 
can  be  made  with  bits  of  meat,  preferably 
tongue  or  ham,  and  a  cheese  sauce  and 
asparagus  on  top,  and  the  whole  run  in  the 
oven  to  sizzle. 

Mixed  vegetables  are  good  for  a  casserole, 
too,  and  a  little  mustard  in  the  cream  sauce 
varies  it  nicely.  Deviled  eggs  with  hot 
cream  sauce  are  fine  for  supper,  and  the 
war  has  taught  me  that  food  seems  much 
more  interesting  if  any  little  spoonful  of 
what  I  call  "thisanthat"  is  tucked  in  at  the 
edge.  A  little  of  the  home-canned  corn 
added  to  the  soup  or  stew  or  in  the  sauce 
over  the  eggs  is  different  and  nice.  Green 
beans  are  good  with  corn,  though  in  prewar 
days  I  had  to  have  Limas.  Dried  Limas  are 
fine  in  a  casserole  with  ham  or  veal. 

I  discovered  a  change  from  meat  loaf 
too.  I  had  just  a  pound  of  chopped  meat 
and  I  patted  it  into  an  earthenware  cas- 
serole and  mustarded  it  heavily  (well,  but- 
tered, so  why  not  mustarded?),  then  I 
laid  a  mort  of  sliced  onion  and  sliced  green 
pepper  and  three  and  a  half  bay  leaves  over 
the  top,  two  sliced  tomatoes,  ground  fresh 
pepper  over  and  salted  thickly,  and  set  the 
whole  in  the  oven.  We  really  didn't  need 
to  wash  the  casserole. 

I  always  mean  to  have  the  house  spar- 
kling clean  before  it  is  warm  enough  out- 
doors to  stay  all  day  in  the  sun  and  do 
the  outside  work.  Closets  and  drawers 
and  odd  corners  should  be  seen  to,  this 
month,  and  repair  work  such  as  frayed 
rugs,  chipped  furniture,  and  so  on.  Esme 
had  clawed  a  complete  subway  track  on  the 
best  mulberry  love  seats  in  the  front  room. 
So  Jill  got  some  carpet  binding  the  same 
color  and  sewed  it  on  with  an  upholsterer's 
needle,  and  the  sofas  will  do  until  we  can 
take  up  peacetime  upholstering. 

I  like  to  walk  to  the  mailbox  in  March 
and  speak  to  Mr.  Bennet  and  brace  myself 
and  the  bundle  of  mail  against  the  great 
moving  wind.  Mr.  Bennet  is  a  very  wise 
man,  and  he  can  offer  some  country  lore 
before  he  drives  on.  Then  Honey  and  I  walk 
back  down  the  road 
thinking  what  a  won- 
derful thing  mail  is, 
with  the  world  com- 
ing to  you  on  paper. 
I  wish  nothing  bet- 
ter for  anyone  than 
to  be  able  to  walk  to 
the  postbox  with  a 
golden  spaniel  and 
walk  back  home  in  a 
world  at  peace.  And 
then  as  I  think  of 
the  years  we  have 
lived  through,  I  often 
say  to  myself  the 
words  a  friend  trans- 
lated for  me  from 
German,  from  Jean 
Paul  Richter.and  they 
are  wonderful  to  me, 
and  full  of  comfort. 

"The  blue  sky  is 
larger  than  any  cloud 
in  it,"  are  the  words, 
"and  more  enduring. ' ' 


I  Was  a  Itorn 
Career  Woman . . . 

.  .  .  and  it  almost  wrecked  my 
life."  So  says  tliis  perennial  ca- 
reer girl  who  bloomed  late — into 
a  mop-wielding  housewife. 
Mother  of  four  children  horn 
hetween  concert  tours,  she  soon 
discovered,  "The  wife  who  in- 
sists upon  a  career  for  herself 
only  gets  a  life  sentence." 

Booth  Tarkington,  beloved 
creator  of  Penrod  and  Alice 
Adams,bringsyou  the  outstand- 
ing story  of  a  reborn  woman. 
How  America  Lives,  in  the 

APRIL  JOUUiXAL 


/#^^ 


2^^^ 


ya(^'' 


BY  MARGARET  MALLABY 


If  you've  ever  had  a  dream  about  a  "perfect"  kitchen  —  pre- 
pare to  see  it  realized.  One  of  the  biggest  kitchen-planning  jobs 
ever  launched  is  now  under  way.  And  as  visualized  by  its  origi- 
nators —  the  Gas  industry  —  it  promises  a  whole  new  world 
of  ease  and  convenience  to  every  woman  who  cooks. 


These  new-type  Gas  kitchens  will  be  work-saver  kitchens  .  .  .  step-saver  kitchens. 
And  so  beautiful  you'll  want  to  entertain  in  them.  \  irtually  nothing  that  will  add 
to  your  comfort,  convenience  or  leisure  will  be  left  out.  Everything  that  will  make  it 
ecoaomieal  and  trouble-free  in  operation  will  be  put  in. 


Years  before  the  war  the  Gas  industry's  labora- 
tories were  doing  all  sorts  of  pioneer  research 
work  in  Gas  and  .Gas  appliances.  Naturally, 
the  newest  and  latest  developments  have  been 
"under  wraps"  during  the  war.  But  tomorrow 
— your  "New  Freedom  Gas  Kitchen"  will  be 
built  around  these  latest  scientific  marvels. 
Keep  in  touch  with  your  local  Gas  company 
for  the  latest  news  on  them! 


Today,  everybody  you  meet  talks  about  heat  —  or  tiio  lack  of  it!  Of  course,  if  you're 
one  of  the  fortunate  folk  who  already  Jieat  with  (»as  —  you're  thoroughly  relaxed 

about  U  inter  and  its  biggest  problem.  Your 
Gas  heating  plant  re-fiu'ls  itself  .  .  .  you  don't 
have  to  order  or  store  fuel ...  it  meets  weather 
changes  automatically  .  .  .  and  you  bask  in 
clean,  comfortable,  reliable  heat  all  winter  long 
.  .  .  without  the  slightest  fuss  or  bother. 

Watch  for  the  new  Gas  air-conditioning  units.  They're  utterly  simple  and  compact.  With 
a  single  click  of  the  regulator  —  they  not  only  keep  your  house  warm  as  toast  in  winter  — 
but  cool  as  a  cucumber  in  summer.  And  —  in  perfect  automatic  fashion  —  provide  you 
with  healthful  humidity  control  all  year  round. 


One  last  word.  Look  into  the  matter 
of  installing  a  new  Gas  water 
heater  in  your  house.  The  j)ost-war 
models  are  going  to  be  better 
than  ever  ...  so  reliable  and  so 
completely  automatic  you'll  never 
have  to  worry  about  hot  water. 
There'll  even  be  enough  on  wash  day! 


American  Gas  Association  reporter 


CAR  MOUKL  DESK'.NED  BY  VERNON  DE  MARS 


^  How  a  house 
can  cost  less  to  live  in 
by  being  made  larger. 

BY  RICIHRD  PIUTT 

/ircltilfi  tiirtil  /'.V/ilor  uf  the  Journal 


W  TNLIKE  a  suit  of  clothes  or  pair  of  shoes,  a  house  is  ordinarily  priced  according  to  size.  Which 
I  of  course  is  why  a  larger-than-average  family,  with  an  only  average  income,  has  always  had 
^J  a  hard  time  getting  a  house  to  fit.  Not  that  it  has  been  easy  for  anyone  with  an  average 
income  of,  let  us  say,  $2000  a  year  to  find  a  house  that  measures  up  to  the  reasonable  desires 
of  a  family  of  four — let  alone  a  family  of  six  or  seven.  However,  there  is  hope  in  modern  buildi: 
methods,  to  be  shared  by  both  large  and  small  families  alike;  for  it  is  my  belief  that  better, 
larger  and  less  expensive  houses  are  possibilities  that  can  closely  follow  the  peace.  I  see  it  as  only 
a  question  of  your  getting  to  know  and  appreciate  those  possibilities,  then  helping  to  create  a 
widespread  popular  demand.  You  can  see  here  in  this  house,  for  instance,  how  modern  design 
provides  a  solution  for  the  large-family  problem — not  merely  by  suggesting  fundamental  changes 
in  manufacture  and  construction,  but  by  new  ways  of  planning  for  special  family  requirements. 
Two  houses,  like  two  heads,  are  in  certain  cases  better  than  one;  so  here,  in  effect,  Mr.  Duncan 
has  done  two  houses  in  one:  a  big-house  and  a  little  annex,  the  latter  helping  in  various  ways 
to  pay  fqr  the  former,  as  I  shall  show.  The  main  section  alone  would  be  more  than  a  large 
family  could  afford  on  an  average  income;  but  in  many  situations,  as  listed  on  the  next 
page,  the  supplementary  section  would  furnish  just  the  extra  needed  financial  assistance, 


154 


155 


HOW  IT  WORKS 

^The  wing,  as  an  annex  or  separate  apartment, 
woijld  have  several  possible  uses,  all  contributing  to 
the  support  of  the  main  house;  for  it  could  provide 
revenue,  either  in  the  form  of  rent  or  equivalent 
savings,  which  even  at  a  modest  figure  would  not 
only  cover  the  payments  on  its  own  original  cost, 
but  would  help  substantially  with  the  payments 
and  upkeep  on  the  whole  establishment. 

%  The  wing  could  provide  quarters  for  a  newly  mar- 
ried son  or  daughter,  or  any  young  couple ;  for  it  can 
be  kept  completely  separate  from  or  given  a  close 
connection  with  the  main  house. 

%  It  could  serve  as  an  office  suite  for  a  doctor,  dentist 
or  other  professional,  whether  of  the  family  or  not; 
entrances  being  quite  independent  of  each  other. 

%  It  could  be  a  suite,  or  apartment,  for  elderly  rela- 
tives requiring  a  minimum  of  housekeeping  facilities. 

#  It  could  be  used  by  a  couple  in  which  the  wife,  whose 
husband  worked  elsewhere,  helped  in  the  house  as 
payment  for  rent. 

#For  a  sizable  family  with  a  combined  income 
amounting  to  more  than  average,  it  could  provide 
just  the  kind  of  convenient  additional  living  space 
which  such  a  family  requires,  and  permit  oppor- 
tunities for  privacy  which  the  ordinary  large  house 
seldom  offers. 

#  Heat  for  the  wing  would  come,  of  course,  from  the 
main  house  system.  Electric  current  would  be 
metered  separately  or  not,  as  desired. 

0  Because  of  the  ease  and  economy  with  which  addi- 
tions can  be  made  under  the  modern  building  meth- 
ods here  proposed,  the  wing  could  be  put  on,  or 
taken  off,  whenever  either  operation  seemed  de- 
sirable. Its  cost  would  be  about  one  fifth  the  total. 


HOW  IT  IS  MM 

^  At  this  point  it  is  impossible  to  describe  in  great 
detail  the  precise  systems  of  new  building  methods 
which  will  prevail  after  the  war,  but  we  know  that 
tremendous  simplifications  must  and  will  be  made 
all  down  the  line.  Here  we  assume  that  some  form 
of  panel  construction  will  take  the  place  of  the 
highly  complicated  and  expensive  prewar  methods. 

Y  Both  house  and  wing  would  be  put  together  of 
prebuilt  panels,  fully  finished  at  the  factory,  and 
quickly  and  tightly  fixed  into  place  at  the  site. 

Y  The  panels  would  be  of  different  types:  to  form 
solid  walls  and  walls  with  windows;  panels  for  the 
roof,  decks,  ceilings,  floors,  partitions;  each  type  of 
panel  designed  and  made  to  do  its  particular  job. 

y'  These  panels  would  be  sized  for  easy  shipping  and 
efficient  handling,  and  hardly  any  other  structural 
materials  would  be  necessary;  nor  would  painting, 
finishing  or  conditioning  be  necessary. 

y  Wall  panels  would  have  optional  colors  and  tex- 
tures for  both  indoor  and  outdoor  surfaces,  provid- 
ing the  owner's  choice  of  individual  decorative 
schemes,  and  making  possible  such  variations  as 
you  can  see  here  between  main  house  and  wing. 

y^  All  fixtures  and  equipment  for  bathrooms,  kit- 
chen, laundry  and  heating  would  come  as  com- 
pletely packaged  units,  ready  to  fit  into  their  proper 
places  and  be  quickly  connected. 

Y  The  space-saving  interior  bathrooms  would  be 
automatically  ventilated  and  lighted;  no  drafts,  no 
necessity  for  curtains  or  shades. 

yf  No  radiators,  registers  or  exposed  piping  would  be 
necessary,  as  ceilings  and  floors  Would  be  radiant- 
heating  surfaces,  providing  evenly  distributed 
warmth  throughout,  aided  on  winter  days  by  solar 
warmth  streaming  through  the  big  sunny  windows. 


HOW  IT  CM  HAPPEI 

#  Houses  embodying  the  general  principles  of  design 
and  construction  suggested  here,  whether  large  or 
small  dwellings,  can  be  better  and  less  expensive 
than  prewar  houses  of  comparable  size  when  the  fol- 
lowing conditions  occur: 

9  When  home  building,  as  an  industry,  is  completely 
modernized  and  put  on  a  full  mass-production  basis. 
That  means  revising  building  methods  to  make  use 
of  some  type  of  prebuilt  panels,  or  other  simplified 
parts,  all  fully  finished  in  manufacture,  which  by 
large-quantity  production  and  ease  of  assembly  can 
greatly  cut  the  cost  of  both  labor  and  material. 

#  When  house  design  completely  adapts  itself  to  such 
a  system  of  piece  construction  in  order  to  derive 
the  maximum  economies  from  these  highly  simpli- 
fied, prebuilt,  mass-produced  materials.  That  means 
simpler  forms  as  far  as  house  appearance  is  con- 
cerned; flat  or  almost  flat  roofs.  Beauty  would 
come  through  fine  proportions  and  straightforward 
design  rather  than  through  meaningless  lines  and 
empty  ornament — all  adding  up  to  lower  cost  and 
better  living. 

#  When  houses  are  built  in  large  quantities,  not  only 
as  to  their  factory-made,  mass-produced  parts,  but 
as  to  their  erection  in  properly  planned  groups,  de- 
velopments, communities;  thus  benefiting  as  to  cost 
from  wholesale  prices  on  materials  and  equipment 
and  from  large-scale  construction  operations,  al- 
ways less  than  in  the  case  of  singly-built  houses. 

#  And  finally,  when  builders  and  manufacturers  be- 
come convinced  that  you,  the  home-buying  and 
home-renting  public,  are  eager  to  buy  and  rent 
homes  designed  and  built  this  way.  Homes  like  this 
are  unavailable  now;  in  fact,  private  building  cannot 
begin  until  peace  makes  new  construction  possible. 
So  there  is  still  time  for  you  to  familiarize  yourself 
with  the  new  possibilities  and  make  your  feelings  felt. 


ISLEePINc;  SLEEPING 

Inr 


"1 


DDDDDDD 


SECOND    FLOOR,    PLAN 


A  honse  with  a  plan  that  really  works,  and  a  wing  that  works  as  well. 


156 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


IROIVINC  BOUEU? 

(Continued  from  Page  147) 


■  ;j);jy*;.^y^^. 


Here!  One  of  you  give  in 
. . .  the  towel  wont 


?9 


Tug  o'war  wasn't  cxaclly  what  Mom  had  in  mind  when  she 
decided  on  I'^ieldcrest  Towels.  She  was  taken  hy  their  flower- 
clear  colors.  She  saw  that  the  rich  designs  and  textures  would 
decorate  the  batliroom  with  luxurious  effect.  IJut  she  knew, 
too,  she  could  rely  on  robust  Fieldcrest  quality 
for  hard  family  iise.  Now,  in  wartime,  when 
stores  have  only  limited  quajitities  of  these  fine 
towels,   she    doubly  .appreciates    their   worth. 


MARSHALL  FIELD  &  COMPANY,  INC.,  Manufacturing  Division 

Makers  of  Fieldcrest  Towels,  Sheets,  Blankets,  Bedspreads   ■   82  Worth  St.,  New  York  13 


(Lack  of  padding  is  what  makes  fabrics  iron 
shiny.)  No  chic  ironing  board  would  be  seen 
without  correct  accessories,  which  include:  a 
sleeve  board  and /or  a  press  mitt,  to  lend  a 
hand  with  ticklish  shoulder  areas;  a  little 
I  jowl  of  warm  water  with  a  sponge  to  retouch 
dried  spots;  a  drying  rack  so  all  your  fine 
handiwork  won't  be  undone  by  letting 
clothes,  still  damp  behind  the  ears,  slither 
off  slippery  chair  seats;  and,  of  course,  the 
best  iron  that  can  be  begged,  borrowed  or — 
bought ! 

Right  here  we  have  a  bit  of  cheery  news 
for  you.  Irons  are  coming  back!  If  your 
budget  permits  only  one  iron,  and  you 
want  a  steam  iron,  get  the  kind  that  can 
be  used  both  as  a  steamer  and  an  auto- 
matic iron.  With  temperature  controls,  you 
know. 

U>lf-(fr<>««#><f  iromvn  irfar  comfortable 
shoes  to  help  keep  them  straight  and  un- 
wearying, especially  if  they  insist  upon 
standing  when  ironing.  Though  why  they 
should,  we  don't  know,  for  a  sit-down  ironer 
is  a  very  good,  very  sensible  thing  to  be. 
The  board  should  be  low  enough  and  the 
chair  high  enough  so  you  won't  have  that 
unpleasant  strained  feeling  in  your  upper 
arms. 

Now — have  you  turned  the  radio  on  to 
your  favorite  serial,  or  put  a  stack  of  records 
on?  Is  the  drying  rack  close  by  where  you 
can  reach  it  without  rising?  Good — you're 
off!  Oops,  sorry,  no  you're  not — for  first 
you  should  divide  the  goats  that  need  a 
liot  iron  from  the  sheep  that  take  a  cooler 
one. 

Tublfrhtthg  and  uhwiii  'n'  sut'h.  Fold 
sheets  selvage  to  selvage,  right  side  out. 
Iron  one  side,  then  fold  the  long  way  and 
iron  both  sides.  Fold  to  put-away  size  then, 
and  hang  on  the  rack  until  it's  time  for  the 
linen  closet  and  a  whiff  of  lavender.  Do  your 


damask  tablecloths  first  on  the  right  side, 
then  on  the  wrong,  to  make  them  glisten. 

Plan   of  praeedure  for  drea»»m.    The 

first  bit  you  do  won't  be  all  mussy  if  you  begin 
at  the  cuffs,  working  up  sleeves  to  the  collar. 
Then  the  blouse,  then  the  skirt.  Lay  pleats 
carefully  into  position,  iron  from  top  to  edge 
until  dry.  Pin  them  if  necessary.  Do  white 
or  pastel  cottons  sunny  side  up,  but  iron  on 
the  underside  of  dark  ones,  silks  or  rayons. 

Special  about  slvvves.  Even  those  puff 
sleeves  of  little  girls'  birthday-party  dresses 
aren't  so  difficult  if  you  do  them  this  way. 
Honestly.  Fold  the  puff  part  double  so  it 
forms  a  circle  and  iron  clear  round,  as  you 
would  a  ruffle,  edging  the  iron  point  well  up  " 
into  the  gathers.  Flip  it  over  and  do  the 
other  side  of  the  circle  in  the  same  manner. 
For  the  sleeves  of  your  own  dresses,  call  a 
sleeve  board  or  a  press  mitt  to  the  rescue. 

Uutton»  and  'broideries.  Turn  rows  of 
buttons  or  the  pretty  side  of  embroideries 
face  downward  in  the  classic  spanking  posi- 
tion, on  a  soft  firm  pad — a  bath  towel  or 
something.  Don't  spank,  however,  but 
smoo-oo-th  with  long  slow  easy  strokes  until 
perfectly  dry.  (In  fact,  iron  everything  with 
easy  strokes — much  less  wearing  than  skit- 
tering the  iron  back  and  forth  madly,  and 
much  more  purposeful.) 

Be  sure  to  iron  round  doilies  from  center 
to  edge,  just  as  you  roll  piecrust,  or  they're 
apt  to  emerge  not  round,  but  strangely 
shapeless!  Whatever  you're  ironing,  go  along 
with  the  thread  of  the  fabric. 

Tahe  your  iron's  temperature  fre- 
quently— and  in  case  you  don't  have  an 
automatic  iron,  here's  the  way  it  should  be: 
coolest  for  rayon,  a  little  warmer  for  silk, 
still  a  little  warmer  for  wool;  cotton,  fairly 
hot;  linen  can  stand  the  most  heat.  As  for 
your  own  temperature — keep  it  cool ! 


How  to  Restyle 
Walls  and  Ceilings 


HtMODtl  IVTiRrOKS 


AFTER  VICTORY  you  need  no 
.  longer  endure  ugly  cracked 
walls  and  ceilings.  Start  dreaming 
—actually  planning  a  more  beauti- 
ful home.  Our  new  16-page  book- 
let tells  how  to  do  it,  with  Upson 
Panels.  There  are  sketches,  photo- 
graphs, new  arrangements  — a 
wealth  of  ideas  for  fun  rooms, 
attics,  kitchens,  baths,  too.  Sent 
FREE.  Mail  the  coupon  below. 

UPSON  PANELS 

STRONG-BILT    •    KUVER-KRAC 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


157 


TURNABOUT 

(Continued  from  Page  28) 


ne  colonel  he  had  known  in  his  three  years 
f  service. 

He  waved  Ellie  on  and  she  drove  into  the 
arage  and  David  followed  on  foot.  There 
;ood  the  big  stone  farmhouse  on  its  gentle 
se  of  land.  The  western  windows  were 
[Ided  with  the  setting  sun,  as  he  had  often 
;en  them.  The  garden,  as  always  in  Sep- 
;mber,  had  gone  ragged,  and  he  looked  be- 
ond,  up  into  the  trees,  and  saw  the  props 
nder  the  heavy  boughs,  the  red  fruit 
lining  through.  It  was  time  the  apples 
ere  picked,  he  thought  in  surprise.  There 
ere  no  cows  at  the  gate,  and  he  saw  only 
iree  pigs  in  the  hog  lot.  But  he  walked  on, 
iking  his  bag  from  Ellie. 
They  went  to  the  kitchen  door  from  habit 
id  the  door  flew  open  and  a  woman  ap- 
eared  there.  He  thought  at  first  it  was  his 
randmother,  so  tall  and  stooped  did  she 
)ok,  and  then  he  saw  that  it  was  Aunt  Milly. 
lut — she  was  old !  He  ran  ahead  and  put  his 
ag  down  and  caught  her  with  his  good  arm 
nd  kissed  her. 

"Oh,  David!"  she  said.  "Oh,  boy — we 
re  so  glad  you  are  here.  You'll  find  every- 
ling  just  as  you  left  it — we've  fixed  the 
jom  you  shared  with  Andre  and  Mark." 
A  shout  assailed  him  and  he  turned  to 
leet  his  grandfather,  coming  from  the  barn, 
le  was  almost  little,  dried  and  short  and 
;ady  to  blow  away.  But  he  was  active, 
Dming  at  a  little  trot.  Maybe  he  had  never 
een  big.  David  had  always  thought  of  his 
randfather  as  a  big  man.  Oh,  well,  perhaps 
child's  ideas  were  correct ;  and  he  was  big — 
e  had  a  heart  as  big  as  all  out-of-doors. 
Grandfather  shook  his  hand.  Grandfather 
)oked  with  frank  and  unoffensive  curiosity 
t  his  hand.  "What  kind  of  a  contraption  is 
nat?"  he  asked. 

David  showed  it  to  him,  what  it  was  in- 
;nded  for,  how  he  could  take  it  off  and  put 
;  back  on  again — all  about  it. 


"Well,  I'll  be  hanged,"  said  grandfather. 
"But  come  in.  May  wants  to  see  you." 

The  big  clean  kitchen  was  the  same  as 
always.  Grandmother  had  a  little  white 
frill  around  her  throat,  as  she  always  had; 
her  hair  was  neatly  combed  and  her  faded 
eyes  were  blue;  her  mouth  was  smiling.  He 
kissed  her  with  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"God  bless  you,  granny,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  believe  it's  true  that  I'm  here  again." 

"I  knew  you'd  come  back,  David."  Her 
voice  was  softer  than  it  used  to  be.  "When 
they  thought  you  were  lost  in  the  Argonne, 
I  never  doubted  that  you'd  be  home ! " 

David's  heart  felt  bruised.  She  thought 
he  was  his  father ! 

He  saw  Ellie,  at  the  sink,  listening  and 
anxious.  He  went  right  on  talking  quietly 
with  grandmother  and  said  nothing  that 
might  disturb  any  of  them.  But  an  anxious 
feeling  came  to  him,  a  feeling  he  had  had 
sometimes  in  battle  when  he  thought  his 
supplies  might  not  come  up,  or  when  not  all 
his  men  had  returned  to  base. 

He  went  out  with  grandfather  to  milk.  He 
knew  they  would  come  back  into  the  house 
just  as  the  clock  struck  six.  Grandfather 
never  missed  by  a  minute.  But  he  was 
startled  that  there  was  only  one  cow  to  milk. 
The  long  row  of  Guernseys  was  gone. 
There  were  no  horses  down  at  the  horse  end — 
there  were  only  a  few  chickens  picking  about. 
He  asked  about  the  horses. 

"I  rent  the  cornland — on  shares,"  grand- 
father said.  "No  need  to  feed  horses  that 
way — they  were  eating  their  heads  off. 
And  I  sold  the  apple  crop  on  the  trees.  Ex- 
pect the  trucks  down  in  a  day  or  two.  You 
can  help — it  will  need  two  of  us  up  in  the 
orchard  to  see  they  don't  tear  off  next  year's 
buds  when  they  take  the  fruit." 

David  was  deeply  shocked.  Grandfather 
to  sell  the  apples  on  the  trees !  He  had  never 
let  anyone  in  among  the  trees  but  his  own 


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158 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


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pickers  whom  he  had  taught  himself.  And 
the  big  sleek  horses  gone.  David  found  him- 
self trembling.  And  Ellie  had  said  nothing 
was  changed.  Perhaps  she  wanted  him  to 
think  so— perhaps  she  said  what  she  thought 
he  wanted  to  believe. 

They  came  into  the  kitchen  just  as  the 
clock  was  striking  six.  Well,  that  was  un- 
changed anyhow ! 

The  food  on  the  white  cloth  was  delicious. 
Ellie  served  them  all,  moving  about  the 
table,  so  young  and  strong  and  slender.  He 
loved  her!  Her  mouth  was  grave  and  sweet. 
Aunt  Milly  put  a  bib  on  grandmother,  put 
her  food  in  a  bowl,  her  spoon  in  her  hand. 
David  was  raw  with  inexplicable  feelings  of 
tenderness  and  anxiety.  He  wanted  to  tell 
Ellie  he  loved  her.  He  wanted  to  tell  them 
all  not  to  try  so  hard — not  to  worry  about 
him.  But  he  was  silent. 

Grandfather  had  questions  to  ask.  He 
wanted  to  know  a  great  many  things  and 
David  told  him  what  he  could.  They  sat 
talking  until  Ellie  began  to  clear  the  table. 
Aunt  Milly  got  up  to  help  her  and  over- 
turned her  water  glass.  She  stood,  upset  by 
the  accident,  and  David  teased  her  a  little. 
Grandmother  returned  to  her  rocker  and  her 
crochet  work.   David  asked  what  it  was. 

"It's  a  bedspread  for  Milly,"  she  said. 

It  seemed  to  David  it  would  take  a  long 
time  to  make  a  bedspread  of  those  squares. 

"Yes,"  grandmother  said,  "it  will  take  all 
winter.  Milly  is  going  to  marry  John  Carr 
in  the  spring.  Unless  she  puts  him  off  again. 
She  wants  Rob  to  finish  his  schooling  before 
she  gets  married." 

David  sat  still.  He  had  heard  many  family 
stories  from  grandmother,  but  never  this  one. 
So    Aunt    Milly    had 

once    planned    to   get      

married.  And  she  had 
postponed  it,  to  send 
Rob  to  school. 

"Why  couldn't  I 
help? "he  asked.  Since 
she  thought  he  was  his 
father,  he  might  as 
well  take  it  so. 

"Well,  David," 
grandmother  said,  "we 
could  hardly  expect 
you  to  help,  with  your 
sick  wife.  Milly  thinks 
she  can  wait  another 
year." 

David     was     silent      

again  and  grandmother 
went  on  talking  about  Milly's  marriage  and 
about  John  Carr.  He  thought  of  his  own 
mother.  It  was  true  that  she  had  always 
been  considered  "delicate."  One  reason  he 
had  spent  all  his  summers  at  the  farm  was 
his  mother's  nervousness.  Yet  when  he  saw 
her  in  San  Francisco  last  week  she  looked 
decades  younger  than  Aunt  Milly.  He  closed 
the  door  that  had  opened  in  his  mind.  It 
was  not  in  him  to  judge  his  parents. 

And  he  thought  of  Ellie— wasting  her 
youth  as  Aunt  Milly  had  wasted  hers,  here 
on  the  farm — and  he  felt  alarmed  for  her. 

It  was  Ellie  who  helped  him  with  his 
"contraption"  and  who  put  it  on  his  wrist 
again  when  he  was  ready  for  bed. 

Ihe  air  is  thick  with  apple  smell,"  he 
said.  "Nothing  smells  better  than  apples  at 
picking  time." 

"Unless  it's  clover,"  she  said. 

She  stooped  over  him  and  the  fragrance  of 
her  hair  blotted  out  other  fragrances.  She 
was  so  lovely.  He  knew  now  why  no  other 
girl  had  ever  seemed  to  him  to  be  "the  one." 
All  these  years  he  had  been  waiting  to  come 
back  to  her. 

"Marry  me,  Ellie,"  he  said,  "and  come 
back  to  San  Francisco  with  me  when  I  go. 
I've  always  loved  you." 

She  drew  back  a  little  and  bright  scarlet 
curled  in  her  cheeks,  stained  her  throat. 
She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  adjusted  the 
last  buckle  with  fingers  that  shook  a  little. 

"I  couldn't,  David,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
leave  here.    They  need  me." 

"But  you  can't,"  he  said.  "You'll  be  like 
Aunt  Milly — you'll  waste  your  life " 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  she  cried.  "Aunt 
Milly's  life  has  not  been  wasted.  Few  people 


FRiei\[DSHIP 

1^  Con^^ideriii;;;  that  most  friend- 
^  shi|>K  are  made  by  mere  hazard, 
how  is  it  that  men  find  themselves 
equipped  and  fortified  with  just  the 
friends  they  need?  We  have  heard 
of  men  who  asserted  that  they 
would  like  tt>  have  more  money,  or 
more  hooks,  or  more  pairs  of  pa- 
jamas; but  we  have  never  heard  of  a 
man  saying  that  he  did  not  have 
enough  friends.  For,  while  we  can 
never  have  too  many  friends,  yet 
those  we  have  are  always  enough. 
—CHRISTOPHER  MORLEY:  On  Moking  Friends. 


March.  1945 

have  had  as  good  a  life  as  Aunt  Milly  has 
had.  No,  David,  don't  ask  me.  I  must  stay 
here  with  them." 

She  said  good  night  quickly  and  left  him. 
He  couldn't  understand  her  at  all,  so  young 
and  fragrant  and  desirable,  here  on  the  farm 
with  Aunt  Milly  and  the  grandparents — and 
they  were  not  even  her  grandparents!  It 
was  inexplicable  to  him.  Was  she  one  of 
those  with  a  passion  for  self-sacrifice? 

He  thought  he  would  not  sleep,  but  he  no 
sooner  drew  the  sheet  to  his  chin  than  he  was 
gone.  He  had  not  slept  like  this  for  years; 
in  fact,  not  since  he  was  last  here.  He 
wakened  in  earliest  morning,  so  refreshed,  so 
renewed  that  he  could  not  at  first  remember 
his  sharp  disappointment  of  the  night  before. 

Me  rose  at  once  and  put  his  feet  into  his 
canoe  shoes  and  got  on  some  fatigue  clothes.i 
He  put  his  hand  into  his  shirt  and  buttoned" 
it  around  the  hand,  and  went  down  the 
stairs  and  out-of-doors.  The  grass  was 
drenched  with  dew  and  he  was  soaked  to  his 
knees  in  a  moment,  but  he  did  not  mind. 
There  were  still  some  stars  in  the  west,  and 
the  east  was  rosy  with  morning  light. 

He  walked  through  the  south  pasture  and 
climbed  the  old  rail  fence  which  kept  the 
cattle  back  out  of  the  spring.  He  lay  down 
on  the  overhanging  rock.  Here  was  all  that, 
he  had  dreamed:  peace  and  quiet  and  good-j 
ness  and  clean  fresh  water  and  wet  scented: 
grass.  And  all  the  old  pictures,  the  picnics, 
the  games,  the  endless  rapture  revolved  now 
around  Ellie,  so  that  Mark  and  Andre  and 
June  and  the  others  were  unreal.  He  knew 
where  they  were,  he  loved  them  still,  but 
it  was  Ellie,  he  knew  now — Ellie  and  grand- 
mother— who  had  made 

.  the  enchanted  garden. 

He  suspected  that  she 
was  trying  to  make  it 
for  him  again. 

The  farm  bell 
sounded  and  he  went 
back  to  hot  biscuits  and 
thin  curls  of  bacon,  to 
country  butter  andj 
peach  preserves  and 
coffee.  Everyone  was 
cheerful  and  full  of  talk, 
and  before  they  had 
finished  their  early 
meal,  the  commission 
man's  trucks  and  pick- 
ers rolled  into  the  farm- 
yard and  grandfather  i 
and  David  went  out  to  see  to  things.  He 
was  so  tired  that  night  that  he  went  to  bed 
right  after  supper  and  to  sleep. 

The  days  followed,  with  David  in  the 
orchard  and  the  women  in  the  house.  When 
he  was  with  them,  his  feeling  for  Ellie  deep- 
ened almost  unbearably.  He  would  talk  to 
her  again  when  he  could.  He  had  no  mind  to 
leave  her  here  on  the  farm  with  all  these  old 
people,  good  as  they  were.  In  three  days  the 
commission  man  and  his  pickers  had  stripped 
the  orchard  and  trucked  practically  every 
apple  away. 

He  went  into  town  with  grandfather  and 
Aunt  Milly.  Grandfather  had  a  check  to 
cash,  some  business  to  attend  to.  Aunt  Milly 
was  going  to  the  oculist — her  glasses  needed 
straightening,  she  said,  and  David  paid  little 
attention.  But  when  they  came  home  she 
narrowly  missed  the  fence  post,  turning  into 
the  farm. 

After  supper  Ellie  put  up  the  ironing 
board,  but  David  persuaded  her  to  set  it 
back  and  come  out  with  him.  The  harvest 
moon  was  abroad,  a  great  shining  globe  of 
gold  against  the  dark  vast  Midwestern  sky. 
The  night  was  warm.  They  walked  up  under 
the  stripped  trees  and  sat  down  on  the  big 
stump  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  A  gentleness  and 
almost  mystic  quality  lay  over  the  world. 

"What  this  stump  has  been  in  its  time," 
said  David.  "A  throne  once,  I  remember,  and 
a  stage,  and  a  rock  in  a  rapids,  and  an  Indian 
council  table.  We  were  an  imaginative  bunch 
of  brats,  anyhow,  weren't  we?  What  fun  we 
had." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  then  a  little  anx- 
iously: "David,  do  you  find  grandmother 
much  changed?" 

(Continued  on  Page  160) 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


SEE  NORGE 


/Greater  things  than  ever  before  are  in  store  for  the 
^^  American  family!  Just  over  the  horizon  looms  the 
promise  of  better  products  for  a  better  world.  And  toward 
this  better  living  Norge  household  appliances  will  be 
leading    contributors,    making    that    promise    come    true. 


Norge  planning,  engineering  and  precision  manufacture — 
which  produced  the  famed  Norge  Rollator  refrigerators, 
Norge  gas  and  electric  ranges,  Norge  Ro-ta-tor  washers  and 
Norge  home  heaters  —  all  products  of  experience — have 
pledged  a  finer  line  of  major  household  appliances  for  you. 


BEFORE  YOU  BUY 


NORGE    IS    THE    TRADE-MARK    OF    NORGE    DIVISrON.    lORGWARNER    CORPORATION.    DETROIT    It.    MICHIGAN.     IN    CANADA:    ADDISON    INDUSTRIES.    LTD..    TORONTO.    ONT. 


160 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


WASHABLE 


Alice:  Why  so  smug,  dear?  You're 
fairly  purring. 

Madge:  Real  news,  honey!  I'm 
reading  about  the  new,  improved 
Wat-a-set  finish  for  rayon  curtains. 
It  lasts  much  longer  than  the  old 
finish  and  gives  greater  protection 
to  the  fabric. 


Alice:  Doesn't  sound  so  glamorous 
to  me.  Just  what  IS  a  Wat-a-set 
finish? 

Madge:  It's  a  finish  that  makes 
rayon  curtains  WASHABLE;  lasts 
through  numerous  trips  to  the  tub, 
protects  the  delicate  marquisette 
weave  and  repels  those  pesky  silver- 
fish  bugs. 


v;^. 


Rayon  Marquisette  with  improved 
Wat-a-set  finish  after  washing. 
Note  lack  of  distortion.  j^ 

ASK  YOUR  RETAILER  FOR 
WAT-A-SET  RAYON  CURTAINS. 
THIS  FINISH  IS  USED  ON  NUM- 
EROUS  POPULAR   BRANDS. 

MT.    HOPE    FINISHING    CO. 

NORTH     DIGHTON,    MASSACHUSETTS 


Alice:  I'm  suspicious.  Are  you  sell- 
ing it? 

Madge:  No,  stupid,  but  I'm  sold. 
Those  curtains  there  have  the  old 
Wat-a-set  finish.  I've  washed  them 
twice  and  they  still  look  like  new. 
Why  wouldn't  I  get  excited  about 
the  NEW  Wat-a-set? 


.••••■•••••■••••••:. 

^•••■•■•••■•■•■•••■■••••■•••■•••*!S!ak 

^■•••■•••••••■•••••■••••••••••••••*S!:,^ 

^•••••■•■•••■••■••■•••■•••••••■•■•**S!aiik 

'■•••••••••••■•••■■••««««i"«!!;!!**!!!!S(k 

/»•••••••••••■•■•«••••••■•••■•••••■•!!!!■■• 

i*i*tai*»iM*M»tM»*iii«i!!*!!!!;*!**!iSS(i> 

.:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;:!::::: 
.:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;::::■. 
!:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;: 

•■••••••■••••••■•■•••••••■•••■••••••••••••■SiSSiHi 

(•••••■•••■••(■••^••••••••■•••••••••••••■••••■!!r 

tt»iaMiii*t*>«»»at»MM*i*i«ii>M!!«!S;2!ai!aS 
M*l*ia»M»>M*taM»l*»l»M'>«M!;i;*J*J!!^ 

<t*»tai»ia»»»»a»>«*»f«iM»i;!i!**!:!: 
i*i>i*iMii*»Mi«i«*>*>«i«a«tM»K!!!!*!!::' 
•  ■•■••••••■••••■•■•••••••■■•••■•■•••••••■■J!! 

^•■•^•••••■•••••••••••••••■tl««»l*li***J' 

-•••■■•••••••■•••■••••••••••••••••■■' 

^••itaaait«iaa«i«taaai«»«a«a*a«a' 

'<ataMaa*a*aMMaaaatata«aia»' 

•a*aaa«a*a*aM*aaa*aia«a>' 


•""""  UOOut'CL' 


A  LASTING  FINISH  FOR  RAYON  AND  COTTON   CURTAINS 


(Continued  from  Page  J 58) 

"She's  not  as  active  as  she  used  to  be,"  he 
said.  "I  can  scarcely  believe,  she  was  such  a 
wonder — at  eighty.  She's  failed  since  then, 
but  that  was  to  be  expected.  The  wonder  is 
that  grandfather  is  as  active  as  he  is." 

"You  don't  find  things — changed,  then?" 
she  said.  "You  find  it — just  the  way  you 
hoped?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "Everything  that 
mattered  is  the  same.  To  sleep  like  I  do,  just 
to  sink  away  into  endless  quiet — to  sleep  like 
that !  There's  no  other  place  in  the  world. 
I  feel  so  much  better — you  simply  can't 
imagine  how  I  feel.  I  wish  every  man  who's 
seen  active  service  had  a  place  like  this  to 
come  home  to.  It's  all  I  longed  for." 

"I'm  glad,"  she  said  simply. 

"Ellie,  I  want  to  talk  to  you — and  seri- 
ously. You  are  so  young.  Why  do  you  stay 
on  here?" 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  She  shook 
her  head  a  little. 

"Can't  you  love  me  a  little?"  he  asked 
softly.  "Just  a  Httle?" 

'  ■  Perhaps— #meday, "  she  said ."  Or  rather 
I  should  say  that  once  I  did.  All  those  years, 
when  we  were  children — I  worshiped  you. 
It  dominated  my  life.  Now,  I  don't  know, 
David— I  really  don't  know.  Don't  crowd 
me  now,  or  I'll  have  to  refuse  you  again." 

He  was  silent.  He  did  not  want  her  to 
refuse  him  again.  But  he  could  not  let  the 
questions  that  pressed  on  him  go  un- 
answered. 

"When  you  said,  the  other  day,  that  it 
was  difficult  to  hire  things  done — did  you 
mean  difficult  to  get  the  help,  or  hard  to  get 
help  without  money?" 

"Both,  perhaps,"  she  answered  casually. 


David  said  slowly,  "This  is  a  fine  farm. 
Even  with  its  operations  reduced,  grand- 
father should  have  a  little  money.  Hasn't 
he?" 

"What  do  you  think?"  Ellie  ask^d  im- 
patiently. "He  had  to  help  Andre,  because 
Uncle  Tom  couldn't.  How  could  he  save,  all 
those  years,  when  the  place  was  overrun 
summer  after  summer  with  a  swarm  of 
hungry    youngsters — when    everyone    still 

looked  to  him  for  everything  "    She 

stopped  as  though  she  had  said  more  than 
she  intended. 

David  saw  she  was  not  going  to  try  to 
answer  more  questions,  and  in  a  little  while 
they  rose  and  went  down  through  the  orchard 
in  the  brilliant  moonlight,  hand  in  hand.  She 
kept  him  in  check  though.  But  he  could  not 
be  unhappy.  All  those  years  she  had  loved 
him.  Then,  she  would  again! 

Late  in  the  night  he  wakened  to  a  sound 
that  he  could  not  identify.  There  was  a 
steady  thumping  and  bumping — not  regular, 
but  repeated.  He  got  up  at  last  and  went  out 
in  his  bare  feet  and  went  down  the  stairs. 
Ellie  was  ironing.  She  was  wrapped  in  a 
blue  kimona,  her  hair  was  down  her  back 
and  held  back  from  her  face  with  a  small 
comb,  and  she  was  doing  the  ironing  he  had 
persuaded  her  to  leave.  He  was  tempted  to 
go  out  and  talk  to  her,  but  something  with- 
held him.  But  when  he  got  back  into  his  bed 
he  did  not  at  once  go  to  sleep.  His  mind  was 
arranging  for  him  a  procession  of  problems 
and  discoveries. 

Instead  of  everything  being  the  same, 

everything  was  changed.  And  quite  simply 

the  mystery  of  Ellie  became  clear  as  day. 

Ellie  was  here  for  just  the  reason  she  had 

(Continued  on  Page  163) 


^^- 


Plan  Now  for  Sonimcr  Flowers 

TEST  your  soil,  buy  your  seeds,  stoop  down 
and  dig.  And  let  tlie  Jouhnal  help  with  all 
yt)ur  jiardon  problems.  W  hether  you  grow  an- 
nuals or  perennials,  plant  a  vine  or  a  tree,  build 
a  walk  or  a  fence— or,  perhaps,  just  care  for  a 
row  of  potted  plants— the  booklets  listed  below 
will  tell  you  how. 


.lOIJRNAL     REFERENCE      LIBRARY 

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<;aki>eiv'i>4> 


160,!. 
16(>6. 


1667. 


How  TO  Prkpare  Your  Garden  Soil.   5c. 
Shrubs  anu  Trees  kor  the  Garden.  With  a 

classified  list.   Sc. 
Planning  and  Building  the  Garden.    How 

to  build  walls,  fenct-s,  paths,  steps  or  pools 

for  your  Harden.    10c. 
Bulbs   Before  Tulips.    On  growing  tulips. 

With  a  list  of  popular  varieties.   Sc. 


1662.  Your  Garden  of  Annual  Flowers.   With 
varieties  listed.   5c. 

1664.  Your  Garde.n  of  Perennials.   Gives  a  list  of 

popular  varieties.   5c. 

1665.  Your  Indoor  Garden.   Potted  plants  and  how 

to  care  for  them.   5c. 
2099.  Geraniu-ms  .as  a  Hobby.  The  A  B  C'sof  grow- 
ing them.    10c. 


H.\M»i«'H.\FT  F4»ll   TMK    II4».>II-: 


1428.  Chicken  House.  Build  a  house  for  your  back- 
yard flock.  Includes  a  stencil  design  for  a 
handsome  hen  to  decorate  the  wall.    25c. 

1427.  Garden  Pieces.  Directions  for  making  a  sim- 
ple arbor,  a  sawbuck  table  and  bench,  and  a 
paddle  pan  for  your  garden.    10c. 

1426.  Playground  Equipment.  How  to  make  a 
swing,  a  slide,  a  seesaw,  a  sand  bo.x  and 
horizontal  bars.   25c. 

1883.  Outdoor  Fireplace  Pattern.  Large  enough 
to  boil  and  broil  for  a  crowd.  Make  it  of 
stone,  brick  or  rammed  earth.   25c. 

1424.  .\  Garden  of  Animals.  Directions  for  making 
pony  stable,  dovecote,  kennel,  rabbit  hutch 
and  pheasant  yard.    2Sc. 

1122.  Square  Occasional  Table.   Modern  style.  5c. 

1 1 23.  Round  Occasional  Table.  Simple  to  make.  5c. 

1 124.  Plant  Stand  or  Console  Table.   5c. 

1 1 25.  End  T.vble.   5c. 


1429.  Window-Box  Greenhouse.  How  to  make  a 
midget  greenhouse  frame  that  can  easily  be 
managed  indoors  through  any  sunny  win- 
dow.   10c. 

2014.  Square-Motif  Hooked-Rug  Pattern.  Fits 
into  a  modern  setting  equally  £is  well  as  a 
traditional  onef  10c. 

2016.  Scroll     Hooked-Rug     Pattern.      Graceful 

scrolls  with  a  central  floral  motif.    10c. 

2017.  Floral-Design  Hooked-Rug  Pattern.  Elab- 

orate pattern,  quaint  and  charming,  using 
many  colors.    10c. 

1671.  Needlework  Pickups.  Hot-iron  transfer  de- 
sign for  curtains,  place  mats;  directions  for 
crocheting  a  butterfly  luncheon  set;  and 
motifs  for  a  bedquilt.   Complete.    10c. 

1743.  "Home  Sweet  Home"  Sampler.  A  hot-iron 
transfer  pattern  in  a  charming  old-fzishioned 
design.  A  color  chart  is  included.   5c. 


FOR  THE  HOMEMAKER 


2007.  Wartime  Homemaking  Manual.  How  to  win 
on  the  home  front.    25c. 

Daily  Food  Guide.  .\  kitchen  chart  to  aid  in 
meal  planning.    10c. 

All  You  Need  to  Know  About  Vitamins. 
With  tables  of  foods  and  their  vitamin  con- 
tent.   10c. 

A  Plan  for  Housework.  Helpful  schedules 
for  the  busy  homemaker.   5c. 

First  Principles  of  Kitchen  Planning.  In- 
cludes diagrams  for  several  types  of  kitchens, 
scientifically  designed  for  the  convenience  of 
the  homemaker.   5c. 


1785. 


1781. 


1753. 
1330. 


1348.  Spots  and  Stains.    How  to  remove  them.    5c. 

1502.  Han'dbook  of  Slip  Covers.  With  directions 
for  cutting  and  fitting  them  to  give  that  pro- 
fessional, well-tailored  appearance.  Amply 
illustrated.    10c. 

1543.  A    Place   for    Everything.     Diagrams   and 
plans  for  closets  for  every  room.   5c. 
139.  The  Bride  Equips  Her  Kitchen.  With  a  list 
of  utensils  she  should  have.   5c. 

1799.  Pattern  Sheet  of  Closet  Designs.  Paper- 
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so  you  can  identify  in  an  instant  boxes  for 
sweaters,  hats,  gloves,  etc.   5c. 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


OJUO 


7  Jovrv'^' 


t&VERNWAX 


Here's  a  Non-Rub  Floor  Wax 
hat  resists  even  water  spots 

>ocony- Vacuum  developed  Tavern  Non-Rub  Floor 
A^ax  to  put  a  longer-lasting  lustre  on  all  kinds  of 
loors  —  linoleum,  rubber,  asphalt  tile  and  wood. 
That's  one  reason  housewives  all  over  America  are 
hanging  to  Tavern  Wax. 

They've  discovered  that  Tavern's  long-wearing 
ustre  gets  brighter  with  use  and  resists  even  water. 

And  so  quick  to  use!  Tavern  Non-Rub  floor  wax 
foes  on  in  seconds!  Dries  in  20  minutes!  Makes 
lousecleaning  easier  because  it  leaves  a  long- 
asting,  lustrous  finish  that  protects  your  floors. 

Tavern  Liquid  Wax,  Tavern  Paste  Wax 

These  two  famous  buffing  waxes  give  a  long-wear- 
ng  lustre  and  are  especially  recommended  for 
vood  floors  to  bring  out  their  natural  beauty.  They 
emove  unsightly  marks  and  clean  as  they  wax. 
Excellent  for  polishing  and  protecting  window  sills, 
voodwork,  furniture  and  painted  surfaces.  Use 
iquid  or  Paste  as  you  prefer. 


Vsk  for  the  wax  best  suited  to  your  needs  at 
our  favoriie  department,  hardware  or  gro- 
ery  store!  Tauern  Non-Rub  Floor  Wax, 
^avern  Paste  Wax,  or  Tavern  Liquid  Wax. 


TRY    THESE    6    OTHER    WAYS    TO    MAKE    H  O  U  S  E  C  L  E  A  N  I  N  G    EASIER 


Tavern  Window  Cleaner  makes 
window  cleaning  easy.  Doesn't 
streak.  Won't  chap  your  hands. 


Tavern    Furniture    Gloss  

leaves  a  lustre  that  won't 
attract  or  hold  daily  dust. 
It's  a  white,  creamy  emul- 
sion. Leaves  no  oily  surface. 

Tavern  Electric  Motor  Oil.  Spe- 
cial lubricant  for  vacuum  clean- 
ers, fans,  bicycles,  etc.  Gives 
long-term  protection. 


Tavern   Paint   Cleaner 

removed  grease  and 
smudges  from  painted 
walls  and  woodwork. 
Porcelain  and  tile,  too! 


Tavern  Rug  Cleaner  — 
A  super-shampoo  for 
rugs,  draperies,  uphol- 
stery. Non-caustic, 
non-inflammable. 


Tavern  Lustre  Cloth— A  special  flan- 
nel treated  so  that  it  polishes  as  it 
dusts.  Restores  lustre. 


TAVERN  HOME  PRODUCTS 

Also:  Tavern  Parowax  or  Paraseal  Wax,  Tavern  Leather  Preserver,  Tavern  Dry  Cleaner,  and  Tavern  Candles 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1 


tfiarVed  by 


KtY 

1 .  Bigelow  wall-lo-wall  carpet 
7.  Color  of  wo 

3.  Color    of   curtains    and   two 
side  chairs 

4.  Color  of  end  tables 

5.  Color  of  sofa  and  two   up- 
holstered chairs 

6.  View  of  sofa  group 

7.  Color   of   three   upholstered 
chairs 

8.  Color   of   Inside   of   shelve* 
by  fireplace 

9.  View  of  fireplace  group 

10.  View  of  long  wall  with  chest 
and  chairs. 


NEW  FREE  BOOKLET 

Tells  you,  step  by  step, 
how  to  decorate  your  own 
rooms,  how  to  choose  and 
combinecolorsand  fabrics. 
Write  Bigelow  Weavers, 
Depl.  L-35,  140  Madison 
Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


Bl 


GttO^ 


v^t^viRS 


Copy 


RVJGS 


right 


1946. 


B>« 


e\o«- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


163 


(Continued  from  Page  160) 
given— because  they  needed  her.  There  was 
no  other  reason.  And  the  mystery  of  Aunt 
Milly  was  suddenly  clear  too.  Tonight,  when 
she  started  to  go  upstairs,  she  had  walked 
right  into  the  door.  She  had  made  a  joke 
about  it.  But  there  were  too  many  things- 
glasses  spilled,  the  fact  that  Ellie  never  let 
Aunt  Milly  go  to  the  cellar,  the  scraped  post 
by  the  gate.  Why,  she  must  not  drive  again ! 

He  sat  up  on  the  side  of  his  bed.  What  had 
made  him  think  the  years  would  not  pass 
over  the  farm  as  they  had  passed  over  him? 
He  had  grown  from  boy  to  manhood — they 
had  grown  from  middle  age  to  old.  Even 
Aunt  Milly  was  old. 

What  had  he  expected?  Who  was  to 
maintain  the  paradise?  Grandmother  could 
no  longer  do  it — she  had  done  it  far  past 
the  usual  time  women  can  contrive  such 
miracles.  Grandfather  strove  valiantly,  but 
he  was  ninety  years  old.  So  Ellie  had  taken 
up  the  problem,  so  that  he  and  Andre  and 
the  others  could  come  home  from  the  war 
and  find  nothing  changed — nothing  gone 
that  they  wanted  and  needed.  If  he  had 
loved  Ellie  all  these  years,  his  feeling  now 
was  almost  one  of  reverence.  He  longed  for 
the  morning,  to  talk  to  her  again. 

He  must,  finally,  have  slept.  For  he  was 
wakened  in  the  deep  darkness  by  a  hideous 
sound.  At  once  he  knew  what  it  was,  the 
clatter  and  bumping,  the  loud  old  rasping 
voice — grandfather  falling  down  the  stairs! 

They  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
simultaneously.  Aunt  Milly  and  Ellie  and 
himself.  Light  flooded  the  hall.  The  plain- 
tive voice  of  grandmother  came  from  above — 
and  there  was  grandfather  in  his  nightshirt, 
his  face  empurpled,  sprawled  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  breathing  stertorously. 

It  took  all  three  of  them  to  lift  him  onto 
the  couch.  It  was  an  hour  before  the  doctor 
arrived.  Grandfather  had  had  a  stroke.  He 
was  evidently  not  well,  and  had  risen,  they 
figured,  to  go  to  the  kitchen  for  a  drink 
or  some  baking  soda,  and  he  had  been 
stricken  and  had  fallen  down  the  stairs. 
They  got  him  back  into  his  bed,  they  got 
^1  grandmother  calmed  down,  they  all 
dressed  and  Ellie  made  coffee.  They  were 
up  now  for  the  rest  of  the  night — indeed,  it 
was  almost  morning. 

And  David  had  his  answer.  He  knew  what 
the  answer  was,  and  in  the  face  of  disaster  he 
was  flooded  with  a  deep  content. 

It  was  two  days  later  when  he  persuaded 
Ellie  to  walk  up  to  the  spring  with  him.  She 
w  as  tired  and  pale.  But  she  was  pleased  that 
grandfather  had  rallied,  was  able  to  speak, 
although  thickly,  to  move  one  arm  and  leg 
a  little,  to  demand  food.    She  was  pleased 


that  grandmother  had  taken  it  all  so  reason- 
ably. But  Ellie  was  pale.  Her  fair  soft  hair — 
he  longed  to  put  his  face  to  it. 

He  took  her  hand  and  turned  it  in  his 
own.  He  said,  "Ellie,  he's  not  your  grand- 
father, you  know." 

"Oh,  David,"  she  said,  "how  can  you  say 
that!  If  they  never  made  any  difference,  if 
they  never  remembered  that  I  was  not  their 
own,  why  should  I  remember  it?" 

He  was  smiling  a  little,  a  secret  smile  that 
made  her  wonder. 

She  said,  a  little  sharply,  "I  am  theirs! 
I  am!  They  made  me  their  own — when  I 
was  too  little  to  know  any  difference." 

"A  young  woman,"  he  said  almost  taunt- 
ingly, with  the  same  little  smile,  "buried  on 
an  old  farm,  wasting  her  youth  and  her  life — 
getting  up  late  at  night  to  iron  and  early  in 
the  morning  to  wash.  Making  pies  and  filling 
the  cooky  jar  so  a  returned  soldier  won't  find 
it  empty,  trying  with  two  firm  young  hands 
to  hold  together  an  old  romantic  ideal— out 
of  the  love  of  her  heart.  No  one  could  take 
grandmother's  place  except  you — no  one 
could  make  love  and  work  take  the  place  of 
money " 

"I  had  a  right  to  try!" 

David  looked  at  her  and  he  leaned  over 
and  kissed  her  cheek.  He  said,  in  a  practical 
voice,  "We  used  to  say  when  we  were  kids 
that  turnabout  is  fair  play.  I  can  see  it  now. 
It's  turnabout — it's  our  turn.  You  saw  it 
first,  and  none  of  the  others  have  seen  it  yet, 
but  me.  I  wouldn't  have,  but  for  you.  You 
just  came — and  stayed,  because  they  needed 
you.  Milly  is  losing  her  eyesight,  isn't  she, 
Ellie?  Aunt  Milly  is  growing  blind." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  distressed.  "But  don't 
let  her  know  you  guessed  it,  David." 

"I  won't,"  he  said.  "Ellie,  father  said  he 
would  set  me  up  in  business  if  I  liked.  What 
would  you  think  about  him  buying  the  farm, 
with  the  understanding  that  the  old  folks 
would  always  live  here,  while  they  live,  and 
Milly,  too,  and  you  and  I  farming  the  place? 
We  could  give  them  perfect  care  as  long  as 
they  need  it,  care  and  love!  We  could  get 
horses  back,  and  more  cows  and  chickens, 
and  take  care  of  the  orchard.  By  spring  I  can 
begin  the  work.  Then,  if  the  next  generation 
needs  a  haven " 

Her  eyes  shone  on  him.  There  was  a 
lucidity  in  her  look  that  washed  over  him 
like  a  blessing.  She  took  his  face  in  her 
hands  and  kissed  him. 

"You  do  understand,"  she  said.  "Oh,  how 
I  wanted  you  to  understand — yourself !  Oh, 
David,  I  knew  that  the  dream  was  true,  that 
it  could  continue,  whether  we  were  children 
receiving  it  or  adults  dispensing  it;  it's  a  true 
dream — that  must  go  on  forever." 


THE  RUG'S  THE  REASON 

(Continued  from  Page  144) 


When  the  arrangement  and  styling  are 
done,  you  are  ready  to  paint.  Everything 
must  be  scrubbed  clean  of  wax,  grease  or 
dirt  before  the  first  coat,  or  paint  will  peel. 
Use  steel  wool  and  sandpaper  to  smooth  the 
old  surface  and,  between  coats — two  should 
be  enough — sand  lightly. 

Only  three  colors  are  good  for  your  furni- 
ture frames:  dark  green,  rich  red-brown,  and 
black.  Of  course,  if  you  live  in  the  right  lo- 
cality, white  is  charming  with  light  fabrics. 
Blue,  light  green  and  most  other  colors  call 
attention  to  the  furniture  frames  and  their 
style,  and  make  the  job  look  amateurish. 
Use  fiat  paint  for  the  first  coats,  enamel  last. 

VpholMterlna  or  SHp-Covering.  By  us- 
ing the  same  color  on  all  the  large  pieces,  you 
give  style  to  your  room.  It  need  not  be  the 
same  fabric.  We  used  wool  felt  on  our  chairs 
and  emerald  cotton  dress  material  with  an 
I  outing-flannel  back,  on  the  sofa.  Our  dra- 
iperies  were  made  of  slightly  harsh  dress 
woolen!  In  the  case  of  the  chairs,  we  did 
semi-upholstering.  That  is,  we  tacked  the  ma- 
terial onto  the  old  frames  here  and  there, 
and  later  sewed  it  where  a  fold  needed  flat- 
tening. You  can  do  this  if  your  furniture  is 
actually  of  the  secondhand  class.  If  the 
frames  are  good,  make  slip  covers.  All  the 


chairs  you  see  in  the  picture  were  covered  by 
an  amateur. 

Wool  felt  has  again  appeared  on  the  mar- 
ket and  is  a  grand  material  for  sturdy  cover- 
ings. It  is  fifty  inches  wide,  comes  in  all 
colors,  and  costs  about  $1.50  a  yard. 

The  Hand-Paintea  Cheat.    You    may 

think  you  can't  paint  a  bjg,  gorgeous  modern 
design  on  a  chest,  but  actually  the  fact  that  it 
is  big  and  flat  and  bright  makes  this  simple. 
Follow  the  directions  exactly  and  you  will 
glow  with  pride  at  your  achievement. 

The  chest  itself  is  an  old  rooming-house 
type  of  chiffonier.  Cut  down  the  legs,  take 
off  the  knobs,  to  replace  later  if  you  like,  and 
finish  with  two  coats  of  smooth  black  paint. 

When  dry.  place  it  on  a  table  or  two  chairs 
for  good  working  height.  With  a  piece  of 
chalk,  place  two  dots  where  the  centers  of 
the  big  roses  are  to  be.  Next,  draw  circles 
around  the  dots,  each  one  larger  than  the 
other,  using  a  compass,  or  a  piece  of  string 
and  chalk,  or  saucers  and  a  plate.  Keep  on 
until  the  last  circle  is  twelve  to  fourteen 
inches  across. 

Next,  take  the  chalk  and  scallop  each  of 
your  circles  unevenly — these  are  the  petals. 
Then  you  are  ready  to  paint.  Buy  a  tube 
each  of  rose  red,  zinc  white,  chrome  yellow. 


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164 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  1945 


Living  Pictures 

No  Artist  could  equal! 

The  beautifully  designed  borders  of  a  Nurre  Mirror 
will  frame  an  ever  changing  picture  of  your  home 
life.  Brightness,  color,  movemc^nt,  life  and  cayety  will 
be  reflected  from  the  gleaming  scientificalTy  sil 
surface  of  a  Genuine  Nurre  Plate  Glass  Mir 


ilvered 
irror  in 
ever  changing  pictures  no  artist  could  equal. 

It  takes  a  craftsman  to  make  a  perfect '  Living  Pic- 
ture." Sec  the  many  different,  exquisite  Nurri^  Mir- 
rors at  your  Dealer  s  — after  you've  bought  another 
War  Bond. 

FREE  BOOK!  New  1945  Edition 


e>^ 


q)^^^^-^ 


*'  How  Famous 
DrcoDitorn  would 
U»o  MirroTH  in 
Your  I!  omr."  ' 
A  guiilo  to  the 
rnos!  effective  U80 
of  inirrors. 


THK  NIIKKK  COMPANIKS.  INC. 

Drjit.  I.HJ.  Bluoiniiigton,  Inii. 
Pleusc  H«nd  mc  FREE  mirror  book. 


NAME.. 


(  ITV STATE.. 


STOPS  MOTH 
DAMAGE 


7: 


FOR    FIVE    YEARS 


OR    BERLOU   PAYS 
FOR  THE  DAMAGE 

•  EKKECTIVEI  C.UARANTICKD,  IN  WRITING, 
for  5  years. 

•  EASY-TO-USE  home  treatment. 

•  HARMLESS  TO  KABRICS;  NON-INFLAM- 
MABLE; ODORLESS. 

•  PROFESSIONALLY  PROVED  I  Your  clotliinK 
and  furniture  can  be  protected  by  leadinK  laundries 
and  dry  cleaners  —  many  of  whicli  have  been  usin>;  and 
KUaranteeing  Berlou  since  19J0I 

•  LOW  COST— protects  man's  suit  5  years  for  41(f. 

•  On  sale  at  leadinR  department,  drug, 
liardware  and  furniture  stores. 

Write  today  for  FRKK  booklet 
Moth  DanmKC  in  Your  Home, 
will  do — be  .sure  to  send  your 

Berlou  Mfg.Co.,Dept.  L-3,  Marion,  Ohio 


SAVE  'rVVoV  CLEANER 

New  SC-49  CLEANER  requires 
no  rubbing  or  scrubbing,  no 
rinsing.  Cleans  walls,  floors, 
paint,  woodwork,  tile  without 
eHort.  CONCENTRATED  -  use 
only  two  tablespoons  per  gallon  of  water. 
Over  400,000  housewives  use  no  other.  Takes 
off  heel  marks  and  spots  that  others  foil  to 
touch.  Harnnless  to  skin  or  any  surface.  Big 
5-pound  box  sent  postpaid.  Moil  $1.00  today 
to  SUGAR  BEET  PRODUCTS  CO.,  330  Waller 
St.,  Saginaw,  Mich.  Established  ^   ^ 

1906.      Sold     by     mail     only.  ^  1 

Satisfaction   or    {T    ||«c      Alllu     M 
money    refunded.    W    IllOa    Ullljf    ■ 


Brenda-WIII 
You  Step  Out 
WithMeTonight? 

I  know  I've  been  an  awful  grouch  not  taking 
you  any  place  lately.  But  after  standing  all  day  at 
my  new  job,  my  feet  dam  near  killed  me  with  cal- 
louses and  burning.  Now  I've  reformed  — or  rather 
my  feet  have  —  thanks  to  the  Ice-Mint  you  advised. 
Never  tried  anything  that  seemed  to  draw  the 
pain  and  fire  right  out  so  fast  —  and  the  way  it 
helps  soften  callouses  is  nobody's  business!  Been 
able  to  get  some  extra  overtime  money  —  so  what 
do  you  say,  let's  go  dancing  tonight.  You  can  step 
on  my  Ice-Mint  feet  all  you  want. 


BAD  LUCK  TO  BREAK  A  MIRROR 


PUSH. LESS 


Use  Pwih-Pint  for  lighler  wall  decorotront  and  drapes. . 
Slationery,  hardwor«  ortd  department  storet. 


ultramarine  blue  and  emerald — oil  paint. 
These  will  mix  to  make  any  color  you  want. 
Buy  three  or  four  ten-cent  brushes  and  have 
handy  a  small  bottle  of  turpentine. 

Paint  the  roses  before  you  draw  the  leaves. 
Onto  an  old  plate,  squeeze  out  a  small 
amount  of  red  paint  and  a  bit  of  white.  Thin 
the  red  paint  very  slightly  and  paint  in  the 
centers  of  the  roses,  leaving  all  the  chalk 
lines  paint-free.  Every  two  times  around, 
add  a  bit  of  white  to  your  red  paint.  This 
makes  the  outer  petals  lighter  than  the 
center.  Your  paint  should  be  sticky  at  all 
times.  Never  thin  enough  to  form  a  drop. 
After  all  the  petals  are  filled  in,  lift  a  bit  of 
undiluted  white  and  streak  in  the  scalloped 
chalk  lines  you  have  left  unpainted.  Your 
brush  stroke  will  streak  into  the  white  and, 
as  it  picks  up  a  bit  of  the  red,  turn  pink. 
This  is  right  and  gives  the  effect  you  want. 

Now  get  a  little  stick,  like  an  orange  stick. 
While  the  paint  is  still  soft,  outline  the  scal- 
lops with  the  stick.  You  see,  this  removes  a 
little  of  the  fresh  red  or  pink  paint  and  leaves 
a  small  black  line.  Let  the  roses  dry  for  a 
day  or  two  and  then  start  on  the  foliage. 

Take  some  wrapping  paper  and  cut  three 
or  four  sizes  of  leaves,  any  shape  you  want. 
Make  them  all  differ  a  bit  and  have  one,  at 
least,  as  large  as  your  hand.  Then,  beginning 
at  the  edges  of  the  roses,  pin  on  two  or  three 
at  a  time,  arranging  them  to  your  taste,  but 
all  pointing  outward.  Trace  around  them 
with  chalk,  unpin  and  use  as  patterns  to  re- 
trace other  leaves  until  you  are  within  a  few 
inches  of  the  edge  of  the  chest.  Use  the 
larger  leaf  patterns  at  the  bottom  and 
toward  the  center,  small  ones  on  the  outside. 

When  this  is  done,  you  are  ready  to  paint. 
You  can  use  the  emerald  right  from  the  tube. 
But  if  you  are  matching  a  particular  green, 
mix  it  with  yellow  or  blue,  and  a  speck  of 
red  if  you  are  working  for  bronze  green. 

Paint  the  leaves  solid  green.  Streak  one 
edge — it  makes  no  difference  which  one — 
with  white.  This,  too,  will  pick  up  a  bit  of 
green,  which  is  right.  Then,  get  your  little 
stick  and  draw  a  rib  through  the  center  of 
each  leaf  and  a  vein  or  two  in  the  larger  ones. 

Add  the  buds  last.  Place  three  or  four  of 
them  where  they  balance.  You  won't  need  a 
pattern,  they  are  just  imperfect  egg  shapes. 
This  is  all— you  have  painted  a  chest! 


ARE  YOU 
A  BACK  IVUMBER? 

(Continued  from  Page  141) 

the  wall,  and  knees  slightly  flexed,  try  to 
"iron"  your  spine  all  the  way  up,  touching 
the  wall  at  every  point,  even  to  that  difficult 
spot  in  the  small  of  your  back.  Holding  this 
position,  with  your  backbone  glued  to  the 
wall,  start  raising  your  arms,  keeping  them, 
also,  flat  to  the  wall.  If  you  can  really  do 
this,  you  are  a  wonder.  Chances  are  you  will 
give  out,  and  start  laughing  at  yourself.  But 
persistence  will  gradually  improve  you. 

The  topsy-turvy  wall-climbing  stunt 
shown  in  the  second  right-hand  picture  is 
another  good  way  to  put  starch  in  your  spine. 
With  buttocks  close  to  the  wall  (you  will 
have  to  start  sitting  sidewise  to  do  this)  and 
your  shoulders  hugging  the  floor,  start  walk- 
ing up  the  wall  until  hips  are  well  lifted  and 
weight  rests  entirely  on  shoulders.  Walk 
back  down  slowly.  This  gives  your  body  a 
good  stretch  and  is  especially  good  for  a 
woman  whose  work  keeps  her  on  her  feet  a 
large  part  of  the  time. 

The  second  half  of  Mrs.  Hahn's  prescrip- 
tion is  relaxation;  not  just  rag-doll  limpness, 
but  planned  rest  that  is  as  much  of  a  treat- 
ment as  exercise.  The  ideal  method  is  to  re- 
cline on  a  flat  surface,  with  hips  and  heels 
higher  than  head.  The  footboard  of  a  bed 
can  be  built  up  with  pillows  to  make  an 
ideal  "slope,"  or  the  back  of  a  dining-room 
chair,  turned  upside  down,  will  serve.  Even 
just  lying  on  the  davenport  with  head  flat 
and  the  feet  resting  on  the  couch  arm  is  a 
help.  An  hour  of  this  a  day,  in  two  periods, 
would  do  more  for  most  nerve-driven  house- 
wives than  a  reservoir  full  of  tonic.  Stand 
straight.  Lie  at  an  angle  when  you  rest. 
Maybe  you  will  forget  you  have  a  back ! 


tiocast\e  »^t,,       i  cheer  axe 


Ready -to -hang  DRAPERIES,  .Yard  Good? 


Flowers  to  beautify  your  Victory  Garden  and  lux- 
ury, table  quality  vegetables  fill  108  pages  in  1945 
edition.  250  full^olor  pictures,  2000  annuals  and 
perennials,  roses,  etc.  Same  high  quality  as  for 
68    years.     Catalog    mailed    FREE    on    request. 

SPECIAL— Cleome  Pink  Queen.  All 
America  sil  vermedal  winner.  "  Spider 
flower  "  of  true  pinli  on  4-foot  bushes 
from  June  until  frost.  Splendid  screen 
or  background.  Seed  with  catalog,  10c. 

VAUGHAN'S  SEED  STORE,  Depl.  113 

to  W.  Randolph,  Cliicago  1 ;  47  Barclay,  N.  Y.  C.  7 


itd- 
'k 
lent 
trail 

jlVt 

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Ul 

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EarliestTofflato 

JUNG'S   WAYAHEAD 

has   Big   Red   Fruit   ripening   as 
early   aa  July   4.      Regular  price 
15c  packet,  but  to  Intro-       s    a    , 
duce  Jungs  Quality  Seeds      A  zkA 
we    will    send    you    a    trial  ^  *a.i.»i, 

naekpt  of  this  tnmftt/i    Oiant  .-^.h 


packet  of  ttils  tomato.  Giant 
Carrot,  Cream  Lettuce  and  - j*^..,, ,  v. 
Earliest     Radish,     also     a  ^ivV 
packet  eacb  of  our  ^•'il  '' 

Giant  Zinnias  and         \^i{ 
Double  Larkspur  <trS 

to  beautify  your  garden. 
All  the  above  for  lOc,  In 
"^    Canada  20c.  A  Premium 
■5"c^t''^^    '  ^  Coupon    sent  with    each 
-^  v.^^^  "■ '  -.i^"  '  '7N"'  collection,  also  our  beautl- 
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f'S?,' '"',.,         /  i"  In  Seeds.  Plants.  Hybrid 
[8^y,  *      '  i  ■   Corn.  Vlcland  Oats. 
'ii^^J'Jj^i~      J-  W.  JUNG   SEED  CO. 
^:.  j^  Dept.  1  Randolph,  Wisconsin 


ALL  6 
for  10c 


PERENNIAL! 


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ii 


Now,  a  CARNATION  that  grows  in  the 
garden  almost  like  in  greenhouse.  Try  it  and 
see.   Gorgeous  yellow,  fragrant,  clean.  Also 
stately    dark    blue    DELPHINIUM.    Both 
hardy,    full    field    grown — not    seedlings.  < 
Bloom  1st  year   .    .    .    June  to  frost.    Reg. 
price,  2  for  65^.  To  readers  of  this  magazine,  i 
one  of  each,  also  Catalog  and  1   yr.  sub-  i 
scription  to  my  magazine.  Seed  Sense — all 
postpaid  for  UV  from  Henry  Field,  "Mid' 
west's  Leading  Seedsntan." 

HENRY  FIELD  Seed  and  NursefyCo.,3913Elm$t..Shenandoah,low> 


■oHl??;*  ZINNIAS 


Vfrite    for    o    triol    packet    of 
"Cut    and    Come  Again"   Zinniasi 

with    our    illusfroted 
1945GAROEN  GUIDE&CATALOG 

Ask    Your   Dealer    for   Buist's    Seeds 
ROBERT  BUIST  CO.,  Dept.  L,    Phila.  5,  Pa. 


SEEDSMEN     FOR     OVER     A    CENTURY 


en 

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TOMATO 'ATRIAL 


Our  »944Trials-33varieticsTomatoesprovod 
•  Victory  Tomato  earliest  of  ALL.  Kipe  Tomatoes 

I         ,_  red.  thick,  solid,  in  48  days  from 

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.  in  everv  State.  Try  it. 

40  SEEDS  Free  for  TRIAL 

Sfnd  /Itf./rc...  on  I'oHt  Curd  Today 

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»Bl 


I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOUKAAL 


165 


PHOTO  B^ 


The  golden  straight'tieck  squash — as  fine  to  look  at  as  to  ea(. 

PRODUCTION  FOR  m 


BY   THE   GARDENER'S  ASSISTANT 


WTHAT  worried  the  gardener  most  when 
/■I  war-food  gardening  began  was  the 
[■  waste.  All  around  her  she  could  see 
■  men  and  women  spending  more  time — 
t  to  mention  using  up  more  energy  and 
;d — than  was  justified  by  the  net  results. 
[le  gross  was  good  in  all  the  gardens  she 
;nt  to  see,  but  in  many  cases  half  the 
mber  of  tomato  plants,  for  instance,  would 
ve  furnished  all  of  that  particular  crop 
ich  really  ever  reached  the  table,  fresh, 
oked  or  canned.  More  peppers,  too,  than 
re  consumed  went  to  pot  right  on  the 
nts.  The  same  with  quite  a  few  string 
,ns,  which  are  an  all-summer-long  stand-by 
th  us.  For  with  this  easily  grown  favorite, 
succulent  when  picked  young  and  eaten 
;sh,  the  general  practice  around  us  was  to 
w  large  batches  a  month  apart,  rather  than 
s  half  the  size  every  two  weeks;  which 
kes  for  the  best  eating,  with  no  waste  at 
from  age,  black  spot  or  beetles.  Inci- 
ntally,  if  you've  never  tried  the  string 
an  variety  Tendergreen,  try  it;  dust  with 
le  when  the  beans  burst  above  the  ground; 
,1  the  rows  when  they  get  a  little  higher, 
d  pick  when  the  pods  are  about  three  inches 
ig.  Then  as  soon  as  they're  fully  harvested, 
ill  the  plants  and  toss  them  on  the  compost. 
Then  there  was  the  matter  of  putting 
ings  away  for  the  winter — carrots,  cab- 
,ge,  beets  and  turnips,  which  were  all  we 
er  tried  to  store  by  the  time-honored 
ithod  of  placing  in  a  deepish  trench  and 
vering  with  straw  and  earth.  All  I  can  say 
out  this  is  that  it  worked  very  well  until 
ortly  after  New  Year's  Day,  by  which 
ne  the  cabbages  had  to  be  half  cut  away 
iore  they  could  be  used,  the  carrots  and 
lets  had  become  rather  spsngy;  and  as  of 
is  moment  only  the  rutabagas  are  still  in 
lly  usable  condition — and  we're  getting 
etty  tired  of  rutabagas. 
In  other  words,  without  a  suitable  root 
liar,  which  must  be  cold,  but  not  cold 
low  freezing,  and  damp  but  not  wet,  and 
;11  ventilated  to  boot,  the  problem  of 
nter  storage  is  one  that  can  be  solved,  in 
y  opinion  and  the  gardener's,  only  by  the 
ost  scrupulous  attention  to  detailed  direc- 
)ns  as  given  by  Government  bulletins  and 
county  agents  in  person.  Otherwise, 
nning,  if  feasible,  is  safer,  and,  I  would 
y,  easier  on  the  whole. 
Which  all  adds  up  to  the  gardener's  new 
utine.  In  the  meager  time  we  have  to 
lare,  we  grow  what  can  be  grown  in  a 
renty-by-thirty  patch — plenty  of  space 
Dm  which  to  keep  two  people  pretty  well 
ipplied.  The  ground  has  been  cleared  from 

■1 


the  fall  before,  except  for  the  half  row  each 
of  salsify  and  parsnips  we're  digging  now. 
And  as  there  always  seems  to  be  a  day  in 
early  March  when  the  soil  by  some  miracle 
can  be  worked,  at  least  with  a  hoe,  I  wait 
for  this  moment  to  furrow  out  a  full  set  of 
shallow  trenches,  three  inches  deep  and 
eighteen  inches  apart,  from  one  end  of  the 
garden  to  the  other.  Into  them  I  sprinkle 
lightly  some  balanced  fertilizer;  and  as  the 
gardener  plants  her  Little  Marvel  peas,  two 
inches  apart  in  the  rows — seeds  which  she 
has  inoculated  for  rapid  growth  by  shaking 
them  up  in  a  bag  with  ten  cents'  worth  of 
culture  C  of  nitrogen — I  follow  along, 
covering  up,  and  tamping  the  rows  with  the 
bottom  of  the  rake.  Nine  weeks  later  we'll 
be  having  all  the  peas  we  want,  which  gets 
pretty  close  to  gluttony;  and  as  the  vines 
are  stripped,  row  after  row,  meal  after  meal, 
I  pull  the  plants,  put  them  on  the  compost, 
then  spade  and  rake  the  sections  as  they're 
emptied  so  the  gardener  can  do  her  further 
planting,  piece  by  piece.  Two  people,  with 
occasional  company,  can  eat  a  whole  patch 
of  peas  in  May,  don't  worry,  and  get  them 
out  of  the  garden  in  plenty  of  time  for  sum- 
mer sowing.  And  the  soil  will  have  been  in- 
vigorated in  the  bargain  by  those  nitrogen- 
bearing  vines. 

After  the  pea  episode,  the  gardener  pro- 
ceeds in  a  fairly  conventional  fashion,  except 
that  everything  she  plants  she  now  plants 
sparingly.  Onions,  on  the  contrary,  she 
sows  rather  plentifully,  from  seed.  Two  or 
three  rows  have  never  been  enough,  for  by 
the  time  we've  eaten  them  at  all  stages 
during  the  summer,  the  final  fall  harvest  for 
keeping  in  the  cool  dry  closet  has  always 
been  exhausted  well  before  spring  when  they 
become  mighty  expensive  in  the  market. 

When  the  local  greenhouse  men  put  out 
their  seedling  plants  for  sale  she  buys  a 
dozen  Marglobe  tomatoes,  a  dozen  each  of 
early,  late  and  Savoy  cabbage,  and  half  a 
dozen  each  of  peppers  and  eggplant ;  always 
plants  them  after  sunset  and  puddles  them 
in  place.  The  tomatoes  she  plants  along  a 
south-facing  stretch  of  fence,  where  they  can 
be  loosely  fastened  as  they  grow. 

The  only  things  the  gardener  grows  which 
are  in  any  way  space-consuming  are  the  four 
hills  of  summer  straight-neck  squash,  a  vege- 
table whose  virtues  seldom  find  full  apprecia- 
tion as  a  home-grown  crop.  This  variety  is 
very  neat,  as  squashes  go,  and  the  golden 
fruit,  in  the  translucent  shade  of  the  tropical 
leaves,  make  a  wonderful  picture,  as  the 
photograph  shows,  and  keep  coming  along 
as  fast  as  you  cut  them. 


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166 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


March,  K 


sayss     To   Keep    fresli    and 
alluring,  1  prize  my   Serta 

PERFECT 
SLEEPER 


T 


Lovely  Merle 
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Sand  in  Colum- 
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production  "A 
Song  To  Remember' ' 


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EDLCATION  FOR  iDEMOCRACY 

(Continued  from  Page  6) 


The  democratic  concept,  as  it  grew  slowly 
up  through  Christendom,  had  no  such  ter- 
rible and  unnatural  connotation.  It  was 
linked  with  the  twin  concept  of  freedom,  and 
went  back  to  the  same  religious  base.  It  held 
that  all  men  must  be  equal  before  the  law; 
and  all  men  must  be  equal  in  opportunity. 

The  great  American  social  thinker,  Henry 
George,  believed  that  equality  of  opportu- 
nity denied  the  right  of  any  individuals,  or 
corporations  of  individuals,  to  take  owner- 
ship and  possession  in  perpetuity  of  those 
things  that  have  been  given  by  God — or 
Nature — to  all  men:  land — except  where  the 
farmer  works  it,  and  which  he  believed  the 
farmer  himself  should  lease,  with  the  power 
to  pass  it  on,  as  long  as  it  was  a  source  for 
family  livelihood;  the  metals,  oil  and  min- 
erals in  land;  and  today,  of  course,  he  would 
have  included  the  air  and  the  water.  In 
other  words,  he  believed  that  men,  as  pri- 
vate individuals,  should  own  only  what  they 
themselves  create,  not  what  Nature  and 
society  as  a  whole  have  created. 

But  that  the  State,  even  a  popularly  based 
State,  should  be  the  sole  owner  and  em- 
ployer; that  no  individual  should  have  the 
right  to  build  a  business  by  his  own  acumen 
and  effort,  and  enjoy  its  fruits;  that  writers, 
artists  and  thinkers  should  become  mere 
propagandists  for  the  State  would  have 
rightly  been  described  by  him  as  human 
slavery.  And,  again,  the  argument  against 
human  slavery,  whether  of  a  man  to  another 
man  or  of  men  to  an  institution— namely, 
the  State— goes  back  to  the  religious  con- 
cept of  man  as  a  being  whose  purpose  on  this 
earth  is  to  fulfill  the  will  of  God:  to  be  cre- 
ative, within  his  means,  as  God  is  the  cre- 
ator; to  be  virtuous,  as  God  is  virtue;  and  to 
love  his  fellow  men,  since,  and  because,  they 
are  his  brothers  in  God. 

Now,  if  this  be  the  true  concept  of  democ- 
racy and  it  is  certainly  the  philosophical 
origin  of  democracy— then  the  purpose  of  a 
free  democracy  begins  and  ends  in  the  peo- 
ple not  in  the  "masses,"  which  reduces  the 
people  to  a  herd,  to  be  organized  and  swayed 
iiy  the  powerful,  and  obliterates  the  very 
idea  of  The  People.  The  Peoijle  are  the  sum 
total  of  j)ersons.  Education  for  democracy, 
therefore,  must  concentrate  upon  the  cre- 
ation of  good  human  beings,  who  are  taught 
from  earliest  childhood  that  the  perfection 
of  themselves  is  the  chief  democratic  task. 

A  good  democratic  society,  capable  of  sur- 
vival with  freedom,  is  not  like  an  assembly 


belt  in  a  modern  factory.  It  is  like  an  ( 
chestra.  In  an  orchestra  not  all  instrumer 
are  equally  difficult  to  play.  A  man  can  cla 
cymbals  or  play  a  piccolo  who  never  cot 
become  a  first  violinist  or  a  conductor.  Y 
the  piccolo  player  or  the  cymbal  clanger  a 
spoil  the  entire  performance;  and  the  p« 
feet  orchestral  performance  is  greater  thi 
the  achievement  of  any  single  star,  and  t! 
smallest  and  least  important  player  is 
solutely  essential  to  the  perfection  of  tl 
whole. 

So  it  is  with  the  whole  of  life.  Each  fun 
tion,  however  humble,  is  indispensable,  ai 
therefore  dignified.  A  society  that  looks  dov 
upon  a  man  because  he  wears  overalll' 
blandly  overlooking  the  fact  that  the  man  ( 
overalls  is  the  co-creator  of  every  amenit 
we  enjoy — has  forgotten  the  very  basis 
democracy.  And  the  man  in  overalls,  wl 
wants  to  make  men  in  overalls  masters  ov 
the  whole  of  society,  forgets  that  but  for  tl 
men  of  science,  the  men  with  imaginatio 
organization  and  executive  power,  men 
overalls  would  be  helpless  in  the  great  woi 
of  creating  and  ever-recreating  our  world. 

Therefore,  it  seems  to  me  that  educatit 
for  democracy  should  concentrate  on  the  dut  i 
of  every  child  to  do  every  task  as  well  as 
can  be  done,  as  a  means  of  enhancing  hib  ov. ' 
perfection.  It  should  be  able  to  promise  th. 
every  boy  or  girl  can  go  as  far  in  educatu 
as  his  native  abilities  and  the  capaciti 
which  he  adds  to  those  abilities  permit  hi 
to  go.    He  should  be  taught — and  shown 
that  courtesy,  consideration,  gentleness  ■ 
demeanor  and  skill  are  the  marks  of  tl 
superior — not  money  and  ostentation,    h 
should  be  assured,  of  course,  that  if  he   I 
willing  to  work,  there  is  a  level  of  decenc 
and  security  below  which  he  will  not  be  a 
lowed  to  fall  by  his  fellow  men.    But  h 
should  also  be  made  to  see  that  freedom 
the  twin  sister  of  duty,  and  equality  th 
twin  of  effort. 

In  other  words,  democratic  educatio 
must  concentrate,  in  the  first  line,  upol 
character,  in  pursuit  of  self-perfection.  Th' 
old  saw,  "Anything  that  is  worth  doing  a 
all  is  worth  doing  well,"  is  true,  becaus 
anything  done  well  improves,  however  ir 
finitesimally,  the  skill  and  stature  of  thi 
person  who  does  it  and,  through  him,  of  hii 
civilization.  And  a  country  whose  citizenj 
try  to  do  everything  well  need  have  n 
worry  about  its  place  in  the  world,  or  abou' 
its  ability  to  survive.  ' 


TOO  VOIIVCi  TO  MARRY? 

(Conlinneii  from  Page  23) 


advice:  "Too  young  to  know  his  own 
mind."  .  .  .  "Just  a  caseof  puppy  love."  .  .  . 
"She  should  wait  until  her  personality  is 
fully  formed."  .  .  ." Five  years  from  now  he 
would  pick  a  wholly  different  type."  .  .  . 
"  Infatuated  with  a  pretty  face."  . . .  "Noth- 
ing but  the  mating  instinct." 

As  regards  the  mating  instinct,  it  is  a 
sound  and  reliable  instinct.  When  it  is  really 
in  control,  there  is  little  to  worry  about.  The 
clear  eyes  of  young  love  are  more  likely  to 
pick  a  suitable  partner  than  are  the  bifocals 
of  cautious  experience.  Strategy  and  finesse 
are  always  poor  substitutes  for  love. 

Sherwood  Anderson  wrote  book  after 
book  about  walls  that  separate  one  person 
from  another  and  the  desperate  struggles 
each  makes  to  break  through  to  tlie  other.  He 
wrote  the  truth.  But  it  is  also  true  that 
beside  the  desire  to  break  through  is  the 
fear  of  breaking  through.  And  this  fear 
grows  rapidly  as  one  grows  older. 

The  trouble  with  postponing  marriage  un- 
til everything  is  perfect  is  that  you  become 
enamored  of  your  way  of  doing  things  and 
you  don't  want  it  changed.  You  are  terri- 
bly lonely;  you  passionately  long  to  escape 
from  yourself  and  merge  with  somebody 
else.  You  may  sincerely  believe  that  you  are 
searching,  searching  for  your  own  true  mate, 
and  you  may  feel  sorry  for  yourself  because 


you  have  never  found  him,  but  the  truth  i 
that  every  time  he  has  come  near,  you  hav> 
averted  your  eyes  for  fear  he  might  find  yoi 
and  invade  your  precious  privacy. 

You  are  too  young  to  marry,  and  thei 
after  a  few  years  you  are  suddenly  too  old  b 
marry.  When  you  start  looking  for  marriagi 
instead  of  for  your  mate,  you  are  almost  to( 
old  to  marry.  When  you  start  making  lists  0 
qualities  your  future  husband  or  wife  musi 
have,  you  are  definitely  too  old  to  marry. 

And  you  will  stay  too  old  to  marry  unti 
you  are  much  older.  Then,  when  the  yean 
have  taken  theii  toll  of  your  pride  and  youi 
egotism,  and  you  are  no  longer  enamored  ol 
yourself  and  your  ways,  you  may  become 
once  more  young  enough  to  marry.  Some- 
*'rnes  these  late  marriages  are  incredibly 
\  late  flowering  is,  of  course,  better 
I.  .vering  at  all.   But  in  the  mean- 

tinic  many  bleak  years  have  passed  that 
might  have  been  warm  and  fragrant. 

Frosty  advice  is  always  bad  advice  for  a 
loving  young  couple  of  good  character  and 
quality,  even  when  there  are  great  difficul- 
ties in  the  way  of  marriage.  Those  charged 
with  advising  young  lovers,  after  applying 
all  reasonable  tests,  should  never  forget  the 
fathomless  nobility  of  youth  and  the  power 
of  youthful  passion  to  fuse  two  into  a  happy 
and  enduring  one. 


\y 


t 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Textron  spices  sugar  white  with  hard-candy  colors  to  make  tempting  ensembles  for  your  boudoir  and  bath. 
New  idea  in  home  decorating  —  "Showers"  and  bathroom  curtains  that  match  your  bedroom  frills!     All  in  finest  whispering  rayon  tafTeta. 
Textron's  exri*'       ■  ,ew  Home  Fashions  are  tailored  with  the  same  skill  used  in  making  Textron's*  fabric  necessities  of  war — 
the  gossamer-light,  steel-S-'lL.?!^ '".'K^achute,  the  featherweight,  sturdy  mountain  tent.     Peppermint  Pink,  Lime  Green,  Candy  Peach 


and  Ribbon  Blue  stripes  on  Sugar  White.     "Showers"  and  matching  Window  Curtains,  about  $7.50  each. 
Bedroom  ensemble  of  draperies,  dressing  table  skirt  and  bedspreads  proportionately  priced. 
Sold  separately.     Slightly  higher  on  the  West  Coast.     At  leading  stores  throughout  the  country. 
TEXTRON,  INC.,  Empire  State  Building,  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  I,  N.  Y. 


"ffl^^^ 


*REQ.  U.  a.  PAT.  OFF, 


1(38 


LAUlt^S     HUMl'.   JULK1\AL 


March,  1945 


.      .  securelyt  How  smart  and 

-  the  head  seen.     ^  ^,n,ir  foot, 

.       .a  hat  that  Uu,.  the  .,  i^uc  a  part  of  jour 

UoNV  smart  ..  •  , .a,le  are  shots  that  n  ^j^^^'s 

i.>u>lv  eomlortabit^  ^^^  ^^eel.  i" 

,.„.ni.\elt^iy  t  never  gap  ai  ^^^r 

Shor.b.ck«  La»'-  ''"\  *"  ,    .  f„„,  Sa.er  Shoe.,  •» 

"■•■  ' "        .  .he  fit  >ou..  «■">  ■"..:  :f  s.an.  Picture  BooU 

ne>v  i^pr*"^'  rj^^e  Juhan  <v 


SHO 


.B„.U.S  >■••■""■ 


RTBACK 


On/y  Foot  Savers  are 
made  over  Shorlback* 
Lasts,  which  prevent 
looseness  and  gapping 
at  the  heel  without 
crowding  at  the  toe. 


wtrS^AwSW^^ 


MY  LOVE  IS  YOU 

(Conlimied  from  Page  25) 


He  looks  the  same,  and  yet  not  quite,  she  de- 
cided. His  nice,  clean  smile  was  there,  his 
eyes  as  blue  as  always.  The  changes  were 
subtle.  Nothing,  really,  to  pin  down.  The 
humorous,  teasing  glance — had  it  always 
been  like  that?  And  something  about  his 
mouth.  Or  have  I  forgotten  too?  she  won- 
dered, dismayed. 

His  voice  brought  her  back.  "The  fellows 
always  laughed  when  I  said  you  were  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Detroit.  But  you  are.  How 
did  I  get  you,  anyway?" 

"Don't  you  remember?"  she  teased. 
"They  were  giving  a  bride  away  with  every 
altar!" 

"The  brand  hasn't  changed  a  bit!"  He 
laughed,  pretending  mock  scorn.  "What's 
the  program  for  tonight?  Want  to  go  step- 
ping?" 

That  hesitancy  in  his  voice — was  it  only 
imagination?  Kathie  sent  him  a  bright 
glance,  determined  to  do  her  part.  "We'll  see 
a  little  later.  Heavens" — with  a  wave  at 
the  clock — "I'd  better  start  dinner  or  we 
never  will  eat." 

His  brows  tilted.  "You  mean — you're 
really  going  to  cook  it  yourself?  " 

Kathie  nodded,  making  her  smile  impish. 
"Demonstration  night."  Her  laugh  rippled 
easily.  "You've  no  idea  how  much  I've 
learned  in  two  and  a  half  years."  Immedi- 
ately, she  wished  she'd  never  said  it.  The 
words  were  all  wrong. 

Tacking  on  a  smile,  she  moved  lightly  to- 
ward the  archway. 

"Kathie — I "    Dirk  was  at  her  heels 

as  she  wheeled. 

"Yes?"  Abruptly,  she  discovered  that 
she  mustn't  look  at  him  so  directly. 

"Oh,  npthing  special,  I  guess." 

Impulsively,  she  reached  up.  touching  his 
cheek.  "Come  along  and  watch,"  she  told 
him. 

That,  apparently,  ^'as  what  he  wanted. 
He  roosted  near  the  kitchen  table,  talking 
eagerly,  while  things  got  under  way.  And  all 
the  while,  bis  eyes  were  on  her,  following 
every  move. 

She  pretended  to  scold.  "Don't  do  that. 
Dirk.  I'm  still  too  much  of  an  amateur  in 
this  department.  You're  liable  to  get  salt 
where  baking  powder  should  be,  or  some- 
thing." 

"Sorry."  His  grin  was  quick  and  appre- 
ciative. "But  it's  so  long  since " 

The  moment  was  filled,  suddenly,  with 
unspoken  words  as  their  glances  caught  and 
held. 

Kathie  turned  away  at  last,  her  pulses 
drumming.  "Would  you  like  to  set  the  table 
for  us?"  Her  calm  was  only  a  pretense,  but 
it  eased  the  tension. 

Dirk  rose  quickly.  "Sure.  Where  do  I  find 
everything?" 


And  once,  during  the  meal,  there  was  a 
bad  moment.  Bringing  him  fresh  cdffee,  her 
hand  rested  lightly  on  his  shoulder.  In- 
stantly, he  reached  up  and  took  it  in  his 
own,  placing  a  kiss  in  her  palm.  Just  as  he'd 
done  that  last  time  together.  "Something  to 
remember  me  by,"  he'd  said,  half  teasing. 
Was  he  thinking  of  that  now?  Probably  not. 
Men  were  different. 

Deliberately,  she  curtsied  and  said, 
"Thank  you,  sir."  As  though  the  gesture 
meant  nothing  special. 

Afterward,  Dirk  insisted  on  stacking  the 
dishes.  "I'll  do  them  tomorrow  morning," 
he  promised. 

Kathie  hesitated.  Tomorrow  she  would 
be  here,  too,  but  he  didn't  know  that  yet. 
Before  she  told  him  anything,  she  must  be 
very  sure.  "Let  me  put  the  food  away,"  she 
agreed,  "and  rinse  off  the  silver." 

While  she  was  busy,  Dirk  wandered  out  to 
the  back  porch.  When  she  followed,  he 
wasn't  there — he  was  down  in  the  garden. 
In  the  twilight,  she  could  dimly  see  where 
he  half  knelt,  picking  up  small  handfuls  of 
earth,  letting  it  dribble  slowly  through  his 
fingers. 

Her  eyes  blurred,  watching.  She  knew  he 
was  thinking  that  this,  at  last,  was  home. 
This  was  what  he'd  fought  for. 

He  rose,  seeing  her  silhouetted  against  the 
light,  and  came  toward  her. 

Instinct  told  her  of  his  need  to  tal!:. 
"Let's  sit  out  here  for  a  little,"  she  sug- 
gested. 

He  didn't  speak  at  once.  He  stood  looking 
up  at  the  stars,  half  listening.  Waiting,  her 
fingers  tightened  in  her  lap.  This,  she  knew, 
could  be  the  end — or  the  beginning. 

"It's  so  quiet.  Peaceful,"  he  said  finally. 
"After  all  those  months,  it  doesn't  seem 
real."  He  paused  and  took  a  long  breath. 
"Sometimes,  over  there,  I  wondered  if — if 
anything  could  ever  be  real  again." 

Kathie  pushed  away  the  threatening 
tears.  She  wanted  to  say,  "It  will  be.  Dirk. 
Please  have  faith."  But  the  words  caught  in 
her  throat. 

The  doorbell  rang,  interrupting  them. 
"I'll  get  it."  Dirk  moved  with  a  swift,  puz- 
zling eagerness.  Almost  at  once  he  was  back. 
"You'd  have  had  these  sooner,  Kathie,  but 
they  were  all  out  this  afternoon." 

She  stared  at  the  long  florist's  box,  trem- 
bling. Even  before  she  parted  the  tissues, 
she  knew.  He  had  remembered  everything, 
just  as  she  had. 

"Oh,  Dirk."  The  tears  spilled  suddenly. 
"I  can't  help  it,  darling.  I  always  do  this 
when  I'm  happy."  Above  the  roses,  her 
eyes  met  his  at  last,  warm,  shining  and  con- 
fident. 

Softly,  he  began  to  whistle,  "My  love  is 
like  a  red,  red  rose,"  and  held  out  his  arms. 


Back  and  4»tli4'r  vi«>i%'N,  sixes  and  prices  of  Hollywood  Patterns 
on  pa^es  34  and  ^t."*  and  page  13U 


1097.  Aprons.  12  to  20,  30  to  42. 
25c. 

1345.  Dress,  brassiere  and  shorts. 
12  to  20,  .30  to  38.   2.5o. 

1086.  One-piece  coat-dress.  10  to 
20,  28  to  44.   15c. 

1085.  Dickeys.    One  size.    15c. 

1515.  One-piece  dress.  "Scmt  Sim- 
ple" design.  12  to  20,  30 
to  42.   15c. 

1543.  Coat.  12  to  20,  30  to  38.  25c. 

1544.  One-piece   dress.    12  to  20, 

30  to  38.  25c. 
1.545.  Two-piece  suit.    12   to   20, 

30  to  38.  25c. 
1546.  Dress  and  bolero.    12  to  20, 

30  to  38.   2.5c. 

Buy  Hollywood  Patterns  at  tbe 
store  whi<-b  sells  tbein  in  your 
<'ily.  Or  order  iheni  by  mail, 
posta|;e  prepaid,  direct  from 
Hollywood  Pattern  Service ,  Pu  1  - 
nam  Avenue,  tireenwicb.  Conn. 
(Canadian  readers  order  from  2 
Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario, 
Canada.  Please  piv**  nir.v  and  <-n- 
<-lt>se  money  with  your  order. 


1097  1097 


1345 


1345  1086 


l.-,l.-,  1513 


1513 


1515  1546 

Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


LADIKS'  HOME 


<»     t 


i 


GORSKA 

DAISY  NEUMAKfN,  author  of 
iVoMJ  That  April's  There,  says,  "I  was 
born  in  England  of  American  parents 
and  spent  a  good  part  of  ray  child- 
hood abroad.  That,  perhaps,  is  why  I 
feel  great  sympathy  for  the  English 
children  who  came  here  when  the 
blitz  began.  They  seem  caught  in  a 
confusion  of  two  cultures.  At  the  mo- 
ment I  feel  a  similar  confusion,  hav- 
ing been  transplanted  from  our  home 
in  New  England  to  Virginia,  where  my 
husband  is  stationed  at  a  naval  hos- 
pital. Unable  to  find  adequate  quar- 
ters, we  sent  our  two  children  back, 
but  now  the  four  of  us  are  together 
again,  though  still  in  one  room. 
Sometimes  in  the  midst  of  preparing 
a  meal  on  my  hot  plate,  I  glance  at 
the  pallet  of  trunks,  the  laundry 
strung  between  doorknobs,  the  stack 
of  sea  bags,  and  I  wonder  whether  we 
really  resemble  those  George  Price 
cartoons,  or'whether  it  is  just  the 
room.  Then,  with  a  grateful  thought 
for  the  good  people  who  took  us  all  in, 
I  set  the  little  typewriter  table  for 
four  and  feel  very  fortunate  indeed." 
M-G-M  has  just  bought  screen  rights 
to  ISow  That  April's  There. 


CAROLINE  MILLER,  author  of 
Cricket,  has  five  children — four  boys 
-and  a  girl — and  she  runs  them,  a 
house  and  a  husband,  as  well  as  writ- 
ing. She  says, "I  seem  to  be  able  to 
accomplish  that  in  spite  of  everything, 
lam  complex  and  shy  and  averse  to 
wearing  my  past,  present  and  future 
on  my  sleeve.  Anything  about  me 
worth  knowing  can  be  found  in  Lamb 
in  His  Bosom  (Pulitzer  prize,  1934)  and 
Lebanon  —  between  the  lines." 


MARV  CHASE  is  author  of  this 
year's  outstanding  Broadway  hit. 
Harvey,  in  which  Frank  Fay's  best 
friend  is  a  six-foot  invisible  rabbit.  A 
former  Denver  newspaperwoman, 
Mrs.  Chase  is  married  and  has  three 
sons  and  says  the  strain  of  playwrit- 
mg,  rewriting  during  rehearsals  and 
all  the  producing  worries  that  go  with 
a  play  are  too  much  to  stand.  "I'll 
have  to  write  only  stories  and  novels 
from  now  on,"  she  said.  He's  Our 
Baby  is  her  latest  offering  in  the 
short-story  field.  The  crushed  coal 
scuttle  worn  by  the  author  could  be 
oneof  two  things:  straight  from  Paris, 
or  snatched  from  Harvey's  own  head. 


JOIKUL 


APRIL,  1945 


Vol.  LXII,  No.  4 

IVOVEL  CONDEIVSATIOIV  COMPLETE  IIV  THIS  ISSUE        page 
NOW  THAT  April's  there Daisy  Neumann       17 

FICTIOIV 

it  was  wonderful Dorothy  R.  Karr  20 

what's  happened  to  MARY? Mona  Williams  22 

CRICKET Caroline  Miller  24 

he's  our  baby Mary  Chase  26 

FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE Elizabeth  Dunn  28 

THE  WHITE  DRESS    (Third  Part  of  Five)    ....       Mignon  G.  Eberhart  30 

SPECIAL  FEATURES 

OUR  MARY  WRITES  FROM  LONDON 4 

AT  AN  ARMY  HOSPITAL  IN   BURMA 6 

WE  won't  BEAT  PARIS  ON  FASHIONS Dorothy  Thompson  6 

ROMANTIC  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA:   NOCTURNE  IN   BLUE  AND  SILVER 

James  Abbott  McNeill  Whistler  38 

D  DAY  AGAINST  TB J.C.  Furnas  39 

IF  YOU  ASK  ME Eleanor  Roosevelt  41 

THIS  CAN  BE  AMERICA:  THE  FOREST Struthers  Burt  122 

HOW  AMERICA  LIVES:  MEET  THE  ECKS Booth  Tarkington  131 

I  THOUGHT  MY  LIFE  WAS  OVER Lois  White  Eck  136 

THE  HYGIENE  OF  children's  IMAGINATION  Donald  A.  Laird,Ph.D.,Sc.D.  158 

GEIVERAL  FEATURES 

THERE  OUGHTA  BE  A  LAW!   (The  Sub-Deb)    .     .     .     Elizabeth  Woodward  8 

OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 10 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL 15 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 15 

ASK  ANY  WOMAN Marcelene  Cox  104 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 153 

FIGHTING  TUBERCULOSIS  IS  EVERYBODY'S  JOB    Dr.  Herman  N.  Bundesen  161 

THIS  IS  A  BED-JUMPER Munro  Leaf  163 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  Taber  173 

FASHIOIVS   AIVD   REAUTY 

INSPIRATIONS  OF  1945 Wilhela  Cushman  32 

I  DO  LOVE  A  LONG  WEDDING  GOWN Ruth  Mary  Packard  34 

I  DO  WANT  A  SHORT  WEDDING  DRESS Ruth  Mary  Packard  35 

THE  TOUCH  OF  YOUR  HANDS Dawn  Croivell  36 

SCENTS-ABILITY  TEST Louise  Paine  Benjamin  37 

TEEN-AGE  REDUCING Louise  Paine  Benjamin  140 

PATTERN  FOR  A  DREAM   DRESS Dawn  Crowell  142 

GARDEN,  INTERIOR   DECORATION,  ARCHITECTURE 

GARDEN  THROUGH  GLASS Richard  Pratt  40 

ROSE  ARRANGEMENT Henrietta  Murdock  139 

HOUSE  IN  A  DAY Richard  Pratt  166 

THE  BIGGER  THE  BETTER The  Gardener's  Assistant  168 

FOOD  AND   HOMEMAKING 

APRIL  ON  A  SPREE Ann  Batcheldcr  42 

LINE  A  DAY Ann  Batchelder  44 

CAREER  WOMAN — HOME  STYLE Judy  Barry  145 

STAGING  A  MEAL Louella  G.  Shouer  146 

liYINS  ORDERS   FROM   HEADOUARTERS  108,  147 

POETRY 

HE  IS  RISEN Joseph  Auslander  18 

NOTHING  IS  LOST Dorothy  Ashby  Pownall  49 

EXMOOR Lesley  Dodge  75 

BOY  ON   A  FARM Eleanor  Alletta  Chaffee  98 

TOMORROW  IS  THE  WIND Jesse  Stuart  126 

ONLY  APRIL Jehanne  de  Mare  164 

Cover  Desitin  by  liVilheln  4'uNhinan 

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as  lonesome . . 


:han  mild  Ivory, 
has  no  coloring, 
your  skin.    And 
;ogetherl 


(0%  Pure... It  Floats 


ry— make  every  cake  do  extra  work. 


gets  overalls  dirtier 
in  anybody — I  get  'em 
ian  easy  with  DUZ! 


-/1U3MWOS 
Ofi  WASH/ 


Hf2abesmR£/ 

|ur  washday  problem  is  different, 

say?   Then   get  DUZ— Procter  8b 

ale's  new  kind  of  soap.   When  it 

;  to  getting  things  clean  and  white, 

can't  be  beat. 

when  it  comes  to  safety — DUZ 

Jit  again.  DUZ  is  safer  for  colors 

■any  other  leading  washday  soap — 

even  for  rayon  undies.  Get  DUZ  to- 

pnd  watch  your  washday  problems 

T>h.  DUZ  does  everything! 


OUR  MARY 
WRITES  FROM  LONDON 


To  arqiiaint  our  readers  with  how  peo- 
ple ill  Hnsland.  France  and  ll:ily  .survived 
the  war,  as  families.  Mrs.  (ioiild  and  Mary 
Cookinan  Hew  lo  Kii<:land.  with  the  Army 
Air  Forces  as  host,  as  part  of  a  ^roiip  of 
writers  studying  eoiidilioiis  in  Fnrope.  In 
the  fall  of  1942  Mrs.  Coiihl  spent  ten  weeks 
ahroad,  but  this  was  Mrs.  Cookman's  first 
glimpse  of  Kurope.  IJelow  is  a  letter  ori  fi- 
nally intended  only  for  the  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Cookman's  associates.  Because  the  letter 
amiise<l  and  interested  us,  we  thought  it 
might  interest  and  amuse  you.  The  sto- 
ries of  how  Mrs.  (^oiild  and  Mrs.  Cooknian 
found  life  in  war-lorn  Kurope  will  ajipear 
in  later  issues.  —  77ie  Editurs. 

Dear  Editors:  I've  been  thinking  of  all  of 
you  so  much  during  the  past  weeks  and  feel- 
ing guilty  because  I  wasn't  sharing  with  you 
'  ime  of  the  excitement  of  this  experience. 

It  may  interest  you  to  g'-t  a  chronological 
re|)ort  of  events  to  date.  B^'fore  we  took  off 
from  New  York  we  were  given  an  eleventh- 
hour  "brief"  by  a  very  young 
mand  cocky  major,  giving  us  a 
demonstration  and  detailed 
instructions  on  what  we  would 
-  -  have  to  do  if  required  to  make 
a  crash  landing  at  sea.  Mae 
Wests  and  Gibson  Girls  were 
exhibited,  and  I'll  put  my 
money  on  a  Mae  West  every 
time.  Wrap  her  round  you  and 
trust  in  God.  is  my  motto.  The 
housekeeping  setup  for  the  life 
raft  is  as  streamlined  as  one 
of  Alice  Blinn's' postwar  kitchens.  A  disaster 
at  sea  became  so  temi^ting  one  could  hardly 
resist  the  impulse  to  sabotage  the  plane  just 
to  have  a  chance  to  try  out  all  the  gadgets. 
Beatrice  and  I  decided  we  would  be  most 
adept  at  desalting  the  water  and  flying  signal 
kites.  After  this  constructive  and  sweetly 
solemn  ceremony  was  over,  we  were  ushered 
to  the  plane  with  a  last  admonition  to  keep 
our  dog  tags  around  our  necks. 
In  case  you  don't  know  about 
dog  tags,  they  are  a  duplicate 
set  of  tin  identification  tags 
with  your  name  on  each— one 
for  the  lifeless  body  and  the 

<-  DOG-  TAGS 

other  for  the  U.  S.  Government.  None  of  us 
has  had  a  really  clean  neck  since  we  left  New 
York,  and  if  you  are  a  restless  sleeper,  they 
wake  you  up  at  night  clanking. 

We  had  all  been  prepared  for  bucket  seats 
and  rugged  traveling,  so  you  can  imagine 
our  surprise  and  delight  when  we  sank  into 
one  of  the  most  beautifully  appointed  trans- 
port planes  that  has  ever  come  off  an  as- 
sembly line.  And  plush-lined  feet  warmers! 
Honest !  They're  designed  to  keep  our  Army 
pilots  warm  when  flying  in  the  substrato- 
sphere over  the  North  Sea.  We  discovered 
tliat  we  were  on  a  C-54  Army  Transport 


Our  foCeute  eon^  Cteutd  ttew. 

Plane  designed  for  special  missions  like  when 
Willkie  and  Wallace  were  taken  around  the 
world  or  Mull  was  taken  to  Moscow,  except 
that  we  were  on  a  brand-new  one— making 


her  maiden  journey,  a  workout,  I  suspect,  in 
preparation  for  the  Big  Three  meeting. 

Bjfore  we  got  started,  we  were  each  trying 
in  our, own  way  to  improve  on  the  G.I.  issue 
that  we  were  instructed  to  wear.  As  journal- 
ists, I  suppose  we  were  doing  just  what  we 
might  have  been  expected  to  do — defying, 
regimentation.  In  the  matter  of  insignia  we 
ranged  from  those  who  had  themselves 
labeled  War  Correspondent  front  and  back, 
top  and  bottom,  to  the  point  whSre  the  only 
Hne  needed  to  complete  the  package  was 
"this  side  up"— to  those  like  Beatrice  and 
me,  who  were  hastily  whipping  on  our  suits 
green  felt  arm  bands  with  a  big  white  C  to 
denote  that  we  were  official.  Of  course  our 
French  Foreign  Legion  scarfs  under  WAG 
officer  hats  caused  a  subdued  muttering,  and 
I  even  heard  one  woman  hiss,  "The  glamour 
touch,  eh!"  as  if  a  lifetime  itself  could  not 
make  her  forgive  us.  Toni  Frissell  and  Stan- 
ley Young  produced  the  frontier  touch  with 
coonsldn  caps.  Benjamin  Franklin  got  away 
with  it  in  London,  and  why  not  they? 

It  was  not  long  before  we  began  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  our  crew  and  discovered  we 
were  being  piloted  by  three  officers  who  had 
been  assigned  to  get  Casablanca  and  Teheran 
brass  back  and  forth  undented.  My  first 
visit  to  the  pilot  box,  or  nose,  or  whatever  it 
is  called,  discovered  our  chief  pilot,  Major 


Oun^  ^U(at  "nt  ewyUi. "  o*t  tAe  eva^  oven.. 

Hayes,  lying  on  a  bunk  serenely  reading  a 
novel.  My  confidence  was  complete. 

So  we  snoozed  for  the,  next  six  hours  and 
pretty  soon  the  plane  was  circling  over  a 
vast,  snowy  wasteland  and  we  were  told  we 
were  landing  at  Stephenville  Field,  in  New- 
foundland, where  we  would  spend  the  night. 
The  effect  of  the  encampment  was  like  some 
of  our  best  modern  postwar  architects'  con- 
ceptions of  heaven  (forgive  me,  Dick!).  Not 
a  tree  or  a  leaf  or  a  fence  or  a  superfluous 
knickknack  to  clutter  up  the  beautiful  func- 
tional austerity  of  the  buildings.  Flat  roofs, 
great  expanses  of  prefabricated  horizontal 
windows,  fluorescent  lighting  and  great  signal 
towers  winking  r»d  and  green  disks  against 
limitless  snow — I  must  admit  the  effect  was 
quite  stunning,  especially  in  the  twilight. 

Now  comes  the  old-home  touch.  Who  do 
you  suppose  was  the  first  officer  to  greet  us? 
A  beautiful,  blond  one-time  beau  of  Dawn's. 
And  were  we  teacher's  pet!  Though  he's 
since  married,  there  is  nostalgia  in  his  clear 
blue  eyes  when  Dawn's  name  is  mentioned. 
He  ushered  us  to  the  Hotel  d'Gink  (all  Army 
Transport  Command  hotels  in  the  far  cor- 
ners of  the  world  are  named  Hotels  d'Gink). 
Here  again  we  were  prepared  to  be  rugged, 
only  to  be  greeted  by  the  most  charming  in- 
terior— a  big,  roaring  fire,  chintz-covered 
maple  furniture,  rugs,  and  satin  puffs  on  the 
beds.  This  field  is  a  stopping-off  place  for 
Ferry  Command  crews,  special  missions  and 
brass  hats.  I.  for  one,  was  delighted  that  so 
desolate  a  spot  could  offer  so  much  comfort. 

We  got  up  at  six  next  morning  and  were 
off  for  Greenland,  as  we  all  began  remem- 
bering snatches  of  things  we'd  learned  from 
{Continued  on  Page  176) 


Je  DUZ  a  lot   Don't  waste  it— DUZ 
tins_yit_al  war  materials. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Jack  Jl  1  was  Landsome . . 


was  lonesome . 


so  I 


told  lier  my_  Qom^lexign  secret 


Now  she  lias  tbat  lyoigr  Looi . . 


■M'^^^^^'^'^^c^iiwt&m^ 


start  today  to  get  that  Ivory  Look — a  softer, 

smoother,  younger-looking  complexion.  It's  easy — with 
Ivory  Soap.  Just  follow  baby's  beauty  routine.  Give  up  careless 
cleansings  and  change  to  regular,  gentle  Ivory  care. 

That's  all!  You  can't  buy  a  purer  soap  than  mild  Ivory. 
It's  the  sure  way  to  a  prettier  complexion.  Ivory  has  no  coloring, 
medication  or  strong  perfume  that  might  irritate  your  skin.  And 
more  doctors  advise  it  than  all  other  brands  put  together  I 

More  doctors  advise  Ivorjr 

■fWi  oSi  tft^  ^uuruib  A7ut  XbaSwv. . .99*Moo%  Pure. .  .It  Floats 


Urgent  request  from  Uncle  Sam:  Help  conserve  vital  war  materials  used  in  making  soap.  Don't  waste  Ivory— make  every  cake  do  extra  work. 


■ 


LAVI£S'  HOME 


MCf  ecu 


/    / 


AtlD  BeATniCWBLACKmAn  GOULV 

7  /  /  /  /  e/i. 


Editors 


/// 


//  / 


APRIL,  /945 

''(  iiiiiiillifii 


MARY  COOKMAN 
ExecuHiv  Editor 


lAURA  lOU  BROOKMAN 
Managing  Editor 


Associate  lAiiiors:  HUGH  MAC  NAIR  KAHIER  •  JOHN  SCOTT  MABON  •  BERNARDINE 
KIELTY  •  ANN  BATCHELDER  •  WIIHELA  CUSHMAN  •  FRANK  ELTONHEAD 
ALICE  BllNN  •  LOUISE  PAINE  BENJAMIN  •  ELIZABETH  WOODWARD  •  RICHARD 
PRATT    •    HENRIETTA  MURDOCK    •     LOUELLA  G.  SHOUER     «     MARY  LEA  PAGE 

Assistant  Editors:  JOHN  WERNER«CHARLOnE  JOHNSON'ROBERT  ATHERTON.DONALD 
STUART  •  EUGENIA  WHITMORE  BROWN  •  RUTH  MARY  PACKARD  •  BETTY  HANNAH 
HOFFMAN  •  DAWN  CROWELL  •  RUTH  MATTHEWS  •  NELL  GILES  •  NORA  O'LEARY  •  ALICE 
CONKLING.  MILDRED  ARNOLD 'JUDY  BARRY  .  NOEL  SMYTH  BUTCHER 'JUNE  TORREY 


At  an  Armj  Hospital 
in  Hnrnia 


THE  pilot  had  been  lost  in  the  jungle  for  forty-six 
days  when  they  brought  him  to  the  Army  hospital,  a 
group  of  thatched  huts  almost  obscured  by  the  lush  green 
growth  of  the  Burma  mountains.  "  I  want  to  see  the  Red 
Cross,"  he  kept  insisting  as  they  led  him  to  bed. 

Red  Cross  worker  Alberta  Whaley,  of  Pittsburgh,  was 
trying  to  nap  in  the  hundred-degree  heat  of  her  bam- 
boo basha  when  they  sent  for  her.  She  dragged  her  G.I. 
boots  down  from  the  bomb  rack  which  kept  them 
from  the  wet  ground,  and  hurried  over  to  the  Officers' 
Ward. 

The  slight,  youngish  flier  had  a  somewhat  wild  look. 
As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  darted  warily  about.  "I  want  to 
thank  you  for  the  Red  Cross  supplies  you  dropped  me  in 
the  jungle,"  he  told  the  girl.  Her  eyebrows  shot  up  in 
surprise.  He  looked  at  her  then,  and  laughed  for  the 
first  time  in  months.  "  Well,  it  just  seemed  I  had  to  thank 
someone.  They  saved  my  life." 

This  Red  Cross  girl  in  Burma,  who  has  seen  pythons 
and  cobras  killed  on  the  hospital  grounds,  who  stores  her 
clothes  in  cans  to  keep  them  from  the  mold  and  rats,  and 
who  dines  on  powdered  eggs  and  canned  C  rations, 
doesn't  feel  that  she  deserves  this  man's  thanks.  It  is 
your  dimes  and  dollars  that  send  her  and  Red  Cross 
supplies  where  they  are  needed  most. 

"When  the  men  have  been  in  the  hospital  a  few  days, 
they  begin  to  worry  about  home,"  Miss  Whaley  explains. 
"They  worry  about  the  most  trivial  things — whether  the 
refrigerator  is  working  again,  and  who  the  kid  sister  is 
dating,  and  mom's  bad  back.  I  know  the  Home  Service 
women  in  Red  Cross  chapters  back  home  must  think  I'm 
crazy  when  I  cable  for  some  of  this  information.  But  it's 
remarkable  how  a  message  from  home  helps  them  get 
well  again." 

There  was  the  young,  blond  soldier  who  came  to  the 
hospital  all  skin  and  bones.  The  girl  he  had  married  a  few 
weeks  before  leaving  home  had  written  for  a  divorce. 
"If  only  I  knew  why  she  wants  it,"  he  worried. 

A  cable  was  dispatched  and  his  local  Red  Cross  chapter 
wrote  back,  "Your  wife  says  she  will  wait  until  you  come 
home." 

Your  Red  Cross  contribution  this  year  will  reach  out 
to  relieve  the  distracted  mind  of  someone's  son,  will 
bring  lifesaving  food  to  a  prisoner  of  war,  or  plasma  to  a 
dying  boy,  and  will  send  still  another  doughty  American 
girl  overseas  to  bring  you  closer  to  your  man. 

*      •      • 

General  Eisenfaovi^er's  (Soont)  Troops 

Need  Yoar  l»i'astepaperl 

Sometime  before  April  thirtieth,  a  Boy  Scout  or 
a  Cub  will  come  to  your  door  to  ask  for  your 
wastepaper.  Consider  him  a  personal  envoy  from 
General  Eisenhower.  Wastepaper  is  a  vital  war 
material,  and  the  Boy  Scouts  of  America  have 
agreed  to  produce  1,. 500,000  tons.  Remember, 
every  little  scrap  helps  in  the  big  scrap.  The 
paper  goes  to  war;  the  proceeds  to  the  Scouts. 
Thus  you  help  the  present  and  the  future! 


WE  WON'T  BEAT  nm 


THERE  has  been  much  discussion  lately  about  whether  Paris  would  recap- 
ture her  prewar  position  as  the  world's  leading  fashion  center  for  women. 
The  mayor  of  New  York  is  ambitious  to  make  his  city  the  successor  to 
Paris.  Many  American  dressmakers  and  designers  have  also  expressed 
the  conviction  that  the  days  of  Parisian  dominance  are  over. 

Tills  is  a  subject  on  wliich  I  can  hardly  pose  as  an  expert,  but  I  have  a 
hunch  that  Paris  will  re-emerge  victorious  in  this  field.  I  believe  it  not  for 
technical  or  "expert"  rea.sons.  Certainly  we  have  designers  as  competent  as 
the  French.  Certainly  we  have  access  to  as  good  materials.  And  it  is  also  unde- 
niable that  the  average  American  woman  is  better  dressed  than  any  other. 

But  fashion,  like  art,  cannot  be  separated  from  the  atmosphere  in  which 
it  is  formed,  and  no  other  .society  cares  about  women — about  women  as 
women — as  the  French  do.  The  American  woman  is  certainly  more  privileged. 
She  has  greater  economic  opportunity  and  more  economic  power.  She  has 
more  money  to  spend  on  clothes.  And  she  is  certainly  set,  by  American  men, 
on  as  high  a  pedestal.  But  it  is  a  great  question  wliether  she  is  as  much  appre- 
ciated, as  woman  per  .se,  as  is  the  woman  of  France. 

After  all,  the  symbol  of  France  is  not  Uncle  Sam  or  John  Bull,  but  Marianne, 
and  the  patron  saint  is  Jeanne.  France  itself  is  feminine  in  her  lovers'  concept. 

The  chief  i)reo(cupation  of  Frenchmen  is  women.  I  doubt  if  that  can  be 
said  of  the  men  of  any  other  western  society.  I  do  liot  mean  this  in  the  cheap , 
sen.sc — that  Frenchmen  are  Don  Juaiis.  On  the  contrary.  Frenchmen  are  very 
conservative  in  family  matters,  and  often  shocked  by  the  fleeting  promiscu- 
ities of  other  .societies.  But  if  it  were  possible  to  make  a  Gallup  poll  of  fantasies 
and  daydreams,  it  would  probably  be  found  that  while  Americans  were  day- 
dreaming about  jobs  and  fortimes,  hoping  to  achieve  happiness  through  "suc- 
cess," Frenchmen  would  be  dreaming  of  a  beautiful  lady,  and  would  be  consid- 
ering in  an  entirely  secondary  line  of  thought  how  to  support  her. 

Frenchmen  prefer  the  society  of  women.  The  "stag"  party  and  the  men's 
club,  so  common  in  the  English-speaking  countries,  are  incomprehensible  to 
the  French.  If  a  Frenchman  is  a  witty  conversationalist,  he  wants  women  to 
listen  to  him,  not  men;  if  he  has  business  problems,  he  wants  to  discuss  them 
with  his  wife  or  another  woman — not  with  men.  And  although  women  never 
had  the  vote  in  France — de  Gaulle  has  promised  it  now — the  political  "salon" 
was  an  institution,  and  women  were  participants,  and  their  views  listened  to 
with  especial  interest — not  always  wisely. 

Ihe  French  never  confound  equality  of  right  between  the  sexes  with  identity 
of  function.  Frenchwomen  are  not,  like  "respectable"  German  women — and 
German  children — supposed  to  be  seen  and  not  heard,  and  not  seen  too  much 
either;  Frenchwomen  are  accepted  as  equals.  But  they  are  never  considered 
to  be  pretty  much  like  men,  but  as  different  from  men  as  conceivable.  The 
French  admire  "feminine  charm,"  "feminine  beauty,"  "feminine  wit,"  "fem- 
inine brains,"  "feminine  intuition"  and  "feminine  common  sense."  They 
think  there  is  a  special  value  in  femininity,  playing  on  all  the  facets  of  life. 

Now,  I  maintain  that  this  is  the  basic  reason  why  Paris  was  and  will  be 
again  the  center  of  women's  fashions,  from  hair-do's  to  lingerie,  from  evening 
gowns  to  cosmetics.  For  the  French  instinct  is  to  emphasize,  exaggerate  even, 
every  feminine  characteristic. 

And,  emancipated  as  we  may  all  consider  ourselves  to  be,  come  wars  and 
revolutions,  and  changes  of  every  kind,  one  thing  in  life  remains  constant — the 
desire  of  a  man  for  a  maid,  and  vice  versa.  {Continued  on  Page  151) 


Is  yonr  ivas<epaper  ready? 


-k      IIIJY    WAR    BOIVDS     -k 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


.^.in^ 


i^r" 


BRIGHT  COLOR,  fine 
flavor  make  Del 
Monte  Diced  Car- 
rots a  salad  favprite, 
a  fine  hot  vegeta- 
ble, too.  Quality 
you  never  thought 
was  possible  — 
open,  serve  and  see! 


SEE  HOW  DEL  MONTE  CAN  HELP! 

Who  could  ever  be  at  a  loss  for  mealtime  variety 
when  there  are  so  many  different  Del  Monte  Brand 
Vegetables?  And  when  there's  such  a  world  of  flavor 
in  every  single  one? 

Maybe,  today,  your  grocer  doesn't  always  have  just 
the  particular  Del  Monte  Vegetable  on  your  shopping 
list.  But  don't  let  that  bother  you.  You  know  for  sure 
that  any  Del  Monte  Vegetable  you  find  will  be  just  as 
tender,  just  as  garden-good. 

Because  Del  Monte  plays  no  favorites  in  putting 
"flavor  first."  The  familiar  green  and  red  Del  Monte 
label  is  your  signpost  of  vegetable  quality — always! 


M 


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-J. 


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EQUALLY    AT    HOME 

in  relishes,  salads, 
main  courses,  Del 
Monte  Diced  Beets 
bring  you  hearty, 
rich  beet  flavor  in 
each  tender  cube. 
Best  of  all,  no  work 
for  you  ! 


SEE  WHAT  A  TOUCH  OF  SUMMER  FLAVOR  can  do  for  meat  loaf,  or  any 
Standby.  Del  Monte  fiit^y  QaxcUn  Peas,  for  instance  —  the  best  of  the 
"middle  sizes,"  as  young  and  tender  as  ever  grew  in  a  garden! 


*C^ 


..•-^ 


WHEN  YOU'RE  SERVING  SOMETHING  SPECIAL,  let  Del  Monte  &vd^  Qwuien 
Asparagus  cap  the  climax.  Succulent,  delicate  spears  with  a  natural 
blend  of  green  and  white  tips.  Very  fine  on  toast  with  cream  sauce. 


svI^R  "^ 


Ol«0  CAtROft, 


IGUS  jp 


VEGETABLES 


IN  CANS  OR  GLASS  — ALL  THE  SAME  HIGH  QUALITY 


April,  1945 

MASTERMINDERS  sit  around  polished  tables  doodling  on  fresh  white , 
paper  and  legislating  about  us.  Mr.  Ipswhich  has  a  fly-by-night', 
daughter,  so  he  tosses  an  enthusiastic  aiifirmative  into  the  ballot  box  in 
favor  of  a  curfew  law  that  will  get  all  daughters  home  betimes.  Mrs. 
Witchitwitchit  still  smarts  from  being  pinched  three  times  for  careless 
driving,  so  she's  all  for  putting  the  age  high  on  driving  licenses.  There  are 
places  we  can't  go,  things  we  can't  do,  work  we  can't  work  at.  The  legisla- ' 
tors  have  seen  to  that.  And  we're  not  saying  it  isn't  a  good  idea.  Some  of  us 
think  we  can  do  everything.  Maybe  we  should  be  curbed — and  by  law. 
But  we'd  like  to  sit  around  a  polished  table  and  make  a  few  laws  ourselves. 
We'd  like  to  make  our  voices  heard — and  felt ! 


POP'S  jl  BLUSTERBMS 

He  scares  my  dates.  Granted  some  boys  like  our  sofa  better  than  their 
own;  they  don't  know  when  enough's  enough,  and  have  to  be  reminded  to 
go  home.  I  could  handle  the  situation  myself  without  pop  having  to  wield 
his  "  waked-from-his-first-sleep "  disposition.  He  drops  both  shoes  with  a 
clatter,  follows  that  up  by  a  bellow — "Do  you  realize  what  time  it  is?"  If 
there's  no  immediate  reaction  below  stairs,  he  grunts  into  robe  and  slippers 
and  stomps  down.  What  he  has  to  say  blisters  the  ears,  his  face  chills  the 
blood,  his  air  of  menace  thoroughly  scares  my  date  into  avoiding  my  pop—, 
and  me — at  all  costs. 

What  I'd  like  to  prove  is  that  my  friends  are  guests  in  the  house.  They're 
not  members  of  the  family — to  be  ordered  around,  shushed  up  and  shipped 
out.  I'm  the  gal  my  parents  can  and  do  give  orders  to.  I  know  our  house 
rules.  I'm  the  gal  to  keep  my  own  guests  in  line.  And  I'm  the  gal  to  spank — 
in  private — if  they  step  out  of  line. 

There  oughta  be  a  law  to  make  parents  treat  our  friends  as  they'd  treat 
their  own.  Mine  want  my  friends  around,  they  want  me  to  entertain  at 
home.  But  too  often  they  treat  my  friends  like  brats.  So  they'll  go  where 
they're  welcome  and  I'll  go  with  them. 


HUM'S  THE  WORD 


You  can,  you  know,  in  your  own  sijlirro — if  that  liappciiH  to  lie  a  .Sul>-I)fl) 
('.lull.  Write  to  Kli/alictii  WoixJward,  I.ADiKs'  llovii-;  JoiJiiNAi.,  I'liiladclphia 
r>,  IVnnsylvaiiia,  for  a  ri-nistration  blank,  a  lianilbook  to  get  you  going, 
and  tlic  Suh-Dch'H  newspaper,  TlIK  SCOOP,  to  keep  you  that  way.  Kound 
up  your  fernme  friends  for  fi-n ! 


What  makes  parents  scared  to  talk  to  us  about  sex  and  stuff?  I  get  the 
cold  shoulder  when  I  ask  questions  at  home.  So  I  build  on  the  smattering  of 
information  I've  picked  up  from  a  book  or  two,  by  talking  things  over  with 
the  girls.  And  they  don't  know  much  more  than  I  do  about  it. 

Either  mothers  and  fathers  don't  know  anything  about  sex,  or  they're 
afraid  of  us.  I  don't  want  to  ask  intimate  questions  in  class.  Yet  I  want  an- 
swers— without  a  lot  of  fuss  and  feathers.  Mother  doesn't  call  a  council  of 
war  over  table  manners.  Pop  doesn't  hem  and  haw  over  my  landing  that  part- 
time  job.  But  when  it  comes  to  life  and  love,  they  shy  away  like  timid 
fawns.  If  they  don't  know,  maybe  they  should  have  a  talk  with  the  family 
doc.  Or  let  us  have  one.  We'd  like  a  law  to  make  parents  come  clean  and  not 
push  us  away  with  a  "we  don't  mention  such  things." 

SHOOT  4LL  SNOOPY-KOSES 

Some  mothers  censor  all  the  mail — incoming  and  outgoing.  Without  a 
by-your-leave  either.  You  find  slit-open  letters  on  the  hall  table,  sometimes 
forgotten  under  things  on  mother's  desk.  They  want  to  know  what  he  said, 
and  what  she  did,  and  what  you  wrote  in  reply.  They  listen  in  on  your  phone 
gab  too.  When  you  come  home  at  night  they  ask  a  million  questions! 

Golly,  a  girl  must  keep  something  to  herself.  Not  that  she's  out  to  keep 
secrets.  But  some  things  aren't  important  enough  to  talk  about.  And  some 
precious  things  shouldn't  be  talked  about. 

I  suppose  some  mothers  feel  that  the  only  way  to  find  out  what's  going  on 
in  their  offsprings'  craniums  is  to  pry.  And  they  needn't.  If  mothers  are  at 
all  friendly,  we  want  to  tell  them  things  they'd  like  to  know,  or  things  that 
would  amuse  them  or  shock  them  a  little.  If  mothers  are  as  interested  as  our 
girl  friends  are  in  our  affairs,  if  they're  as  sympathetic  over  woes  we  think 
are  real,  if  they're  as  helpful,  without  being  preachy— we'll  give!  Affection 
and  understanding  make  it  easy  to  talk  to  mother,  and  hard  to  keep  secrets 
from  her.  But  snoopy-nosing  makes  us  lock  confidences  securely  in  the 
bosoms  of  our  best  girl  friends. 

We'd  like  to  legislate  against  prying  into  our  private  affairs.  Our  diaries, 
our  conversations,  our  friends,  the  books  we  read,  the  very  thoughts  we 
think.  It  would  be  so  much  more  fun  to  grow  up  with  mother.  And  to  share 
things  with  her  because  we  want  to. 

OUT,  OUT,  mn  spots 

On  some  subjects  older  folks  don't  agree  with  us.  And  many  of  them 
won't  even  try  to  understand  our  point  of  view.  They  have  arrived  at  a  way 
of  doing  things  that  to  them  seems  right.  But  they  blindly  feel  that  any- 
thing different  is  automatically  wrong.  They  have  a  standard  of  values,  and 
things  that  don't  measure  up  fall  short. 

Which  finds  us  trying  to  muddle  through  many  a  puzzle  alone.  Facing 
down  new  experiences  without  any  pattern  to  go  by.  Trying  to  digest  new 
ideas  without  any  help.  They  say  one  way  to  learn  to  swim  is  to  fall  over- 
board. But  you're  likely  to  get  a  lungful  of  water! 

My  parents  object  to  some  of  the  places  we  like  to  go.  But  they've  seen 
only  the  outside.  I  wish  they'd  drop  in.  They'd  see  that  our  dancing  or 
skating  or  bowling  is  harmless  fun.  If  we've  overlooked  something  that 
makes  the  places  really  wrong,  we'd  listen  then  more  reasonably.  They  ob- 
ject to  some  of  the  outfits  I  wear,  some  of  the  words  I  use.  If  they'd  see  us 
all  in  a  gang  together,  their  own  precious  little  me  wouldn't  seem  such  a 
freak!  They  object  to  some  of  the  people  I  like.  I'd  listen  to  their  sizings- 
up — if  they  knew  the  kids. 

Parents  could  be  a  big  help !  If  they'd  try  to  see  our  point  of  view  through 
our  eyes,  ears  and  noggins.  Then  help  us  solve  things  that  come  up  with 
everything  they  know.  Now,  I  ask  you,  could  we  ever  pass  a  law  like  that? 

8 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


THOUSANDS  OF  WOMEN  ARE  SAYING: 


What  a  delightful  aid  to  scalp  health! 

What  a  precaution  against  Infectious  Dandruff T^ 


If  you're  not  using  Listerine  Antiseptic  and 
massage  as  a  part  of  your  usual  hair-washing, 
you  don't  know  what  you're  missing! 

Here  is  a  simple,  easy,  delightful  treatment. 
It  makes  your  scalp  feel  like  a  million,  the  hair 
feel  wonderfully  fresh,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
acts  as  a  precaution  against  infectious  dandruff. 

Infectious  Dandruff  Is  Widespread 

There's  hardly  a  person  who  doesn't  run  afoul 
of  this  germ  condition  now  and  then.  Excess 
flakes  and  scales  and  itching  are  often  signs 
that  it  is  present.  Don't  ignore  them.  Start  with 
Listerine  Antiseptic  and  massage  twice  daily 
right  now!  This  is  the  tested  treatment  that  has 


helped  so  many...  may  help  you.  Remember, 
this  is  the  treatment  that  in  clinical  tests  brought 
improvement,  or  complete  relief,  to  76%  of 
dandruff  sufferers  in  30  days. 

Listerine  Antiseptic  kills  millions  of  the 
"bottle  bacillus"  germs  .  .  .  those  ruthless  little 
invaders  that  grow  in  vast  colonies  on  the  scalp. 
Many  a  noted  dermatologist  calls  the  "bottle 
bacillus"  acausative  agent  of  infectious  dandruff. 

Flakes  Begin  to  Disappear 

While  Listerine  Antiseptic  mops  up  on  germs 
it  also  helps  to  rid  scalp  and  hair  of  those  dis- 
tressing flakes  and  scales.  And  almost  immedi- 
ately itching  is  allayed. 


The  "bottle  bacillus",  known 
to  science  as  Pityrosporum 
ovale,  is  held  to  be  a  causative 
agent  of  infectious  dandrutf  by 
many  noted  dermatologists. 


Even  after  a  few  treatments  you  begin  to 
see  and  feel  improvement.  Your  scalp  tingles 
and  glows,  feels  wonderfully  alive!  Your  hair 
feels  delightfully  fresh.  Listerine  Antiseptic  does 
not  bleach  it. 

Get  in  the  habit  of  making  Listerine  Antisep- 
tic and  massage  a  part  of  your  regular  hair- 
washing.  It  pays!  Remember,  Listerine  Anti- 
septic is  the  same  antiseptic  that  has  been  famous 
for  more  than  60  years  in  the  field  of  oral  hygiene. 

Lambert  Pharmacal  Company,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
The  tested  treatment 

LISTERINE  ANTISEPTIC 
and  MASSAGE 


10 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


^If  we  keep  faith  with  our  fighting  men 

Only  if  we  back  our  fighting  men  with  War  Bond  purchases 
far  beyond  cold  quotas  .  .  . 

Only  if  we  use  full  measure  of  time  and  skill  to  keep  the 

weapons  of  war  in  their  hands  ... 

t 

Only  if  we  give  of  our  blood  again  and  again  to  bring 
our  wounded  home  .  .  . 

Only  then  can  we  look  ahead  to  the  days  when  Highways 
will  be  Happy   Ways  again. 


Super-coaches  of  startling  new  de- 
sign,  like  this  one,  are  shaping  up 
now  for  the  pleasure  of  refurning 
service  men  and  women,  and  the 
travel-hungry  millions  at  home. 


9^S^ 


GR  E  YH  OITND 


Our  Readers  Write  Us 


>  Mrs.  Gould,  overseas  with  Mary  Cook- 
man  to  report  for  Journal  readers  on 
life  in  Europe  today,  wrote  this  letter 
for  the  Journal  staff.     ED. 

How  Paris  Lives 

Sunday.  Paris. 

Mon  petit :  Notts  sotnmes  arrives,  nous 
sommes  installes,  tres  confortahles.  au  Ritz. 
C'est  assez  chauJ.  mais  pas  tres  chaud — il 
y  a  de  I'eau  chaud.  Samedi  et  jeudi  de  sept 
heures  a  onze  heures — I  have  already,  as 
you  may  see,  been  coping  with  the  French 
telephone.  I  now  say  "Alio,  c'est  Madame 
Could  ici"  automatically,  though  I  have 
been  here  only  a  few  hours,  or  heures. 

We  came  over  today  from  London.  .  .  . 
(I  got  this  far  and  the  telephone  began 
ringing.)  It  is  now  Wednesday  and  it  has 
just  stopped  for  a  few  moments. 

I  have  had  little  time  to  see  Paris.  It  is 
a  G.I.  town,  more  English  (American) 
than  French  spoken  on  the  boulevards. 
Stopped  in  at  Sally's  (Sally  Elting,  for- 
merly one  of  the  Journal's  fashion  editors) 
Red  Cross  club  and  .saw  the  G.I.'s  danc- 
ing— many  of  them  just  back  from  the 
front — in  combat  clothes,  fatigue  in  their 
faces.  Met  Mr.  Caffery  yesterday  in  my 
efforts  to  un-Gordian  knot  les  choses — he 
was  interested  and  helpful.  You  would  be 
astonished  (and  laugh)  at  my  French.  I 
now  pitch  in  boldly  and  talk  to  the  elec- 
trician, the  maid,  the  telephone  opera- 
tor— even  my  secretary.   I'm  very  pleased. 

Paris  is  cold — there  is  not  nearly 
enough  food.  We  here  at  the  Ritz  are  only 
a  little  cold  and  almost  too  well  fed — one 
longs  to  save  everything  portable  for  the 
French  children.  Theresc  Bonnet  just 
coming  in — I  must  stop.  Love, 

BEATRICE. 

"I>i|ilty-ba<*k''''  Ovfr  Itoifiiiim 


Just  as  we  went  to  press  this  photograph 
arrived  from  Belgium.  Sgt.  Paul  E.  Neville. 
36.Stli  Fighter  Group  Headquarters,  wrote: 
"  I  am  enclosing  a  print  of  the  photograph 
we  took  here  of  Mrs.  Gould  in  the  two- 
seater  piggy-back  plane.  I  still  think  -she 
saw  and  did  more  than  any  other  person 
who  has  ever  visited  here.  Tell  her  to  be 
sure  and  drop  in  on  the  'Hell  Hawks'  if 
she's  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  again." 

My  Hoy  l.,ov<>d  Pets 

Denver,  Colorado. 

Gentlemen :  I  was  completely  entranced 
with  Mr.  Zuckmayer's  charming  article. 
Don't  Give  Your  Animals  a  Name.  It 
took  me  back  into  the  years,  and  all  the 
funny  little  ghosts  of  the  animals  which 
had  draped  themselves  around  my  heart 
passed  in  review. 

I  could  never  bear  to  have  spraddle- 
legged  chickens  killed  at  birth,  and  if  I 
could  beat  my  parents  to  a  freshly  hatched 
batch.  I  would  immediately  adopt  them 
for  my  own. 

Many  years  later  my  son  developed  a 
passion  for  pets.  Ross  and  Mary,  a  pair  of 
ducks,  loved  Dan  devotedly  and  he  re- 
turned this  with  equal  loyalty.  We  were 
apartment  dwellers  then,  and  it  is  no 
mean  feat  to  keep  a  pairof  ducks  in  a  small 
enclosure  back  of  garages,  especially  when 
very  few  of  our  fellow  inmates  appreciated 
the  ingratiating  charm  of  Ross  and  Mary. 
They  were  really  quackless  ducks,  and 
we  knew  this,  but  the  ducks  didn't.  At 
five  on  the  dot  each  morning  they  quacked 
politely  for  their  breakfast.  This  quaint 
habit  was  the  cause  of  our  moving  seven 
times  in  two  years.  We  finally  moved  into 
the  home  of  a  blind,  retired  minister  who 
liked  Ross  and  Mary.    He  lovingly  built 


them  a  runway  and  carried  on  conversa- 
tions with  them  while  Dan  was  at  school. 
One  day  I  stood  quietly  by  and  heard  the 
old  minister  preaching  them  a  sermon.  At 
proper  intervals,  the  ducks  quacked  and 
it  sounded  like  "Amen." 

While  living  in  a  small  apartment,  I 
was  shocked  to  find  that  Dan  had  some- 
how accumulated  a  mother  cat  with  seven 


Dan  Stanley  and  friends. 

kittens,  a  baby  alligator,  a  puppy,  four 
goldfish  and  an  Easter  chick  dyed  pale 
lavender.  Each  time  I  started  to  call  the 
pound,  he  defended  this  menagerie  so 
fiercely  that  I  succumbed,  but  at  the  end 
of  a  week  it  was  a  tossup  as  to  whether  I 
would  leave  my  only  child  to  starve  with 
all  his  friends,  or  stay  and  go  nuts.  The 
alligator  (which  he  had  gotten  in  a 
marbles  trade)  stayed  in  the  bathtub  and 
would  rear  up  on  his  haunches  and  hiss 
when  I  timidly  tried  to  use  the  tub  for 
its  original  purpose. 

The  white  mice  carried  around  in  Dan's 
blouse  front  and  pants  pockets  would  dis- 
appear for  days  at  a  time,  causing  me 
sleepless  nights  wondering  if  they  would 
turn  up  in  bed  with  me.  There  was  a 
mother  Texas  horned  toad  and  family 
running  wild  on  the  living-room  floor,  to 
say  nothing  of  three-legged  dogs,  tailless 
cats  and — you  must  believe  me — an  arma- 
dillo. Somehow  I  could  never  develop  any 
love  for  this  strange  creature.  There  was 
Dizzy,  the  sweet  fox  terrier,  who  was  born 
crippled  and  walked  as  if  on  a  perpetual 
bender.  The  day  Dizzy  was  run  over  by  a 
car  and  her  limp  little  body  brought  in  by  a 
brokenhearted  small  boy  was  one  we  both 
will  remember.  We  buried  Dizzy  in  the 
front  yard  and  planted  a  tree  over  her 
grave.  That  tree  is  a  large  one  now,  and 
the  boy  who  helped  tp  plant  it  is  flying 
a  B-17. 

I  wonder  if  Dan  perhaps  thinks  of  Ross 
and  Mary  and  the  others  when  he  is 
alone  in  the  spaces  between  flak  and  sky 
and  death.  People  do  think  of  irrelevant 
things  at  times  like  that.  I  am  told. 
Sincerely, 
HELEN  D.  STANLEY. 

Chastity  and  ReliiEion 

Solcfii  Mills,  Illinois. 

Dear  Editors:  Congratulations  to  the 
JoiTRNAL  for  coming  forward  with  an 
article  in  favor  of  chastity  as  a  means  of 
preventing  the  spread  of  venereal  dis- 
eases. 

I  believe  that  religious  education  should 
be  a  part  of  the  curriculum  in  all  our  pub- 
lic schools.  It  should  be  possible  to  out- 
line a  course  in  religion  and  ethics  which 
would  meet  the  approval  of  all  churches. 
The  answer  to  this  world's  problems  can 
be  found  in  the  teachings  of  Jesus.  How 
can  we  expect  to  have  a  better  world  if 
the.se  principles  are  not  part  of  the  educa- 
tion of  every  person? 

Very  truly  yours, 
EUNICE  G.  SANDERSON. 

Parents  Sb<»nld  Tearii  Children 

New  Waterford,  Ohio. 
Dear  Sir:  The  letter  by  Sarah  L.  Way 
is  certainly  out  of  the  other  world,  where 
(Continued  on  Page  13) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


(Continued  from  Page  10) 
legs    were    limbs,    pants    were    trousers, 
diapers  were  squares  and  such  a  thing  as  a 
belly  didn't  exist — it  was  a  stomach. 

I  have  two  grown  children.  How  can 
young  people  walk  right  if  their  elders  fail 
to  guide  their  steps?  Sex  and  the  chang- 
ing world  are  all  around  them.  They  can 
be  helped  to  tell  the  difference  between  a 
rock  and  shifting  sand. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 
BERTHA  F.  CHAMBERLIN. 

*     ,   Cover-to-Cover  Drooler 

Rome,  New  Vbrk. 
Dear  Editors:  The  Journal  never  fails 
to  thrill  me.  Wilhela  Cushman's  co^rs 
are  beautiful.  From  Dorothy  Thompson 
to  Gladys  Taber,  each  poet,  story  writer 
and  wonderful  Ann  Batchelder,  the  maga- 
zine is  as  American  as  the  soil  we  live  on. 
I  stand  goggle-eyed  each  time  I  receive 
my  new  number  of  the  Journal  and 
"drool."  Yours  in  appreciation, 

MRS.  NEAL  D.  GOCHEE. 


f 


Dorothy  Meets  Beatrice 

The  Duke's  Cottage, 
Rudgwick,  England. 
My  dear  Bruce:  I  have  just  discovered 
another  of  those  small  differences  that  do 
so  divide  our  countries,  and  work  against 
international  relations  and  good  feelings. 
Your  penholders  and  ours  are  entirely  dif- 
ferent sizes.  This  means  that  I  cannot  use 
any  of  the  lovely  pen  nibs  that  kind 
friends  your  way  have  sent  me,  because 
they  simply  won't  go  in.  I  am  struggling 
against  the  thought  that  this  has  been 
deliberately  planned  by  some  political 
party  or  other.  My  patience  is  becoming 
exhausted. 

Here  I  was  interrupted  by  a  telephone 
call  from  Beatrice.  We  have  had  a  lovely 
time  calling  each  other  back  in  the  ap- 
proved fashion.  Beatrice  hoped  I  was 
hard  at  work,  so  I  said  not  at  all,  I  was 
writing  to  Bruce,  so  she  said  "Give  him 
A  my  love."  So  here  I  hand  it  to  you. 
"  Later.    Beatrice  and  Mary  had  a  good 

day  to  depart  to  France.  And  I  was  glad 
of  that,  for  Mary  had  been  decidedly  un- 
der the  weather  with  a  good  old  English 
cold  on  the  chest  I  did  not  like  at  all.  But 
•"^^'^ne  was  so  gay  through  it  all,  and  so  full 
of  the  most  breathtaking  projects.  Last 
time  I  saw  her  she  was  lying  abed,  but 
practically  planning  to  set  off  on  foot  for 
Berlin,  armed  with  a  hand  grenade,  to 
look  for  Hitler  herself. 

Later.  It  was  a  real  thrill  to  hear  Bea- 
trice's voice  over  the  phone  the  other  day, 
and  I  went  up  to  town  and  saw  her,  and 
Mary  Cookman.  The  complete  little  War 
Correspondents,  looking  chic  as  be  damned 
and  very  businesslike.  And  when  evening 
__£aBie  Beatrice  suddenly  changed  from 
utilitarian  to  decorative^in  a  manner  that 
still  leaves  me  gasping.  AH  of  a  sudden  she 
grew  masses  of  wonderful  long  hair  and 
filled  it  up  with  jeweled  combs.  I  could 
not  pay  proper  attention  to  the  play  she 
took  me  to,  for  looking  at  it.  We  can't 
begin  to  do  things  like  that  here.  Once 
utilitarian,  always  utilitarian,  with  us ! 

Later.    In  London  there  is  a  fuel  short- 
age,  and    modified   central   heating   does 
H  nothing  much  for  a  girl  whose  winter  un- 
derwear is  no  longer  what  it  once  was! 
However,  spring  is  coming.  A  pigeon  has 
^already  nested  in  South  Kensington  un- 
^derground  station,  and  hatched  out  two 
squabs.   The  Times  tells  us  so.    I  wish  the 
oigeon  would   tell   me  what   it  feeds  its 
luabs  on,  so  that  I  could  find  some  of  it 
r  my  hens.  And  talking  of  squabs — oh, 
uce,  do  you  remember  that  wonderful 
h  I  once  had  in  Independence  Square? 
1  With  my  love  to  you  all, 

DOROTHY   BLACK. 


I'ed  at  Pictures 

Asheville,  North  Carolina. 

r  Sirs:  Why  do  magazines  discour- 

continuous,  deep  absorption  in  sto- 

Just  as  I  turn  the  page  to  a  dramatic 

-nient,  I  am  up  against  some  awful 

■  grinning  tooth-paste  advertise- 

splashes  of  giant  tomatoes;  lino- 

gs;  fashions  in  modest  profusion — 

furniture,  houses  or  whatever!    I 

rest   eventually   and    throw   the 

across  the  room. 

r  expenses  too  great? 

CLARA  E.  SACKETT. 


ible  to  publish  a  magazine 
ertising,  but  it  is  more  ex- 
the  reader.   The  Reader's 


Digest,  which  publishes  only  half  as 
much  editorial  material  as  the  Journ.'VL, 
sells,  for  instance,  for  25  cents.  Several 
million  people  agree,  however,  it  is  worth 
a  quarter.   ED. 

Let  the  People  Know 

Alexandria,  Virginia. 
Sirs:  To  my  mind,  the  L.  H.  J.  is  the 
only  women's  magazine  in  the  general- 
circulation  field  which  approaches  reality. 
I  do  hope  you  will  continue  to  harp  on  the 
necessity  for  decent  housing  and  living 
standards  for  all  in  the  postwar  world.  If 
the  majority  of  the  people  only  knew  the 
facts  about  how  deplorably  some  Amer- 
icans live,  they  would  take  action. 

MRS.  S.  D.  WILSON. 

►  People,  even  American  people,  change 
slowly;  never  fast  enough  to  suit  editors 
and  other  reformers.  Vide:  Phillips 
Brooks,  noted  New  England  divine, 
was  found  one  morning  by  a  friend  as  he 
irritably  paced  his  study.  "What  is 
the  trouble?"  his  friend  asked.  "The 
trouble  is,"  answered  witty  Dr. 
Brooks,  "that  I'm  in  a  hurry — but  God 
isn't."     ED. 

Till  (lohnny  Conies  Marching 

Oriskany,  New  York. 
Dear  Editors:  It  might  be  of  interest  to 
you  to  know  that  I  have  every  copy  of  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal  saved  since  De- 
cember, 1942,  when  my  son  joined  the 
armed  forces.  He  always  read  the  maga- 
zine from  cover  to  cover  and  I  am  keeping 
them  for  the  day  when  he  may  be  home 
and  enjoy  them  all.  One  article  which  he 
never  missed  was  Gladys  Taber's  Diary 
of  Domesticity.  He  was  intrigued  by  her 
stories  of  her  cocker  spaniels. 

MRS.  VERNON  MYERS. 

Homes  for  Modern  Living 

Madison,  Wisconsin. 

Dear  Editors :  Right  now  Richard  Pratt's 
homes  for  modern  living  are  the  main 
prop  for  our  sagging  spirits  whenever 
we  contemplate  the  inadequate,  poorly 
planned  —  not  to  mention  dirty — flat  that 
is  all  we  could  find  when,  with  high  hearts, 
we  set  out  to  find  a  permanent  home  in 
Madison.  If  Mr.  Pratt  could  deliver  a 
prebuilt  home  tomorrow,  it  wouldn't  be 
too  soon ! 

MRS.  W.  H.  SOUTHWORTH. 

}  Mr.  Pratt's  postwar  houses  for  modern 
living  have  broken  all  records  for  reader 
mail,  though  they  are  still  "dream 
houses,"  as  far  as  actual  mass  produc- 
tion is  concerned.  The  Journal,  how- 
ever, has  been  asked  to  exhibit  the 
models  of  these  postwar  houses  for 
modern  living  in  the  Museum  of  Modern 
Art,  New  York  City,  and  will  probably 
do  so  next  June.    ED. 

Are   Children    liVorth   »c   a   Day? 

Crestline,  Ohio. 

Dear  Editor:  A  school-lunch  program 
si:pported  by  funds  from  the  War  Food 
Administration  was  inaugurated  in  the 
Crestline,  Ohio,  public  schools  in  the  fall 
of  1943.  Out  of  it  have  come  significant 
results — above  all,  a  phenomenal  increase 
in  the  average  gain  in  weight  for  the  year. 

Health  cards  revealed  an  average  gain 
of  from  50  per  cent  to  100  per  cent  greater 
than  the  average  gain  in  these  grades  the 
preceding  year.  Since  growth  varies  in 
the  same  child  from  year  to  year,  it  was 
felt  that  a  comparison  of  gains  in  weight 
between  the  same  grades  for  two  consecu- 
tive years  would  be  more  accurate  than 
comparing  a  child's  gain  one  year  with 
his  gain  the  previous  year.  The  averages 
for  the  children  in  the  first  five  grades  for 
1942—43  and  1943—44  are  given  below: 


Without  lunch 

With  lunch 

[jrade 

1942-43  av. 

1943-44  av. 

gain  in  pounds 

gain  in  pounds 

I 

5.15 

6.57 

II 

2.45 

4.96 

III 

1.80 

2.43 

IV 

3.00 

6.10 

V 

3.80 

7.06 

The  lunch  served  was  that  which  in  the 

Federal   program   is   known   as   Type   A. 

Basically,  it  consisted  of  a  daily  ration  of 

one    half    pint    whole,    pasteurized    milk, 

(Continued  on  Page  17 S) 


TREAT  YOURSELF 


Once  in  a  while  it's  fun — and  only  fair — to  think 
just  of  yourself.  And  here  are  some  gay  and  spring- 
like ideas  along  that  very  line...  also,  they  moke 
welcome  gifts  for  other  lovely  ladies! 


for  your  dressing  table?  A  heart- 
shaped  pin  box  In  pink  and  gold, 
reminiscent  of  the  fine  French 
china  of  another  day,  will  lend 
charm  to  the  scene — as  will  a 
pretty,  decorated  ash  tray. 


surely  you  want  to  remember 
Whitman's  Sampler  —  that  gift 
so  appreciated  by  smart  women 
everywhere.  And  as  for  home- 
nibbling,  there's  nothing  more 
certain  of  an  eager  welcome 
than  these  superfine  chocolates. 
The  wide  choice  of  centers  — 
mouth -melting  creams,  butter- 
smooth  caramels,  crisp  nuts  and 
tempting  fruits  —  assures  true 
contentment  for  every  taste. 


of  springtime  fragrance,  here's  a  romontic 
sachet  to  tuck  away  with  your  nice  things 
— a  pale  peach  satin  heart,  romantically 
hand-painted  with  Cupid,  love  letter  and 
dove  (and  it  comes  complete  with  its  own 
bottle  of  sachet). 


"Z/iHo  ca^  4e  Jka^ffteci 


and  still  feminine  . . .  when  your  dictionary 
is  dressed  as  prettily  as  this  brocade  one 
with  grosgrain  binding  flaunting  luscious 
strawberries. 


If  you  can't  always  get  your  favorM*  Sampler, 
remember  It's  becouie  mlllloni  of  powndt  of 
Whitman's  Chocolatet  ore  aolng  to  all  our 
fighting  frontt. 


ACCESSORIES — CARLIN    COMFORTS  SHOP,     iAKS-FlFTH  AVENUE 


CHOCOLATES 


Copr.    1945,   Stephen   F.  Whitman  &   Son,  Inc.,   Philadelphiu 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April.  1945 


•  •••••••• 

•  • 

-k        Business  and  the        -k 

•  Merit  System  * 

•  * 

•  ••••••*• 

American  business  is  more  than  bricks, 
mortar  and  equipment. 

It  is  above  all  a  philosophy  of  life. 

Its  fundamental  credo  is  the  merit  system. 

The  task  of  the  supervisory  forces  in  any 
business  is  to  ferret  out  merit,  and  to  reward 
ability. 

Merit  has  two  aspects,  first  the  quality  of 
work  done  and  secondly,  the  quantity.  Man- 
agement encourages  workers  to  excel  in  both 
respects,  and  superior  tools  and  mechanical 
energy,  provided  out  of  the  savings  made 
available  by  stockholders,  help  the  human 
worker  to  become  more  productive. 

Under   the   American   system,    the   alert 


office  boy  can  well  hope  to  rise  as  high  on  the 
business  ladder  as  merit  can  take  him. 

He  is  not  handicapped  by  his  father's 
status,  or  by  other  extraneous  factors,  which 
restrain  an  ambitious  person  where  the  caste 
system  prevails. 

In  judging  merit,  the  business  executive 
acts  as  a  middleman. 

He  must  submit  his  decision  to  the  cus- 
tomer for  ratification. 

It  is  the  customer's  judgment  as  to 
whether  the  end  product  is  merilorious  which 
counts.  If  the  customer  approves  the  price, 
quality,  design,  and  taste,  he  expresses  his 
approbation  by  making  a  purchase. 

Thus  the  large  and  successful  enterprise  is 
the  one  with  a  big  following  of  pleased 
customers. 

But  bigness  provides  no  exemption  from 
the  obligation  to  continue  to  make  good 
under  the  discipline  of  the  merit  system. 

In  the  76  years  of  its  existence.  Armour 
and  Company  has  observed  many  large  and 
small  business  institutions  come  and  go. 

The  rate  of  mortality  among  business  en- 
terprises is  high. 

Hitherto  successful  business  bouses  tend 
to  wither  and  fade  away  once  they  become 


complacent,  and  cease  everlastingly  to  pro- 
duce more  and  better  things  at  the  lowest 
possible  cost. 

But  there  is  zest  in  the  competitive  struggle. 

It  keeps  the  fit  on  their  toes.        . 

And  the  reward  of  continuing  confidence 
from  a  vast  array  of  customers  through  the 
long  years  is  indeed  a  bountiful  stimulant. 

President,  Armour   and   Company 

tiost  of  a  series  of  ten  statements  on  the  American  system 
of  free  enterprise  which  makes  passible  siuh  institutions 
for  service  as  Armour  and  Company.  For  the  complete 
series^  write  Armour  and  Company^  Union  Stttck  Yards, 
Chicago*  9,  Illinois. 


For  This  Easy, 
Hot  Supper  Success 

Tzeei  and  Spring  Vegetable 
Platter 

1  or  more  cans  Armour's  Treet 
3  tbsps.  Mayflower  Margarine 
3  tbsps.  chopped  parsley 
12  small  new  potatoes 
Bunch  asparagus  tips  or  1  No.  2J/^  can 
White  Sauce 

2  tbsps.  Mayflower  Margarine  34  tsp.  salt 
2  tbsps.  flour  1  cup  milk 
Combine  3  tbsps.  melted  margarine  with  par- 
sley. Pour  over  boiled,  peeled  potatoes.  Melt 
the  2  tbsps.  margarine;  blend  in  flour  and 
salt.  Blend  in  milk.  Pour  this  cream  sauce 
over  cooked  or  heated  asparagus.  Slice  Treet 
and  brown  in  margarine  for  IJ^  min.  to  the 
side.  Arrange  as  shown.  6  servings. 


Treet  Is  the  meat 


I 


For  This  Meal  with 
a  Vitamin  Boost 

Treet  with  Slaw-Filled 
Tomato  Cups 

1  can  Armour's  Treet         3^  tsp.  pepper 

4  tomatoes  1  tsp.  celery  seed 

1  }/2  cups  finely  shredded  3  tbsps.  mayonnaise 

cabbage  thinned  with  1  tbsp. 

34  cup  chopped  green         cream  or  milk 

pepper  4  strips  green  pepper 

'^  tsp.  salt  for  tops  of  salads 

1  tsp.  sugar 

Chill  Treet  in  refrigerator  and  cut  into  8  slices. 
Cut  tops  from  tomatoes  and  scoop  out  centers 
with  spoon.  (Save  this  pulp  to  add  to  soup  or 
meat  dish.)  Combine  remaining  ingredients 
and  stuff  tomato  cups.  Top  with  strips  of 
green  pepper  and  place  in  refrigerator  to  chill. 
4  servings. 


Treet  gives  a  lift  to  any  meal — breakfast,  lunch  or  dinner.  It  makes 
the  simplest  fare  more  appetizing.  Treet  is  all  good  meat — so  choice, 
so  tender,  so  delicately  seasoned.  And  it's  vacuum-cooked  in  its 
own  natural  juices  to  keep  all  the  rich,  fine  flavor  in.  There  isn't  a 
speck  of  bone  or  waste.  That's  why  one  thrifty  tin  of  Treet  serves 
four  so  heartily.  Try  Treet  cold — sliced  as  it  comes  from  the  tin. 
Enjoy  Treat  hot — fried,  broiled  or  baked.  Any  way  you  serve  it, 
Treet  is  the  meat  that  rates  tops  for  taste  and  energizing  goodness. 

Listen  lo  Hadda  Hoppor't  Hollywood  every  Monday 
nighl  over  CBS.  See  local  papers  for  lime. 

ARMOUR 

and  Company 


Buy 
War 

Bonds 
and 

Stamps 


©  ARMOUR    AND    COMPANY 


Fitttf  Years  Atfo 
in  the  •Journui 


IN  APRIL,  1895,  a  girl  from  Iowa 
named  Lillian  Russell  was  the 
toast  of  New  York,  Lily  Langtry 
was  wowing  Boston,  and  P.  T. 
Barnum  was  packing  them  into 
Madison  Square  Garden  to  see 
Trilby  on  Horseback.  The  Easter 
parade  on  Fifth  Avenue  attracted 
the  carriage  trade  as  far  away  as 
Long  Island  and  New  Jersey,  as 
well  as  urchins  from  the  Bowery  who 
goggled  at  the  bonnets  abloom  with 
red  roses,  lilies  and  yellow  tulips, 
and  the  gentlemen,  in  tight-fitting 
long  Newmarket  coats  and  bell- 
crowned  silk  hats,  with  orchids  in 
their  buttonholes. 

The  Burning  Question  of  Domes- 
tic Service  was  the  main  article  in 
the  April,  1895,  JOURNAL,  by  the 
Countess  of  Aberdeen,  who  kej>t 
her  twenty-odd  servants  happy 
with  drawing  and  sewing  classes, 
and  musical  soirees  with  melo- 
deon  and  concertina. 

"My  dear  girl,"  writes  Ruth  Ash- 
more,  "your  fiance  is  only  showing 
himself  a  well-bred  man  who 
understands  the  rules  of  society 
when  he  never  takes  you  anywhere 
alone." 

"Inquirer:  The  name  Irene  is  from 
the  Greek  and  means  peace.  It  is 
proper  to  pronounce  it  in  three 
syllables." 

A  Girl  on  Her  Travels:  "A  bunch  of 
fresh  violets,  one  for  each  day  of 
the  voyage,  and  stored  in  the  stew- 
ard's icebox,  is  a  sort  of  trade- 
mark of  the  habitual  voyager.  .  .  . 
It  is  customary  to  take  under- 
clothes that  can  be  distributed 
among  the  poor  steerage  passen- 
gers upon  arrival  at  one's  destina- 
tion." 

"Mfiybelle:  As  you  have  good  reason 
for  disliking  the  young  man,  and  do 
not  wish  to  dance  with  him  or  be 
thrown  with  him  in  any  way,  I 
should  advise  your  letting  him  know 
by  bowing  very  coldly  and  gradu- 
ally ceasing  to  bow  altogether." 

The  Journal  forum  this  month 
revolved  around  the  question  of 
when  to  use  the  word  "lady"  and 
when  "woman."  Mrs.  Margaret 
Deland  offers  this  rule:  "When  you 
are  referring  to  her  in  connection 
with  her  occupation,  say  woman: 
such  as  washerwoman,  sales- 
woman. How  it  offends  us  to  hear 
the  word  'saleslady'!" 


fiotittip  about  poopte  you 
knoir.  vilitors  you  likv  and 
irhat  yovH  on  in  \vif  York. 


ONE  of  the  April  sights  from  the 
Workshop  are  the  crowds  way 
down  in  the  streets  below  when  the 
almost  daily  shower  starts  to  sprin- 
kle, with  the  sun  often  shining 
brightly  in  the  distance.  People  sud- 
denly change  from  people  to  patches 
of  dark  mushrooms,  as  umbrellas  be- 
gin to  pop.  We  mention  this  merely 
because  someone  came  in  to  tell  us 
about  postwar  umbrellas,  which  will 
have  fabrics  of  nylon  and  glass,  and 
frames  of  metal  as  light  as  a  feather — 
or  so  they  say.  Hut  the  most  attractive 
part  is  that  umhrellas  will  begin  to  be 
gayer;  flower  prints,  to  match  dresses 
and  blouses.  That  will  be  something 
to  see — next  April,  we  hope. 

The  girl  in  the  .fohn  FrfUprifs  sweet- 
pea  hat  on  the  cover  this  motilh  is  nana 
mlvnin'y,    whom    l^'illu'la   Cutihman 

considers  one  of  the  greatest  models  since 
modeling  began ;  it  having  begun,  in  an 
organized  way,  just  about  twenty-five 
years  ago,  when  John  ttobert  M*nw»rs 

started  his  agency. 

Marh  Van  itnrvn,  the  poet,  who's 
<'hairnian  of  the  Hook  and  Author 
\Var  Bond  Committee  downstairs 
here — a  committee  which  sen«ls  well- 
known  authors  out  all  over  the  coun- 
try on  War  Bond  rallies,  where  manu- 
scripts and  autographed  books  are 
sold  to  the  highest  bidders — told 
itifhard  M*rait  about  Kathleen 
n'insur  at  a  rally  down  in  Texas,  at 
the  Waco  Army  airfield.  As  you  know, 
she   wrote    FOREVER   AMBER;   but  at 

CAI.OMIRIS 


Forever  Kathleen 


Waco  she  made  new  best-seller  his- 
tory when  a  copy  of  her  bo<ik  brought 
in  Sl,75(»,000  worth  of  B<>n<ls.  The 
buyer  didn't  even  keep  the  copy,  ac- 
cor<ling  to  Mr.  V.  1>.,  but  gave  it  hack  to 
be  sold  again,  this  time  to-4fr  furee 
Sat.  •/«(>  i^eirtH — ft>r  $50(10  >vorth  — 
who's  keeping  FOREVER  forever. 

When  Tonight  and  Every  Night, 
with  itita  IMauirurth,  conies  around, 
you'll  see  Marc  Piatt,  who  was  the  star 
dancer  here  in  Oklahoma!,  do  a  dev- 
astating dance  to  the  pounding 
rhythm  of  one  of  Hitler's  speeches; 
the  first  time  anybody's  thought  of 
that — and  probably  the  last. 

The  April  books  sing  of  youth — as  is 
fitting.  There  are  YOUI\(;  BESS,  by 
33uraaret  irwin,  about  the  willful. 


TORKBL  KORLING 


'Wlieii  ivell  appuiel'd  April  on  the  heel  of  limping  winter  treads." 


sly,  red-haired,  green-eyed  girl  who 
later  became  England's  most  famous 
queen;  ttosamontl  Lehmann's  THE 

Ballad  and  the  Source,   worldly 

melodrama  told  with  subtle  <-a<lcnccs 
by  an  innocent,  unsophisticated  girl: 

Minor  Heresies,  by  Jtthn  Bspey,  a 

refreshing,  highly  amusing  account 
of  boyhood  in  a  Presbyterian  mission 
in  Shanghai,  quite  worthy  of  place  be- 
side Life  With  Father;  and  lastly,  the 
new  and  hitherto  unpublished  poems 
of£fnifv0i«*A-in«on,  with  a  romantic 
story  behind  them:  BOLTS  OF  iVlEL- 
ODY,  edited  by  3tahel  l.ttomis  Tuiltl 
and  Millirent  Todd  Itinaham. 

Speaking  of  books,  if  you  want  to  know 
what  caused  one  book  to  be  written,  it  was 
all  the  letters  from  Journal  readers  who 
avalanche  liladus  Taher  with  mail 
about  her  dogs,  which  she  describes  in 
Diary  of  Domesticity.  The  book — Espe- 
cially Spaniels — will  be  out  any  min- 
ute now,  and  if  your  dog's  front  leg 
shakes,  or  he  likes  to  bite  the  postman, 
here  are  all  the  things  lo  do. 

Louiite  Benjamin  knows  a  young  of- 
ficer who  handles  Navy  information 
here  in  town,  so  she  naturally  keeps 
asking  him  questions.  Her  latest  is  one 
we  never  heard  answered  before — why 
do  only  women  christen  ships? — and 
all  we  can  tell  you  is  it's  "according  to 
naval  custom,"  and  nothing  to  do  with 
Helen  of  Troy,  having  started  back 
in  1848.  Christeners  are  called  "spon- 
sors," the  Navy  man  told  Mrs.  B.,  and 
if  it's  a  battleship,  which  are  named 
after  states,  then  the  state  governor 
chooses  the  sponsor;  if  a  cruiser,  named 
after  cities,  the  city  mayor  chooses;  if  a 
destroyer,  named  after  naval  heroes, 
the  nearest  female  relative  is  asked  to 
break  the  bottle  on  the  bow.  The  only 
combatant  vessel  named  after  a  woman 
is  the  destroyer  U.  S.  S.  Higbee,  named 
after  Mrs.  Lenah  S.  Higbee,  first  su- 
perintendent of  the  U.  S.  Navy  Nurse 


Corps — which,  by  the  way,  needs  all 
the  nurses  it  can  get,  right  now. 

From  upstate,  in  Rensselaer  County, 
Aliee  Ulinn  has  been  hearing  from 
3label  3lilhan,  a  home-demonstra- 
tion agent  for  the  (bounty  Extension 
Service,  about  a  project  that  may  in- 
terest women  everywhere.  It's  mak- 
ing your  own  gloves  at  home.  The 
women  up  there  wanted  so  much  to 
<lo  it  that  IVIiss  IVIilhan  <-ame  down 
here,  lcarnc«l  how,  then  went  back 
an«l  taught  them.  iVow  up  there  on 
literally  every  hand  you  can  see  beau- 
tiful gloves,  both  leather  and  fabric, 
mcli<°iilously  «'ut,  styled  and  finished. 
One  family.  Miss  M.  said,  has  all 
the  doeskin  gloves  they'll  need  for 
>ears.     One  of  the  boys  killed  a  deer. 

William    ttentttn,  of  the    University 

of  Chicago,  was  telling  Hruee  liwuld 

about  one  of  the  conversations  he  and  Erie 
t/whnHinn   had  with  ,tonetth  Stalin, 

and  Mr.  G.  asked  what  Americans  the 
premier  liked  best.  Well,  one  of  his  favor- 
ites is  MMenrii  Ford,  whom  he's  never 
met.  Told  Mr.  Johnston  that  he  considered 
him  the  greatest  industrialist  in  the 
world,  and  then  exclaimed  with  fervor, 
"May  God  preserve  hitn!" 


'Ford  fan"  Stalin 


iR 


—  FRANKLIN  D.ROOSEVELT. 


leaves  your  hair 

so  lustrous,  yet  so  easy 

to  manage! 

Only  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioner 

reveals  up  to  33%  more  lustre  than  soap 

...  yet  leaves  hair  so  easy  to  arrange 

so  alluringly  smooth ! 


Want  all  your  hair-dos  to  look  more  glamorous?  Then 
be  a  "Drene  Girl!"  Always  use  Drene  .Sliam|K)<)  witli 
Hair  Conditioner.  No  other  shampoo  .  .  .  not  a  soap  in 
the  world  .  .  .  can  make  your  hair  look  so  lovely! 

Reveals  far  more  lustre  than  any  cake  soap  or  li(juid  soap 
shamj)()o.  For  Drene  never  leaves  any  dulling  film,  as  all 
soaps  do,  to  rob  your  hair  of  its  lustrous  beauty!  Drene 
reveals  up  to  33%  more  lustre  than  any  kind  of  soap. 

Leaves  hair  so  manageable!  Now  that  the  new,  improved 
Drene  contains  a  wonderful  hair  conditioner,  it  leaves  hair  far 
silkier, smoother,  easier  to  manage  . . .  right  after  shampooing! 

Removes  every  bit  of  dnndritff  \\\c  very  first  time  you  use 
it!  So  insist  on  Dreue  with  Hair  Conditioner  ...  or  ask  your 
beauty  shop  to  use  it! 


FROM  THE   films  WHO   KNOW! 

Lisa   Fonssa<;hivks  .  .  .  f;lamorous  New  York 
fashion  model.  Cover  (rirl  and  "Drone  Girl" 
.  .  .  sliows   you    (above)   lier  lovely  new  eve- 
ning hair-do  for  Sprin;;!  The  udorahic  hair-do 
gadget  is  just  wired  riithoti,  Ix-nl  into  shape, 
then    covered    with    (lowers.    Your    milliner 
can  do  il!  The  shilling;  smoothness  of  Lisas 
hair  is  due  to  Drone  Shampoo  with   Hair 
(ionditionor,   wliii-li   she  always   uses.  No 
other  shampoo  leaves  hair  so  lustrous,  yet 
so  easy  to  manage! 


MAKE    A     DATE 
WITH 


Ton, 
your 


iig/it . .  .  don't  put  it  off .  .  .  shampoo 

ir  hair  the  now  glamour  way!    Get 

rombination  of  beauty   benefits 

nd   only    in    Drene   Shampoo    with 


the  rombination  ol  l>eauty  benelits 
dy  in  Drene  Shampoo  with 
iditioner!  l^'  Extra  lustre  .  .  . 
Vq  more  than  with  soap  or  soap 


u    only    HI    i^n 
Hair  Conditioner! 
up  to  33%  more  than  wi 


v^onuiiioiier:  «''  r.xira  lusirc  .  .  . 
..,.  to  33%  more  than  with  soap  or  soap 
shampoos!  f-  Alanageahle  hair  .  .  .  easy 
to  comb  into  smooth  shining  neatness! 
i^  Complete  removal  of  dandruff!  Ask 
for  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioner! 


:V 


Lisa  adores  hair-do  gadgets! 
But  say8,"lVIakesure  that  they, 
and  your  hair-do,  too.  match 
the  mood  of  your  clothes!" 
Every  hair  in  place  is  ber  first 
rule  for  a  Hinart  hair-do.  And, 
says  Lisa,  'Tor  sliining-Hinooth, 
nianageable  hair  there's  no 
shampoo  like  Drene  with  Hair 
Conditioner!" 


/ 


leaves  /     "Pooevn        ^'ousef    \    ^^^t 


iIUmJL 


WITH 

Product  of 


,    HAIR    CO 

Procter  &  Gamble 


17 


BY  DAISY 


IILAC  and  laburnum  bloomed  the  day  the  Turners 
heard  that  Wincy  and  Angus  were  on  the  way 
J  home.  They  had  sent  these,  their  younger  chil- 
J  dren,  to  America  three  years  earlier,  when  Eng- 
^  land  was  in  danger  of  invasion.  The  Turners  had 
worried  a  great  deal  at  the  time.  When  a  Professor  and 
Mrs.  Hilliard,  of  Harvard  University,  who  had  a  son  of 
their  own,  took  the  children  into  their  home.  Professor 
and  Mrs.  Turner  felt  reassured. 

The  letters  which  presently  arrived  were  happy,  but 
some  were  sent  to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  so  that  ac- 
tually, Mrs.  Turner  realized,  she  and  John  did  not  have 
a  very  clear  picture  of  the  children's  life  abroad. 


What  a  sorry  sight  they  had  been,  their  mother  re- 
called, when  they  left— terrified,  weeping  babies.  She 
had  grieved  for  days.  But  all  that,  she  thought  grate- 
fully, was  done  with  at  last:  Wincy  and  Angus  were 
coming  home ! 

The  train  was  coming  in.  As  people  began  to  alight, 
Mrs.  Turner  looked  anxiously  up  and  down.  And  then 
she  caught  sight  of  a  small  boy  wearing  long  trousers, 
his  shirt  open  at  the  throat. 

"Look,  there's  Angus ! "  she  cried.  "How  he's  grown ! 
But  where  can  Wincy  be?  And  who  is  the  lady  with 
Angus  who  is  carrying  a  violin?  Do  you  see  them, 
John?" 


Copyright,  1944,  by  Daisy  Neumann.  This  is  a  condensation  of  the  novel  soon  to  be  published  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


THE  JOURNAL'S  COMPLETE-II¥-OIVK-ISSlJE  XOVEL 


^t 


7ifiHC^*A  fin4t  ilAA  mmd  it  «*44  tUfondt  'fOit^  4a^'e/^m^ickHd  i^iU^i^  oUt  4a4i«tf  mu  te^tU^  ont  •{  t^  Mf«^iJU? 


18 


\i^en 


BY  JOSEPH  ArSLANDER 

All  night  beside  the  grave, 

All  through  the  night 

In  the  wind  and  the  rain 

Three  women  watch,  who  gave 

His  body  back  again 

To  the  cold  earth: 

His  mother,  who  in  pain. 

With  teeth  clenched  tight. 

Bore  Him, 

In  a  great  hush  brought  to  birth 

Her  Son; 

Also  His  sister  and  that  other  woman,  the  one 

Who  perhaps  did  most  adore  Him. 

So  all  over  the  world  the  women  wait, 

All  women  everywhere 

Watch  at  the  gate 

Of  the  tomb 

In  the  common  grief  all  women  share 

With  the  dark  sisterhood  of  despair 

And  hope  and  prayer; 

In  the  chill  and  the  gloom 

Their  long  and  lonely  vigil  keeping 

Beside  the  stone: 

The  women  unsleeping. 

The  women  tight-lippea  and  alone, 

The  women  weeping. 

Whose  hearts  are  heavier 

Than  the  stone  their  sorrow  cannot  stir. 

Than  the  rock  they  sit  beside. 

As  heavy  as  the  tears  they  hide. 

The  tears  that  blind  and  blur 

The  heart's  pain,  the  heart's  pride  .  .  . 

Then  out  of  the  darkness  someone  cried. 

And  there  He  stood,  all  gaunt  and  hollow-eyed. 

But  smiling  even  so 

In  a  strange  unearthly  glow.  .  .  . 

You  see  death,  then  you  see  death  go, 

And  the  first  dogwood  hits  you  like  a  blow 

Between  the  eyes,  a  fist  of  fire  and  snow — 

And  suddenly  all  around 

That  wild  warm  murmur,  one  incessant  sound 

Of  secret  waters  running  underground — 

And  lo, 

April  with  cold  hands  and  impatient  heart 

Forcing  the  doors  of  a  new  life  apart! 

Here  is  the  vast  rehearsal  of  the  spring: 

All  her  resources — leaf  and  bud  and  wing — 

Assembled  for  the  coming  of  the  King! 

He  is  not  dead. 

Your  son,  your  dear  beloved  son. 

Your  golden  one. 

With  his  blond  tousled  head. 

The  shining  and  excited  words  he  said! 

Ah  no!   Be  comforted. 

For  him  the  world  will  never 

Grow  flat  and  tired  and  dull; 

He  is  a  part  of  all  swift  things  forever. 

All  joyous  things  that  run 

Or  fly. 

Familiar  to  the  wind  and  cloud  and  sky. 

Forever  beautiful! 


i.r(  ^ 


W. 


"Yes,  that's  Angus,"  her  husband  said. 
"Doesn't  he  look  fit?  The  lady  with  him — 
why,  bless  my  soul ! — I  do  believe  that  is  Wincy. 
She's  come  home  a  grown  woman." 

"Oh,  no!"  Mrs.  Turner  replied.  "She'sonly 
fifteen."  Together  they  hurried  toward  the 
crowd  at  the  end  of  the  platform. 

Wincy  had  been  looking  out  at  the  country- 
side ever  since  the  train  left  London,  but  she 
had  not  really  seen  it.  Although  the  boat  had 
brought  her  a  long  way  from  America,  her 
thoughts  were  still  with  Aunt  Polly  and  Uncle 
Bill  and  the  kids  at  Agassiz  School. 

She  tried  to  picture  her  parents  and  Mark, 
her  flier  brother.  But  although  she  could  see 
their  outlines,  they  would  not  turn  to  people  in 
her  mind.  She  was  hardly  better  off  than  An- 
gus, who  admitted  that  he  didn't  remember 
them  at  all.  He  had  been  only  six  when  they 
were  evacuated. 

As  the  train  slowed  down,  Wincy  took  a  last 
look  in  the  little  mirror  of  her  handbag.  Her 
hat  and  the  new  hair-do  looked  fine.  "This  is 
it,"  she  told  Angus,  hurriedly  brushing  peanut 
shells  off  his  clothes. 

"What — this  dinky  shed?"  Angus  cried.  "I 
thought  Oxford  was  a  big  place." 

Her  handbag  and  violin  case  in  one  hand, 
Wincy  pulled  Angus  out  onto  the  platform. 
She  saw  her  parents  almost  at  once.  There  they 
stood,  looking  just  as  she  had  pictured  them, 
only  thinner  and  much  older.  She  ran  toward 
them,  Angus  following.  It  was  wonderful  to 
come  home,  marvelously  wonderful.  Happi- 
ness made  her  eyes  smart. 

"My  babies!"  Mrs.  Turner  exclaimed,  try- 
ing to  embrace  both  her  children  at  once. 

The  professor  looked  so  happy  that  Wincy 
thought  his  eyes  must  be  smarting  too.  Yet 
when  Angus  dutifully  offered  his  cheek,  his 
father  quickly  backed  away  and  shook  hands. 

"Gosh,  daddy,"  Angus  burst  out,  "you're 
not  nearly  as  big  as  Uncle  Bill." 

"Your  hair,  Wincy!"  Mrs.  Turner  said. 

"Nice,  isn't  it?  It  was  done  just  a  couple  of 
weeks  ago.    I  thought  you'd  like  it." 

"A  trifle  startling,"  her  mother  replied, 
smiling  indulgently.  "Still,  when  it's  cut  the 
proper  length,  I  think  that  I'll  become  accus- 
tomed to  it."  She  gave  Wincy  an  affectionate 
caress  as  they  started  to  leave  the  station. 

In  her  corner  of  the  taxi,  Wincy  leaned  back 
against  the  hard  upholstery.  She  felt  suddenly 
tired.  It  was  wonderful  to  be  home,  but  she 
hadn't  made  the  hit  she  had  hoped  for.  Her 
parents  hadn't  fallen  for  her  hair-do  and  the 
purple  suit  and  hat.  She  was  a  bit  annoyed 
with  her  parents,  and  even  more  annoyed 
with  herself  for  having  chosen  the  purple 
things.  Aunt  Polly  hadn't  admired  the  color, 
but  she  felt  that  girls  Wincy's  age  ought  to 
make  their  own  choice. 

"I  shall  contrive  something  else  for  her  to 
wear  to  the  garden  party,"  Mrs.  Turner  was 
saying  softly  to  her  husband  in  the  corner  of 
the  cab.  But  he  was  not  listening.  He  was 
watching  Angus.  "Coupons,"  Mrs.  Turner 
went  on  in  a  doubtful  voice.  "But,  if  Brenda 
can  have  something  "  She  became  de- 
termined. "  I  shall  select  the  proper  frock." 

r>RENDA,  a  garden  party — people  Wincy 
didn't  know,  things  in  the  wind  that  had  been 
planned  while  she  was  away.  She  hadn't  no- 
ticed the  taxi  turn  into  Banbury  Road,  but 
they  had  arrived  at  the  house.  Wincy  pressed 
her  face  to  the  window  of  the  taxi.  She  saw 
everything  in  the  first  moment — the  brick  wall, 
the  garden  gate,  the  flowers  in  the  border  lead- 
ing to  the  dear,  familiar  house.  She  saw  it  all, 
and  suddenly  it  was  as  though  she  had  never 
been  away. 

"Is  Nannie  here?"  Angus  asked. 

"No.  Nannie  left  soon  after  you  sailed," 
his  mother  explained.  "Don't  you  remember? 
I  wrote  you.  She  was  dreadfully  upset  for 
fear  strangers  wouldn't  give  you  proper  care." 


Angus  seemed  to  think  this  very  funnj 
"The  poor  fish." 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  wa> 

The  door  was  opened.  Professor  Tumel 
walked  in  and  Wincy  followed.  Though  it  wal 
dearly  familiar,  everything  seemed  smallel 
than  she  had  expected.  There  above  the  uml 
brella  stand  was  the  hatrack  with  daddy's  mai 
and  burberry  and  even  the  old  gas  masksl 
There  was  the  monk's  bench,  where  she  ancT 
Angus  had  been  made  to  sit  on  muddy  dayl 
while  they  waited  for  Nannie  to  wheel  the  pra 
around. 

"Smells  different  here,"  Angus  said,  wrinj 
kling  his  nose. 

Wincy  noticed  the  same  thing.  "Coal  gas.i 
she  explained,  "and  flowers." 

"And  cabbage,"  Angus  added. 

Professor  Turner  settled  himself  in  the  draw- 
ing room.  His  wife  led  Angus  up  to  the  nurs- 
ery, but  Wincy  lingered  happily  on  the  stairs 
noticing  that  the  water  pails  and  sand  buckets 
were  still  about. 

In  the  nursery  everything  looked  exactly  as 
it  had  when  she  and  Angus  left.  On  the  dwarl 
table  stood  a  jar  of  daffs  and  a  tray  of  milk 
biscuits  and  damsons — nursery  supper.  Angus 
made  straight  for  it,  and  wolfed  his  share  stand- 
ing up.  Then  he  proceeded  to  unpack  his  bag 

"What's  that,  dear?  "  Mrs.  Turner  asked. 

"The  nightingale,"  he  said,  producing  a  lit- 
tle metal  bird.  Angus  ran  to  the  washbasin  and 
returned  blowing  a  shrill,  warbling  sound. 

"Lovely,  darling,"  she  said,  "but  you're 
drooling  quite  dreadfully." 

"It's  okay.  I  always  do.  Isn't  it  snazzy? 
Uncle  Bill  let  me  take  it  home — it  really  be- 
longs to  the  Toy  Symphony." 

"What's  that?" 

"You  know,  that  symphony  with  the  toy 
instruments — cuckoo  and  quail  and  trumpet. 
We  played  it  all  the  time.  I  played  the  night- 
ingale. Wincy,  what's  the  name  of  the  guy  who 
wrote  the  Toy  Symphony?" 

"Haydn." 

"It's  very  nice,"  Mrs.  Turner  said  politely. 

Wincy  did  not  unpack.  She  was  less  eager 
to  see  the  things  she  had  brought  with  her  than 
the  ones  she  had  left  behind. 

"  I've  brought  you  a  present,  mummie,"  An- 
gus announced.  He  pulled  out  a  box  and 
handed  it  proudly  to  his  mother. 

"To  think,"  she  exclaimed,  smiling,  "th*; 
my  little  son  is  old  enough  to  go  a  journey  and 
bring  back  a  present  for  me."  But  she  looked 
startled  when  she  saw  a  huge,  turbaned  Ne- 
gress grinning  on  the  wrapper.  "What  is  it?" 

"Flapjacks!" 

"What  are  they?" 

"Wait  till  breakfast  and  you'll  find  out," 
Angus  promised,  stroking  his  stomach  and 
smacking  his  lips.  "Boy,  you  should  see  me 
and  Sutty  shovel  them  away.  And  look" — he 
extricated  a  tin  from  a  bundle  of  sweat  shirts— 
"maple  sirup!" 

"It's  like  treacle,"  Wincy  explained,  open- 
ing her  suitcase.  "Here's  my  present  for  you, 
mummie."  She  had  brought  her  mother  a  pale 
blue  cardigan.        ^ 

Pleasure  illuminated  Mrs.  Turner's  face. 
"How  lovely!  It  would  take  ever  so  many 
coupons  here." 

One  of  her  presents,  at  least,  had  been  a  suc- 
cess, Wincy  gloated  to  herself.  She  ran  down 
to  the  drawing  room  with  her  father's  parcel. 
But,  as  she  handed  him  her  present,  she  felt 
suddenly  small  and  shy.  It  was  Fantasia,  with 
musical  themes  and  Walt  Disney's  pictures 
splashed  across  the  pages. 

Professor  Turner  glanced  at  the  mushrooms 
in  coolie  hats,  and  dancing  milkweed  seeds, 
and  it  was  clear  that  he  wondered  what  he, 
Fellow  in  Classics  at  St.  James's  College,  could 
have  to  do  with  these  things.  Wincy  kept  her 
eyes  on  his  face  until  he  came  to  Beethoven's 
Pastoral  Symphony.  Slowly  his  expression 
changed.  (Continued  on  Page  64) 


VbcmAii  oi 


J\otkii  at  ^ .  ^.  wm. 


mwi\  /um  i 


Mib.  m 


20 


BY  DOROTHY  1 UU 


I  SAT  on  a  hard  wooden  bench  in  the  waiting  room  and  tried 
not  to  look  as  fooHsh  as  I  felt.  There  wasn't  any  legitimate 
reason  fcr  my  being  there.  I  wasn't  going  anyplace  and  I 
wasn't  meeting  anyone.  The  whole  thing  was  ridiculous  and 
it  was  all  Tony's  fault. 

It  was  his  fault  and,  in  a  way,  the  fault  of  a  magazine  article. 
The  magazine  was  right  beside  me  and  I  flicked  through  the 
pages  irritably.  The  woman  who  wrote  the  article  on  How  to  Fall 
Out  of  Love  made  it  sound  terribly  simple.  I  had  read  it  casually 
at  first  and  then  with  increasing  interest  as  I  realized  that  I  could 
slip  into  the  picture  created  the  way  I  do  into  a  size-12  coat:  no 
alterations  necessary.  Tony  drank  too  much,  he  was  a  heel,  and  he 
was  always  finding  a  new  and  fascinating  woman  around  every 
corner.  Oh,  he  came  back  to  me  all  right  between  corners,  when  he 
was  tired  or  sick  or  in  a  jam.  But  what  woman  likes  to  think  of  her- 
self as  the  old  stand-by,  the  maternal  type?  The  article  was  right. 
It  was  time  to  do  something  about  it. 

Easier  said  than  done.  Being  a  secretary  in  a  bank  on  Wall 
Street  for  six  years  has  very  little  to  recommend  it.  Aside  from  the 
fact  that  they  don't  pay  you  enough  to  be  glamorous  is  the  un- 
I)leasant  sensation  of  being  interred  in  an  ornate  mausoleum.  Add 
to  this  the  fact  that  I  am  twenty-eight  and  not  getting  any  younger, 
and  the  outlook  is  grim,  to  say  the  least.  But  to  put  the  finishing 
touch  on  the  whole  business,  there  has  to  be  a  man  who  is  no 
longer  all  I  thought  he  was. 

I  tried  for  two  or  three  years  to  pretend  that  Tony  was  not  a 
iieel,  that  he  didn't  drink  too  much  and  that  he  loved  me  just  as 
much  as  he  did  six  years  ago,  when  I  first  met  him.  I  had  some 
wonderful  letters  that  assisted  me  in  this  happy  delusion,  except 
that  they  were  three  years  old.  He  always  said  that  since  the  war, 
what  with  traveling  and  extra  work,  he  didn't  have  time  to  write. 
I  had  a  picture  that  showed  how  handsome  he  was.  I  had  all  those 
things  and  a  sense  of  something  not  quite  right  mixed  in.  Because 
he  had  stopped  writing  and  telephoning  completely— why,  it  was 
two  months  since  I'd  seen  him !  I  had  a  dull  ache  way  inside  just 
thinking  about  him.  Thinking  about  how  he  always  kept  me  wait- 
ing when  I  was  supposed  to  meet  him,  but  when  he  finally  did 
come  striding  toward  me  I  forgot  everything.  He  had  a  way  of 
grabbing  my  hands  and  pulling  me  up  from  my  chair  that  was 
marvelous.  He  was  so  alive  and  exciting. 

Well,  I  had  tried  just  forgetting  him.  I  went  out  and  splurged  on 
a  wonderful  new  spring  suit.  It  was  moss-green  and  soft  as  a  kit- 
ten's ear,  with  a  jacket  that  was  nipped  in  at  the  waist  by  tiny 
tucks  to  match  the  tucked  front  of  the  skirt.  I  had  found  an  ex- 
quisitely simple  white  blouse  that  was  tucked  at  the  throat  and 
just  begging  to  be  worn  with  the  suit.  Then  I  treated  myself  to  a 
hat,  of  course,  a  delectable  confection  of  a  hat  of  the  same  green 
that  perched  over  my  right  eye  and  made  me  look  a  little  wicked. 

But  the  new  clothes  hadn't  helped  me  a  bit.  Here  I  was  sitting 
in  Grand  Central  Station  on  a  lovely  spring  day,  all  done  up  to 
my  ears,  just  wishing  Tony  could  see  me  and  realize  what  he  was 
losing.  Because  he  was  going  to  lose  me.  I  couldn't  stand  the  un- 
certainty any  longer.  I  had  to  fall  out  of  love  with  him,  and  fast. 

The  magazine  article  had  suggested  something  concrete,  any- 
how. Go  to  a  large  railroad  station  and  sit  down  and  watch.  Watch 
the  men  going  by  until  you  find  how  many  have  identical  charac- 
teristics with  the  man  you  love.  Especially  the  one  endearing 
trait  that  caused  you  to  fall  in  love  with  him  in  the  first  place.  The 
idea  seemed  to  be  to  show  up  how  commonplace  the  most  fascinat- 
ing idiosyncrasy  in  your  man  is. 

In  Tony's  case,  it  was  the  way  he  walked.  The  first  thing  I  ever 
noticed  about  Tony  was  the  brisk,  easy  assurance  of  his  walk.  It 
was  like  music.   I  got  so  I  recognized  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 


from  quite  a  distance.  To  watch  him  stride  toward  me  filled  me 
with  excitement  until  I  practically  fluttered  inside,  the  way  au- 
tumn leaves  do  before  a  swift  autumn  wind. 

Now  it  was  two  o'clock.  I  had  been  there  for  an  hour,  staring 
until  my  eyes  ached.  I  was  anxious  and  prepared  to  find  hundreds 
of  duplicates  of  Tony's  walk.  I  wanted  the  men  so  equipped  to  be 
fat  and  bald  and  ugly,  I  think,  but  I  wasn't  clear  whether  this 
would  help  break  the  habit  of  believing  Tony's  walk  was  excep- 
tional or  whether  secretly  it  would  show  up  the  magazine  article 
and  prove  how  very  superior  he  was.  Aside,  of  course,  from  being 
a  heel,  almost  a  drunk  and  a  philanderer.  I  honestly  did  want  to 
get  over  him,  forget  him,  but  actually  it  was  like  deciding  to  do 
away  with  one  of  my  hands. 

Grand  Central  Station  is  vast  and  impressive.  It  echoes  and 
buzzes  with  the  voices  of  hundreds  of  commuters  and  travelers.  It 
throbs  deeply  to  the  steady  tramp  of  feet,  going  and  coming. 
Hundreds  of  people  passed  back  and  forth.  There  were  short  men, 
thin  men,  pale  and  slightly  bald  men,  and  they  shuffled  and 
trotted  and  slouched  and  none  of  them  walked  straight  and  sure 
and  fast  with  the  wonderful  rhythm  Tony  has. 

1  MOVED  after  a  while.  I  roamed  the  mighty  reaches  around  the 
information  desk,  I  prowled  down  the  long  corridors  and  stood  in 
crowds  at  train  gates.  I  saw  every  kind  of  man  you  could  dream  of, 
but  I  didn't  see  one  man  who  was  tall  and  broad-shouldered  and 
lithe,  who  clicked  his  heels  just  the  way  Tony  does. 

I  hung  around  for  another  hour,  and  about  three  o'clock  I  was 
through.  I  walked  back  toward  the  information  desk,  dragging  my 
feet  and  turning  over  in  my  mind  the  phrases  that  would  go  into  a 
letter  to  the  woman  who  wrote  the  "how  to  fall  out  of  love"  arti- 
cle. Because  the  whole  thing  was  a  failure.  There  was  only  one 
Tony;  and  so  all  right,  he  was  a  heel,  he  was  practically  a  drunk 
and  he  loved  all  women  to  the  point  of  confusing  one  with  another 
from  time  to  time,  and  maybe  it  was  a  habit  and  I  was  hanging  on 
like  a  dog  with  a  bone,  but  I  probably  still  loved  him.  Having 
reached  that  conclusion  and  the  information  desk  at  the  same 
time,  I  stopped  to  get  my  bearings  for  the  subway. 

And  in  that  small  pause  I  heard  footsteps,  sharp  clickings  on  the 
stone  floor  behind  me.  It  was  Tony,  of  course;  I  knew  it  must  be 
Tony,  because  no  one  else  walks  like  that.  I  swung  around,  trying 
to  pick  him  out  of  the  crowd,  but  there  wasn't  any  Tony  in  sight. 
A  tall  slender  man  swept  by  me  suddenly  and  the  footsteps  began 
to  recede.  Without  realizing  what  I  was  doing,  I  followed  him.  It 
was  like  walking  in  my  sleep.   I  couldn't  have  stopped  myself. 

He  had  on  a  gabardine  topcoat  and  his  shoulders  were  broad 
and  square.  He  carried  his  head  at  that  slightly  tilted  angle  Tony 
does.  He  walked  with  the  same  swing,  the  same  brisk,  easy  assur- 
ance. Halfway  across  the  huge  station  he  turned,  and  after  com- 
paring his  watch  with  all  the  clocks  in  sight  he  started  back.  I 
trailed  him,  fascinated.  His  face  even  had  the  expression  of  irrita- 
tion Tony  gets  when  everything  isn't  going  as  planned.  I  followed 
him  for  about  five  minutes  before  I  realized  he  was  circling,  pacing 
back  and  forth. 

He  stopped  again  to  look  at  the  clocks  and  light  a  cigarette.  I 
stopped  too.  He  tore  across  the  room  to  one  of  the  long  hallways 
leading  to  the  subway  and  peered  down  it.  I  did  too,  only  I  peered 
at  him.  This  kept  on  for  ten  more  minutes  and  I  didn't  even  no- 
tice time  passing.  I  was  comparing  his  face  with  Tony's  and  hav- 
ing to  admit  that  perhaps  the  chin  was  stronger.  It  didn't  jut  out 
exactly.  It  just  seemed  firm  and  steady.  His  nose  was  straight 
and  his  hair  was  almost  black,  instead  of  light  brown,  like  Tony's. 
His  eyes — suddenly  it  became  important  to  compare  eyes  and  ex- 
pressions. I  closed  in  the  distance  as  we  neared  one  of  the  corners 
of  the  station,  hoping  that  when  he  (Continued  on  Page  124) 


o 


ILLUSTBATEU       BY 


.EX    ROSS 


mm 


^^^^^^H 


THE  night  I  arrived  in  town,  after  two  years 
away,  I  got  no  welcome  from  the  weather. 
There  was  a  wild,  angry  rain,  blown  straight 
off  the  mountains.  That  would  mean  snow  in 
the  high  places;  High  Ridge  Pass  might  even  be 
closed.  I  thought  of  this  because  it  was  natural  to 
think  of  it,  having  lived  here  all  my  life  before  the 
war,  and  being  weather-minded.  I  swear  I  never 
thought  of  its  meaning  any  danger  to  Mary— in 
spite  of  her  job. 

No,  Mary  would  be  safe  at  home,  waiting.  I'd 
written  her  not  to  come  to  the  station.  I  wanted  to 
walk  up  her  front  walk,  as  I  had  a  hundred  times 
before,  give  the  buzzer  a  punch  and  open  the  door. 
And  there  would  be  Mary.  She'd  be  wearing  that 
soft,  blue  dress  I  always  liked  the  most,  and  we'd 
look  at  each  other  a  moment,  just  to  be  sure  it  was 
real,  and  then  her  curly  head  would  thump  against 
my  chest,  and  the  blue  dress  would  take  a  beating, 
which  is  what  any  dress  deserves  for  making  a  girl 
irresistible. 

I  clung  to  this  picture  the  way  a  kid  clings  to 
your  hand  in  the  dark.  Because  I  was  scared.  I 
was  scared  about  Mary  being  changed.  Coming 
home,  I'd  got  all  her  letters  together,  and  read 
them  over  in  order,  and  you  could  see  the  whole 
thing  like  one  of  those  speeded-up  movies — the  life 
of  a  flower,  or  some  such  thing.  First  there's  the 
bud,  then  the  petals  opening  up,  and  the  full 
bloom — all  right  there  under  your  eyes.  I  was 
coming  home  to  a  girl  I  didn't  know. 

Of  course  I  blamed  it  all  on  her  job.  And  I  could 
have  kicked  myself — because  I  was  the  one  who 
had  taught  Mary  to  drive  a  car. 

I  know  there's  been  a  lot  of  talk  back  here  about 
how  different  the  boys  are  going  to  be  when  they 
get  back  home.  Pieces  in  the  magazines — Mary 
sent  me  a  couple — about  how  the  things  we've  been 
through  will  have  changed  us  and  roughed  us  up, 
and  made  us  as  easy  to  handle  as  a  mad  hornet. 
So  they  ladle  out  the  advice — to  wives  and  mothers 
and  sweethearts — on  how  to  pick  us  up  gingerly, 
remove  the  sting  and  start  working  us  over  until 
we're  human  again. 

But  I  don't  recall  any  of  us  worried  much  about 
adjusting  to  home  life.  One  hot  bath  and  a  Sunday 
morning  in  bed  with  the  funnies  would  do  the  trick. 
We  had  only  one  real  problem  under  the  sun — to 
win  the  war  and  get  home.  When  we  did  any  fancy 
worrying,  it  was  about  what  was  happening  to 
our  women. 

I  WORRIED  about  Mary.  We  were  engaged  when  I 
left  home,  and  if  I'd  so  much  as  cocked  an  eye- 
brow, we'd  have  been  married.  In  those  days, 
what  I  said  went.  But  since  I  was  ten  I've  been 
staggering  around  under  a  king-size  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility. It's  crossed  up  my  fun  more  than  a 
harelip.  I'm  the  guy  that  says,  "Business  before 
pleasure";  and  "Hey,  fellas,  how  about  getting 
back  to  work? "  and  "  Isn't  it  time  we  go  home  and 
catch  up  on  some  sleep?"  So  I  said  to  Mary,  no, 
we'd  better  wait  till  after  the  war.  Maybe  we'd  be 
a  couple  of  different  people.  But  I  couldn't  imagine 
anything  being  different  about  Mary  except  the 
number  of  candles  on  her  birthday  cake. 

Mary  was  the  sweetest,  most  irresponsible,  slap- 
happy  little  dope  this  side  of  heaven.  To  Mary,  the 
only  possible  course  of  action  was  what  appealed 
at  the  moment. 

We'd  be  wheeling  along  in  my  old  car,  home  late 
from  Riverside  Amusement  Park,  my  arm  around 
her  and  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  she'd  go  on 
something  like  this: 

"George  Foster,  turn  the  car  around  this  min- 
ute! I  just  remembered— we  left  before  they 
played  our  piece.  We  can't  go  home  till  we've 
danced  to  our  piece— turn  around!" 

"Nope.  Too  late." 

"Then  let's  stop  for  a  hamburg.  I  don't  feel  like 
going  home.  Please,  George,  let's  stop  for  a  bite." 


"Nope— it's  near  one  o'clock.  You  know  how 
your  mother  is.  You,  I  can't  lose,  but  I've  worked 
on  your  mother." 

According  to  the  books,  this  should  have  put  me 
right  in  line  to  be  smeared  by  the  first  romantic 
lead  that  came  along.  But  that  wasn't  how  Mary 
felt.  The  way  Mary  felt  was  highly  satisfactory  to 
us  both.  She'd  sigh  and  snuggle  down,  and  say  in 
a  throaty  little  gurgle: 

"George,  promise  you>'ll  never  try  to  kiss  me  on  a 
roller  coaster  again.  I  might  blow  a  fuse.  It's  like 
A.C.  and  D.C.  current  at  the  same  time." 

Mary  didn't  know  much  about  electricity,  but 
she  knew  what  she  meant,  and  so  did  I. 

Now  about  the  xar.  When  I  started  teaching 
Mary  to  drive,  I  tried  to  give  her  an  idea  of  what 
happened  under  the  hood  as  well  as  in  the  driver's 
seat.  She  listened  to  this  the  way  you  listen  to  ad- 
vertising jingles  on  the  radio,  with  a  kind  of  absent, 
suffering  look  on  her  face,  her  eyes  large  and 
dreamy.  But  she  learned  to  drive,  all  right.  Her 
hands  and  feet  learned. 

After  a  week  she  was  slamming  my  little  car 
around  town  as  if  she  was  born  in  it,  and  I'd  be 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  seat  beside  her,  thinking. 
Well,  she's  not  bad!  She's  quick  on  the  getaway. 
And  I'd  feel  kind  of  proud  and  surprised.  That's 
the  thing  to  remember;  I  was  the  one  who  taught 
her  to  drive. 

When  I  left  to  go  overseas,  it  seemed  natural 
enough  to  leave  the  car  with  Mary  and  her  mother. 
They  were  alone,  and  lived  a  ways  out  of  town,  and 
could  use  it.  I  remember  Mary  said  something 
about  getting  a  war  job — the  car  might  come  in 
handy.  I  said  "Swell,"  and  vaguely  thought  of  her 
rolling  bandages  or  canning  vegetables — something 
girlish  and  harmless  like  that. 

I  think  it  was  in  her  third  V-mail  letter  that  she 
told  me  about  the  job.  At  first — so  help  me — I 
thought  it  was  a  pure-and-simple  gag.  She  wrote 
that  she  had  passed  her  state  operator's  exam,  and 
was  going  to  work  for  the  Inter-Mountain  Bus 
Company.   She  was  going  to  run  a  bus — Mary! 

I  read  this  aloud  to  a  couple  of  friends,  chuckling. 
I  stopped  to  explain  that  Mary  weighed  a  hundred 
and  eight  pounds,  and  that  she  could  put  both  her 
hands  in  my  coat  pocket  without  making  a  bulge. 
Was  it  likely  that  a  busful  of  people  in  their  right 
minds  would  entrust  their  lives  to  Mary  over 
ticklish  mountain  passes?   Was  it? 

It  wasn't  a  gag.  Her  letters  began  to  get  cocky. 
She  was  good;  she  admitted  it.  She'd  been  pro- 
moted to  the  main  route,  with  a  big  forty-seater 
under  her.  She  took  in  High  Ridge  Pass  at  11,100 
feet  on  the  Continental  Divide.  Her  schedule  never 
varied  five  minutes — a  better  record  than  the  man 
who  had  the  run  before  her  had  ever  made. 

"What  do  you  think  of  your  canary  now?"  she 
had  crowed  at  the  end  of  this  letter. 

Maybe  that  was  liow  it  happened.  I  was  so  wor- 
ried about  Mary  that  I  carelessly  ran  into  a  piece 
of  shrapnel,  and  after  two  years,  and  an  eternity 
in  a  hospital,  they  shipped  me  home. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  station.  That  was  ail 
right:  my  folks  had  moved  away,  and  no  one  in 
town  knew  I  was  coming  except  Mary  and  her 
mother.  I  checked  my  bag,  and  went  into  the 
men's  room  to  slick  up.  In  the  mirror  over  the 
washbasin  I  could  see  that  my  face  was  thinner 
and  my  shoulders  bigger  than  when  I  went  away. 
There  was  a  dark  smudge  on  my  upper  lip  where  I 
hadn't  shaved  for  a  couple  of  days.  I'd  thought 
about  growing  a  mustache,  just  to  show  I  was  a  big 
boy  now,  but  I'd  get  Mary's  okay  on  it  first. 

I  combed  my  hair  and  looked  over  my  finger- 
nails and  even  weighed  myself  on  a  penny  machine. 
I  was  stalling  around  as  though  I  had  some  ordeal 
ahead  of  me.  Then  I  caugiu  sight  of  a  calendar  on 
the  wall  with  a  picture  {CotUimieJ  on  Page  lOI) 


23 


I.  U  H  T  It    \  T  t:  I)       II  V       W  A  1.  T  K  R       11  A  U  H  M  O  V  h  H 


m\\  IS  IT  so  HARD  FOR  \  MAI  TO  LOVE  \  HEROINE? 


npi^p^PT^p^piv^nB^av 


mo/mni/u  Amem  Ami  —  me 
/te/d  Aim  aam/fUl^  Aeit^  ^t  ^eaU 
'I:      cmd  iw:A€d  Amt  la^  cmd  ^r^ 
ana  cai/ec/ /lim  lu  /ui  w'aA/no/me. 


X 


THERE  were  blue  asters  in  bloom,  and  bouquet 
chrysanthemums  and  butterfly  flowers  and  dia- 
mond flowers  and  even  cemetery  plants.  You'd 
think,  maybe,  that  Cricket,  being  a  Negro — and 
a  little  one  at  that — wouldn't  notice  such  things  and 
remember  them  for  seventy-five  years.  But  he  did. 
Cricket  told  me  there  was  a  musk  plant,  too,  sweet- 
smelling,  yellow  and  red  and  brown.  I  have  looked 
around  and  asked  about  and  I  still  can't  find  out  what 
a  musk  plant  was. 

Cricket  told  about  the  woman  in  the  Big  House. 
She  wore  a  blue  challis  skirt  (the  same  blue  as  the 
blue  asters)  and  the  bodice  had  white  beading  lattice- 
work about  the  shoulders.  She  wore  an  old  leghorn 
hat  when  she  directed  the  work  in  the  rose  garden. 
She  would  sit  in  a  white  iron  seat  under  the  big  oaks 
and  lay  off  the  hat  onto  her  lap,  and  her  hair  would 
be  plastered  in  little  flat  tendrils  on  her  brow.  Once 
he  heard  her  say  a  thing  he  was  still  wondering  over 
when  he  was  an  old  man.  She  was  talking  with  old 
Doctor  Loaner.  "I  doubt  a  man  ever  loves  a  woman 
as  much  as  she  loves  him,"  Miss  Florence  said,  and 
old  Doctor  Loaner  made  no  reply.  Cricket  was  still 
wondering  over  that  when  he  was  an  old  man  and 
was  telling  me  all  this  story. 

The  black  folks  heard  word  that  if  you'd  steal  away 
to  Blackshear  or  Valdosta  or  Savannah,  to  the  camps 
of  the  Union  soldiers  there,  the  soldiers  would  free 
you.  But  then  you  heard,  too,  that  nobody  except 
them  that  was  twenty-one  would  be  taken  into  the 
camps;  the  patteroles  would  catch  up  with  little  boys 
and  bring  'em  back. 

The  reason  Cricket  was  alone  in  the  world  was  that 
in  these  hard  times  when  you  took  a  cook  you  didn't 
want  to  feed  her  family  too.  And  women  always  seem 
to  have  a  passel  of  children  hanging  on  to  their  skirts, 
black  women  and  white  women;  it  always  was,  it  al- 
ways will  be.  "Women  was  bom  to  have  childum," 
Cricket  said.  "You  kain't  help  but  have  childurn  if 
you  love  a  man,  and  most  women  do,  black  women 


and  white  women.  They  always  have;  reckon  they 
always  will." 

Back  in  those  days  you  sont  your  children  off,  even 
if  they  weren't  but  six  years  old  or  so,  them  that  was 
old  enough  at  all  to  work  for  their  victuals,  raking 
leaves  or  rubbing  silver,  bringing  in  stovewood  or  the 
likes.  That's  how  Cricket  happened  to  be  where  he 
was,  but  he  had  been  changed  around  and  swapped 
about,  here  and  yonder,  through  ever  so  long  a  time 
sinee  mammy  had  got  him  a  place.  Time  is  long  when 
you  are  a  little  fellow.  Even  a  little  fellow  can  chop 
enough  cotton  to  earn  his  meal  and  salt,  and  he  can 
pick  cotton  as  big  as  the  next  one  and  better,  because 
he's  nearer  down  to  the  cotton  and  won't  have  to  bend 
his  back  to  breaking  down  a  long  row. 

It's  a  hard  thing  to  get  enough  to  eat  in  this  world, 
even  if  you're  little  and  don't  eat  much.  It  always 
was,  it  always  will  be,  reckon,  white  and  black.  A 
many  and  a  many  a  day  Cricket  chopped  cotton  on 
nothing  to  eat  but  corn  bread  smeared  with  lard,  but 
corn  bread  is  good-tasting  if  you're  hungry. 

He  was  about  six  when  this  happened,  he  said,  but 
he  couldn't  be  right  shore.  All  he  knew  was  that  he 
was  born  some  little  time  before  Freedom.  Cricket 
never  said  that  he  had  a  hard  time.  "I  was  like  every- 
body else,"  he  said,  "but  a  sight  luckier  than  most." 

There  were  a  lot  of  good  things,  even  back  then, 
even  when  they  had  to  work  in  new  ground,  grubbing 
out  palmetto  roots  and  piling  and  burning  them.  If 
you  were  lucky,  the  overseer  might  send  you  down  to 
the  river  to  bring  up  a  bucket  of  cold  water  for  the 
rest  of  the  hands,  for  instance. 

He  eased  his  dusty  feet  into  the  black  water;  the 
soles  of  his  feet  were  nigh  about  as  white  as  a  white 
boy's.  He  just  sat  and  looked  a  while.  Behind  him 
was  a  thick  screen  of  growth  to  hide  him  from  the 
overseer  out  yonder  in  the  bleaking  sun  of  the  hew 
ground.  It  was  as  though  time  meant  nothing  here, 
or  anywhere.  A  clock's  hands  go  around  and  around 
in  the  same  place.  (Continued  on  Fage  163) 


ViUnUU  MILLGIt 


t 


ILLUSTRATED 


y 


II 


27 


Ct^S 


mnw 


S^TUnfi^  0^(1^ 


■LARENCE  COCHEMS  felt  terrible  that  day 
he  got  that  nice  letter  from  his  brother  Ed  who 
lived  upstate  and  had  for  a  long  time.  The  let- 
ter stated  why  not  arrange  for  it  and  come  up 
there  and  go  on  a  fiching  trip  just  the  two  of  them 
and  maybe  a  good  time  even  and  what's  the  use  if 
you  can't  have  a  little  fun  (clean)  once  in  a  while. 
Now  Clarence  really  wanted  to  do  this  but  he 
knew  that  when  you  really  wanted  to  do  something 
in  this  world  was  just  the  time  you  were  not  sup- 
posed to  do  it  (Rule  1)  and  so  that  night  at  dinner 
with  his  wife,  Pearl  Cochems,  his  son,  Louis  (8), 
and  his  brother-in-law,  Joe  Dillon  (17),  he  spoke 
as  follows: 

"What's  the  sense  of  it  with  everything  going  on 
in  the  world  today  pass  the  beans.  It  puts  me  in 
an  awful  spot  because  blood  is  thicker  than  water 
with  Ed  my  own  brother  and  not  any  too  well  these 
past  few  years  and  anybody  can  look  at  Ed  and 
see  his  asthma." 

Pearl  Cochems  said,  "Quit  beefin',  honey.  Go  if 
Ed  wants  you  and  if  we  can't  do  somebody  eke  a 
favor,  why  are  we  livin'?" 

Joe  Dillon  said,  "Get  your  rod  and  reel,  Arence- 
clay  (Latin)  and  start  cookin'  with  gas  on  the  fish 
fry.  I  knew  a  fellow  once  that  got  cured  of  asthma 
on  a  fishing  trip  and  fish  besides." 
Louis  said,  "Take  me"  (as  usual). 
So  this  way  Clarence  was  able  to  go  and  he  went 
feeling  pretty  good  about  it  because  there  were  a 
few  things  he  could  worry  about  while  gone  and 
every  one  of  these  things  was  named  Joe  Dillon. 

When  Clarence  Cochems  married  into  the  Dillon 
family  he  knew  he  was  making  a  mistake  but  he 
went  right  ahead  and  did  it  anyway  (love).  As 
years  passed  he  had  to  remind  himself  on  several 
occasions  that  when  you  have  buttered  your  bread 
you  must  lie  on  it  (Rule  2)  because  at  the  time  he 
did  it  he  had  something  (a  hunch)  that  not  only 
was  he  marrying  Pearl  Dillon  but  he  was  also 
marrying  Kate,  Velma,  Leo,  Moi  -a  (too  many) 
but  most  of  all  he  was  marrying  Joe  Dillon  (he's 
our  baby). 

The  main  reason  Clarence  did  not  wish  to  be 
married  to  all  these  people  was  because  not  one  of 
them  knew  the  first  thing  about  a  very  important 
subject  and  one  which  is' 
bound  to  come  up  all  the 
time  (life)  but  thought  it 
was  one  bed  of  roses 
and  one  big  gag.  Clar- 
ence knew  different 
as  he  had  had  expe- 
rience with  it  ofif 
and  on  from  the 
time  he  was  small 
(once).  When 
speaking  of  it, 
Clarence  al- 
ways said: 
''She's  a 
pretty  tough 
proposition. 
That's  what 
she  is." 


But  out  of  all  the  Dillons  the  one  which  knew  the 
least  about  her  was  Joe  Dillon  (he's  our  baby). 

From  the  time  Joe  was  born  all  the  Dillons  spent 
quite  a  bit  of  time  telling  him  he  was  wonderful. 
They  liked  the  way  he  walked  (upright)  and  they 
liked  the  way  he  talked  (English)  and  the  way  he 
smiled  (always)  but  none  of  this  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  fact  Joe  was  related  to  them  because 
they  said  it  didn't.  What  they  said  was: 

"It  is  not  because  Joe  is  our  baby  but  any 
stranger  could  see  that  kid  is  a  honey  and  don't 
you  think  so  too,  honey?" 

So  by  the  time  Joe  was  seventeen  he  was  already 
believing  all  this  stuff  because  he  knew  that  from 
your  own  family  is  where  you  get  the  truth  and  lots 
of  it.  Joe  thought  everybody  was  super  (Clarence 
too)  and  the  only  people  he  did  not  have  this  opin- 
ion of  were  those  people  he  had  not  met  yet. 

Joe  always  assumed  that  when  he  wanted  some- 
thing he  would  just  naturally  get  it  and  he  usually 
did.  So  this  way  he  was  able  to  have  a  pretty  high 
opinion  of  her  (life)  and  everybody  in  her  (people) 
and  because  he  felt  this  way  he  could  not  bear  for 
anybody  to  feel  sad  or  lonesome  or  unhappy  but  in 
order  to  make  them  feel  good  he  had  to  give  up 
something  (facts)  which  he  did  not  particularly 
care  for  anyway  because  they  were  so  limiting  and 
no  fun  in  a  carload  of  them. 

That  fall  Joe  came  to  live  with  Pearl  and  Clarence 
and  go  to  high  school  where  he  wore  his  five  slip- 
over sweaters  and  his  two  pair  of  white  corduroy 
pants  and  his  blue-jean  jacket  with  the  girls'  names 
and  the  girls'  faces  painted  all  over  the  back  and 
things  in  quotation  marks  like  "Start  jiving"  and 
"Give  it  the  gam-gam"  and  "Are  you  a  super? 
dooper." 

Clarence  did  not  like  the  arrangement  much  be- 
cause in  their  approach  to  her  (life)  he  knew  one 
of  them  was  wrong  and  he  knew  it  was  not  himself 
so  he  worried  about  Joe  because  as  he  said : 

"I  like  the  kid.  I  would  even  like  him  to  turn 
out  all  right." 

Clarence  Cochems  read  meters  for  the  gas  com- 
pany and  Pearl  Cochems  read  detective  stories. 
Clarence  never  stayed  home  in  bad  weather  letting 
on  like  he  had  a  cold  (Rule  3).  When  he  talked 
about  the  gas  company  he  talked  like  there  was 
two  gas  companies,  saying  things  like  "We  feel 

down  to  the  office "  or  "Our  policy  in  regards 

to  which " 

When  Clarence  spoke  like  this  Joe  would  say, 
"'We?'  What  doyou  mean 'we,' Arenceclay?  Do 
you  by  any  chance  have  a  canary  bird  in  your  vest 
pocket?" 

And  then  Clarence  would  make  up  his  mind 
again  that  he  better  do  something  about  Joe's  slant 
or  else  the  kid  would  end  up  in  the  electric  chair. 

Because  Joe  did  not  even  stick  to  facts  when  he 
answered  the  telephone,  picking  up  the  receiver 
and  saying  "Murphy's  Laundry"  or  "Ossawat- 
amie  Wire  and  Water  Works"  or  maybe  even 
"World  Wide  Bakery — one  of  the  crumbs  talkin'." 
Clarence  felt  Joe  should  not  do  this  because  it  was 
not  a  laundry  or  a  water  works  or  a  bakery  it  was 
Chesterfield  4566  and  besides  it  might  be  one  of  us 


down  to  our  office  calling  us  about  our  business. 
And  to  make  it  worse  Louis  (8)  would  laugh  (what's 
funny?)  and  Pearl  would  say,  "Don't  let  it  get 
you  down,  honey.  You  know  Joe." 

Clarence  did  know  Joe  but  he  would  have  felt 
better  about  knowing  him  if  he  had  been  some- 
body else.  Clarence  knew  if  you  kept  all  the  rules 
the  way  you  ended  up  was  just  like  that  rich  old 
Mrs.  Paepcke  who  lived  in  a  fifteen-room  house 
down  the  street  with  a  chauffeur  to  carry  in  her 
groceries,  money  in  the  bank  and  no  installments 
and  able  to  keep  right  on  living  where  you  wanted 
no  matter  how  old  and  run-down  the  neighborhood 
had  got  with  time  (Mrs.  Paepcke  too). 

And  if  you  didn't  keep  the  rules  a  big  black  thing 
like  a  catastrophe  of  course  would  someday  jump 
at  you  from  behind  a  bush  and  he  did  not  want 
that  to  happen  to  Joe  especially  when  he  was  not 
around  to  say,  "  I  told  you,  Joe.  I  told  you  she  was 
a  pretty  tough  proposition." 

So  one  day  when  Clarence  had  been  gone  about 
two  weeks  Joe  slept  late  and  he  had  to  do  this  for 
the  reason  he  was  dreaming  a  dream  he  was  at  a 
breakfast  jam  session  where  among  those  playing 
were  Jimmy  Dorsey,  Tommy  Dorsey,  Harry  James, 
Artie  Shaw  and  others.  He  looked  at  the  clock  and 
he  knew  he  would  have  to  do  one  of  two  things- 
hurry  like  everything  to  rake  the  lawn  first  and 
get  to  school  on  time  (nerve-racking)  or  not  hurry 
and  just  get  to  school  (O.K.). 

So  he  came  down  to  breakfast  humming  and 
humming  and  there  sat  his  sister  Pearl  just  like 
Clarence  in  one  way — never  shirking  her  work  but 
staying  right  with  it  (detective  stories)  but  this 
morning  she  was  also  looking  like  every  tooth  in 
her  head  had  just  been  pulled  out  by  the  roots 
(impacted).  She  said: 

"Hello,  honey.  Here's  your  eggs  and  I  will  get 
more  if  necessary  but  don't  ask  me  to  have  any- 
thing with  you  because  I  have  that  old  heartburn 
again  and  there  must  be  something  radically  wrong 
with  my  system  always  having  it  and  nobody  else 
in  our  family  with  it  and  what  have  I  ever  done 
and  somebody  must  have  it  in  for  me  maybe  even 
the  Almighty." 

Joe  said,  "Heartburn?  What's  heartburn?  I 
have  it  all  the  time  and  right  now  too.  Kate  has 
it,  Leo  has  it,  Velma  has  it.  Lookit  how  slow  it 
makes  me  with  these  eggs  even  pass  the  jam." 

Pearl  said,  "They  do?" 

Joe  said,  "Sure." 

Pearl  said,  "Funny  they  never  mentioned  it  to 
me." 

Joe  said,  "Who  wants  to  talk  about  it  all  the 
time?  I've  had  it  three  months  steady  now  and 
never  crackin'  off  about  it.  There's  other  things  to 
talk  about  pass  the  toast,  pass  the  sugar,  pass  the 
cream." 

Pearl  reached  for  a  piece  of  toast  herself.  "Have 
one  of  these  rolls,  Joey,  and  there's  another  thing 
for  instance." 

"Yeah,"  said  Joe,  "what  for  instance?" 

Pearl  said,  "I  picked  up  the  morning  paper  and 
seen  where  Fred  Michaels    (Continued  on  Page  H8) 


JOE  BELIEVED  HE  WAS  WONDERFUL  BECAUSE  FROM 

YOUR  OWN  FAMILY  IS  WHERE  YOU  GET  THE  TRUTH. 


<n 


28 


I 


WITH  one  hand,  Candy  fed  her  son  oat- 
meal ;  in  the  other  she  held  a  letter  which 
had  come  in  the  morning  mail,  and 
which  she  was— with  difficulty— read- 
ing. Pale  sunshine  lay  across  the  breakfast 
table  and  sparkled  on  David's  hot-water  dish. 
The  only  sound  was  the  crackle  of  Bill's  news- 
paper and  David  saying  "More!"  between 
mouthfuls. 

The  letter  was  headed  The  Farm,  St.  Sim- 
eon's, Long  Island,  and  it  said: 

Candy  dear:  Can  you  and  Bill  possibly  come 
down  and  spend  next  week  end  with  us?  Quite 
aside  from  the  fact  that  we  haven't  seen  you  in 
weeks,  I  need  you  desperately.  It's  all  very  pe- 
culiar and  I'll  explain  when  I  see  you,  but  I  seem 
to  have  gotten  involved  with  the  great  Max  Atlas, 
who  is  going  to  be  here  too.  He's  going  to  buy 
Pegasus  for  vast  sums  and  he  wants  me  to  go  to 
Hollywood  and  work  on  it,  and  George  and  I  are 
not  seeing  eye  to  eye.  Please  come  and  cheer  us 
up.  Serena  Perry  will  be  here  too.  The  2:46  on 
Saturday  is  a  good  train  and  we'll  meet  it.  My 
love  to  Bill.  Yours, 

Pan. 

P.  S.  If  your  Irish  Ellen  should  be  unavailable, 
bring  David.  We'll  put  him  in  a  loose  box. 

P.  S.  2.  In  case  I  haven't  made  it  clear,  things 
are  not  so  good.  This  is  sort  of  an  SOS. 

Candy  reread  the  second  postscript  with  a 
creeping  sensation  of  dismay.  What  on  earth 
could  be  happening?  She  had  worked  all  the 
previous  summer  to  get  Pan  and  George 
Deming  married,  and  now,  having  achieved  it, 
she  felt  as  though  their  happiness  had  become 
her  responsibility.  Besides,  she  was  fond  of 
them.  /  won't  have  them  all  mixed  up,  she 
thought  angrily. 

And  yet,  on  the  face  of  it.  Pan  and  George 
Deming  were  the  last  couple  in  the  world  to 
worry  about.  Pan  had  been  that  Pandora 
Peters,  the  girl  who  had  flown  all  over  the 
world  and  come  back  to  write  a  best  seller: 
Pegasus  is  a  Lady.  Besides  being  intelligent, 
she  was  blond  and  charming.  And  George 
Deming,  who  had  been  in  love  with  her  for 
years,  was  the  publisher  of  the  brilliant  news- 
paper. Meridian.  They  were  a  remarkable 
couple.  And  something  was  going  wrong. 

Candy  looked  up,  her  eyes  troubled.  "Bill." 

"H'm?"  said  the  newspaper. 

"Bill— listen!" 

"O.K.  Wait  a  second." 

Candy  looked  at  the  top  of  his  head  and 
decided  grimly  that  it  was  about  time  she 
started  a  little  program  of  reform.  Bill's  reform. 


There  were  several  things,  -small  in  them- 
selves, perhaps 

At  this  moment,  David  decided  to  recall 
himself  to  his  parents  by  scooping  up  a  hand- 
ful of  cereal  and  hurling  it  into  space.  It  was 
several  minutes  before  Candy  could  return  to 
her  letter;  by  then  David  had  begun  to  ham- 
mer his  tin  tray  with  his  spoon. 

Bill  put  down  his  paper.  "That  child  has  all 
the  tender  charm  of  a  cement  mixer,"  he  ob- 
served. 

Candy  felt  her  patience  slipping  away  like 
sand  through  an  hourglass.  She  removed 
David's  spoon  firmly  and  forestalled  an  ear- 
splitting  protest  by  replacing  it  with  a  large 
piece  of  buttery  toast. 

"His  habits,"  she  said  tightly,  "are  very 
little  worse  than  your  own.  So  far." 

"My  habits?"  Bill  was  affronted.  "You 
sound  as  though  I  smoked  opium  or  some- 
thing. What  do  I  do?" 

"You  read  your  paper  all  through  break- 
fast," Candy  said,  and  was  surprised  at  the 
chill  in  her  own  voice.  "You  just  drop  your 
shirts  on  the  floor  and  never  put  them  in  the 
laundry  hamper.  You — you— the  way  you 
sit " 

He  looked  stunned.  "The  way  I  sit?" 

"The  way  you  sit  is  awful,"  Candy  told 
him  passionately.  "Either  you  lie  on  your 
shoulder  blades  with  your  feet  in  the  middle 
of  the  xoom— anybody  s  room — or  else  you 
hang  your  legs  over  the  side  of  the  chair  and 
your  trousers  slide  up  and  your  legs  show.  It's 
revolting." 

"I  have  beautiful  legs,"  Bill  said  defiantly. 
Candy  shut  her  lips  tightly,  and  Bill  inquired 
deftly,  "By  the  way,  who's  your  letter  from?" 

She  took  a  deep  breath.  "It's  from  Pan. 
She  wants  us  to  go  down  next  week  end." 

"Fine."  He  sounded  pleased.  Then  he 
glanced  at  his  son,  who  was  eating  his  way  out 
of  his  toast.  "Do  we  take  Lord  Chesterfield 
with  us?" 

"No.  I  can  get  Ellen.  .  .  .  Bill,  there's 
something  the  matter  with  the  Demings.  I 
think  George  is  up  to  his  old  tricks." 

"You  can't  put  an  old  dog  into  new  bottles," 
Bill  said  sagely. 

Candy  ignored  him.  "Well,  I  think  George 
had  better  be  careful.  He  takes  Pan  down  to 
Long  Island,  buries  her  alive  on  a  farm,  and 
expects  her  to  be  happy.  A  girl  like  Pan!" 

"No  girl  is  ever  really  happy  buried  alive," 
Bill  agreed.   Candy  looked   at   him   coldly. 


"Doesn't  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  a  woman 
might  sometimes  get  a  little  tired  of  being  just 
a  good  wife  and  nothing  else?" 

Bill  got  up,  folded  the  paper  and  kissed  the 
top  of  her  head.  "  It's  the  end  of  winter,  sweet. 
Pretty  soon  it'll  be  spring,  and  then  you'll  feel 
better." 

Candy  bent  forward  suddenly,  drawn  like 
a  pin  to  a  magnet  by  the  newspaper  on  the 
table.  The  advertisement  said  that  it  was  the 
Utterly  Desirable  Sports  Dress,  and  Candy 
agreed.  Greedily  she  read  the  rest  of  the  se- 
ductive copy,  and  gave  a  long  sigh  that  ended 
in  a  groan. 

"What's  the  matter — indigestion?"  Bill 
inquired  solicitously. 

Candy  shook  her  head  sadly.  "Love." 

Bill  looked  startled  and  gratified.  "Me?" 

She  shook  her  head'again.  "You  can  be  very 
attractive— when  you  try — but  you're  not  a 
cloud-soft,  winter-white  sports  dress,  are  you? 
With  a  brown  calf  belt?  Size  sixteen?" 

Bill  said  pettishly,  "I'm  cloud-soft  and 
winter-white  and  I  have  a  brown  calf  belt. 
Can  I  help  it  if  I'm  a  thirty-eight?"  He  went 
out  into  the  hall  and  got  his  coat  and  hat,  and 
Candy  stared  dreamily  into  space. 

"I  haven't  had  a  new  dress  since  Pan's 
wedding  in  September,  and  here  it  is  February, 
almost  March." 

"That  was  a  nice  dress,"  Bill  said  cordially, 
from  the  hall.  "Very  pretty  shade  of  green." 

"That  dress,"  Candy  said  icily,  "was  gray. 
You  kept  telling  me  how  much  you  liked  the 
color." 

"So  I  did."  He  opened  the  front  door. 
"Now  don't  worry  about  a  new  dress,  sweet. 
You  look  fine  just  the  way  you  are.  'By!" 
The  door  slammed. 

"More ! "  said  David,  who  was  covered  with 
butter. 

Candy  eyed  him  critically.  "You  look  as 
though  you  were  planning  to  swim  the  Eng- 
lish Channel.  Now  you  play  right  here  in  your 
pen,  while  mommy  washes  the  dishes  and 
dusts  the  dining  room  and  makes  the  bed  and 
writes  out  a  marketing  list  and  does  about  a 
thousand  other  things  I'm  tired  of  doing.  End 
of  winter!  I  wishit  were  the  end  of  the  world." 

Then  she  looked  down  at  David's  round 
yellow  head,  like  a  duckling's  in  the  sunshine, 
and  remorse  knifed  her.  Of  course  she  wished 
no  such  thing.  This  is  my  life,  and  who  could 
ask  for  a  better  one?  Nothing,  she  thought  pro- 
foundly, nothing  (Continued  on  Page  108 


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CECILY— Andre  Durant's  wife— lay  dead  there 
in  the  starlight  and  Bill  Cameron  was  accusing 
Mamy  Sanderson  of  the  murder.  Charlie 
Ingram  came  along,  his  monocle  like  one  bright 
eye.  and  took  Mamy  back  to  the  house  where  Tim 
Wales,  his  beautiful  wife  Judith,  his  athletically 
attractive  daughter  Winnie  and  Andre  EXirant 
were  having  cocktails. 

Charlie  Ingram  gasped,  "Girl.  Saw  her.  She — 
well,  she's  your  wife,  Andre.  Sorry,  old  chap. 
She's— dead." 

Andre  went  white.  Judith  choked  back  a  scream. 
Winnie  knelt  beside  Andre  and  cradled  his  head 
in  her  arms.  Tim  called  the  police. 

Bill  Cameron  came  in.  and  Mamy  shuddered. 
Andre  cornered  hmi:  "Who  killed  her?"  But 
Cameron  said.  "I  don't  know."  Mamy  wondered 
what  were  his  private  thoughts. 

Laideau,  who  had  rowed  Cecily  over  to  Shadow 
Island,  came  to  answer  police  questions.  Andre 
said  he  didn't  know  his  wife  was  on  the  island. 
Judith  confirmed  this  by  saying.  "He  was  with 
me."  Winnie  had  been  dressing  and  arranging 
flowers  on  the  dining  table,  she  said. 

After  the  police  left  and  everyone  went  to  bed, 
Tim  Wales  came  to  Marny's  room.  "Andre  killed 
Cecily."  he  said,  "and  Judith  gave  him  an  alibi. 
I'd  like  to  kill  him,  Mamy." 

When  Tim  left.  Mamy  tried  to  sleep.  But  a 
shadow  moved  across  her  door  and  Laideau.  fully 
dressed,  walked  in,  looking  incredibly  ugly  and 
sinister.  He  stood  over  her  and  said.  "We've 
talked  it  over.  Andre  and  I.  He  wants  to  know  how 
much  you  will  give  us  not  to  tell  the  police  that  you 
killed  Cecily." 

X 

The  hour  was  silent;  the  night  beyond  that  open 
door  was  still  and  black.  There  was  no  sound  any- 
where e.xcept  the  droning  buzz  of  one  of  the  night 
moths  fluttering  against  the  screen,  trying  to  get 
at  the  light  beside  her. 

("An  unsavory  pair,"  Tim  had  said.)  Laideau 
and  Andre.  Andre! 

Laideau's  great,  big-knuckled  hands  clasped  the 
railing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  His  small  eyes 
flickered  toward  the  door  into  the  hall  and  then 
came  back  to  her.  "You're  supposed  to  be  a  smart 
woman.  Andre  told  me.  You  may  be  smart  enough 
about  business;  you're  going  to  learn  something 
now.  though,  about  people." 

About  people?  About  Andre.  About  herself. 

She  was  cold.  She  pulled  up  the  silk  blanket 
cover  and  huddled  it  around  her  shoulders,  staring 
at  Laideau. 

"Cecily  threatened  you  with  that  gun.  You  told 
Andre  all  about  it.  Women  always  tell  him  things. 
Women  are  fools  about  him.  But  I'll  say  that 
Cecily  told  me.  I'll  say  that  Andre  told  her  he  was 
going  to  get  rid  of  her;  leave  her  and  marry  you. 
She  threatened  you  and  you  got  her  to  leave.  I'll 
say  that  she  told  me  all  about  it  in  the  boat;  then 


she  made  me  turn  around  and  come  back.  I'll  say 
that  I  left  her  at  the  pier;  I  didn't  want  to  be  mixed 
up  in  anything,  so  I  rowed  down  past  the  point 
where  there  are  trees,  and  I  waited  there  for  a 
while.  Then  I  decided  she  wasn't  coming,  so  I  went 
home.  You  see.  my  story  is  complete.  Andre's 
clever;  I'm  not.  But  I'm  useful  to  him." 

She  whispered,  her  lips  dr>'  and  stiff.  "  I  didn't 
kill  her.   I  won't  be  blackmailed." 

"Blackmail  is  not  a  pretty  word,  dear  young 
lady.  Blackmail  and  murder.  You  have  money. 
-Andre  said  so.  Tim  Wales  has  money.  If  you  don't 
have,  you  can  get  it.  Don't  forget  what  it  means 
to  you:  she  threatened  you  with  a  revolver;  it  was 
your  life  or  hers.  And  you  wanted  Andre." 

"I  don't — I  didn't."  But  she  had.  she  thought 
sickeningly  to  herself.  Hadn't  she?  She  had  at 
least  come  close  enough  to  it  to  consider  senously 
whether  or  not  she  was  in  love  with  Andre. 

He  laughed  without  making  any  sound,  his  pale 
mouth  jerking  upward.  "Don't  tell  me  that.  They 
always  want  him.  Well— think  it  over.  We'll  give 
you  till  tomorrow." 

1}  you  can't  think  and  don't  know  what  to  do,  stick 
to  the  rules.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  do  and 
say.  and  someone  outside  herself  seemed  to  tell 
her  what  that  thing  was.  'I'm  going  to  tell  the 
police  m>'self.    I'll  not  pay  you  anything." 

"Oh.  yes,  you  will.  Think  about  the  newspapers. 
Think  about  the  police."  He  leaned  over  and  put 
his  great  hand  on  the  bed ;  it  was  like  a  gesture  of 
comfort,  a  travesty.  "You  are  young.  Your  future 
is  before  you.  Or,  if  you  choose,  it  is  already  behind 
you.  You  can  get  money;  you  must  have  money. 
Think  it  over."  He  tumed  and  slid  out  the  door 
again  as  swiftly  as  he  had  entered. 

So  Tim  was  right  about  Andre.  Tim  and  Cecily. 
Laideau  had  said,  secure  in  ugly  knowledge.  "They 
always  want  him." 

After  a  long  time  she  got  up  and  closed  the 
balcony  door  and  bolted  it.  The  night  had  tumed 
very  dark;  clouds  were  thick  and  sullen  and  black. 
Not  a  ray  of  starlight  showed  through  them. 

"Y'ou're  smart  enough  about  business:  now  you're 
going  to  learn  something  about  people." 

So  she  had  learned  about  Andre.  There  was  no 
doubt  in  her  mind  as  to  the  truth  of  Laideau's 
statement ;  she  wanted  to  disbelieve,  but  she  could 
not.  Small  things,  half  seen,  wholly  rejected,  stub- 
bornly denied,  now  linked  themselves  together. 

Mamy  saw  it  grow  gradually  Ughter;  the  palms 
and  casuarinas  took  slow  shape  against  the  quiet, 
pearly  sky  and  the  water  tumed  light  gray  and 
sleek.  Every  clearer  shape  of  palms  against  the 
sky,  every  heightening  tinge  of  green  brought  her 
inter\-iew  with  the  police  nearer.  Police,  reporters, 
jury.  She  began  to  play  a  grim  little  game:  when 
the  water  in  the  bay  tumed  blue,  when  bougainvil- 
laea around  the  balcony  rail  tumed  sharply  green 
and  purple,  when  the  sun  came  out.  she  would 
go  downstairs  and  telephone  to  Captain  Manson. 

30 


But  the  sun  did  not  come  out.  although  the  sky 
continued  to  lighten;  it  was.  in  fact,  an  ominously 
quiet  day  with  hurricane  warnings  over  the  radio, 
along  with  the  news  of  the  murder.  And  before  the 
casuarina  trees  had  emerged,  green  and  fringy, 
from  the  gray  mist.  Winnie  came.  "I  knew  you'd 
be  awake."  said  Winnie.  She  wore  a  pale  blue  silk 
dressing  gown,  immaculate  and  well  tailored;  her 
brown  hair  was  in  a  neat  short  braid,  tied  with  a 
blue  ribbon;  she  carried  a  tray  with  coffee  and 
orange  juice  and  put  it  down  on  the  table,  and 
closed  the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

She  looked  at  Mamy.  Her  fresh  color  was  gone 
and  her  lips,  without  lipstick,  looked  pale  and 
shapeless;  her  thick,  short  brown  eyebrows  stood 
out.  "Here's  coffee,  I'll  pour  it.  You  take  sugar, 
don't  you?  I  don't  imagine  anybody  slept  last 
night.  Judith's  light  was  still  on  when  I  passed  her 
door  a  while  ago  to  go  to  the  kitchen.  Mamy," 
said  Winnie,  "you've  got  to  help  me."  She  put  the 
coffee  in  Mamy's  hands  and  poured  some  for  herself. 

Mamy  felt  as  if  her  eyes  were  on  strings,  pulling 
from  behind;  she  lifted  the  coffee  to  her  lips  and 
eyed  Winnie  over  it.  There  was  something  grimly 
humorous  about  helping  Wiimie.  In  all  probability 
she  herself  would  be  in  jail  in  a  few  hours'  time. 

Winnie  stirred  her  own  coffee  resolutely  and 
said.  "It's  Judith.   .And  .\ndre." 

Judith  and  Andre.  Of  course.  Mamy  and 
Andre.  .Anybody  and  Andrei 

Mamy  drank  more  coffee;  it  was  funny,  she 
thought  wryly,  how  one  did  commonplace  things 
in  all  the  crises  of  life.  Life  was  a  process  of  getting 
through  the  moments,  wasn't  it? 

Wiimie  leaned  forward.  "You're  not  listening  to 
me,  Mamy.  I'm  nearly  out  of  my  mind.  I  under- 
stand Judith.  Other  people  don't.  They  think 
she's  lovely  and  charming  and  stunning  and  glamor- 
ous and  all  that,  but  they  don't" — Winnie  seemed 
to  hunt  for  a  word  and  finally  said  again — "they 
don't  understand  her.  She's  never  serious  about 
men.    Until  now.   And  father  knows." 

/  can't  listen  to  her.  thought  Mamy  rather  des- 
perately. .Aruire  and  Judith.  .Atuire  and  Cecily. 
.Andre  and  any  woman.  She  said  abruptly.  "This 
is  between  your  father  and  Judith." 

"No,  no,  Mamy.  You  must  listen  tb  me.  Father 
is — he's  not  himself.  He's  so  terribly  in  love  with 
her.  I'm  not  good  at  talking.  But  you  see — oh, 
I  know  how  silly  it  sounds.  Mamy.  but  from  the 
first  minute  I  saw  her  she  was  like  a  fairy  princess." 
Winnie  stopped  and  looked  at  her  rather  defiantly 
for  a  moment  as  if  she  might  laugh,  and  then  went 
on  quickly:  "She  was  everything  I  wasn't.  Oh. 
I'm  all  right.  It's  only  that — I'm  bread  and  butter 
and  she's  ca^Tar  and  champagne.  Father  needs  me 
and  depends  on  me.   But  Judith  is — is  different." 

"Winnie,  what  are  you  trying  to  say?  " 

"I'm  trying  to  say — I  don't  know  how — I'm 
trying  to "  (Continued  on  Page  46) 


o^  AiA  <ift*K  made  ci  ti^^.  cK<MUHena6lc  coonicC. 


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32 


IISPIMTIOIS  OF  1945 


SPRING  inspires  you — fashion  inspires  you — to  make  a  collection  of  the  gayest  acces- 
sories that  ever  graced  a  w  ardrobe.  Brilliant  cottons  from  Guatemala  are  irresistible — 
and  blouses  to  make  of  them  so  easy  that  even  a  beginner  can  do  one  in  a  few  hours. 
The  fashion  for  fans  is  enchanting — you  can  cover  an  old  frame  with  a  pretty  print  and 
make  gloves  and  a  scarf  to  match.  You  can  create  glorified  headbands  of  artificial  flowers 
to  frame  your  face,  or  go  around  the  crown  of  a  hat;  make  a  tambourine  bag  to  match 
a  blouse;  knot  a  scarf  a  new  way.  Try  anything  that  takes  your  fancy,  and  add  to  your 
collection  as  the  summer  comes.       •       BV  wiluela  cvshi^iam.  Fashion  Editor  of  the  journal 

Patterns  and  directions  for  the  blouses  and  accessories  may  be  ordered  by  the  numbers  given,  5  cents  for 
each    pattern,    from    the    Reference   Library,    LADIES'  HoME   JOURNAL,   Philadelphia    5,   Pennsylvania. 


'J&S*. 


Sleeveless  overbloitse  made  of  a  straight  piece     \      \ 
of  Guatemalan  cotton,   gathered  to  fit.   2161.      \    \ 


Z^/?' 


^ 


'^5?^5 


Snood  of  soft  jersey,  jeweled  edge,  2162;  cotton 
drawstring  bag — buy  one  or  make  one,  2163. 


Jeuvl  a  colored  grosgrain  or  satin  ribbon  to  tie 
around  your  hair;  Journal  directions  No.  2164. 


PHOTOGRAl'MS  BY  Cl'SHMAN-O  LEA 


tranialic   licdd    urcalh   of  artificial   wheal   and 
eld  flowers   made  on  d  straw  bandeau.    2164. 


Garland  ofjlowers  on  a  ribbon  to  tie  around  the  croun  of 
a  hat,  or  wear  on  your  head.   Use  big  white  daisies.  2164. 


Halo  of /lowers;  all  three  wreaths  designed  by  Jo 
Frederics,  for  you  to  make.  Journal  directions,  21( 


Romantic  fan,  scarf  and  gloves  for  spring  and  summer 
nights;  in  print.    Scarf  and  fan,  2165;  gloves,  2166. 


y?^.. 


A  masque  scarf  ring  in  plastic  (to  buy)  gives  you  a 
neiv  nay  to  near  a  multicolored  scarf  (also  to  buy). 


-a 


\ 


-y 


Croivnless  hat  made  of  a  giant-check  gingham  in  a  bias-cut 
fold;  matching  tied  pouch  to  carrv  over  your  icrist.  2169. 


A  striped  satin  scarf  and  gloves,  to  make  a  black  dress 
or  suit  look  netv.   Scarf  21 70 :  basic  glove  pattern.  2166. 


rfiri 


•it>s 


Wrmth  of  flowers  for  brides  or  bridesmaids. 


id  10^''*'" 


tu 


M  il  lOlli  WEDDIIli  liOWl 


ROMANTIC  ruffled  organdy  with  a  fragile  waist,  a 
bouffant  skirt  and  a  train  like  a  cloud  of  glory — 
J  you  and  the  church  and  the  music — this  is  a  dream 
come  true.  After  the  reception,  there's  the  quick  change 
for  going  away — into  a  crisp  black  cotton  jacket  cos- 
tume, picture  of  decorum  for  travel  and  town,  con- 
cealing a  sleeveless,  low-cut  dinner  dress.  A  fresh 
new  print  worn  Mith  a  lacy  horsehair  hat  is  for  lunch- 
eon and  afternoon.  These  two  will  be  the  stars  of  a 
little   trousseau,   planned   for   a   heavenly   honeymoon. 


For  spring  and  summer,  afternoon   and  evening:    Adele  Simpson''s 
printed  dress  of  a  new  rayon ;  John  Frederics^  black  horsehair  hat. 


I 


By  puj 


""^reback  dn 


'""-^  or  tou;n  WeariZ"'"''  '"''''  "  ^-A 


—wrr-r;:^: 


Fans  are  in  fashion  for  brides  or  bridesmaids 


:>♦ 


#       # 


ilT  il  SHORT 


F  YOURS  is  to  be  the  breathless,  short -notice  wed- 
ding— at  home  or  in  a  Httle  chapel,  with  just  the 
family  and  a  few  friends — a  short  white  pique  with 
weled  buttons  will  be  an  enchanting  wedding  dress, 
id  the  darling  of  your  honeymoon.  A  black  shantung 
lit  is  a  good  traveler  and  something  to  live  in  all  sum- 
er.  A  green  checked  bolero  dress  with  a  bare  back  under 
'ver  gives  you  bright  changes;    a    Panama  hat   goes 
lith  everything.  This  is  a  trousseau,  small  and  sweet,  as 
should  be  in  1945.  by  rvtu  mary  Packard 


Bride  in  the  neivs :  the  short  dress  for  the  small  wedding — white 
pique  with  softfullness,  byAdele  Simpson ;  primroses  in  her  hair. 


Crochet  your  favorite  flowers  on  a  crocheted 
drawstring  hag  and  matching  headband; 
pretty    in    white    with    multicolors.    2171. 


Brilliant  turquoise  for  an  after- 
noon stveater,  pastel  head  trim- 
ming on  neckline.  To  crochet.  2172. 


(j\i/'"rvi 


A  scarf-helt  that  looks  like  a  peplum; 
a  headband  that  looks  like  a  dream. 
Crochet  loosely  with  flower  trim.  2180. 


THE  TOUCH  OF  YOUR  Hills 


Mow   ()ft<'ii  Ikinc  you  sfarclu'd  tlu-  lovMi  lor  a  iit'w  sweater  in  a  "certain  shade  of  blue"? 

How  many  stores  have  you  ransacked  looking  for  "some  little  something"  to  put  on  your 

head?   ('.an  you  count  the  sununer  evenings  you've  wished  for  "something  light  and  pretty" 

to  wear  ov«'r  your  long  dresses?    These  are  tiie  things  tliat  you  can  never  find  when  you 

want  them  —  these  are  the  things  you  can  always  have  if  you  make  them  yourself!    You  are 

free  to  choose  the  colors  from  the  flower  garden  in  your  own  back  yard;  you  can  make  as 

many  as  you  want  with  no  back  talk  from  your  budget;  you  can  look  as  pretty  as  your 

best  beau  thinks  you  arc!    From  this  page  of  hand-knit  and  crocheted  accessories  you  can 

make  a  flowered  halo  in  hrilliant  colors,  a  summer  sweater  with  pastel  bows — any  one  of 

eleven  new  accessories  that  will  go  well  with  your  wardrobe.      •      BY  HAWN  t'KOWEl.l. 

()r«l<'r  kiiilliiijL;  aiul   mx-liotiiif;  inistruftions   hy   the  mimlHT.s  fjiveii,   by  sending   5  cents   for  each 
article   |>i<lure(i   l«»  llic  Kel'erence  Library,  LaIHES"  IIoME  JoUKNAL,  Philadelphia  5,  Pennsylvania. 


Knitted  and  crocheted flotvers  for  a 
halo  for  your  head:  flowers  in  as- 
sorted sizes,  different  colors.   2173. 


36 


White  eyelet  edging  uilds  .spring  to 
your  knitted  sweater:  has  a  I'-shaped 
neckline   and   short    sleeves.     2/75. 


Trim,  tailored,  perfect  for  your 
.skirts  ami  blouses :  a  kn  it  ted  sleeve- 
Ir-Ks     ril,l„,l  si4,,iter  in  red.  21 74. 


A  little  cape  for  a  big  evening;  math 
ing  gloves.  To  crochet  and  trim  itl 
contrasting    grosgrain    rihhon.    2  9 


V4 


Crocheted  drawstring  sweater  for  m 
or  short  skirts.  Pretty  in  white  ilh 
black     ribbons    for     evenings. 


A  low,  round  neckline  for  a  <lress-up 
stvettter.  Crochet  in  pastel  color:  puff 
sleeves.  lin\  rihhnn  hoivsitn  voke.  2176. 


Crochet  e<l  ballet  slippers  for  your  m 
room:  mullii-otored  knitted  sant 
in    three  colors,   for  the  beach,  il 


pN  cev. 


^  u 


O  hj. 


aui 


uu 


37 


THE  NEW  PERFUME  GAME 


^ 


V. 


y 


FRAGRANCE  AND  YOUR  CHARACTER 


O''  Your  perfume  should  not  be  worn  like  a  casual  accessory.  It  should  be  as  much  a  part  of  you  as  your  taste  in  flowers. 

^-^  fabrics,  music  or  jewels.  It  should  never  be  some  other  person's  preference  superimposed  on  you,  but  the  exact  warm 

.'         J    echo  of  your  own  personality.   Here  is  a  simple  test  to  help  you  make  your  choice.  Check  one  favorite  in  each  list. 


f^    -O    ^^^  *^^  numbers.    The  total  will  give  you  your  classification.    Up  to  100— A.    100-125— B,  125-150— C.    Above  ::9C 
'^-^^   150 — D.     If  you  are  just  on  the  border  line,  you  are  probably  a  blend  of  the  characteristics  in  the  two  nearest 


ipN. 


§1".,  ... 


>-.  ^ 


,<rroups  and  can  safely  choose  perfumes  in  both  classes.    Versatile  you!      -^      BY  LOVisE  PAIME  BENJ.%.MI]V 


Beauty  Editor  of  the  Journal 


Miim 


.a  ^^  v>    r  ■  FLOWERS 

-^^  .  20  ^fti/  oi  we  le^Uet/ 


.=^/a 


15   ,=Uyfla€ 

lO  c^anAH- 


vr    ''^,  /  l  35  zJa^/enit 


30  cv7<?i^ 

40  (L/Mmii/ 


45 


^ameiim 


v>v>--  ■■■■■■■■1 

CX^     //  / 

->  ^  '''  /     JEWELS 


50 


.Jii. 


'tnMa 


\^'r  ^ 


or 

rT  ~       15  ryarqaot^e 


5  ^ea^ 


lO 


.0^ 


auamo/ytne 
25  ^i€i/monu 


-~o  o  ^0^-^:- 


45 


'i^ 


oO'nMim.e 


50 


umi 


Qnie^(uid 


40 


€/iJ 


20 


y 


1 1    '-^     ^  liWK 
J/oa  ars  an  "A"  PERSON         J/Oi 


You  are  refreshingly  straightforward.  You 
do  not  like  evasions  or  "little  white  lies." 
You  like  most  people  and  you  very  much 
want  them  to  like  you,  although  some- 
times you  feel  a  little  bit  shy  about  ap- 
proaching them.  You  are  hurt  if  you  are 
misunderstood,  and  you  do  not  want  to 
have  to  play  politics  to  gain  a  point  which 
you  know  you  deserve  to  win  anyway. 
Your  open  friendliness  expresses  itself  by 
your  willingness  to  meet  anybody's  smile 
more  than  halfway.  Your  perfume  should 
reflect  this  same  sunny  spirit.  Choose  a 
light  warm  odor,  not  a  sultry  one.  Leave 
that  for  the  girl  who  loves  drama.  Fresh, 
indefinable  mixtures  are  perfect  for  you, 
and  the  light  aura  of  a  cologne  or  toilet 
water  matches  most  of  your  moods.  But, 
just  for  those  moonlight  moments  when 
you  feel  like  putting  aside  your  daytime 
personality  for  a  dizzy  hour  or  two,  keep 
at  hand  a  bottle  of  whatever  heady  mix- 
ture symbohzes  your  dream  of  romance! 


'ou  are  a  "B"  PERSON 


You  are  as  feminine  as  they  come.  You 
would  rather  shop  for  window  curtains 
than  read  the  political  news  any  day,  and 
you  are  not  above  patting  nice  babies  (as 
well  as  cute  puppies!)  on  their  adorable 
heads.  Your  heart  is  big  and  warm  and  you 
would  much  rather  be  guided  by  it  than  by 
your  head.  Fortunately,  you  are  also 
given  to  listening  to  the  small  persistent 
voice  of  conscience.  You  are  a  born  home- 
maker,  with  the  vitality  and  kindness  that 
make  you  a  good  hostess  too.  You  do  not 
believe  in  sacrificing  prettiness  to  smart- 
ness in  your  clothes.  AH  the  lovely  flower 
odors  are  a  natural  expression  of  your 
fragrant  personality.  For  you — the  cool 
sweetness  of  lily  of  the  valley,  or  violet,  or 
the  spice  and  sparkle  of  carnation,  or  one 
of  the  floral  mixtures,  charged  with  dewy, 
early  morning  freshness.  Surround  yoursel  f 
with  garden  enchantment — from  lavender 
and  crisp  cottons  for  sunny  hours,  to  gar- 
denia and  softly  clinging  fabrics  after  dusk. 


FABRICS 


"a^S^p^^ 


45 


^ine  ma  cy^  ^a£ue 


5  TJinanam 


"f 


20  ionmon 
30  ^ali^i 


0^ 
25  ^aee 

50  ^ama^K 

15  ^i)ie/fi 

35  Yelimf 


40 


>tom  o/  qo/a — {m  Mve^ 


lO 


MUSIC 


5  ^aliame^     25  ooadoif  O'}'-  /uumuif  :k>Hq6. 
lO  (L/M  ia/ia(/^        40  ^Vame  (ajit/s 


35 


so  {oonce^i  ma^ic         15  ^tme  Sfu/r/S         //  /,y^^^\^ 


rytreea 


30    m 


20 


^, 


'ou  area  "C"  PERSON 

You  have  a  two-fold  personality.  There  are 
moments  when  you  feel  that  a  successful 
career  would  be  worth  all  the  effort  it  takes, 
but  many  others  when  you  feel  that  just 
being  a  woman,  and  beloved,  is  career 
enough.  Your  natural  qualities  of  leader- 
ship and  your  healthy  ambitions  push  you 
toward  an  executive  job,  but  your  love  of 
the  good  things  of  life,  and  of  honest 
laughter,  keeps  you  from  making  a  relent- 
less one-track  drive  for  success.  You  select 
your  reading  and  your  entertainment  with 
care  and  you  should  be  equally  discrimi- 
nating in  the  choice  of  perfume.  Do  not 
use  a  perfume  just  because  your  best  friend 
does.  Ask,  and  sniff,  and  experiment  until 
you  have  found  the  odor  that  you  feel  is 
exactly  yours — as  much  in  tune  with  your 
spirit  as  your  favorite  music.  Choose  one 
of  the  highly  individual  fragrances,  not 
too  intense,  not  Oriental,  but  rather  "dry," 
so  that  the  after  effect  is  a  lingering  and 
tantalizing  echo  of  your  own  personality. 


^o, 


'oa  are  a  "D"  PERSON 


Your  sensibilities  are  highly  developed; 
too  much,  it  sometimes  seems  to  you,  for 
your  own  happiness.  But  you  have  the 
rewarding  experience  of  being  the  person 
to  whom  others  turn  for  assurance  because 
of  your  instinctive  judgment  in  matters  of 
taste.  Your  strong  sense  of  drama  is  re- 
flected in  your  choice  of  effective  clothes 
and  colorful  environment.  It  also  alYects 
your  attitude  toward  your  friends,  who 
may  consider  your  insistence  on  perfection 
as  being  somewhat  highhanded,  even  when 
they  secretly  envy  your  courageous  deci- 
sions. You  are  no  conformist  and  are  quite 
willing  to  pioneer,  leading  the  way  with  a 
dashing  new  style  in  dress  or  entertain- 
ment if  you  feel  so  inclined.  You  should  be 
equally  original  in  the  matter  of  perfumes. 
For  you— the  challenging,  unidentifiable 
odor,  the  fragrance  that  piques  the  imagi- 
nation, the  new  "discovery"  that  you  do 
not  confide  even  to  your  closest  friend — 
and  change  with  a  diverting  frequency. 


^^T 


Y*     ^ 


,;  .-.'in-' 


?  i 


■   .■<>■*!■- 


XH 


n 


'    1 ..  »*■ 


39 


#1 


^ 


¥ 


D  BAY  AGAINST  TB 


'pot  ^ie  ffUce  o^  one  «Cei^  o^  ev^it.  t/ic  KCitioit  cotUtC  /ImatAicU  cAAetiUeU  6ecC-xe^  ccvtc  ^o% 
eoien^  IB  ficiUeKt  Wo  <^  KOtv^  tut  tieiivc  ccue  iK^ecUK^  o^ex^.      ^      D 1  J.  t.  1^  t  IlMN 


SOME  damp  and  balmy  morning  this  spring 
somebody,  perhaps  your  next-door  neighbor, 
will  have  a  baby,  a  tiny  human  being  that  de- 
serves all  the  breaks.  Somewhere  near  by,  at 
the  same  hour,  a  phlegmatic  cow  will  have  a  calf. 
Newborn  calves  are  prettier  than  newborn  babies 
and  by  no  means  unimportant.  Yet  if  you  had  to 
choose  between  breaks  for  the  baby  and  breaks  for 
the  calf,  you  would  assuredly  say,  "Give  the  baby 
the  best  of  it." 

That  is  precisely  what  we  do  not  do.  There  are 
few  worse  breaks  for  living  things  than  to  come 
down  with  tuberculosis,  the  sneaking  enemy  that 
kills  60,000  Americans  a  year,  incapacitates  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  more,  and  may  well  increase  its 
toll  among  us  after  the  war,  as  usually  happens 
after  wars.  Yet,  on  the  best  rough  estimates  avail- 
able, the  average  American's  chances  of  infection 
with  tuberculosis  during  his  lifetime  are  a  hundred 
times  greater  than  the  average  calf's. 

Years  ago  the  "  bovine  "  form  of  tuberculosis  was 
also  a  grave  menace  to  cattle,  and  so  to  milk 
drinkers.  Intelligent  and  consistent  measures  were 
taken,  and  now  not  one  calf  in  every  three  hundred 
tested  shows  evidence  of  ever  having  had  TB  infec- 
tion. There  is  no  good  reason  why  we  should  not 
do  the  same  for  human  beings,  why  tuberculosis 
should  not  join  parrot  fever  in  the  class  of  "rare" 
diseases. 

The  results  of  neglect  are  plainest  when  you  look 
through  the  plate  glass  into  the  baby  wards  of  a 
certain  big  tuberculosis  sanatorium  at  a  couple  of 


'LyVcclu'r^e  in  ,LA)me  o/nd ^Uh 


m/y- 


Painted  About  1880  by 
James  Abbott  McNeill  Wbistler 

Whisder  spent  his  early  years  in  St.  Petersburg, 
Russia,  where  his  father,  a  U.  S.  Army  engineer, 
uxis  supervising  railroad  construction.  Return- 
ing to  fFest  Point  at  seventeen,  he  failed  to  qual- 
ify as  an  officer  because  of  his  poor  marks  in 
chemistry.  Said,  "If  silicon  had  been  a  gas  I 
might  have  been  a  major  general,"  so  he  then 
spent  two  years  in  Paris  studying  painting,  and 
finally  settled  in  London,  where  his  reputation  as 
a  vit  was  climaxed  in  his  famous  altercations 
with  John  Ruskin  and  Oscar  Wilde.  However, 
he  was  a  romantic  at  heart,  and  was  deeply 
moved  by  night  scenes  on  the  Thames — or  on  the 
lagoons  of  Venice,  the  subject  of  his  Nocturne  in 
Blue  and  Silver,  which  evokes  the  mystery  of 
Venice  in  the  evening,  with  the  silent  traffic 
of  the  gondolas  and  ships  from  far-off  seas. 

Reproduced  through  the  courteey 
of  Museum  of  Fine  Arta,  Boston 


dozen  plump  young  citizens  in  three-cornered 
breeches.  Though  each  was  born  of  a  tubercular 
mother  who  is  a  patient  in  the  sanatorium,  none 
has  a  trace  of  the  disease — the  place  prides  itself 
on  the  way  it  shields  children  born  there.  All  are 
babies  of  whom  their  mothers  would  be  proud,  if 
they  had  ever  seen  them.  But  not  a  single  baby 
here  has  ever  felt  mother's  touch  after  birth.  As 
soon  as  they  are  born  they  are  whisked  away,  be- 
cause their  own  mothers  are  their  worst  enemies. 
Not  until  after  the  years — or  months,  if  lucky — 
necessary  to  prove  the  mother  unlikely  to  infect 
others  can  she  take  her  own  child  in  her  arms. 

Tuberculosis  experts  studying  the  results  of  Se- 
lective Service  physical  examinations  don't  yet 
know  whether  to  cheer  or  to  groan.  Even  though 
modern  detection  methods  are  more  accurate  than 
in  1918,  the  proportion  of  draft-age  men  showing 
previously  unsuspected  tuberculosis  is  far  lower 
than  in  World  War  I.  That  is  the  cheering  angle. 
Public  education,  of  the  kind  spearheaded  by 
the  National  Tuberculosis  Association,  sanatorium 
care  of  infectious  cases  and  local  campaigns  to  find 
new  cases  have  forced  tuberculosis  into  important 
retreat. 

But — here  is  the  groaning  angle — all  that  was 
accomplished  by  mere  half  measures.  If  the  job 
had  been  done  full  blast,  tuberculosis  would  al- 
ready have  been  routed,  not  just  forced  to  retire 
from  its  most  advanced  conquests. 

Other  ruthless  diseases,  such  as  infantile  paraly- 
sis, are  still  baffling  because  science  is  not  yet  clear 
on  how  they  spread  and  how  to  counter  them. 
Science  has  still  much  to  learn  about  TB  too.  As 
yet  no  specific  drug,  however  hopeful  it  looked  in 
the  laboratory,  has  proved  to  do  against  the  rod- 
shaped  tuberculosis  bacillus  what  penicillin  does 
against  gonorrhea  or  even  what  quinine  does 
against  malaria.  Nobody  knows  for  sure  why  some 
catch  tuberculosis  and  some  do  not;  precisely  how 
guilty  are  the  lacks  of  good  food,  sunshine  and 
decent  housing  that  go  with  poverty;  just  how  im- 
portant emotional  strains  are  in  the  picture. 

But  science  does  know  the  germ  well  and  is  cer- 
tain that,  if  all  who  are  infected  were  treated  under 
the  best  circumstances,  very  few  new  cases  would 
ever  appear.  The  aim  of  tiiose  prewar  measures 
that  proved  so  much,  and  could  have  proved  so 
much  more,  was  to  get  as  many  as  possible 
"open" — meaning  active  and  infectious — cases 
into  a  sanatorium  where  they  would  have  the  most 
chance  of  recovery  and  the  least  chance  of  passing 
on  their  disease  to  others. 

Only  some  100,000  out  of  a  probable  300,000 
such  cases,  however,  are  now  thus  handled  at  a 
given  time.  The  rest  are  still  out  in  the  world 
carrying  on — innocently  in  most  cases — the  work 


of  infecting  their  wives,  husbands,  children,  room- 
mates. You  can  have  TB  badly  enough  to  spread 
germs  among  your  family  in  the  necessary  "mas- 
sive" exposure  without  feeling  anything  worse 
than  an  annoying  lassitude.  By  the  time  trouble 
is  plain  enough  to  send  you  to  a  doctor,  you  may 
well  have  already  infected  somebody  near  you. 
Checkups  on  families  of  newly  discovered  TB  suf- 
ferers show  twenty  or  twenty-five  previously  un- 
suspected cases  among  the  intimates  of  every  ten 
victims.  That  is  how  the  great  white  killer  works. 

In  the  calves'  case,  sweepingly  applied  realism 
stamped  out  bovine  tuberculosis.  All  over  the  na- 
tion, herds  were  tested  with  tuberculin,  which 
shows  whether  infection  was  ever  present.  Animals 
reacting  positively  were  shot.  Since  calves  and  cat- 
tle ceased  at  once  to  encounter  any  effective  op- 
portunity to  meet  the  germs,  they  ceased  to  get 
the  disease.   It  was  as  simple  as  that. 

No  civilized  nation  would  ever  contemplate 
shooting  human  beings  for  such  a  reason.  But  the 
medical  lesson  is  plain.  The  broad  highway  to  the 
practical  eradication  of  tuberculosis  has  already 
been  thoroughly  mapped.   It  runs: 

Educate  the  public  in  the  necessity  for  taking 
sweeping  measures. 

Find  all  existing  cases,  first  by  examining  the 
families  of  recent  new  cases,  then  by  X-raying  the 
whole  community. 

Supply  enough  sanatorium  beds  to  give  intensive 
care  to  all  newly  found  cases  needing  it.  Keep  all 
such  cases  in  sanatoriums  as  long  as  required  to 
safeguard  them  against  relapse  after  release. 

Regularly  follow  up  former  sanatorium  patients 
to  make  sure  they  do  not  drift  into  relapse  danger- 
ous to  both  them  and  their  families. 

The  number  of  new  active  cases  that  a  national 
dragnet  would  find  might  well  go  as  high  as  200,- 
000.  Not  all  would  need  sanatorium  care,  though 
it  might  benefit  all — three  months  in  a  sanatorium 
for  concentrated  training  in  the  new  "way  of  life" 
indicated  for  TB  would  be  worth  while  for  even 
light  cases.  Well  this  side  of  perfectionism,  how- 
ever, experts  agree  that  60,000  additional  sana- 
torium beds  are  definitely  needed,  concentrated  in 
those  states  where  TB  facilities  are  almost  wholly 
lacking  or  dismally  inadequate.  That  number  of 
beds  would  cost  around  $250,000,000  to  set  up— a 
lot  of  money,  but  the  present  war  costs  as  much 
every  day.  The  investment  would  be  gilt-edged. 
TB  now  costs  the  nation  $2,000,000,000  a  year  in 
lost  wages,  care  of  victims,  relief  for  their  families 
and  other  direct  damage. 

We  never  had  enough  beds  anyway.  A  standard 
dismal  feature  of  most  prewar  sanatoriums  was  a 
waiting  list  of  TB  victims  who  needed  expert  care 
and  couldn't  get  it  (Continued  on  Page  153) 


I 


Tl 

i 


i 


n 


^^  l^cc^cmd  P%<vU 


WINDOWS  after  the  war  will  let  a  house  hold 
the  garden  closer  in  its  amis.  The  barrier  be- 
tween indoors  and  outdoors  will  be  broken 
down  by  glass,  and  you  will  be  able  to  sit  in  your 
living  room  and  look  right  into  the  flowers.  This 
will  create  a  very  happy  and  healthful  condi- 
tion: good  for  your  spirits,  your  eyes,  your  body 
in  general — and  good  for  the  garden,  too,  for 
anything  so  constantly  in  plain  sight  is  going  to 
get  excellent  attention.  The  gardener  will  make 
a  special  effort  to  keep  her  beds  in  bloom  from 
spring  to  fall,  and  keep  them  attractive  in  win- 
ter as  well;  which  will  be  easier  than  before, 
when  you  could  be  careless  with  a  larger  garden 
that  wasn't  right  under  your  nose.  For  it  is  bet- 
ter that  gardens  against  the  house  should  be 
smaller,  and  be  considered  as  an  adjoining  out- 
door room,  which  is  just  what  they  will  be. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  what  I  mean.  The  gravel 
garden  floor  is  about  twelve  feet  square.  The 
beds  are  four  to  five  feet  wide  around  three  sides. 
April  and  May  are  tulips— early,  cottage  and 
Darwin;  June,  July,  August,  September  are  an- 


nuals, set  out  from  started  plants  after  the 
tulip  bulbs  have  been  lifted  and  stored  in  a  cool, 
dark,  dry  closet;  October  and  November  are 
chrysanthemums,  as  in  the  picture,  which  have 
been  grown  along  in  the  vegetable  garden,  or 
anywhere,  and  set  here  on  the  verge  of  flower- 
ing. The  varieties  here  happen  to  be  the  clear 
straw-colored  Mrs.  Pierre  S.  Dupont  III;  the 
vibrantly  amber  Northern  Lights;  and  the  rich 
red  Nancy  Copeland.  But  among  chrysan- 
themums the  choice  is  bewildering.  The  thing, 
in  my  opinion,  is  to  keep  the  colors  contrasting 
and  separated — not  to  merge  them,  as  is  cus- 
tomary, into  a  chromatic  muddle  of  autumn 
hues.  The  point  of  an  April  picture  with  such 
fall  implications  is  that  this  is  the  time  to  order 
your  plants,  set  them  out  in  rows,  and  oversee 
them  through  the  summer  for  very  simple  trans- 
planting in  October.  The  plants  on  the  window 
ledge  are  peperomias,  with  a  begonia  in  the  close 
corner,  and  a  ghost  plant  on  the  table — all 
thriving  because  of  the  glass  which  makes  this  a 
room  with  a  view  of  a  garden. 


40 


SETTING  AND  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


41 


>/. 


After  a  battle,  hotc  does  the  Army  check 
which  men  are  dead  or  missing?  I  have  known 
of  some  cases  who  were  reported  killed  and 
later  proved  to  be  prisoners  of  war. 

Each  organization  is  required  to  submit  what  is 
known  as  a  morning  report  to  its  regimental  head- 
quarters every  morning.  This  morning  report  con- 
tains the  roster  of  every  man  in  the  organization  and 
accounts  for  him  as  of  twelve  o'clock  midnight  of  each 
night.  Any  time  after  an  action,  or  during  an  action, 
those  who  are  wounded  and  those  who  are  known  to 
be  killed  are  accounted  for  on  this  report,  and  those 
they  know  nothing  about  at  all  are  reported  as  miss- 
ing in  action.  In  other  words,  they  have  to  account 
for  every  man  every  day. 

In  answer  to  the  second  part  of  the  question— such 
a  report  is  due  to  an  erroneous  report  which  has  been 
given  for  some  individual.  Under  the  stress  of  battle 
the  mind  does  not  react  as  acutely  as  otherwise.  Some 
noncommissioned  officer  might  report  to  the  company 
commander  that  he  saw  So-and-So  killed,  and  then 
subsequently  the  enemy  government  will  report  that 
that  person  is  a  prisoner  of  war.  The  officer  undoubt- 
edly saw  someone  killed,  but  the  person  who  was  killed 
was  not  the  one  reported.  The  following  example  was 
given.  A  chaplain  made  a  report  to  the  parents  during 
the  North  African  action  that  a  certain  boy  was 
killed.  The  chaplain  had  seen  him  killed  by  a  shell  that 
completely  blew  the  boy  to  bits  and  nothing  remained. 
He  wrote  a  splendid  letter  to  the  parents,  and  firmly 
believed  he  was  right  until  the  War  Department  re- 
ceived a  report  on  the  same  boy,  indicating  that  he 
was  convalescing  in  a  hospital.  The  chaplain  was 
wrong  in  his  identification,  as  there  were  two  boys  at 
the  time  the  shell  hit — one  was  blown  to  bits  but  the 
other  was  merely  injured  and  the  chaplain  had  the 
wrong  name.  However,  such  cases  are  most  excep- 
tional. 


^Te 


Are  you  a  good  cook?  Can  you  bake  a  pie? 

I  am  a  very  poor  cook,  and  while  I  think  that 
in  a  pinch  I  could  bake  a  pie,  I  would  hate  to  have  to 
do  it  without  some  practice  first.  I  rather  like  cook- 
ing, but  my  opportunities  for  doing  it  are  few  and  far 
between. 

Years  ago  I  went  to  a  cook  whom  I  knew  and  took 
lessons  for  some  time  until  I  felt  I  was  doing  a  fairly 
good  job,  but  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  had  com- 
paratively few  opportunities  to  use  what  I  learned; 
and  cooking,  I  think,  is  a  question  of  doing  it  pretty 
steadily  to  be  really  proficient. 


What  is  the  maximum  length  of  time  be- 
fore a  marine  in  combat  in  the  South  Pacific 
is  granted  a  furlough? 

There  is  no  maximum  time  before  a  furlough  is 
granted.  Emergency  furloughs  can  be  granted  by  the 
commanding  general,  but  these  are  given  only  under 
emergency  conditions.  Shipping  space  and  operations 
do  not  allow  many  people  to  go  back  to  the  States. 
When  marines  are  returned  to  the  States  after  their 
tour  of  duty,  they  are  given  thirty  days'  leave  plus 
travel  time  to  their  homes.  The  tour  of  duty  depends 
entirely  upon  the  number  of  replacements  going  to  the 
Pacific,  and  they  are  returned  as  follows:  1 — the  men 
are  returned  first  who  are  wounded,  ill,  and  in  need  of 
extensive  hospitalization  in  the  States;  2 — those  who 
have  been  longest  overseas. 


^W  Evi 


Even  though  you  are  a  grandmother,  do 
you  still  feel  responsible  for  the  behavior  of 
your  children? 

No.  I  feel  that  when  one's  children  are  grown 
they  must  assume  responsibility  for  their  own  actions. 
The  parents  have  done  all  they  could  by  precept  and 
example.  They  may  suffer  if  they  do  not  agree  with 
their  children,  or  they  may  recognize  with  pride  if  the 
children  go  beyond  what  they  felt  their  own  capacities 
might  have  led  them  to  do,  but  I  think  all  human  be- 
ings have  a  right  to  assume  their  own  responsibilities 
and  make  their  own  decisions,  and  we  have  no  right, 
as  elders,  to  interfere  in  their  lives. 

Letters  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  c/o  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal.  No  letters  for  this  page  sent  to  the 
White  House  will  be  answered.  It  should  be  understood  that 
Mrs.  Roosevelt's  answers  reflect  only  her  own  opinions,  and 
are  not  necessarily  the  opinions  either  of  the  Administration 
or  of  the  Editors  of  the  Journal. 


BY  ELEAKOR  ROOSEVELT 


Do  you  see  any  dangers  in  our  diminishing 
population?  Do  you  think  that  the  Planned 
Parenthood  League  has  encouraged  the  middle 
class  to  have  fewer  children? 

In  the  first  place,  our  population  is  not  diminish- 
ing, but  still  increasing.  We  have  had  9,000,000  babies 
born  in  three  war  years,  a  net  increase  over  deaths  of 
more  than  4,000,000.  When  our  young  men  now  over- 
seas return  home  and  are  released  from  service,  an- 
other upsurge  in  birth  rate  is  predicted. 

It  is  quite  possible,  however,  that  in  twenty  to 
thirty  years  our  population  will  reach  a  static  level. 
Long  before  we  reach  that  point  we  shall  have  to  de- 
cide whether  that  will  be  a  desirable  situation  or  not, 
and  if  not,  what  we  should  do  about  encouraging  large 
families. 

Because  the  desire  to  have  a  family  is  a  basic  in- 
stinct, I  believe  we  will  always  have  enough  babies  to 
replenish  our  population  if  we  can  provide  the  right 
economic  and  social  climate.  That  means  making  it 
possible  for  every  mother  to  have  a  family  of  reason- 
able size,  with  some  assurance  that  each  child  can  be 
born  well,  can  grow  up  healthy,  receive  a  good  educa- 
tion and  have  an  opportunity  to  lead  a  useful  and 
productive  life. 

In  every  country  where  there  has  been  large-scale 
industrialization  and  urbanization  there  has  always 
been  the  parallel  trend  to  smaller  families.  This  has 
been  more  noticeable  among  middle-income  families 
in  cities  who  lack  the  means  and  living  space  to  rear 
the  same  number  of  children  their  grandmothers  did, 
living  on  farms  on  which  there  was  an  abundance  of 
food  and  room  to  grow.  On  farms,  too,  child  labor  was 
'  needed. 

The  emphasis  of  the  planned-parenthood  move- 
ment, as  far  as  I  know,  has  never  been  on  having 
fewer  children,  but  on  planning  for  the  birth  of  every 
child  so  that  it  will  be  born  when  the  mother  is  well 
and  strong  and  the  family  able  to  provide  for  it  ade- 
quately. 


WtDo 


Do  you  approve  of  women  smoking  on  the 
street? 

I  am  old-fashioned  enough  not  to  like  the  looks 
of  a  woman  smoking  on  the  street,  but  I  realize  this  is 
purely  an  old-fashioned  prejudice. 


Will  the  wives  of  soldiers  in  the  Army  of 
Occupation  be  allowed  to  join  their  husbands? 
If  so,  will  traveling  expenses  be  provided? 

No  decision  has  been  reached  as  yet  on  this 
matter. 


WHat 


Have  you  ileveloped  any  uncon.scious  man- 
nerisms about  which  your  family  has  alivays 
joked,  such  as  twisting  yotir  rings,  tapping 
your  teeth,  pulling  an  earlobe,  punching  your 
chin,  poking  at  your  hair,  rubbing  your  nose? 

No.  There  is,  however,  one  family  habit.  If  we 
are  working  very  hard  on  something  requiring  concen- 
tration, many  of  us  quite  unconsciously  chew  our 
tongues,  but  we  cannot  tease  one  another  about  it  be- 
cause we  almost  all  do  it. 


'^  Our  boys  didn't  go  into  this  war  to  help 
countries  add  to  their  boundaries.  Must  this 
be  a  war  of  conquest? 

No.  I  do  not  think  this  is  a  war  of  conquest. 
Our  boys  went  into  this  war  to  save  their  own  country 
from  invasion  and  because  we  were  attacked  by  an 
enemy.  They  have  done  just  that,  and  will  continue 
to  do  just  that. 

i||r  At  what  age  do  you  think  a  girl  should  be 
allowed  to  have  dates  with  boys  her  own  age? 

I  think  children  should  naturally  play  with  other 
children  their  own  age  of  both  sexes;  and  as  they  grow 
older,  naturally,  most  of  them  will  go  skating  or 
dancing  or  to  the  movies  together.  I  think  it  is  better 
if  they  can  be  kept  in  groups  as  long  as  possible,  and 
I  would  hope  that  there  would  not  be  too  much  going 
off  as  individual  couples  before  they  were  eighteen. 


W  Asa 


As  a  grathiate  registered  nurse,  I  am  won- 
dering why  only  300  of  the  9000  Negro  nurses  in 
the  country  have  been  called  to  the  Army,  and 
rume  to  the  ISavy,  if  nurses  are  needed  so  des- 
perately. You  have  visited  our  fighting  men 
overseas  and  I  wonder  if  your  contact  with 
them  has  led  you  to  believe  that  the  American 
soldier  really  cares  about  the  color  of  the  hands 
that  serve  him. 

I  personally  do  not  think  there  would  be  any  ob- 
jection on  the  part  of  the  soldiers  to  being  cared  for 
by  colored  nurses,  if  the  nurses  were  equally  well 
trained. 

In  contacting  the  Red  Cross  I  find  that  "the  Amer- 
ican Red  Cross  certifies  to  the  Army  every  nurse  who 
is  qualified  according  to  Army  professional  standards 
regardless  of  race.  .  .  .  In  his  testimony  to  the  House 
Committee  on  Military  Affairs  on  Friday,  January 
19,  1945,  General  Kirk  stated  that  the  Army  is  now 
taking  every  Negro  nurse  who  applies  and  who  meets 
the  necessary  physical  and  professional  qualifications." 

As  to  the  Navy,  I  imagine  they  haven't  needed  to 
expand  so  much;  laut  if  the  need  should  come,  I  feel 
sure  that  they  will  follow  the  same  pattern  as  the 
Army  has  followed. 


Lately  ivar  plants  have  been  laying  off  a 
lot  of  women  who  have  been  working  since  the 
tvar  began.  Is  this  to  make  room  for  returning 
servicemen,  or  for  the  men  who  are  trying  to 
dodge  the  draft? 

It  may  be  that  in  certain  localities  women  are 
being  laid  off  in  war  plants.  If  so,  the  reason  must  be 
purely  local,  because  the  War  Manpower  Commission 
reports  that  there  are  more  women  in  war  industries 
now  than  at  any  other  time  since  the  war  began.  The 
proportion  of  women  has  increased  until  today  it  is  at 
its  highest  level,  which  would  indicate  that  there  have 
been  no  serious  layoffs. 

There  is  so  much  work  to  be  done  at  present  that 
returning  servicemen  who  are  able  to  do  the  kind  of 
work  that  is  available  will  find  no  difficulty  in  getting 
jobs.  I  think  it  is  rather  unfair  to  think  that  there  are 
many  men  who  are  trying  to  dodge  the  draft.  I  think 
probably  there  are  some  men  who  have  remained  in 
nonessential  industries  who  are  now  changing  over 
into  war  industries,  but  the  need  for  them  is  so  great 
they  would  not  affect  the  employment  of  women. 


CARTOON  BY  S/SGT.  HARRY  LAMPKRT  — REPRINTED  COURTESY  THE  SATURDAY  EVENING  POST 


['   4'.V^ 


-V\->'- 


"Don't  I  know  you  from  soniewheres,  babe?  .    .    .    The 
ivelding  department  of  Tinkers  Iron  Works,  maybe?" 


iiY  m  ummMM 


I^VEKYTHINCi  rKjints  to  it— if  we  can  hold  it.  I  mean  it  looks  like  spring.  A 
i  few  hardy  spirits  amon^  the  bird  tenants  are  rij^ht  now  kx^kin)^  for  apartments 
'i  in  the  trees  and  a>nsiderin>(  tiie  conveniences  we  have  provided  by  way  of 
birdfiouses.  Tfiere's  one  family  of  bluebirds  that  arrives  early  each  year.  P'irst 
the  female  examines  the  outside  of  the  house  carefully  and  peers  inside.  Then  she 
(^(x;s  off  to  ){et  her  (alleged;  husband.  While  she  sits  on  the  rooi  he,  \xM  and  a^ura- 
geous,  ^(HtH  within,  {-"resently  he  a^mes  out  and  tlien,  after  a  conversation  -  I  sup- 
fxjse  criticizing  the  apjxjintments  and  perhaps  the  lack  of  space  -they  YxAh  enter 
the  house.  Later,  having  decided  to  rent  for  the  seasfjn,  they  start  furnishing  and 
move  in,  bag  and  baggage.  It's  exactly  like  the  human  hunt  for  flats  that  I,  as  an 
old  cliff-dweller  of  many  years'  standing,  have  seen  sf)  many  times.  And  partici- 
pated in,  tfxj,  if  I  must  say  so. 

And  itMfh  at  thv  iitMrafn.  Well,  look  at  it.  It's  a  sight.  Where  I'm  going  U> 
find  anyone  to  six;nd  eight  hours  a  day  six  days  in  the  week  in  this  place,  I  don't 
know.  But  that's  what  it  has  to  have  unless  we  give  up  and  go  back  to  the  jungle. 
However,  the  tulips  and  jonquils  and  daffodils  are  on  the  job.  Poking  up  their 
heads  to  take  a  tentative  kxjk  around;  and  the  little  wfxjd  hyacinths  and  the  nar- 
cissuses are  going  to  camouflage  a  gfxxi  deal  of  winter's  shameless  shabbiness.  At 
least  until  we  can  find  a  man.  A  man  with  a  hoa.  One  with  a  rake  and  a  wheel- 
barrow. We  have  the  tfxjls.  But  oh,  how  we  need  a  man !  And  we  want  him  before 
Ai)ril  gfx;s  too  far  and  starts  to  really  do  her  stuff.  Sfj— if  anyone  knows  of  one 
who  understands  the  ways  of  weeds  and  the  habits  of  growing  things,  of  bees  and 
birds  and  r(x;ks  and  walls,  tell  him  to  ajme  up.  (Advt.)  Hard  work  never  hurt 
anybody.  Tell  him  that.  That's  sure-fire — or  so  I'm  told. 

KuHtfr  vnnt  and  rabhttm.  I  am  one  who  loves  rabbits.  I  loved  them  s^j  much 
last  summer  that  they  stayed  right  here  morning,  nfxjn  and  night.  They  did  have 
such  a  lovely  time,  the  little  darlings.  They  had  birthday  parties  all  the  time,  and  I 
served  all  my  golden  bantam  and  my  midget  corn,  yes  sir,  every  single  ear.  The 
ajbs  we  later  found  under  the  cherry  trees  in  the  orchard— where  the  garden  lay.  I 
served  zinnias  and  sweet  young  dahlias,  cucumbers  and  vitamin-laden  tomatfx.-s, 
and  as  for  the  peas— well !  J  low  they  did  enjoy  everything.  Did  my  heart  gfxjd 
drat  their  hides.  I  expect  them  back  come  May.  I  feel  they  are  lurking  afxtut  right 
now.  And  squirrels.  But  why  bring  them  up?  Don't  ask. 
Yitu'll  imant  faam.  Easter  eggs  are  another  matter.  You  can  eat  an  Easter  egg, 
but  it  will  never  eat  you  out  of  house  and  home.  And  surely  you'll  be  having  ham 
and  eggs  on  Easter  Day.  It's  my  idea  that  the  fried  egg  gfx;s  best  with  ham,  but 
here  in  this  city  try  to  find  real  "ham  and  eggs."  Do  you  know  what  they  do? 
They  bring  you  a  thing  called  "Country  Style  Ham  and  Eggs."  It  consists  of  a 
thin  j)iece  of  quite  indifferent  ham,  and  splashed  all  over  it  are  what  started  out  to 
be  two  eggs,  I  guess.  They  are  busted  wide  open  in  the  frying  and  form  a  srjrt  of 
pathetic,  sickly-lcxjking  patina  or  film  on  the  ham,  the  white  part  scarcely  c(x>ked 
and  quite  inclined  to  trail  away  like  a  bridal  veil,  the  (Crmiinurd  on  I'ane  i  ix) 


Jt 


-tV' 


\')' 


\> 


>.- 


BY  HH  BATCHELDER 


■ti""^-! 


1  Venus,  Jupiter  and  Saturn  rule  the  evening 
skies.  But  racing  on  wings  of  light.  Mercury 
shares  the  morning  hours  with  Mars,  warlike 
but  waning. 

2  Herb  note:  What  a  little  research  will  do 
for  one.  Get  Rosetta  E.  Clarkson's  Magic 
Gardens,  and  you'll  learn  such  lovely  lessons 
as  you  never  learned  before. 

3  Never  use  the  water  you  parboil  sweet- 
breads in  for  anything  under  the  sun.  Throw 
it  out.  Let  no  one  fool  you.  But  grilled 
sweetbreads  with  lemon  butter  are  grand.  Be 
sure  the  sweetbreads  are  well  done. 

4  Use  a  can  or  two  of  mushroom  soup  for  the 
sauce  when  it's  chicken-and-mushroom- 
shortcake  that's  on  your  mind.  Sauteed 
mushrooms  too. 

5  Frosting  for  cup  or  other  cakes.  Beaten 
egg  whites — three,  to  be  frank — a  few  grains 
of  salt  and  a  glass  of  raspberry  jam.  Beat- 
spread — eat— like  it. 

6  Ever  beat  your  arm  off  making  popovers? 
There's  a  foolproof  mix  for  these,  too,  and 
how  they  pop ! 

T  Frotn  an  old  cookbook:  Receipts  for  such 
things  as  Cow-Heel  Soup,  Rabbits  Surprised, 
Spitted  Wheat-Ears,  Pigeons  Transmogrified 
and  Bombarded  Veal.  These  receipts  really 
exist— but  I  don't  think  you  would  want  to 
try  them. 

ft  Answer  lo  query:  Sauce  verte  means  green. 
Nothing  more.  Mix  two  cups  of  mayonnaise 
with  a  few  chopped  scallions,  two  or  three 
pounded  anchovies,  a  tablespoon  of  parsley 
mashed  to  a  pulp.  Beat  up  with  two  tea- 
spoons of  tarragon  vinegar.  Serve  on  cold 
fish,  shrimp,  crab  or  green  salad.  Got  it  all 
down  pat?  Good  for  you. 

9  News  item:  Herb  and  spice  seasoned  salt 
put  up  in  bags.  For  soups,  egg  dishes,  meats, 
vegetables,  salads.  Can't  go  wrong,  but  do 
go  right.  Meaning  what?  Don't  overdo  it. 

10  More  news:  Orange  bread  made  with 
whole  oranges,  put  through  the  food  chopper, 
pecans,  raisins.  Sliced  very  thin,  it's  about  as 
delicious  as  anything  you'll  find  hereabouts. 


THOUGHT^ 

and  I 
^"•'""^'""        t,,r»ounnd 

Thai  i#»"  '^'^ 


11  About  that  sauce  verte.  (Can't  keep  my 
mind  in  order,  sometimes.)  You  might  make 
a  chicken  aspic  with  plain  gelatin,  mold  in  it 
asparagus  tips  and  seedless  white  grapes.  It's 
superb,  and  a  chance  for  sauce  verte  too. 

12  The  new  maple  sirup  and  sugar  crop  is 
in.  I  hear  it's  as  usual— tops.  Bear  these  in 
mind  when  apple  pies,  dumplings,  frost  ings 
and  frozen  things  are  coming  up. 

!•{  Flaked  shrimp  in  grapefruit  is  a  surprise 
item  for  the  girls.  Such  a  nice  thing  for  that 
bridge  lunch,  or  for  a  first  course  Sunday 
night.  Chill,  and  don't  pull  your  punches. 

II  Well,  thinking  along  these  lines,  have  I 
ever  mentioned  sardines  spread  with  mustard 
mayonnaise,  arranged  on  sliced  tomatoes?  If 
I  have,  don't  shoot. 

ir»  I  had  potatoes  souffle  the  other  day— in 
a  pretty  high-hat  restaurant.  First  time  in  a 
long  line  of  years.  I  promise  to  tell  you  how 
the  chef  did  them,  after  I  do  them  myself. 
Oh.  boy!   I  could  eat  a  million! 

10  Department  of  Utter  Despair,  Farthest 
North  Division:  A  salad  composed  of  rasp- 
berry gelatin  and  marshmallows.  Set  up  to 
look  like — guess  what— firecrackers.  Tie  that, 
if  you  can. 

17  If  you  use  sliced  hard-cooked  eggs  in  a 
salad  or  as  a  garnish,  don't  they  act  mean  and 
dry  out  and  curl  up?  Marinate  in  French 
dressing  and  dust  with  paprika  and  beat  them 
at  their  own  game. 

III  Here's  a  two-timer  for  you.  Makes  my 
work  lighter,  if  you  get  the  idea.  Beat  three 
eggs  light.  Add  a  cup  of  cottage  cheese,  a 
quarter  cup  of  flour,  a  little  salt  and  two 
tablespoons  of  butter  or  margarine. 

If)  Beat  the  whole  thing  like  mad.  Bake,  as 
you  do  all  griddlecakes,  on  a  greased  griddle. 
You'd  better  grease  the  griddle  this  time. 
Serve  hot  with  jam,  jelly  or  powdered  sugar 
on  top.  Very  good. 

20  Just  like  Southern  sunshine  is  a  chicken, 
ham  and  corn  pie.  Use  the  cream-style  canned 
corn.  Otherwise  the  chicken-pie  business 
goes  as  usual.  And  it's  good  business  to  me. 


21  Faced  with  the  beet  situation,  what  can 
we  do?  Wash  and  bake  some  of  the  red  ras- 
cals, until  tender.  Slice  them  thin — skirmed, 
of  course — and  fill  a  buttered  casserole.  Pour 
over  a  cup  of  sour  cream,  well  seasoned,  and 
heat.  Then  add  the  juice  of  a  lemon. 

22  Yes,  Emma,  lobster  thermidor  can  and 
probably  should  be  sprinkled  with  fine  cheese, 
buttered  crumbs  and  shot  under  the  broiler  to 
bubble  and  brown.  So  glad  you  asked  me. 

23  Hominy  cooked  in  milk,  molded,  chilled, 
sliced  and  fried  in  deep  fat  or  in  a  frying  pan 
to  a  golden  brown  is  perfect  with  guinea 
chicken,  or  any  chicken. 

24  Entertaining  the  boys  takes  the  strongest 
heart— sometimes.  Make  up  a  large  batch  of 
Welsh-rabbit  sandwiches.  Then  fry  in  deep 
fat,  or  saute  them,  and  serve  hot  with  olives 
and  pickles.  Do  them  in  the  waffle  iron — but 
it's  slower.   Pretty,  though. 

2o  Sandwich  hint  de  luxe  (whatever  that 
means).  Sweet  melon  pickle  minced  and 
mi.xed  with  mayonnaise  in  ham  sandwiches  on 
whole  wheat.  Whew! 

2G  When  a  Gallup  poll  is  taken  on  cookies, 
the  old-time  filled  cooky  will  come  out  first. 
I'll  bet  on  it.  Dates  and  raisins  and  Banbury 
mixture  will  win  the  race. 

2T  Bought  myself  some  cardamon  seeds  at 
Christmas.  Everybody  ought  to  buy  one 
present  for  her— him— self.  Now  for  a  chicken 
curry.    With  rice,  coconut  and  chutney. 

2tt  Squares  of  hot  gingerbread  spread  with 
old-fashioned    apple    butter,    covered    with 
whipped  cream  sweetened  and  perfumed  with 
ginger  sirup,  is  a  dessert  beautiful.    Garnish - 
with  preserved  ginger. 

20  Garnishes  are  always  cropping  up  with  a 

"why?"  Chicken  a  la  king  looks  and  tastes 
better  served  with  green-pepper  rings  sauteed 
in  salad  oil. 

30  April  showers  make  May  something  or 
other.  But  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  they  are 
a  pain  in  the  neck.  Someday  I  shall  buy  an 
umbrella,  and  a  lot  of  good  that  will  do  me. 
But  come  on,  April.  I'm  ready.  Doyourstuft". 


"CI 


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...EVEN   WHEN    DADDY'S   AWAY 

For  a  cheerful  meal,  start  with  a  ^ouP  that's 
festive.  This  soup  is  so  particularly  good 
because  it's  made  with  extra-special  care^ 
TeX,  cultivated  mushrooms  fre  ^^shed 
from  the  hothouses  to  Campbel  's  Kitchens 
The  very  day  they're  picked,  blended  vath 
sweet  cream  that's  extra  thick  and  rich - 
anftransformed  into  this  wonderful  soup. 

CREAW  OF  MUSHROOM  SOUP 


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SOMETIMES  "WITH  THE  GIRls- 

vegetable  of  ^p^^^''!':;  =,  *-  -ry  &.t 
asparagiK"  taste  that's  sh«r  defch,  /""^ 
every  appetite.  Serve  Camnlin.  a  '°  '"°»' 
Soup  with  a  gay  sllad  „^S         ■ '^"P'^^us 

ASPARAGUS  SOUP 


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..„ANYTIW«"ALLAtONE" 

TWsatrueho^inejaboutcMcten^ 

as  Campbell's  raake  it,  that  hi  ^^^ 

"^''^^rn'^Ta'SngtCadlhsoeasy 
en3oyment.  It  s  amaz.i   e  j^,    because 

to  fix,  could  taste  f  ^^^^^^^J^^  ,o,p  needs 
this  soup  has -hat  fine  chi^^^^^^^^^  J^  ^.,^. 

_a  chicken  broth  that  gU  ^^^^^^ 

ness,  fluffy  nee  and  pieces  oi 

CHICKEN  SOUP 

THE  RED-AND-WHITE  LABEL 


LOOK  FOR 


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46 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  194; 


The  woman  who  took 
Tuberculosis  in  her  stride. •• 


A  victim  of  tuberculosis  is  not  necessarily 
condemned  to  the  life  of  an  invalid,  if 
two  things  happen. 

First,  the  early  discovery  of  the  dis- 
ease .  .  .  and  second,  the  calm  and 
systematic  carrying  out  of  the  doc- 
tor's program  of  recovery. 

Tragically,  thousands  of  people  today 
are  carrying  early  tuberculosis  around 
without  realizing  it. 

For  it's  not  hard  to  ignore  a  slight 
pain  in  the  chest,  a  constant  tired  feel- 
ing, or  a  persistent  cough.  And  it's  not 
until  they  discover  their  sputum  is 
blood-streaked  that  many  tuberculosis 
victims  see  their  doctor. 

Even  then  it  may  not  be  too  late.  At 
first,  twenty-four-hour-a-day  rest  and 
quiet  are  essential— the  kind  of  care  best 
afforded  by  a  sanatorium. 

It  may  take  a  short  or  long  time  to 
build  up  the  resistance  the  body  needs 
to  fight  off  the  disease,  and  establish  the 
patient  on  the  road  to  recovery.  And 
after  discharge  from  the  sanatorium  the 
real  job  has  just  begun. 

For  it  is  then  that  the  patient  must 
depend  on  herself  to  practice  the  rou- 
tine already  established.  She  must  be 
careful  to  have  adequate  sleep . . .  proper 
diet  .  .  .  sensible  recreation.  She  must 
avoid  overexertion.  In  fact,  these  are 
wise  precautions  for  any  who  fear  tuber- 
culosis. 

Young  adults,  and  teen-age  boys  and 
girls— especially  the  latter— are  the  most 
likely  victims  of  active  tuberculosis. 

Parents  should  warn  their  families  to 
be  careful  of  chronic  coughers  who  may 
be  harboring  the  germs— many  elderly 
people  with  "asthma"  or  "bronchitis" 
may  have  the  disease. 

And,  since  the  surest  way  to  find 
tuberculosis  early  is  by  routine 
examination,  including  X-ray,  all  of 
us,  young  or  old,  should  be  looked 
over  regularly. 

Precautions  like  these  have  contributed 
much  to  the  decline  of  the  tuberculosis 


death  rate.  Thirty  years  ago  it  was  some 
220  per  hundred-thousand  people.  To- 
day it  is  down  to  40  per  hundred-thou- 
sand. 

That's  largely  because  of  two  devel- 
opments. First,  modern  methods  for 
finding  tuberculosis  early.  Second,  ade- 
quate care  for  people  after  they  have 
been  discharged  from  the  sanatorium— 
especially  those  who  prematurely  think 
themselves  ready  to  resume  an  active, 
strenuous  life. 

To  help  you  understand  the  impor- 
tance of  early  tuberculosis  recogni- 
tion and  its  later  rehabilitation, 
Metropolitan  has  prepared  a  book- 
let entitled  "Tuberculosis."  Write  for 
a  free  copy  of  booklet  45J,  today. 


NURSES  are  desperately  needed  for  overseas 
duty  and  for  our  wounded  veterans.  If  you  are 
eligible,  apply  at  once  to  the  American  Red 
Cross.  Civilian  men  and  women  are  urged  to 
help  replace  nurses  by  service  as  hospital  at- 
tendants or  nurses'  aides.  For  more  informa- 
tion write  to  the  National  Nursing  Council  for 
War  Service,  1790  Broadway,  New  York  19, 
New  York. 


COPYRIGHT    1945  —  METROPOLITAN    LIFE   INSURANCE   CO. 

Metropolitan  Life 
Insurance  Company 

{A    MUTUAL    COMPANY) 

Frederick  H.  Ecker, 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD 

Leroy  A.  Lincoln, 
PRESIDENT 

1  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 


Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 
1  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  a  copy  of  your  booklet, 
45J,  entitled,  "Tuberculosis." 

Name 


Street_ 
City 


_State_ 


*   SERVICE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  .  .  . 
KEEP  YOUR  GOVERNMENT  LIFE  INSURANCE!  * 


THE  WHITE  DRESS 

(Continued  from  Page  30) 


Winnie  put  dowTi  her  coffee  cup.  She  stood 
up.  firm  and  attractive  and  neat.  She  put 
her  hand  in  her  pocket  and  came  to  the  bed 
and  put  a  small  handkerchief  on  the  blanket 
cover.  It  was  lacy  and  delicate  and  crumpled 
and  stained  heavily,  apparently  with  a 
brown  liquid  which  had  dried.  It  had  a  large 
J  in  one  comer.  Winnie  said,  "That's  blood. 
It  was  soaked  with  it.  I  don't  know  what 
she  tried  to  do  after  she  killed  her.  She  must 
not  have  intended  to;  she  must  have  tried 
to  stop  the  bleeding." 

'Winnie!" 

"Sh-h.  Mamy,  you've  got  to  help  me. 
Father's  going  to  find  out." 

Judith  and  Andre.  Andre  and  Judith. 
Cecily,  dead,  in  the  shadow  of  the  bamboos. 
Marny  stared  at  the  crumpled,  dried, 
stained  handkerchief. 

"I  covered  for  her  last  night — yet  I  didn't 
say  anything  that  wasn't  true,  Marny. 
Judith  /5 — casual  like  that.  I  mean,  her  big 
bedroom  is  like  a  living  room;  everybody 
strays  in  and  out  and  sits  around  and  gossips 
and  it  was  perfectly  true — what  I  told  the 
police,  I  mean.  There  wasn't  anything  un- 
usual about  Andre  or  anybody  else  going  in 
there  and  smoking,  and  shouting  through 
the  dressing-room  door  at  her  while  she 
dressed.   Only  father  doesn't  believe  it." 

"Winnie,  what  do  you  mean?  What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  this? " 

Winnie  took  a  short,  hard  breath,  stared  at 
Marny  and  snatched  up  the  handkerchief. 
"  I'm  going  to  burn  it,  of  course." 

"But  that — Winnie,  do  you  mean  that 
Judith  killed  Cecily?" 

Winnie's  face  took  on  a  stubborn  look. 
"No.  At  least  she  didn't  mean  to." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  handkerchief?" 

The  stubborn  look  deepened;  there  were 
hard,  black  pupils  now  in  Winnie's  blue  eyes. 
She  said  obstinately,  "I  won't  tell  you." 

Winnie  "   Marny  sat  up  straighter 

in  bed  and  pushed  her  hair  back  from  her 
forehead  with  a  desperate  wish  that  she 
could  brush  away  confusion  and  fog. 

"Tf  you  think  the  police  are  going  to  get 
this,  they're  not.  If  you  dare  tell  them,  I'll  say 
it  isn't  so.  I'll  tell  them  you  made  it  up.  I'll 
tell  them  you  were  jealous  of  Judith " 

"Jealous  of  Judith!"  Could  Winnie  have 
guessed  about  Andre?  How  could  she  have 
known?   How  could  anyone 

Winnie  flashed  with  a  kind  of  triumph, 
"Because  of  father.  You've  worked  so 
closely  with  him.  They'll  believe  you  are  in 
love  with  him  and  jealous  of  Judith.  That's 
what  I'll  tell  them." 


"There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  that." 
Winnie  shoved  the  bloody  handkerchie 
in  her  pocket;  she  sat  down  on  t]jie  bed  anc 
gave  in  as  suddenly  as  if  the  concrete  wal 
had  collapsed.  "Oh,  Marny,  I  know  it! 
wouldn't  really  do  anything  like  that.  Bu 
I've  been  so  worried  and  I  couldn't  sleej 
and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Becausi 
father  won't  stop.  You  know  what  he's  like 
He  never  gives  up.  He  thinks  Judith  anc 
Andre  were  having  an  affair  and  he's  goin) 
to  find  out  about  Judith  and  Cecily  just  a 
sure  as  anything  unless  you  stop  him." 

Marny  took  a  long  breath.  "Listen,  Win 
nie,  I  can't  do  anything  with  him  when  hi 
gets  an  idea  in  his  head.  And  if  Judith  reall; 
killed  Cecily " 

"  I  tell  you  it  was — it  was  accident ;  Juditl 
wouldn't  hurt  a  fly.  She'll  be  safe,  if  you'l 
only  keep  father  out  of  it  till  the  thing  blow 
over." 

Suppose  when  Cecily  came  back  she  wen 
to  Judith's  room.  Suppose  she  said  thi 
things  she  had  said  to  Marny ;  suppose  Juditl 
followed  her  down  to  the  bamboo  hedge 
("She  must  have  tried  to  stop  the  bleeding,' 
Winnie  had  said.) 

Mamy  took  a  desperate  hold  on  herself 
"Winnie,  you've  got  to  get  things  straight 
If  Judith  killed  Cecily " 

"It  wouldn't  bring  the  girl  back  to  life 
would  it,  to  tell  them  Judith  did  it?" 

Winnie  got  up.  She  reached  swiftly  for  th' 
little,  gay  ash  tray  on  the  bed  table.  Ther 
were  matches  in  it,  a  folder  with  Shado\ 
Island  and  palm  trees  outlined  on  the  silve 
cover.  Marny  realized  what  Winnie  wa 
about  to  do  just  as  she  struck  a  match;  sh 
jumped  up  and  Winnie  caught  her  by  th 
shoulder  and  forced  her  back  against  the  be( 
and  lighted  the  handkerchief. 

"Winnie " 

"Stay  there!" 

"You've  got  to " 

"Wait."  The  wispy  handkerchief  was  i 
flames.  Winnie's  hand  was  hard  and  tight  oi 
Marny 's  shoulder;  she  wriggled  away  fron 
it  and  Winnie  ran  to  the  bathroom  door 
snatching  up  the  ash  tray,  holding  it  unde 
the  flaming  handkerchief  so  the  small 
charred  bits  could  fall  into  it. 

"Winnie,  you  can't " 

"Oh,  can't  I?"  said  Winnie  and  reachec 
the  bathroom  door,  banged  it  against  Mam; 
and  clicked  the  bolt. 

An  airplane  droned  overhead.  The  roon 
seemed  hot  and  humid.  After  a  momen 
Marny  went  to  the  balcony  door  and  opene( 
(Cunliniied  on  Page  48) 


Do  yon  \M\i\k^itU(U(Ae«>ata<>e^4e<MivMi6M^ 

121.363  ^me^uc^.  {,um  Killcil  495,000? 


ONE  in  every  eight  Americans  to- 
day dies  of  cancer.  There  are  right 
now  an  estimated  600,000  in  this  coun- 
try who  are  suffering  from  this  dis- 
ease. They  are  Americans  of  all  ages. 
For  babies  are  born  with  cancer;  last 
year  18,000  children  under  14  died 
of  it.  Cancer  is  the  Number  I  killer  of 
women  in  the  35-to-55  age  group.  It 
is  the  Number  II  killer  of  American 
men. 

Saddest  of  all  the  facts  about  cancer 
is  the  assurance  that  so  many  of  these 
deaths  are  needless,  wholly  prevent- 
able. ^  ithout  the  discovery  of  a  single 
new  cancer  fact,  it  is  certain  that  30  to 
50  per  cent  of  potential  cancer  victims 
coidd  be  saved,  according  to  the  med- 
ical authorities  of  the  .American  Cancer 
Society.  This  means  that  through  an 
adequate  educational  program,  ade- 
quate detection  clinics,  equipment  and 


training  and  periodical  medical  exam- 
inations, 4,000,000  to  6,500,000  of  tbe 
17,000,000  Americans  who  now  are 
doomed  to  die  of  cancer  might  be 
spared. 

The  American  Cancer  Society,  insti- 
gated by  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal's 
history -making  articleon  cancer  in  May, 
1913,  and  leading  doctors  and  scientists 
of  the  nation,  knows  how  to  prevent 
these  deaths.  Thev  have  planned  such 
a  program  and  are  ready  to  get  it 
under  way  at  once.  It  will,  of  course, 
take  money.  A  minimum  of  $5,000,000 
annually  is  needed.  The  society's  fund 
campaign  will  be  held  in  April,  desig- 
nated by  an  Act  of  Congress  as  "Cancer 
Control  Month." 

Vt  hen  members  of  your  local  com- 
mittee ask  you  to  contribute,  will  you 
keep  these  facts  about  cancer  in  mind? 
— The  Editors. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


47 


HER  RING-a  beautiful 
diamond  flanked  with 
smaller  diamonds  in  a 
setting  of  platinum. 


She's  Engaged  I 
She's  Love^! 
She  uses  R>iid's! 


There  is  quicksilver  magic  about  Lola 
Pierce's  beauty — her  arresting  blue,  blue 
eyes,  the  radiant  clarity  of  her  exquisite 
complexion. 

She's  GTio^^er  engaged  girl  with  that  ador- 
able soft -smooth  "Pond's  look"  about  her 
lovely  face.  "I  certainly  do  love  Pond's 
Cold  Cream,"  Lola  says.  ''It  has  such  a 
perfect  way  of  making  my  face  feel  gor- 
geously clean — and  ever  so  soft.^'' 

How  she  beauty-creams  with  Pond's: 

One — She  smooths  snowy  white  Pond's 
Cold  Cream  completely  over  her  face  and 
throat.  Pats  quickly  to  release  dirt  and 
make-up.  Tissues  all  off. 

Two — She  rinses  with  more  Pond's  Cold 
Cream,  swirling  her  white  cream-coated 
fingers  quickly  round  and  round  her 
face.  This  to  make  her  face  extra  clean, 
extra  soft.  Then  she  tissues  off  again. 

Use  your  Pond's  this  twice-over  way  —  every 
night,  every  morning— and  for  your  in- 
between-time  beauty  clean-ups. 


GET  THE  BIG  LUXURY  S/ZE— You'll  like  its  wide 
top  that  lets  you  dip  in  with  both  hands.  Such  a 
grand  lavish  feeling!  Get  your  own  big  jar  of  Pond's 
Cold  Cream  today!  Yes — it's  no  accident  so  many 
more  women  and  girls  use  Pond's  than  any  other 
face  cream  at  any  price. 


Her  charming  face  has  that  engaging  soft-smooth  look.  "I  just  leave  it  to  Pond's!"  she  says. 
Her  engagement  to  Lieutenant  I.  C.  Nojres,  U.  S.  X.  R.  was  announced  by  her  parents 


She  is  a  Nurse's  Aide  .  . . 

For  the  duration,  Lola  has  volunteered  as 
a  Nurse's  Aide,  serving  regularly  at  the  hos- 
pital each  week.  "It's  grand  to  feel  I  can  do 
something  so  badly  needed,"  she  says. 

Your  local  hospital  is  short-handed  for 
nursing  help  right  now.  Nurse's  Aide  work  is 
one  of  the  most  important  war  services  any 
woman  or  girl  can  do  these  days.  Why  not 
fmd  out  how  you  can  help  at  your  hospital? 


At  the  hospital  she  takes  temperatures,  carries  trays! 


A    FEW    OF    THE 
POIVD'S     SOCIETY     BEAUTIES 

Mrs.  William  Rhinelander  Stewart 
'  Mrs.  Morgan  Belmont 
Lady  Kinross        Mrs.  A.  J.  Drexel,  III 
Lady  Louis  Mountbatten 


48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


OXYDOL  WASHES  SO  CLEAN 

your  biciqest  wash  comes 

^ITE  WITHOUT  BieACHING 

. .  Its  ffew'HusHeeubUe'Suds  iJ^OutOirt! 

Make  this  test  next  washday!  You'll  really  be  proud 
when  you  see  Oxydol  get  even  your  biggest  wash  so  clean 
it  comes  white  without  bleaching!  Oxydol's  new  "Hustle- 
Bubble"  suds  are  so  active  they  lijt  dirt  out.  Use  Oxydol 
next  washday  and  see  all  your  white  things,  except  of  course 
for  unusual  stains,  come  white  without  bleaching. 

Helps  Save  Clothes  In  Wartime !  With  Oxydol  there's 
no  need  for  hard  rubbing  or  harsh  bleaching,  so  clothes 
last  longer  in  these  wartimes.  And  Oxydol's  so  saje—s&ie 
for  wash  colors,  rayons  and  your  own  precious  hands. 


O      OXYDOL  Woshes 
^  WHITE  WITHOUT  BLEACHINa 


AVOID  SOAP  WASTE!  Soap  Is  mode  of  vital  materials,  so  soap  waste  is  war  waste. 
Make  your  Oxydol  go  farther) 


(Continued  from  Page  46) 
it.   It  was  extraordinarily  still  outside,  the 
water  as  flat  as  a  gray,  shiny  plate. 
Suppose  Judith  had  shot  Cecily! 
Judith  had  known  that  there  was  a  Cecily; 
she    had    admitted    that.     She    had    said, 
"Andre,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"   As  if 
they  had— well,  talked  of  Cecily. 

And  suppose  the  lacy  scrap  that  Winnie 
had  burned  could  have  saved  her,  Marny, 
from  a  murder  charge!  Police,  reporters, 
jury.  The  words  haunted  her.  Yet  she  had 
still  a  sense  of  unreality  and  security;  she 
hadn't  murdered  Cecily,  so  how  could  any- 
body actually  believe  that  she  had? 

Winnie  came  out  of  the  bathroom ;  she  had 
washed  the  ash  tray  clean — even  her  hands 
smelled  soapy.  She  put  it  down  on  the  bed 
table. 

Occasionally  a  spark  of  her  father's  deter- 
mination showed  in  Winnie;  allied  with  her 
mother's  placidity,  it  had  a  certain  power. 
With  weary  dismay  Marny  recognized  it 
now.  She  had  to  extract  whatever  it  was 
that  was  in  Winnie's  mind,  and  Winnie  was 
not  going  to  permit  it  to  be  extracted. 

Winnie  turned.  "I'm  sorry,  Marny.  I  be- 
haved rather  badly.  I  know  you  are  loyal 
to  father  and  to  Judith  and  you  wouldn't 
give  her  away.  But  I  was — well,  fright- 
ened." She  stopped  again.  Winnie  was  never 
adept  with  words.  She  bit  her  lips  and  said, 
"  Please  forgive  me.  I  was  upset.  It's  a  hor- 
rible thing." 

The  thing  to  do  was  reason  with  her 
quietly,  slowly,  without  appearing  to  exert 
any  pressure.  "  I  understand,  Winnie.  None 
of  us  is  quite  sensible  and  reasonable  this 
morning.  But  why  do  you  feel  that  Judith 
murdered  Cecily?" 

It  wasn't  going  to  succeed;  Winnie's 
mouth  became  straight  and  firm.  "I  don't. 
She  didn't.  Or  if  she  did  it  was  sheer 
accident.  But  I  won't  admit,  even  to 
myself,  that  she — anything  about  it.  I 
burned  the  handkerchief  and  that's  the 
end  of  it." 

"Where  did  you  find  the  handkerchief?" 
"I  told  you  I  wouldn't  tell  you." 
"  Winnie,  suppose  I  do  tell  the  police." 
"You  won't.  I  know  you  too  well.  I  know 
I  can  count  on  you." 

She  knew,  too,  that  the  evidence  no  longer 
existed.  Winnie  was  not  Tim  Wales*  daugh- 
ter for  nothing. 

Marny  said  slowly,  "Suppose  someone 
else  is  accused  of  murder;  suppose  someone 
else  is  arrested.  What  will  you  do  then?" 

There  was  a  pause;  Winnie's  thick  eye- 
brows drew  together.  Finally  she  said, 
although  rather  uncertainly,  "Father  and 
Judith  come  first." 

"You  mean  you'd  let  someone  else  be 

tried  and— perhaps  convicted  " 

Winnie  said,  "Nobody  else  will  be.  They'll 
never  find  out  who  did  it.  If  you  can  stop 
father." 

"  I  can't  do  anything  with  Tim " 

"Yes,  you  can.  He'll  keep  after  Judith. 
She's  so — so  careless;  she  may  have  left 
other  things  to  be  found;  she  might  do  any- 
thing. Father'U  never  give  up  till  he  gets  at 
the  truth.  Unless  you  stop  him." 
"But  how  can  I  stop  him,  Winnie?" 
"By  telling  him  that  Andre  was  in  love 
with  you,"  said  Winnie. 

XI 

Ihe  house  was  fully  awake  now;  perhaps 
it  had  been  for  some  time.  Now  that  the 
balcony  door  was  open,  small  sounds  drifted 
upward  and  through  it :  the  clatter  of  china, 
as  if  someone  was  having  breakfast  on  the 
porch  below;  a  distant  voice;  another  air- 
plane which,  now,  seemed  very  loud. 

It  didn't  matter,  of  course,  whatever 
Winnie  had  seen  or  guessed;  everybody 
would  know  soon  enough:  it  would  be  in  the 
newspapers,  broadcast  for  anybody  to  read 
who  cared  to  read  it.  Marny  shut  her  eyes 
for  an  instant.  When  she  opened  them 
Winnie  had  taken  a  cigarette  from  the  box 
on  the  table  and  was  lighting  it.  Belatedly 
she  held  the  box  toward  Marny. 

"Sorry.    I  a»?  upset.   Light?" 

"No, thanks.  What  do  you  mean,  Winnie?" 

"You  look  very  queer,  Marny.  Hadn't 
you  better  sit  down?" 


Beautifies  any  Room  ? 


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and 
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and 

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*«  *•  •»  •     »>  O// 


II 


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they  use  NESCO  porcelain- 
on-steel  enameled  ware. 


Mrs.  Biiifamily.  We  need 
ware  that  cooks  quickly 
— conserves  fuel — antl  is 
easy  to  wash.  NESCO 
cleans  like  china  with 
soap  and  water.  Needs 
no  abrasives.  Saves  time  and  money. 


Mrs.  Farmer.  The  NESCO  utensils  I 
bought  years  ago  are  still  in  use.  The 
new  improved  NESCO  with  3  coats 
of  porcelain  on  steel  should  last  for 
many,  many  years.  It's  real  economy 
to  buy  NESCO. 


Mrs.  Bride.  The  sparkling  white  and 
black  enameled  utensils  brighten  my 
kitchen  and  NESCO  has  all  the  very 
latest  advancements — electro-welded 
handles  that  can't  break  off,  snug- 
fitting  dome  shaped  covers,  seamless 
construction. 


Dr.  Scalpel.  Porcelain-on-steel  is  best 
in  the  home  for  the  same  reasons  that 
it  is  used  in  operating  rooms.  It  is 
sanitary.  Its  mirror  smooth  surface 
resists   stains,   odors,    flavors,    acids. 

•  The  5  great  NESCO  factories  are  making 
enormous  quantities  of  munitions  and  small 
quantities  of  housewares.  Not  every  dealer 
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shopping  for  and  waiting  for. 

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enamefec/  yi^are 


"No,  I — yes."  She  sat  down  on  the  chaise 
longue  and  looked  at  Winnie,  who  was  light- 
ing her  cigarette.  And  who  put  out  the  match 
and  leaned  against  the  table  and  said: 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him,  Marny?" 

In  love  with  Andre?  Blackmail  and  mur- 
der and  Laideau's  horrible  hands.  Nothing 
was  coherent;  everything  was  in  words  and 
phrases  and  flashing  pictures.  Marny 
pressed  her  hands  into  the  arms  of  the  chaise 
longue. 

"I  am  not  in  love  with  Andre,"  she  said. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  voice  alone  was 
betraying. 

But  Winnie  said,  "It  was  only  that  you 
really  did  look  so  very  odd  for  a  moment, 
Marny.  Of  course,  I  realize  he  was  in  New 
York  only  a  week.  But — he's  so  Latin, 
somehow."  Some  sound  in  the  hall  outside 
or  somewhere  in  the  house  seemed  to  have 
caught  her  attention;  she  turned  and  listened 
sharply  and  said,  "I'll  go  now.  Only  please 
do  it,  Marny.  No  one  else  need  know;  only 
father.  And  it  will  put  him  off  Judith  and 
things  will  have  a  chance  to  blow  over." 

//  she  says  that  again,  I'll  scream, 
thought  Marny  sud- 
denly and  rather 
horribly.  The  door 
closed  firmly  behind 
Winnie's  blue  dress- 
ing gown. 

There  was  a  faint 
smell  of  burned  cloth 
floating  like  an  ugly 
little  ghost  in  the 
room,  acid  and  dis- 
agreeable above  the 
light  fragrances  of 
sachet  and  soap  and 
perfume.  She  had  to 
escape  it;  it  was  like  a 
sudden,  urgent  claus- 
trophobia. 

So  it  was  actually 
because  of  Winnie 
and  her  incredible  re- 
quest—that yet  came 
ironically  so  near  the 
truth— that  Marny 
slid  her  feet  into  the 
small  scarlet  mules  be- 
side the  bed,  wrapped 
her  white  robe  around 
her  and  went  out  onto 
the  balcony.  And 
Andre  Durant  was 
waiting. 

She  did  not  see  him 
at  first;  he  was  sitting 
on  the  railing,  down 
at  the  end  of  the  bal- 
cony where  it  turned 

to  follow  the  line  of  the  house.  The  vines 
were  thick  and  he  was  seated  in  their 
shadow,  staring  out  at  the  bay.  But  waiting. 

She  knew  that  as  soon  as  she  saw  him. 
It  was  in  every  line  of  his  figure;  she  drew 
back,  but  he  heard  the  creak  of  the  door. 
He  sprang  up  and,  came  toward  her. 

He  looked  no  different — there  was  only  a 
curious  blankness  about  his  face.  As  if  he 
had  not  put  on  his  usual  mask  of  charm.  It 
was  the  look  of  a  creature  from  another  and 
unknown  world:  something  alien,  something 
walled  and  untouchable  by  its  own  choice 
and  being.  And  something  evil. 

This  was  the  Andre  that  Cecily  must  have 
seen. 

Me  said,  "I  was  waiting  for  you."  He 
touched  the  end  of  his  cigarette  against  the 
balcony  railing  to  shake  off  the  ashes  and 
went  on  softly,  with  matter-of-fact  precision, 
as  if  he  had  said  the  same  words  many  times: 
"I  don't  like  scenes.  Don't  make  one. 
Laideau  thought  you  did  not  believe  him, 
but  he  told  you  the  truth."  He  made  no 
attempt  to  evade  her  eyes;  his  look  was  re- 
mote, impersonal. 

She  said  slowly,  "Why  did  you  lie  to 
Cecily?  Why  did  you  tell  her  we  wanted  to 
marry?  Why  did  you  send  her  to  me?" 

She  was  sure  he  heard  her,  yet  there  was 
no  flicker  of  response  in  that  blank,  hand- 
some face.  "Laideau  will  come  to  you  today. 
Tell  him  the  amount  you  are  prepared  to 
pay." 


By  Uurotby  Asbby  Hownall 

The  dark  gray  wings  of  lone- 
liness and  loss 
Are  folded  now,  as  vibrant 

spring  comes  in 
Pulsing  with  life,  freeing  the 

fettered  brook, 
Stirring  to  motion  leaf  and 

curling  fern. 
The  sweet  arbutus  wakes 

within  the  wood, 
And  eager  buds  burst  green  on 

branch  and  vine. 
The  robin  warms  the  blue  eggs 

'in  her  nest; 
Shy  creatures  burrow  in  the 

throbbing  earth. 
So  nothing  dies;  the  ice  of 

winter  yields. 
And  spring  is  God,  and  hope 

within  the  heart. 

Dear  child,  I  find  you  are  not 

lost  at  all 
But  close  at  hand,  in  wonders 

new  and  small. 


He  was  going  to  turn  away.  She  said, 
"Did  you  kill  Cecily?" 

Again  it  was  exactly  as  if  he  hadn't  heard 
her.  "Laideau  will  see  to  the  details.  It  may 
take  a  few  days  for  you  to  make  the  neces- 
sary arrangements.  We  understand  that. 
Any  securities  you  will  have  to  sell  yourself; 
if  you  wish  to  include  jewelry,  I  imagine 
Laideau  can  dispose  of  it  more  profitably 
than  you." 

"I  will  give  you  nothing." 

l3uT  he  had  turned  and  was  walking  away, 
gracefully,  lightly,  a  man  whose  face  and 
walk  she  knew  and  who  was  and  always  had 
been  a  stranger  to  her.  He  turned  the  corner 
of  the  balcony  and  disappeared. 

And  she  thought  suddenly,  Poor  Cecily. 
Knowing  him  for  what  he  was,  yet  unable  to 
free  herself  from  him.  Poor  tragic  Cecily!  And 
how  many  other  women?  And  how  near  she 
had  come  to  being  one  of  them ! 

Yet  in  one  way,  of  course,  she  had  not 
escaped.  She  turned  back  into  her  own  room. 
The  faint  small  ■  odor  of  burned  lace  and 
cloth  still  haunted  it  as  she  dressed. 

When  she  went 
downstairs  Tim  Wales 
was  just  outside  the 
hall  door,  talking  to 
reporters,  who  were 
apparently  leaving. 
(Murder  on  Shadow 
Island  :  Home  OF  Tim 
Wales:  Prominent 
IN  Aviation  Circles. 
It  was  all  in  the  pa- 
pers that  day.) 

She  stopped  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairway; 
voices  floated  in 
through  the  open 
door.  She  had  heard 
Tim  deal  with  report- 
ers many  times;  she 
knew  he  was  employ- 
ing his  very  best  and 
most  disarming  tricks. 

" of    course 

we'd  all  think  it  was 
suicide,  if  they  had 
found  the  gun.  They 
may  find  it  yet;  one 
never  knows." 

"Do  you  believe  it 
was  suicide,  Mr. 
Wales?  Can  we  quote 
you  about  that?" 

"Well,  it's  hard  to 
say.  As  I  told  you,  she 
was  very  young,  not 
very  well.  She  and 
her  husband  were  sep- 
arated temporarily;  she  may  have  had  a 

fit  of  nerves,  depression " 

"She  was  shot  in  the  back,  wasn't  she, 

Mr.  Wales?  At  the  morgue " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  You  saw  the  body, 
did  you?  It's  all  a  terrible  shock  to  every- 
body. Yet — well,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do 
what  freakish  things  can  happen  with  guns." 
"According  to  the  police  statement,  the 
gun  was  not  found  at  all."  This  voice  was 
rather  gentle,  but  definitely  skeptical. 

Tim,  of  course,  knew  it  too.  He  said  in  his 
most  candid-sounding  manner,  "That's  just 
the  trouble,  boys.  Shot  in  the  back,  and  ap- 
parently the  gun  gone  completely.  Of 
course,  the  place  where  the  body  was  found 
is  only  a  few  feet  from  the  water." 

There  wasn't  any  question  of  suicide;  the 
police  had  settled  that  instantly  and  with  a 
decision  which  left  no  room  for  doubt.  Not 
that  any  doubt  could  actually  exist  or  be 
conjured  up  even  by  Tim  Wales'  artfully- 
artless-sounding  implications.  Cecily  was 
shot  in  the  back  and  was  dead  and  there  was 
no  gun  and  it  was  murder. 

And  blackmail.  She  held  tight  to  the  stair 
railing.  The  reporters  were  leaving.  She 
could  hear  their  footsteps  on  the  gravel ;  one 
or  two  appeared  to  linger. 

"We'd  hke  a  statement  from  Durant,  you 
know,  Mr.  Wales." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  He'll  give  you  one  later, 
I'm  sure.  Just  now  he's  not  able  to  see  any- 
body, believe  me." 
"Photographs " 


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50 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Look      \1 
for  the      -.-^ 
YELLOW      "^^ 
AND  RED 
package 


Kemenilter      ihal 
thrown  is  ground  lost! 


"All  you  want.  Everything.  Grounds, 
house — place  where  she  was  found." 

"We'd  like  a  shot  of  you  and  Mrs.  Wales." 

Marny  could  detect  the  icy  edge  in  Tim's 
voice;  his  manner  remained  cordial  and 
friendly  and  regretful.  "Can't  give  you  that. 
My  wife's  not  up  yet.  It's  been  a  shock  to 
everybody — a  suicide  right  here  on  the 
island." 

"But  it  wasn't  suicide,  Mr.  Wales,"  re- 
minded the  reporter  gently. 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  At  least — well, 
poor  child,"  said  Tim.  "Poor  girl.  I'll  tell 
you  what:  as  soon  as  we  can  pull  ourselves 
together  a  bit,  I'll  let  you  come  around  and 
take  all  the  pictures  you  want.  How's  that?  " 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  the  other 
voice  rather  airily.  "We've  got  lots  of  pic- 
tures of  you,  Mr.  Wales.  Every  paper  in  the 
country  has  them — and  of  course  Mrs. 
Wales  and  your  daughter  too." 

There  was  a  sharp,  small  silence.  Then 
Tim  laughed— very  brightly,  very  shortly 
and  very  falsely.  "Yes.  Yes,  I  suppose  so. 
Well,  I'm  sorry  I  can't  give  you  any  more 
information.  It's  a  bad  business,  any  way 
you  look  at  it.  But  Manson  is  a  great  fellow; 
I  have  every  confidence  in  the  police.  Thank 
you,  boys — thank  you." 

Footsteps  crunched  away  down  the  drive 
and  Tim  came  into  the  hall,  and  saw  her. 
He  got  out  a  handkerchief  and  wiped  his 
face,  and  his  whole  fat  body  seemed  to  col- 
lapse; he  sank  down  in  a  chair.  All  the  small 
lines  showed  sharply  in  his  face,  and  there 
were  gray  hollows  around  his  eyes. 

"Marny,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of 
getting  a  good  fellow  to  do  a  personal  public- 
relations  job  for  me?  This  is  going  to  be 
bad  for  — for  business." 

Judith  appeared  quietly 
in  the  doorway  to  the 
drawing  room.  Appar- 
ently she  had  been  stand- 
ing just  inside  it,  listen- 
ing as  frankly  as  Marny 
had  listened.  She  wore 
white  silk  slacks  and  a 
white  shirt,  open  deeply 
at  the  throat,  and  a 
green  belt;  her  dark  hair 
was,  this  morning,  parted 

and    hanging    long    over       

her  shoulders,  held  back 
with  combs  from  her  temples  so  the  features 
of  her  lovely  face  seemed  to  stand  out  in 
more  marked  relief  and  even  greater  beauty. 
Her  dark  eyes,  her  gardenia  skin,  her  red  lips 
all  seemed  accentuated  and  more  beautiful. 
One  hand  was  on  the  door  casing.  She  looked 
at  Tim  steadily. 

"Bad  for  business  or  bad  for  us?" 

Tim  shoved  his  handkerchief  into  his 
pocket.  "Both." 

"You  said  a  personal  public-relations 
job." 

"Did  I?" 

"What  exactly  do  you  mean,  Tim?  I 
heard  you  with  the  reporters.  You  weren't 
too  good.  Your  efforts  hirjting  at  suicide 
were  a  little  obvious.  She  couldn't  have  shot 
herself.  She  was  murdered.  Everybody 
knows  it." 

liM  bounced  up  suddenly,  his  eyes  little 
and  sharp  and  bright.  "Where  were  you? 
This  morning,  I  mean.  Why  wouldn't  you 
let  me  talk  to  you  last  night?  Your  light 
burned  all  night.  You  wouldn't  answer  when 
I  knocked.  Judith,  we've  got  to  talk  about 
this." 

"What  do  we  have  to  talk  about?  You 
made  your  feelings  about  me  altogether  too 
clear  last  night." 

"Judith "  He  took  her  arm,  but  she 

moved  away. 

"If  you  wanted  to  ask  me  whether  or  not 
I  murdered  Cecily  Durant  because  I  was 
jealous  of  her,  I  didn't." 

"Judith,  I  didn't  mean  that." 

"And  I  don't  know  who  killed  her.  Except 
it  wasn't  Andre." 

"How  could  you  have  been  so  stupid, 
Judith?  If  you  had  to  give  him  an  alibi,  did 
it  have  to  be  like  that?  Nobody  can  keep  it 
out  of  the  papers." 

Judith  glanced  past  him.  "Good  morning, 
Marny.     Don't    mind   our   little    conjugal 


SAYII^««>i  OF  AIVOM 

►  The  first  art  of  Uritta  a  |>ar- 
enl    4'ofi.si.stK     ill    sleeftin^ 
vhfn   the  hahy  isn't  looking. 


mud 


Women 
sih-nt    man 
listening. 


April,  1945 

pleasantries.  Tim  suspects  me  of  murder, 
you  know." 

It  was  bold,  forthright — and  daring.  Ex- 
actly like  Judith,  whether  or  not  she  had 
actually  killed  Cecily.  (Trying  to  stop  the 
bleeding  with  the  small,  bloodstained  hand- 
kerchief! But  she  hadn't.  Not  Ju*th.  Not 
anybody  Marny  knew!  Yet  Cecily  Durant 
was  murdered.)   She  said: 

"Hello,  Judith.  .  .  .  Tim,  I  want  to  see 
the  police  officer — Captain  Manson.  Is  he 
here?" 

Tim  whirled  around.  "What  in  the  world 
do  you  want  to  see  him  about,  Marny?  You 
told  your  story  last  night.  Don't  add  to  it. 
Keep  your  mouth  shut." 

Bill  Cameron  came  briskly,  as  if  at  a  cue, 
from  the  dining-room  door.  Had  he,  too, 
been  quietly  and  yet  frankly  listening? 
"Hello,"  he  said  as  coolly  as  if  it  were  any 
day — not  the  day  after  a  murder.  Somehow 
he  had  got  hold  of  a  change  of  clothing;  he 
was  dressed  again  in  a  gray  uniform  and ' 
looked  fresh  and  alert.  He  came  quickly  to 
Marny  and  put  his  hand  on  her  own,  still 
clasped  tightly  upon  the  railing.  "Have  you 
had  breakfast?" 

Mis  hand  was  warm  and  strong  and — safe; 
it  was  a  singular  word  to  use,  but  it  flashed 
across  her  mind.  She  said,  "Yes,  thanks." 
"I  heard  you  inquiring  for  Manson.  He 
was  here  a  while  ago,  wasn't  he,  Mr.  Wales? " 
Tim's  eyes  were  hunted.  "I  don't  know. 
Some  police  were  here  earlier — going  over 
the  grounds,  questioning  the  servants.  I 
haven't  seen  Manson." 

"Do  you  want  to  look  for  him,  Marny?" 
asked  Bill  Cameron  pleasantly,  and  drew 
her  —  rather  firmly  —  to- 
ward  the  front  door.  In 
silence  Judith  and  Tim 
watched  them  go. 

The  screened  door 
closed  behind  them.  The 
sun  was  still  hidden,  but 
everything  somehow  was 
very  clear;  it  was  an 
eerie,  unnatural  clearness 
of  light  that  seemed  to 
bring  every  leaf  in  the 
hedge  into  sharper  focus. 

There  was  something 

queer  and  rather  oppres- 
sive in  the  air,  something  too  quiet.  The 
water  around  the  island  looked  very  flat  and 
slick;  the  sky  line  of  Miami  was  hazy.  Yet 
the  sky  was  in  no  sense  stormy-looking  or 
overcast;  it  was  merely  intensely  still. 

They  walked  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  toward  the  balcony  stairway  with  its 
view  of  bay  and  green  lawn.  A  motorboat 
went  past,  curving  near  the  island,  slowing 
up  as  it  passed  within  a  few  feet  of  the  sea 
wall. 

Marny  was  suddenly  aware  of  people  in 
the  boat  staring — at  the  house,  at  herself 
in  her  plain  white  linen  dress  with  its  red  belt 
and  the  red  ribbon  around  her  hair.  She  drew 
back  involuntarily,  understanding  the  reason 
for  their  curiosity. 

Bill  Cameron  knew  it;  he  said  shortly, 
"There's  been  a  steady  stream  of  boats  pass- 
ing the  place.  .  .  .  Why  do  you  want  to  see 
Manson?" 

"  I  want  to  tell  him " 

He  interrupted:  "That's  what  I  thought. 
What's  happened?  Or  have  you  only  come 
to  your  senses  overnight?"  He  turned  to 
look  at  her  and  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
he  grinned.  His  gray-blue  eyes  lighted  up; 
his  whole  face  seemed  younger,  friendly  and 
warm.  "I  wondered  when  you  would." 

Had  she  come  to  her  senses!  She  won- 
dered if  Andre  were  watching  from  behind 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  rambling  white 
house — or  Laideau,  with  his  great  shoul- 
ders and  little  ugly  eyes.  She  said  with 
something  like  a  shiver,  "Yes.  But  not  the 
way  you  think." 

The  smile  vanished.  "Something  has  hap- 
pened. You'd  better  tell  me.  No,  wait."  His 
gaze  went  upward  over  her  shoulder  and 
became  very  slightly  fixed,  then  moved  on 
coolly  and  came  back  to  her.  He  said  with- 
out a  change  of  expression  but  in  a  very  low 
voice,  "Somebody  is  on  the  balcony.  Listen- 


like   a    strong    and 
th«"y    think    he's 

—  In  THE   WOMAN. 


(Corilinuetl  on  Page  52) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


^) 


X 


>, 


I 


*»* 


f 


;>^    im- 


V   / 


\  — 


/ 


y- 


[^ 


S^i 


s- 


Susan  Gale  Schmedes  is  eight 
years  old.  She's  in  the  third 
grade  in  the  Central  School  of 
Mamaroneck.  ^"e  asked  Susan 
what  she  loves  best,  and  she 
said,  "Drawing,  skating  and 
ballet  dancing." 


Mother  ivhistles 
with  de-li^ht   ^ 
fcause  clothes  come  out 
so  ^QV  and  bright 


/ 


-OkV  DO  you   LIKE 
h£   poem  I  WROTE 
ABOUT  YOU, 


FINE,  SUSAN,  you 

SHOULD  PUT  IN  SOME- 
THING- ABOUT  RINSO'S 
SOAPy-RiCH  SUDS 
--A-  SAFELY  GET 
OUT  MORE  PIRT 


I'M  THRILLED   WITH  THE  WAV  yOUR 
COTTON  ROBE  TURNED  OUT  IN 
THE   WASH.  RINSO  CERTAINLy 
HELPS   KEEP   WASHABLE 
COLORS    SPARKLING 


•)  H 


V 


■V, 


1  J. 


izz  .   .-._  ■  S   i-  R-S  A^£  DAZZUNG 

WHITE EVEf<  COLLARS  AND  CUFFS 

WITH    RINSO,  I'M  THROU&H  IN   AS 
LITTLE   AS  A  5-MINUT5 

RUN  OF  My  , 

•S=5E:  C.E5V   .'.AS^ER  \     ^«^ 


^ 


J 


ac: 


> 


7r^ 


can't  BEAT  RINSO'S  SOAPV-RICH 
SUDS  FOR  EASIER  DISHWASHING. 
My,  HOW  QUICKLY  GREASE 
AND  STICKY  FOOD  PARTICLES 

VANISH AND  RINSO'S  SO 

KIND  TO  HANDS 


Amos  'n'  Andy  say: 

"Folks!  This  is  .\mos  'n'  Andy,  re- 
minding jou  to  tune  in  our  show 
FRIDAY  NIGHTS  for  a  haU  hour 
of  hilarious  fun  over  NBC" 

An' I'd  like  to  remind  you  folks  to 
avoid  soap  waste.  Help  on  the  home 
front  by   saving  vital   materials." 


Molters  of  33  Leading  Woshers  Recommend  Rinso 


IT^O     A  kITI ^  O  kl  C  C  ^ C  I   — "^^^  ^^4^  arunu/afec/ soap 
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(PATENTED    PROCESS) 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


'Round  the  Town 
It's  TUSSY. . . 


Copyright.  1945.  by  Lehn  &  Fink  PiuductB  Corporation,  Bloomfield.  N.  3. 

MOONBEAMS  dancing  over  your  complexion  couldn't  lend  a  lovelier 
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FOR   THAT   YOUNG,  YOUNG   LOOK 


(Continued  from  Page  50) 
ing,  I  should  imagine.  I'm  going  to  find  out 
who  it  is.  Stay  here." 

XII 

The  stairway  was  only  a  few  feet  away.  He 
reached  it  in  a  swift  step  or  two.  The  vines 
were  thickest  along  the  end  opposite  the 
stairway — where  Andre  had  sat  and  waited 
for  her  an  hour  or  so  ago. 

She  moved  a  little  away  from  the  porch 
to  get  a  wider  view  of  the  balcony  and  still 
could  see  no  one.  There  was  no  flicker  of  a 
motion  anywhere,  no  door  opened  and 
closed;  no  shadow  moved  stealthily  out  of 
sight.  Bill  Cameron  had  reached  the  balcony 
and  was  running  with  incredible  lightness 
along    it    toward    the 

corner  which  followed      

the  corner  of  the  house. 
His  black  head  and 
gray  uniform  disap- 
peared. 

It  was  perfectly  still. 

Bill  Cameron  did  not 
return;  nobody  came; 
nothing   moved.    The 

house  was  always  con-       , 

fusing  to  her;  its  ram- 
bling, half-modern,  half-Spanish  architec- 
ture produced  unexpected  corners  and 
halls — any  number  of  ways  into  and  out  of 
it,  she  thought  suddenly  and  sharply.  Any- 
one could  have  walked  through  her  own 
room — or  through  any  room  along  the  bal- 
cony, there  behi.ad  the  vines.   Listening. 

She  didn't  like  the  stillness  and  the  quiet. 
She  didn't  like  the  empty  look  of  a  house 
which  was  not  empty. 

All  at  once,  strangely,  she  felt  exposed; 
as  if  eyes  were  watching  her,  as  if  the  lush 
walls  of  green  shrubbery  might  conceal 
something  that  waited  for  her.  As  Andre  and 
Laideau  waited! 

She  took  a  step  toward  the  house  and  Bill 
Cameron  came  around  the  corner  of  the  bal- 
cony again,  walking  along  coolly,  without 
looking  down  at  her,  his  face  expressionless. 


l¥ISDOM 

^  No  woman  need  envy  the  Sphinx 
^  her  wisdom  if  she  has  learned 
the  uses  of  silence  and  never  asks  a 
favor  of  a  hungry  man. 

—MYRTLE  REED:  The  Spinster  Book. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 


He  reached  her  and  she  could  read  nothing 
in  his  face  or  attitude.  He  spoke,  however, 
very  low:  "I  don't  know  who  it  was.  But 
there  was  somebody.  There  are^  a  lot  of 
French  doors  on  the  other  side  of  the  bal- 
cony and  a  couple  of  stairways,  one  going 
up  to  another  small  balcony  on  a  different 
level — and  nobody  there;  the  other  going 
straight  down  to  the  back  entrance,  and 
nothing  there  but  a  trash  burner.  I  know 
I  saw  somebody  move  back  of  those  vines 
and  I  think  I  heard  footsteps — running. 
There  was  somebody,  in  the  house,  interested 
in  our  conversation,  who  didn't  want  to  be 
seen."  He  opened  his  hand  and  showed  her, 
briefly,  the  end  of  a  cigarette.  "It  was  still 
burning.  It  was  on  the  balcony,  just  at  the 
corner.  There's  no  lip- 

stick  on  it.  And  I  sup- 
pose the  house  is  full- 
of  cigarettes  of  this  ^ 
brand.  It  could  have  : 
been  anybody  from 
Tim  Wales  on  down. 
It  only  proves  some- 
body was  there.  And 
somebody  who  wanted 

very    much    to    hear 

what  we  were  saying. 

Yet,  in  a  house  where  there's  been  a  murder, 
that's  not  exactly  incriminating  either.  I 
listened  to  Tim  and  the  reporters,  and 
Judith,  and  all  of  you  from  the  dining  room, 
this  morning,  with  no  compunction  what- 
ever and  with  the  greatest  interest.  And  I 
didn't  shoot  Cecily  Durant." 

Bill  Cameron  shoved  the  cigarette  end  in 
his  pocket.  He  had  pinched  out  the  light, 
probably,  when  he  picked  it  up.  Why  was  he 
going  to  keep  it?  He  said,  "Well,  we'll  walk 
a  bit  away  from  the  house.  Don't  talk  now." 
But  he  talked  himself,  making  conversation. 
"The  early  newspapers  are  here,  full  of  the 
police  reports  of  the  murder  and  Tim  Wales' 
biography!  The  reporters  have  been  here." 

"Yes,  I  saw  them  leaving." 

"The  radio  has  it  that  a  hurricane  is 
winding  up  somewhere  in  the  Caribbean.  It 


I     NEVER  TRIED  MIDOL?     I 


This  month,  give  Midol  a  chance 
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have  you  miserable. 

Take  Midol  at  the  first  twinge 
of  pain.  See  how  swiftly  it  acts  to 
relieve  your  suffering.  And  trust 
theseefFectivetablets;Midors  com- 
fort does  not  depend  on  opiates. 
Millions  of  girls  and  women  rely 
on  it  regularly  as  a    ^;ps«7»SBs^ 

'  periodic  pick-up."  /^Cuaro5^.d  b^*^ 
Ask    for    Midol    at  V6«od  Housekeeping^ 

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i  MIDOL  I 


g  lined  more  than  all  other  products  offered  I 

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11  probably  pass  us  by.  They  haven't  told 
ople  to  put  up  shutters  yet.  I  understand 
at  is  standard  procedure  when  the  storm 

[iter  reaches  a  certain  point " 

"You  see,  I've  got  to  tell  Manson " 

"Of  course  we  are  right  in  the  middle  of 

s  hurricane  season.    Have  you  seen  the 

inis  court?  .  .  .  No,  don't  talk;  too  many 

rubs,  too  near.   .   .   .   It's  this  way." 

They  reached  the  flat  white  surface  of  the 

mis  court;  the  high  fence  around  it,  laden 

th  thick-growing  vines,  was  like  a  wall. 

le  sky  above  looked  light  and  thick,  some- 

w,  and  very  still. 

"Now  then,"  said  Bill  Cameron.  "You're 

ing  to  tell  the  police  about  Cecily's  visit 

you." 

"Yes." 

"Why?    Have  you  decided  that  I  took 

vantage  of  your  shock  and  confusion  to 

erwill   your    better  instincts,   and    thus 

ligate  you  to  me  in  a  business  way?" 

"You — I  didn't  say  that." 

"But  you  thought  it?  I  see.  I  was  afraid 

it    the    brilliant,   brainy   young    execu- 

e,   suspicious  and  a  little  hard,   would 

;ntually   arouse   in   you."    He    laughed 

)rtlv.  "Frankly,  I  liked  you  better  last 

!ht." 

"Bill,"  she  said,  "Laideau  is  trying  to 

ickmail  me.    Laideau  and— and  Andre." 

"Andre!" 

She  suddenly  could  not  answer,  but  could 

ly  look  wretchedly,  miserably  into  his 

;s  which  were  all  at  once  as  gray  and  cold 

the  sea.  He  took  her  hands,  hard. 

"Andre  knew  that  Cecily  came  to  you?" 

"I  told  him.    Last  night.    To — to  warn 

n " 

"Marny "   He  checked  himself  and 

inced  swiftly  around  them.  "You'd  better 
1  me  all  about  it.    Quick!" 

"But  I " 

"But  you  don't  trust  me?  Is  that  it?" 
\  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said 
Ay.  "You  haven't  given  me  a  chance  to 
k  to  you.  You've  fought  me  every  time 
u've  seen  me.  Last  night  I  got  a  glimpse 


53 


of  the  girl  you  might  have  been  if  you  hadn't 
been  so  hell-bent  to  be " 

"To  be  what?" 

"To  be  somebody  else,"  said  Bill  Cam- 
eron. "All  right.  That's  your  choice.  I'm 
here  on  business.  I  really  was  sent  by  Win- 
ston Churchill  and — well,  some  other  people. 
It's  not  a  long  story.  I  was  wounded,  con- 
valesced in  England.  Aviation  is  my  job; 
always  has  been.  I  knew  some  fellows  there; 
I  know  some  in  America.  I'm  not  going  on 
at  length  about  it — not  now.  But  everybody 
knows  Tim  Wales'  reputation  for  going  it 
alone.  I  think — we  all  think — we've  got  to 
work  together.  I  want  to  persuade  Tim 
Wales  to  string  along  with  everybody  else. 
He's  so  important  that  he's  needed.  I  want 
you  to  help  persuade  him.  That's  my  busi- 
ness here.  But — I'm  not  trying  to  get  you 
in  my  clutches.  I  think  you're  by  way  of 
being  a  fool  about — well,  about  a  lot  of 
things.  But  that's  not  the  point.  Now  then: 
what  exactly  did  Laideau  tell  you?  Hurry!" 

She  remembered  every  word;  she  would 
always  remember  it.  "Laideau  came  in,"  she 
began.  "Andre  sent  him.  And  I  saw  Andre 
this  morning  and  it's  true." 

It  took  actually  only  a  moment  or  two. 
Bill  Cameron  stared  out  over  the  water  and 
listened;  it  was  queer  how  his  tall,  solid  body 
seemed  to  stiffen  and  harden  as  she  talked, 
yet  there  was  no  change  in  his  face. 

A  flight  of  Army  airplanes,  six  of  them  in 
a  V,  droned  above  through  the  still  sky  and 
disappeared  toward  the  ocean. 

She  finished  and  for  a  moment  Bill  Cam- 
eron said  nothing.  He  took  out  a  cigarette 
and  lighted  it  and  looked  away  toward  the 
bay,  smoking. 

Finally  he  said,  "You  believed  Laideau 
last  night?  Before  Andre  backed  him  up?" 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  have  any  doubt  about  it?" 

She  took  a  long  breath.  "No." 

He  put  his  cigarette  to  his  mouth,  eyes 
narrow,  still  looking  out  toward  the  bay. 
"You  didn't  believe  Cecily,  you  know.  You 
still  had — faith,  I  suppose,  in  him." 


FINISHED 


^^ 


e^t4c4 


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54 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


RRIS  are  scientifically  proved 
far  less  irritating  to  the  nose  and  throat. 


Eminent  doctors  found  — as  reported  in  an 
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WHEN  SMOKERS  CHANGED  TO  PHILIP 
MORRIS,  SUBSTANTIALLY  EVERY  CASE  OF 
IRRITATION  OF  THE  NOSE  OR  THROAT- 
DUE  TO  SMOKING- EITHER  CLEARED  UP 
COMPLETELY,  OR  DEFINITELY  IMPROVED  I 


pH/UPMOms 


She  said  unexpectedly,  "I  ought  to  have 
helped  Cecily." 

He  glanced  at  her  then  quickly.  "Don't 
say  that  or  think  it.  You  couldn't  have  done 
anything  for  her.  She  was  lost,  poor  child, 
from  the  instant  he  walked  into  her  life. 
She  knew  he  was  a  heel  and  a— she  knew  all 
about  him.  But  she  hadn't  the  strength  or 
the  will  to  get  away  from  him.  Whatever  he 
was,  she  wanted  him.  It  happens  some- 
times. There've  been  other  Andres  in  the 
world.  And  men  know  what  to  do  about 
them.  But  women,  even  women  with  what 
passes     for     intelligence     and     sensibility 

and Let's  get  down  to  brass  tacks." 

He  took  her  hands  so  hard  that  it  hurt. 
"Was  Andre  planning  to  get  rid  of  Cecily 
in  order  to  marry  you?" 

"No." 

"Exactly  how  far  had  this  affair  with  him 
gone?" 

"It  hadn't— what  right  have  you  " 

"Answer  me." 

"It  was— silly.  There  wasn't— anything." 

"You're  not  lying  to  me?" 

"No.  No.   It  was— I'm  not  proud  of  it." 

"Kisses  in  the  moonlight?  That  kind  of 
thing?" 

She  could  feel  her  face  growing  hot. 
"Once.  Last  night.  When  we  came  in  from 
swimming.  After  you  left.  It  didn't  mean 
anything." 

"Did  anyone  see  you?" 

"No.  We  were  beside  the  hibiscus." 

He  searched  her  eyes  deeply.  Then  quite 
suddenly  he  let  her  hands  drop.  "All  right. 
Can  you  prove  that  to  the  police?" 

"No." 

"You  didn't  write  Andre  any — well, 
letters?" 

"No." 

"And  you've  decided  to  tell  the  police 
about  Cecily  coming  to  you  with  the 
gun " 

"Yes." 

He  said  unexpectedly,  "Good  girl.  Andre 
and  Laideau  are  almost  certain  to  have  a 
police  record  somewhere.  I  think  Andre  did 
it;  or  Laideau.  And  I  think  the  police  think 
so.  As  long  as  they  suspect  Andre,  I  believe 
you  are  safe.  And  of  course  your  best  defense 
is  police  proof,  jury  proof  that  somebody 
else  shot  Cecily,  and  who  it  was."  He  lighted 
another  cigarette.  "There  were  not  many 
people  on  the  island.  Judith — Wales  him- 
self. Winnie.  Laideau  and  Andre.  Some- 
body might  have  followed  Cecily  here,  of 
course,  and  killed  her.  But  I  don't  think  she 
had  either  friends  or  enemies — except  Andre 
and  Laideau.  Suppose  her  existence  threat- 
ened one  or  the  other  of  them.  Laideau  ap- 
pears to  be  the  muscle  man  for  Andre's 
pretty  little  schemes.  Suppose  he  killed  the 
girl  because  Andre  wanted  to  get  rid  of  her 
and  Cecily  wouldn't  give  him  up?" 

"Andre  has  an  alibi." 

"So  has  Judith,"  said  Bill  Cameron. 

And  Judith  had  the  wit  and  the  instanta- 
neous daring  and  decision  to  claim  it.  Oi  to 
invent  it,  in  a  way  that  was  extraordinarily 
convincing!  "Why,"  the  police  would  say, 
"would  this  woman  tell  such  a  story  unless 
it  is  true?"  If  she  were  lying  she'd  tell  a 
story  less  likely  to  be  made  capital  of  by 
gossip  and  newspapers.  There  were  a  dozen 
other  stories  she  could  have  invented.  But 
the  one  she  told  was  convincing.  Cleverly 
convincing?  Or  honestly  convincing? 

There  was  the  handkerchief. 

Again  Marny  was  caught  by  a  swift  de- 
bate in  her  own  mind.  Could  anyone  she 
knew  have  done  murder?  And  again  it  had 
the  same  conclusion.  Certainly  not  Judith. 
There  must  be  another  explanation  for  the 
handkerchief.  When  she  succeeded  in  getting 
the  whole  story  from  Winnie,  she  would  see 
the  loopholes  as  Winnie,  frightened,  had  not. 
She  told  herself  that. 

And  Bill  Cameron  said  abruptly,  "You 
like  Judith.  And  I  don't  know  her.  But 
Andre  is— Andre.  I  don't  think  Laideau  and 
Andre  would  have  taken  such  a  dangerous 
method  of  getting  rid  of  Cecily  unless,  for 
some  reason,  it  was  urgent.  .  .  .  Look  here, 
Marny.   Did  Cecily  call  you  by  name?" 

"Why,  I— no,  I  don't  think  so.  I  can't 
remember." 


t^'/i'^^ 


starring  in 

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BARBARY  COAST' 


IT  SURE  IS  A  W0\^^ 

THIS  TOMATO  JUICE 
COCKTAIL  TASTES 
LIKE  more! 


Made  with 
FRENCH'S 
WORCESTERSHIRE 
SAUCE 


wow  YOUR  FRIENDS  with 
this    zippy,    zesty    drink. 
Add  a  little  salt  and  pep- 
per and  a  tsp.  of  French's 
Worcestershire  to  a 
glass  of  tomato  juice. 
Mix  well — serve  cold. 
The  blend  of  fine  in- 
gredients  in   this  fa- 
mous Worcestershire 
Sauce    gives    a    rich 
new  flavor! 

Top-Notch  Quality 
at  half  the  price 


fiv/icM 


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FRUIT  JUICE  SERVER 
SALT'N  PEPPER  SETS 


FEDERAL 
HOUSEWARES 


Remember,  please:  your  dealer  is  doing 
his  best  CO  maintain  a  stock  of  these  popu- 
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temporarily  out,  won't  you  inquire  again? 

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SYRUP  SERVER 


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3  oux"' 


iusi  Grin 
and  spread  it  thin 

Well  do  our  best  to  distribute 
available  Underwood  Deviled 
Ham  fairly  and  evenly.  You  do 
your  part  to  make  it  last  longer! 


UNDERIWOOD 


DEVILED  HAM 

"Branded  with  the  Devil 
but  fit  for  the  gods" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


55 


MORE  THAN  YOU  CAN  CHEW? 

There  are  bound  to  be  left-overs  from  day  to  day. 
Conserve  them  in  strong,  phable,  transparent 
WAXTEX ...  to  help  retain  tastiness  and  to  keep 
moist  foods  moist,   dry   foods  dry  .  .  .  longer! 

WAXTEX 

HEAVY   WAXED    PAPER 

Marathon  Corporation,  Menasha,  Wisconsin 


Mrs. 
STEWART'S  I 
\  BLUING 


MARRIED  WOMEN 

Sparetime  Money  for  Special  Work 


ould  you  like  to  earn  good  money  for  your  idle  time — 
and  your  own  personal  wardrobe  besides — by  taking  orders  from 
friends  and  neighbors  for  gorgeous  Harford  Frocks?  Write  for  new 
Spring  and  Summer  presentation  of  scores  of  colorful  styles  and 
actual  fabrics  in  dresses,  suits,  coats,  sportswear,  etc.  AMAZING 
LOW,  MONEY-S.WING  PRICES.  No  experience  needed.  This 
outfit  is  FREE,  so  write  today,  giving  age. 

HARFORD  FROCKS,  INC.,  Dept.  K-171,  Cincinnati  25,  Ohio 


"You'd  remember.  Did  she  know  Judith? 
By  sight,  I  mean,  to  recognize  her?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  when  Cecily 
came  to  you,  she  might  have  thought  you 
were  .Judith?" 

"Judith!" 

He  looked  at  her  queerly.  "  I  guess  you're 
bright  in  business.  You're  not  very  bright 
about  yourself." 

"But  Cecily  said  Andre  had  talked  to  her. 
She  said  she'd  seen  him " 

"Andre  says  he  didn't  see  her  at  all.  He 
told  the  police  that  last  night.  I  don't 
imagine  Andre's  word  amounts  to  anything, 
but  Judith's  story  supports  it.  It  gave  Andre 
an  alibi  and  it  gave  Judith  an  alibi,  and  she's 
a  very  attractive  woman.  Now  don't  get 
your  back  up  like  a  mad  kitten;  I'm  only 
reasoning.  And  somebody  killed  that  girl." 

"Not  Judith!"  cried  Marny. 

And  Bill  Cameron  said  all  at  once,  very 
quietly,  "Here  is  Captain  Manson." 

She  whirled  around.  The  detective  and 
two  policemen  were  walking  across  the  court 
toward  them. 

Captain  Manson  said,  "Good  morning, 
Miss  Sanderson — commander." 

Marny  opened  her  lips  and  no  sound  came 
out.  Bill  Cameron  was  right,  she  thought 
despairingly;  she  had  no  sense  at  all  about 
people.  She  ought  to  have  snatched  that 
handkerchief  from  Winnie;  she  ought  to  have 
it  now  as  evidence  to  give  the  police.  It 
didn't  matter  whether  or  not  she  believed 
Judith  could  have  killed  Cecily.  Nothing 
ought  to  matter  when  it  was  murder  except 
your  own  safety.  They'd  never  believe  it 
without  the  handkerchief;  and  Winnie  would 
deny  it.  Even  Bill  Cameron  would  not 
believe  it.  "Police  proof,  jury  proof,"  he  had 
said,  and  she  had  only  a  tale  of  a  handker- 
chief that  no  longer  existed. 


SHARIIVG 

1^  Nothing  is  happiness  which  is 
^  not  shared  by  at  least  one  other, 
and  nothing  is  truly  sorrow  un- 
less it  is  borne  absolutely  alone. 

MYRTLE  REED:  The  Spinster  Book. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 


Captain  Manson  said,  "Is  it  true.  Miss 
Sanderson,  that  Cecily  Durant  came  to  see 
you  last  night,  just  before  you  claim  to  have 
found  her  murdered,  and  told  you  she  would 
kill  you  rather  than  let  you  take  her  hus- 
band?" 

Bill  Cameron  did  not  move,  did  not  speak, 
offered  in  no  way  to  shield  or  to  help. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Marny  with  stiff  lips. 
And  suddenly  a  very  disheveled  Charlie 
Ingram  shot  out  from  the  entrance  into  the 
tennis  court,  his  face  red,  his  eyes  popping, 
his  monocle  dancing  on  the  end  of  its  ribbon. 

"I  say — I  say — I  say,  captain,"  he 
shouted.  "Chap  on  the  telephone  says  he 
saw  it.  Young  ensign — was  in  an  airplane 
over  the  island — saw  the  girl  murdered. 
Come  on.  He  wants  to  talk  to  you.  Says  a 
woman  in  a  white  dress  did  it." 

XIII 

The  young  ensign's  story  was  perfectly 
simple  and  straightforward — too  simple,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  and  too  straightforward.  As 
Tim  Wales  said,  later,  he  saw  too  much  and 
too  little.   But  it  sounded  true. 

He  came  at  once,  summoned  peremptorily 
by  Captain  Manson  and  escorted  by  two 
policemen  in  a  squad  car.  Captain  Manson 
made  no  bones  about  letting  them  listen  to 
the  whole  story;  but  then,  Charlie  Ingram 
already  knew  it. 

"Says  he  saw  it,"  cried  Charlie. 

"Maybe  he  did,"  said  Tim  dryly.  " Maybe 
he  didn't."  But  he  was  nervous,  smoking 
rapidly,  listening  for  the  police  car. 

Judith  was  there,  too,  and  Winnie,  whose 
eyes  sought  Marny's  with  a  look  that  was 
pleading,  questioning  and  demanding  all  at 
once. 

"Says  it  was  a  woman  in  a  white  dress," 
said  Charlie,  and  then  gave  a  rather  panic- 
stricken  look  at  Marny. 


Coin  Trick 


When  sev-Sijig  small  coins  thru  the  maiis 
For  Sounples,  books  ani  such, 
Use  Texcel  Tape  to  h.ol^  them  -fast- 
It  sificks  with  ju^t  a  touch . 


(Texcel  holds  and  holds— 
the  'sfick-um's'  bonded-on!J 


An.d  ifsLCrsLck  or  slit  appears 

Upon  a  winddw-  shade , 
U"se  TJsxjoel  Tape -it's  haxd  to  spot 

JvLSt  where  the  mend  was  made. 


(TeKcel  mends  securely— 
the  'stick-urn's'  bonded-on ! ) 


In  mending  pages  torn  in  hooks, 

For  te^rs  in  money,  too, 
'^u'U  Bnd  thjLt  Texcel  Tape  makes  things 

Look  orisp  and  neai  as  new. 


(Te;<ce/  means  no  gummy  edges— 
the  'stick-um's" 
bonded-on!) 


Yes.Texcel  is  an  improved  tape 
"Whose  "stick-um's"  bonded  on . 

It  Won't"  come  off,  it  vrotit  dry  out 
3efore  the  yid^ent  dawn  . 


pds.'fmosi  Tex^I  Ta-pe  thats  made 

r^lsJoeing  used  fox  wax. 
Buy  Bon^s  and  Stamps  H^il  Victory 
Retrams  it  to  your  store. 

Texcel  Tape 

CELLOPHANE    TAPE  -  STICKS   WITH    A   TOUCH 

Made  by  Industrial  Tape  Corporation 
A  Division  of  Johnson  8c  Johnson 
New  ErvLTisvnck,  N.J. 


56 


Probably  everyone  was  thinking  what  was 
all  too  obviously  in  Charlie's  mind.  Judith 
had  worn  black  the  night  before;  Winnie 
had  worn  blue;  Marny  had  worn  white. 

And  who  had  told  Manson  the  true  story  of 
Marny' s  meeting  with  Cecily? 

They  did  not  question  her  then;  there  was 
no  chance  to  talk  to  Captain  Manson  alone. 
And  with  a  spattering  of  gravel  the  police 
car  arrived  and  the  young  ensign  appeared, 
saluted  snappily  when  he  saw  Bill  Cameron, 
gave  Judith  a  definitely  admiring  look  and 
told  his  story. 

His  name  was  Burke  Harcourt;  he  had 
been  on  a  practice  flight  over  the  island  the 
night  before,  just  at  dusk;  it  was,  however, 
still  light  enough  to  see  the  layout  of  the 
grounds  very  clearly.  He  had  flown  rather 
low,  idly  noting  the  tennis  court  and  the 
pool.  Nobody  had  been  in  the  pool  or,  in 
fact,  anywhere  about  the  house,  but  down 
by  the  pier,  just  on  the  east  side  of  the  bam- 
boo hedge,  there  had  been  two  women  and 
they  were  struggling. 

"Struggling?"  said  Captain  Manson. 

"Well" — Ensign  Harcourt  hesitated  un- 
comfortably—"it  looked  like  that,  sir. 
Maybe  they  were— well,  a  little  tight,  you 
know.  And  one  of  them  fell  down." 

"Fell  down!  What  do  you  mean  ex- 
actly?" 

But  Ensign  Harcourt  didn't  know.  "You 
go  awfully  fast  in  a  plane,  you  know,  sir.  I 
just  saw  that  and  wouldn't  have  seen  it  at  all 
if  I  hadn't  been  flying  pretty  low.  I  took  my 
ship  on  in  and  didn't  think  anything  more 
about  it  till  I  saw  the  papers  this  morning. 
Then  I  realized  that  this  must  be  Shadow 
Island  and  I  asked  my  superior  officer  and 
he  said  I'd  better  let  you  know." 

"You  say  you  saw  one  of  the  women  fall?  " 

The  boy  turned  rather  whiter  and  looked 
steadily  at  Captain  Manson.  "Yes,  sir.  But 
I  didn't  see  the  flash  of  a  gun.  I  didn't  see 
anything.  Except  one  of  the  women  was 
smaller  than  the  other,  I  thought.  The — the 
one  that  fell  down," 

Cecily,  of  course,  was  smaller  than  any  of 
the  three  women;  Judith  was  markedly  tall, 
Winnie  as  tall  as  her  father,  Marny  a  good 
four  inches  taller  than  Cecily. 

Captain  Manson  said,  "Was  there  any- 
thing else  that  caught  your  attention?" 

"No.  That  is,  somebody  was  out  in  a 
rowboat — fishing,  I  guess." 

"Where  exactly?" 

"Off  toward  Miami  Beach.  Around  that 
green  point  that  looks  as  if  there  were  Aus- 
tralian pines  on  it." 

Australian  pines  or  casuarina  trees. 


April,  194; 

Captain  Manson  said,  "Who  was  rowini 
the  boat?  A  man  or  a  woman?" 

"A  man.  Looked  rather  big.  He  wa 
alone.  I  don't  think  he  could  have  seen  th 
women  at  the  pier.  The  trees  were  betwee 
them." 

"What  time  was  this?" 

"Well,  that — well,  you  see,  sir,  usually  w 
check  in  right  away  and  I  could  tell  you  ai 
most  to  the  minute.    But  last  night,  as 
landed,  I  noticed  a  wobble  in  the  tail; 
stopped  and  talked  about  it  awhile  with 
mechanic  and  we  looked  at  the  thing.   B 
the  time  I  checked  in,  it  was  ten  after  eight. 

"What  is  your  impression  of  the  tim 
when  you  must  have  flown  over  Shado\ 
Island,  then?" 

"Well,  it  must  have  been  between  seven' 
thirty  and  eight.  It  was  still  light  enough  t 
see  what  I— what  I  told  you  about.  Only 
don't  think  she  was  shot  then;  I  think  I'l 
have  seen  that  and  I  think  I'd  have  seen  th 
gun  flash.  I'm  not  sure,  of  course.  Is  tha 
all,  sir?   I  have  a  class." 

"You  say  the  taller  woman  was  wearini 
white?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  I'm  sure  of  that.  Showeci 
up  clearly.    It's  what  caught  my  eye." 

"Very  well.  .  .  .  Will  you  stand  up,  please 
Mrs.  Wales,  Miss  Sanderson,  Miss  Wales? . . 
Thank  you.  .  .  .  Now  then,  Mr.  Har 
court" — he  cleared  his  throat — "was  eithe 
of  the  women  you  saw  one  of  these  ladies 
I  'm  sorry  to  have  to  do  this,  but  remembei 
that  your  testimony  may  clear  innocen 
people." 

It  was  rather  horrible  standing  there  lik. 
prisoners,  waiting  while  the  boy's  embar 
rassed  yet  very  keen  eyes  went  from  Marn; 
to  Judith  (black  head  up,  graceful  body  erec 
and,  somehow,  defiant,  luminous  dark  eye; 
meeting  the  young  ensign's  boldly)  and  ther 
to  Winnie,  who  looked  frightened  as  Juditl 
did  not.  She  glanced  at  Judith  and  at  het 
father  and  would  not  meet  the  ensign's  eyes 

The  young  ensign  shook  his  head.  "I 
didn't  see  either  woman  clearly  enough  tc 
identify  her." 

Judith  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  crossed  her  knees.  Winnie  remained 
standing.  Tim  got  out  his  handkerchief  and; 
wiped  his  face  and  dropped  one  cigarette  and 
lighted  another. 

Charlie  Ingram  said  audibly,  "Dear  me, 
dear  me.  No  other  women  on  the  island." 

"Somebody  could  have  come.  Somebody 
could  have  come  by  boat.  There  are  a  hun- 
dred   ways.     Some    woman    interested   in 

Andre "  began  Tim. 

(Continued  on  Page  58)  i 


I 


•      •••••••••••••••••**• 


WE'RE  NOT  OUT  OF 
THE  WOODS  YET! 


\  ictory  is  in  sight,  but  these  Maine 
folks  bring  it  nearer  with  every  stroke 
i)f  ax  and  bucksaw:  pulpwood  for  paper 
i.s  one  of  the  war's  vital  needs.  (That's 
why  your  Journal's  hard  to  get.) 


Working  as  a  team,  Lincoln  and  Kathar 
ine  Black  and  son  Lewis  cut  150  cords  oi 
pulpwood  from  their  255-acre  Waldc 
County,  Maine,  farm  this  winter.  "I  can 
help  relieve  a  war  shortage,"  said 
Katharine. 


Tnixton  Coombs,  blinded  by  dynamittl 
eleven  years  ago,  cuts  three  rough  cords 
of  pulpwood  a  day,  with  his  partner,  in 
Hancock  County,  Maine.  The  partner 
fells  and  limbs  the  trees,  Truxton  uset 
measuring  stick  and  bow  saw  to  feel  hit 
way  around  the  felled  trees. 


1 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


t\ 


"THE    MEAT 
OF    MANY    USES'' 

That's  what  Martha  Logan,  Swift's 
chief  HomeEconomist,  callsSwift's 
Premium  Bacon.  Its  sweet  smokp 
taste  works  magic  in  extender 
dishes— just  two  or  three  slices 
give  zip  to  spaghetti,  rice,  baked 
Umas.  It's  grand  in  lunch-box 
sandwiches.  And  here  are  other 
ways  Miss  Logan  uses  it. 


FOR  SUBSTANTIAL  BREAKFASTS.  The  fine 
energy  value  of  Swift's  Premium 
Bacon  gives  you  "ammunition" 
for  a  morning  of  hard  work.  Spe- 
cially delicious  with  French 
Toast,  or  fried  mush,  and  jam. 


FOR  THE  CHILDREN'S  LUNCH.  Vegetables 
topped  with  Swift's  Premium 
Bacon  get  eaten  double-quick.  A 
good,  nourishing  lunch:  green 
beans  and  carrots  with  bacon; 
baked  potato;  milk;  custard. 


FOR  THRIFTY  DINNERS.  Wash  1  lb.  dried 
lima  beans  and  soak  overnight  in 
cold  water  to  cover.  Drain;  add 
3  cups  fresh  water  and  1  tbsp. 
salt;  simmer  gently  until  soft 
(about  }^  hr.).  Then  add  ^  cup 
chili  sauce,  J^  cup  chopped  green 
pepper,  2  tbsp.  minced  onion. 
Pour  into  a  casserole,  or  indivfd- 
ual  baking  dishes,  top  with  Swift's 
Premium  Bacon,  and  bake  in  a 
mod.  hot  oven  (425°F.)  until  ba- 
con is  cooked  (about  25  minutes) , 
turning  once.    (Serves  4) 


Mr.  S^orekeeP  f^^^„te 


:f.l^rr^^t\co 


^i\oS 


ot'»*e 


\oo 


\  \n  o 


noVto*^ 


,oU. 


it^onV 


OS 


\vJ«^   9 


o\  o 


vet 


twice 


OS 


QUALITY 
\  FOOD 


,V,e  *«">" 


Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS! 


58 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


lllJll 


_^  II       /. 


Newr  neighbor 

saves  labor  / 


On  Monday  a  newlywed 

couple  named  Warner 
Had  moved  in  the  little 

white  house  on  the  comer. 


"But  how  did  you  do  it?" 

a  visitor  said, 
"Why,  cleaning  the  windows 

alone  leaves  me  dead!" 


SAVED  . 

ira  penny 

EARNEDff 


The  economy  angle  she 

then  did  explain — 
That  WINDEX  costs  less 

than  a  i>enny  per  panel 


A  day  or  so  later  the  neighbors 

who  called 
Were  startled  to  find  them 

completely  installed. 


"You  ought  to  use  WINDEX!" 

their  hostess  opined, 
"Just  spray  and  then  wipe 

and  your  windows  are  shined!" 


And  if  it's  the  20-ounce 

size  that  you  get, 
The  tariff  per  window 

is  thriftier  yet  I 


Get  Brighter  Windows  Quicker  With— 

WINDEX 

WlNDEX  is  a  must  for  house  cleaning!  No  streaking,  no 
film,  when  you  insist  on  this  noninflammable,  oil-Tree 
cleaner  that  costs  but  a  fraction  of  a  cent  per  window  pane. 
Don't  trust  cheap  substitutes. 

For  Economy,  Buy  the  Big  20-ounce  Size 

Ca»r.  1><$.  The  Dnekett  Co. 


(Continued  from  Page  56) 

Captain  Manson  said  to  the  boy,  "Thank 
you.  We  can  reach  you  later,  if  necessary. 
I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  let  the  police  car  take 
you  to  the  morgue  in  order  to  see  if  you  can 
identify  Mrs.  Durant  as  one  of  the  women." 

The  boy  turned  still  whiter  and  seemed 
about  to  expostulate,  and  then  made  a  short 
little  bow  in  the  direction  of  Judith,  saluted 
Bill  Cameron  again,  and  went  away  with  the 
policemen  who  had  brought  him. 

Manson  said,  "Did  any  of  you  have  an 
interview  of  any  kind  with  Cecily  Durant 
near  the  pier  at  about  that  time  last  night?  " 

Judith  said  "No,"  clearly  and  as  if  it  did 
not  concern  her  in  the  slightest  degree. 
Winnie  said  "No,"  too;  Marny  opened  her 
lips  to  speak  and  Captain  Manson  said: 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  alone  presently, 
Miss  Sanderson.  Now  then — I  saw  the 
dresses  you  ladies  were  wearing  last  night. 
I'd  like  to  know  if  any  of  you  changed  be- 
tween, say,  seven-thirty  and  eight." 

Again  Judith  spoke  clearly  and  promptly. 
"  I've  told  you.  I  took  off  a  short  white  dress 
and  put  on  a  long  black  chiffon." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Wales." 

Winnie  said,  "I  changed  too.  We  all 
changed.  I  put  on  a  blue  dress,  the  one  I  was 
wearing  when  the  murder — when  you  came." 

"Miss  Sanderson,  I  believe,  was  wearing 
white,"  said  Captain  Manson.  "Now  then, 
if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like  to  look  in  your 
wardrobes — dressing  rooms,  wherever  you 
keep  your  dresses.  Will  you  show  me.  Miss 
Wales?" 

They  disappeared  up  the  stairway  to- 
gether, Winnie  going  ahead. 

Bill  Cameron  said,  "This  doesn't  really 
count  as  evidence.  It  is  too  vague.  Har- 
court  doesn't  know  the  exact  time;  he  didn't 
see  a  gun  flash  or  even  get  the  idea  that  there 
was  a  gun." 

Judith  said,  "It  may  not  count  as  evi- 
dence, but  I  think  he  saw  something." 

"Too  much  and  too  little,"  snapped  Tim 
then,  and  got  up  nervously  and  tramped 
through  the  drawing  room  to  the  porch. 

And  Charlie  Ingram  said  rather  plain- 
tively, "I  say,  Judith,  where's  this  fellow 
Durant?  Did  they  arrest  him?  I  really 
think  he  did  it,  you  know.  Who  else?" 

Judith  said  coldly,  "Listen,  Charlie.  He 
couldn't  have  murdered  her.  He  sat  there 
and  smoked  and  talked.  I  was  dressing.  I 
couldn't  see  him,  but  I  could  hear  him." 

"Now,  now,  Judith,  don't  get  worked  up 
about  it.  I — see  here,  you  know,  my  dear,  no 
matter  what  you  think  of  the  fellow,  he's  not 
worth  your  going  to  such  lengths  to  protect 
him.  Andre  Durant,"  said  Charlie  so  ear- 
nestly that  his  monocle  fell  out  and  he 
snatched  it  up  and  replaced  it,  "Andre 
Durant  is  a  rat.  Knew  it  the  first  minute 
I  saw  him.  And  that  fellow  Laideau  is  a  thug 
and  a  cutthroat  if  ever  I  saw  one!" 

Unexpectedly,  a  little  smile  touched  Ju- 
dith's heavily  painted  mouth.  She  said  as 
unexpectedly,  "Dear  Charlie — he  may  be  a 
rat,  darling,  but  he  couldn't  have  murdered 
Cecily."  And  added,  "Andre  always  sleeps 
late.  Perhaps  I'd  better  call  him."  She  got 
up  with  the  utmost  composure  and  went  up- 
stairs, moving  gracefully  in  her  white  silk 
slacks,  her  black  head  held  high. 

Charlie  sighed  again  and  polished  his 
monocle.  "She'll  bring  him  down,  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Want  to  bet  on  it?" 

Nobody,  apparently,  did;  but  before 
Charlie  could  prove  his  small  prophecy 
Captain  Manson  and  Winnie  returned. 

Captain  Manson  spoke  to  Winnie  for  a 
moment,  as  if  asking  directions,  and  then 
asked  Marny  to  accompany  him  to  the  small 
study. 

He  closed  the  door.  The  study  was  rather 
dark;  there  was  only  one  window,  and  it  was 
overhung  with  vines.  He  told  her  to  sit 
down  and  sat  down  himself  opposite  her. 

She  had  thought  it  would  be  much  harder 
to  talk  to  him  than  actually  it  was — although 
of  course  that  was  part  of  his  job:  to  win 
your  confidence,  to  lead  you  on  to  talk.  To 
tell  him  everything;  tell  him  about  Cecily 
and  the  gun  and  everything  she'd  said. 

She  went  through  the  whole  story.  When 
she'd  finished  he  asked  questions.  What  time 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


59 


Hbwcloj^ucleana 


SCTB* 


with  a 

trowel? 


Go  easy!  Scraping  and  scratching  rmns 
pans!  Brillo  is  gentle — but /trwi  with 
cooked-on  egg.  <\ 


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dishmgF 


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haven't  the  spunlc.  You  need  Brillo! 


with 


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scour  dean!  Polish,  tool  Quick!  Tidyl  Get 
Brillo  Soap  Pads;  or  Brillo  Cleanser — 
pads  and  soap  separate.  The  gen-  T~j; 
uine — in  the  green  and  red  box!        \yi'. 


auv 

WAR   I 
•ONDS] 


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GERBER'S 

OUV^  OIL 


PtCKEIS  OF  FAMOM  GERBER'S  OLIVE  OIL 


had  it  been  when  Cecily  came?  Did  she 
think  Cecily  really  meant  murder  or  did  she 
think  she  was  merely  hysterical? 

"Hysterical,"  said  Marny.  "She'd  been 
talking  to  him,  she  said.  He  was  everything 
to  her,  life  and "  She  stopped,  but  Cap- 
tain Manson  finished  it  grimly: 

" and  death.  Yes,  death.  So  far  as  I 

can  discover  up  to  now,  she  had  no  friends, 
no  other  contacts  whatever,  except  through 
him.  Well — you  did  right  to  tell  me  about 
their  efforts  to  blackmail  you.  I'd  like  you 
to  go  into  court  with  a  charge  against  them. 
Well,  we  won't  consider  that,  just  now.  Who 
knew  of  Cecily's  visit  to  you?" 

"Andre,  as  I  told  you.  Laideau.  Com- 
mander Cameron." 

"Anyone  else?" 

"No."  She  added  suddenly,  "How  did 
you  know?  Who  told  you?" 

He  replied  promptly,  "Charlie  Ingram. 
He  came  down  to  the  pier  where  I  was  watch- 
ing them  hunt  for  the  gun.  He  told  me." 

" Charlie  Ingram!  How  did  he  know?" 

All  at  once  something  changed  in  the  little 
room;  it  was  almost  tangible,  almost  some- 
thing she  could  touch  with  her  fingers,  yet 
could  not  identify.  It  had  something  to  do 
with  Captain  Manson.  She  knew  that,  but 
there  was  no  perceptible  change  in  him. 

He  said,  "That's  all  now,  Miss  Sanderson. 
I  do  not  intend  to  give  your  story  to  the 
newspapers.  Murder — sticks  to  people.  But 
I  have  to  say,  too,  that  if  I  can  satisfac- 
torily prove  that  Durant  and  Laideau  did 
not  murder  Cecily  Durant,  then — well,  you 


NOW  YOU  KNOIV 

1^  An  optimist  is  a  man  who  gets 
^  treed  by  a  lion  but  enjoys  the 
scenery.  —WALTER  WINCHELL. 

If  you  tell  your  friends  the  state 
of  your  health,  you  are  merely  tak- 
ing them  into  your  confidence;  if 
you  tell  strangers,  you  are  a  neu- 
rotic. —ANON:  In  Your  Life. 


did  wear  white  last  night.  And -"  Some- 
one knocked  at  the  door  and  he  went  to 
open  it. 

A  policeman  stood  there;  he  looked  ex- 
cited and  came  in  quickly.  "Look — it  was  in 
the  water.  Not  far  from  the  pier.  We  found 
it  while  we  were  trying  to  find  the  gun." 
Marny  could  see  it  and  it  was  Andre's  gold 
cigarette  case  with  the  sardonyx  showing 
only  dimly  through  clots  of  mud  and  sand. 

XIV 
They  called  Andre.   He  came  downstairs, 
his  handsome  face  a  mask,  his  black  head 
high.    Marny  saw  him  come  and  turned 
quickly  away  into  the  drawing  room. 

He  remained  in  the  white-and-coral  study, 
with  Manson  and  another  detective,  for  two 
hours;  sometime  during  that  time  they  sent 
for  Laideau.  He  appeared  from  somewhere 
on  the  island  in  the  company  of  a  policeman 
and  disappeared,  also,  into  the  small  study. 

It  was  a  strange  and  an  ominous  day.  A 
day  that  actually  existed  in  two  layers — one 
the  outward,  visible  layer,  the  surface  of 
facts  as  Marny  knew  them,  and  the  other  a 
hidden,  secret  layer,  composed,  really,  of 
many  layers.  As  many  layers  as  there  were 
people  on  the  island  active  and  intent  upon 
their  secret  and,  in  at  least  one  case,  rather 
desperate  activities. 

Their  fingerprints  were  recorded,  sepa- 
rately; it  was  a  rather  gruesome  little  cere- 
mony. Andre  and  Laideau  emerged  event- 
ually from  the  study  and  disappeared,  but 
were  not  placed  under  arrest.  Policemen 
came  and  went.  Judith  sat  on  the  porch  and 
did  nothing.  Winnie  sat  on  the  porch  and 
knitted  a  sweater.  Tim  fretted,  and  bounced, 
disappeared  on  mysterious  errands  and 
talked  several  times  over  the  telephone  to 
the  New  York  office.  Charlie  Ingram  stayed 
on,  prowling  restlessly  about  the  grounds, 
watching  the  men  at  the  pier,  coming  back 
again  to  report  that  they  had  found  nothing. 

For  all  that  day  men  searched  the  island 
and  the  house  and  particularly  the  shallow 


u 


I  Sim  HER  STAKING  AT  iVLY 

«  -1      .         n  .        H    All 


"Changing  to  LUX 

took  away  that 

redjough  look!" 


Red,  rough  hands  a^-e  embarrassing.  And 
so  needless!  Simply  change  to  Lux  for  dishes! 
Hundreds  of  women  have  proved  by  actual 
tests  that  changing  from  strong  soaps  to 
Lux  soon  makes  red,  rough  hands  soft, 
smooth  again. 

Lux  is  really  thrifty  for  dishes,  too.  Ounce 
for  ounce,  Lux  washes  up  to  twice  as  many 
dishes  as  any  of  10  other  leading  soaps  tested. 


Thrifty -washes  up  to  twice  as  many  dishes! 


60 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


^^i^^^' 


Take  half  a  minute  more 
—  or  that  heavy  date 
may  be  a  dud! 


That's  the  smart  girl !  Wouldn't  he  be  a  dis- 
illusioned hero  if  you  let  underarm  odor  spoil 
your  evening— and  shatter  his  dreams  of 
dainty-you.  And  you  might  never  know  what 
happened! 


Wonderful  Mum  to  smooth  on  in  a  jif,  even 
ajter  you're  dressed.  Now  you're  set.  Yes,  your 
bath  took  care  of  past  perspiration,  and  Mum 
will  protect  underarms  against  risk  of  odor 
to  come. 


The  End  of  a  Perfect  Date  .  .  .  ami  the  beginnmg  of  a  beau- 
tiful romance!  Keep  those  stars  in  your  eyes,  Mary.They're 
very  becoming.  And  so  is  your  flower-fresh  charm  that 
lasts  the  whole  evening  IcMig.  Mum  sure  docs  help  a  girl 
get  along! 


mum's  quick— only  30  seconds  to  use  Mum.  Hvtn 

ajter  you're  dressed,  even  when  you're  busy,  you  still 

have  time  for  Mum. 

mum's  SAJ'{',    Mum  wf^d'r  irritate  sensitive  skin.  Mum 

won't  injure  fine  fabrics,  says  American  Institute  of 

Laundering. 

MUM  S  fJiRTAiN  -  Mum  works  ifistanfly    Keeps  you 

bath-fresh  for  a  whole  day  or  '.vctiiii^^.  Get  Mum  today. 


For  Sanitary  Napkins  -    Mum  ti  io  x,enlle,  safe,  dependal/le 
that  thi/u\andi  of  wi/men  mt  it  thit  way,  too. 


I'foduit  oj  Briilol  Myeri 


Mum 

TAKES  THE  ODOR  OUT  OF 
PERSPIRATION 


water  near  the  pier.  But  no  gun  was  found. 
It  began  to  seem  a  very  important  piece  of 
evidence ;  no  secret  was  made  of  that. 

Captain  Manson,  returning  to  the  island 
after  rather  a  long  absence,  talked  to  them 
with  apparent  frankness  about  it.  "They've 
extracted  the  bullet  that  killed  her,"  he  said. 
"We've  got  to  find  the  gun." 

"I'm  afraid  of  them,"  said  Tim  Wales 
with  a  shrug.  "Too  many  accidents  happen 
with  guns.   I  don't  like  them." 

"And  never  had  one?" 

"And  never  had  one,"  said  Tim  definitely. 
"Neither  had  Judith  or  Winnie.  They  know 
how  I  feel  about  them." 

Charlie  Ingram  said  rather  nervously  that 
he  had  had  several  guns  for  years  and  still 
had  them.  "They  are  in  my  study,  over  on 
Silver  Point.  You  can  see  them.  They  were 
still  there  this  morning.  I — checked  it." 

"What  about  Andre  Durant?"  said  Tim. 
"What  about  Laideau?" 

Captain  Manson  looked  over  Marny's 
head.  "Durant  says  he  had  no  gun.  So  far 
we've  found  no  proof  to  the  contrary.  Lai- 
deau says  he  had  a  gun  but  he  believes  that 
Cecily  may  have" — he  hesitated  and  said — 
"may  have  taken  it.  Certainly  it  was  not  in 
his  room  at  the  Villa  Nova.  And  it  was  not 
in  Cecily  Durant's  room,  in  the  same  hotel." 

"See,"  said  Tim.  "She  must  have  thought 
of  suicide!  That  proves  it." 

Again  Captain  Manson  rather  ostenta- 
tiously did  not  look  at  Marny.  "I  don't 
think  that  was  why  she  took  his  gun,"  he 
said  quietly. 

Tim   was   still   excited   and   rather   tri- 
umphant.   "If  the  girl  had  a  gun  and  you 
can  prove  it,  it  puts  the  whole  thing  in  a 
different    light,"    he 
cried.  

"I'm  not  so  sure," 
said  Captain  Manson 
and  went  away.  But 
at  least,  thought 
Marny,  he  had  not  told 
them  about  Cecily's 
visit  to  her;  for  that 
she  could  be  grateful. 

But  how  had  Charlie      

Ingram   known  of  it? 
There  w^s  no  chance  to  ask  him,  even  if  she 
had  chosen  to  do  so.  There  was  no  chance, 
either,  to  talk  alone  to  Bill  Cameron. 

If  the  police  considered  Andre's  cigarette 
case  evidence  against  him,  then  it  was  by  no 
means  conclusive  evidence,  for  Captain 
Manson  went  away  again,  still  without 
making  an  arrest. 

Laideau  made  no  effort  to  seek  her  out  and 
demand- a  decision.  But,  after  Manson  had 
gone,  Winnie  did.  It  was  Winnie  who,  all 
that  queer,  hot  day,  managed  to  keep  the 
routine  of  the  house  running  almost  as  usual. 
She  came  out  on  the  porch,  looking  hot  and 
tired. 

"Rilly's  been  difficult,"  she  said.  "They 
want  to  quit,  both  Rilly  and  his  wife.  I  told 
them  the  police  would  make  them  stay,  so 
they  may  as  well  work  and  draw  wages.  I 
don't  suppose  it's  true,  though."  She  sighed 
and  said  to  Marny,  "  I  want  to  get  out  of  the 
house.   Let's  walk  a  bit — will  you?" 

Marny  rose  and  went  along,  strolling  with 
Winnie  across  the  lawn,  down  toward  the 
swimming  pool. 

Andre  and  Laideau  were  there.  Andre,  in 
swimming  trunks,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  pool 
with  his  legs  in  the  water  and  his  handsome 
black  head  sunk  in  his  hands.  Laideau  still 
wore  the  white  sport  shirt  and  rather  soiled 
white  slacks  he  had  worn  the  previous  night. 
Neither  of  them  was  speaking,  yet  there  was 
about  them  a  curious  air  of  communication, 
of  shared  sjjeech  and  thought. 

Winnie  drew  back.  "Not  here,"  she  said 
and  i)ulled  Marny  back  through  the  opening 
in  the  brilliant  red-aiid-green  hibiscus  hedge. 
And,  (jnce  they  were  well  away  from  tlie 
IX)ol,  apologized.  "I  was  wrong  this  morn- 
ing, Marny.  I'm  sorry  I  talked  as  I  did. 
Trying  lo  get  you  to  tell  father  that  Andre 
was  in  love  with  you,  I  mean.  Yoti  didn't 
do  it,  did  you?" 

"No." 

"It  wan  a  silly  idea.  But  you  see  I'd 
founrl     that    and  I  couldn't  sleep  all  night 


CAPSULE  CRITICIiiiM 

|k  Walter  Winchell  tells  about  the 
^  playwright  who  said  to  the  late 
Heywood  Broun,  "Your  suit  looks  as 
though  it  had  just  been  slept  in." 

"It  has,"  answered  Broun:  "I  just 
attended  your  last  play." 


for  worrying  about  it.  You  didn't  tell  the 
police  about  it,  did  you?" 

"What  good  would  it  have  done  to  tell 
them?  You  said  you'd  deny  it."         • 

"Yes,"  said  Winnie.  "I  would.  Qjlt  if 
somebody  is  arrested  and  charged  with 
murder,  I'll  tell  about  it.  I  promise  you 
that.  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  that  way." 

"Where  did  you  find  the  handkerchief, 
Winnie?" 

But  she  was  still  stubborn.  "No,  I  won't 
tell,"  she  said.   "I  can't.  Not  even  you." 

Nor  Manson.  Marny  knew  that.  There 
was  never  any  use  in  trying  to  influence  Tim 
when  he  looked  as  Winnie  looked  just  then. 
And  the  story  of  a  nonexistent,  bloody  hand- 
kerchief was  not  going  to  help  her  own  case, 
but  the  contrary.  They  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  house. 

WHEN  Marny  and  Winnie  reached  the 
porch  again  everybody  was  listening  to  the 
radio  from  the  drawing  room,  turned  on 
very  loud,  just  as  if  it  were  any  day.  That, 
of  course,  was  Judith's  doing. 

The  storm  center,  said  the  voice  over  the 
radio,  was  between  Bermuda  and  Nassau, 
moving  due  west  at  an  estimated  rate  of 
twenty-five  miles  an  hour. 

"Better  get  the  shutters  up,"  said  Tim, 
smoking  with  nervous,  rapid  puffs.  "Better 
move  to  a  hotel." 

"It'll  turn  north,"  said  Judith.  "It  al- 
most always  does.  ...  A  good  dance  band 
comes  on  after  the  news." 

The  news,  however,  was  not  finished;  the 
murder  on  Shadow  Island,  luxurious  home  of 
Tim  Wales,  president  of  the  Wales  Airlines, 
came  next.  Mrs.  Wales,  prominent  in  so- 
ciety. Miss  Wales,  well 

known,  too,  and  winner 

of  last  week's  tennis 
tournament.  Cecily 
Durant,  wife  of  one  of 
the  Waleses'  guests, 
Andre  Durant— shot 
in  the  back.  According 
to  rumor,  a  startling 
arrest  was  to  be  made 

within     the     neitt 

twenty-four  hours. 

Judith  got  up  at  that,  went  into  the  house 
and  snapped  off  the  radio. 

Charlie  Ingram  said  thoughtfully,  "It's 
queer.   I  always  thought  the  people  directly 
concerned  in  a  murder  case  knew  all  about 
it.   I  don't  know  a  thing.  Who  do  you  sup-' 
pose  they're  going  to  arrest?" 

"Andre,  I  hope,"  said  Tim  Wales.  "He 
did  it.  He  and  Laideau." 

Judith  returned. 

The  men  in  rowboats  off  the  pier  suddenly 
rowed  in,  tied  their  two  boats  and  departed. 

Bill  Cameron  got  up.  "Can  I  borrow  a 
car,  Mr.  Wales?  I'd  like  to  get  my  dulTel. 
That  is,  if  I'm  still  invited  to  stay." 

Tim  shifted  his  omnipresent  cigarette 
from  his  mouth  to  his  fingers.  "It's  like  an 
invitation  to  a  pesthouse,"  he  said.  "But  if 
you  can  put  up  with  us,  stay." 

Bill  said,  "Thanks,  then  I  will.  How 
about  coming  along  with  me,  anybody?  Do 
you  good."  He  lopked  at  Judith  and  Winnie. 

Judith  shook  her  head.  "But  get  all  the 
newspapers  you  can,  will  you?"  she  said. 

Winnie  looked  uncertain.  "I'd  like  to. 
It's  so— horrid.  Waiting  around  like  this. 
Not  knowing  what  the  police  are  doing  or 
anything  except  what  we  hear  on  the  radio." 

"Tim  said,  "Don't  be  a  fool.  Some  idiot 
reporter'd  spot  you  the  minute  you  got  off 
the  causeway.  Marny  might  go  with  you. 
Bill;  nobody '11  know  her." 

Bill  Cameron  said  briskly,  "Fine.  Let's 
go  right  along." 

And  Charlie  Ingram  rose.  "I'll  be  getting 
along  too.  Walked  over.  You  can  give  me  a 
ride,  commander."   He  took  Judith's  hand. 

"You're  a  darling,  Charlie,"  said  Judith. 

"There's  gasoline  in  my  car,"  said  Win- 
nie. "Charlie  will  show  you." 

"Will  the  |)()lice  let  you  go?"  Tim  asked 
Bill  Cameron. 

"We'll  soon  find  out,"  he  said,  and  Char- 
lie led  them  to  the  white,  vine-hung  garage; 
they  took  Winnie's  small  gray  coujk'. 

At  the  gate,  ICdward,  the  chauffeur,  sit- 
ting morosely  on  a  bench,  merely  glanced  up 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


61 


THINGS  YOU 
CAN  MAKE 


Money  Saving . . .  Easy-to-Do . . . 
Needlework  Ideas 

•  Want  to  give  a  baby 
gift  that  will  delight 
any  mother's  heart? 
.      ^  .       .  -..     ..  I  know  just  the  thing 

XW*^  .    .  .  a  cute  blanket 

\    '■'        _«»      5$  you've  added  a  few 

**'  "       decorative  touches  to. 

BUCILLA  has  some  in 
materials  that  are  as 
soft  as  baby's  own 
skin  . . .  and  stamped 
for  simple  embroi- 
dery and  applique. 
You'll  find  them  complete  with  all  the  makings 
at  your  favorite  store,  and  far  more  inexpensive 
than  you'd  expect. 

•  I'm  going  to  keep 
my  youngsters  in  cool 
sun  clothes  all  sum- 
mer long.  And  be- 
cause they're  so  eco- 
nomical I'm  going  to 
get  BUCiUA'S  cute 
brother-and-sister 
outfits  stamped  with 
nursery  patterns  that 
can  be  embroidered 
in  no  time  at  all. 
You'll  find  them  at 
better  stores  everywhere.  The  ensembles  in- 
clude a  sun  suit  for  the  boy,  a  sun  dress  and 
bonnet  for  the  girl  ...  in  fast  colors  you  can 
tub  as  easily  as  a  hankie. 

•  Looking  for  sweaters 
and  things  to  knit  for 
your  favorite  men? 
There  are  ideas  galore 
in  the  new  bear  bsand- 
BUCILLA  Men's  Book, 
Vol.329.  It's  only  30^  at 
all  Art  Needlework  De- 
partments. One  of  the 
best  things  about  it 
are  the  instructions. 
They're  so  simple — 
even  a  beginner  can  fol- 
low them.  But  be  sure  to  use  bear  brand  or 
BUCILLA  quali-tested  yarns  . . .  they're  fine  pure 
wool  and  wear  and  wash  so  well. 


You'll  find  BEAR  BRAND  yarns  and  BUCILLA 
needlework  at  all  good  stores — drop  me  a  line 
if  you  don't  know  where  to  buy  them.  Remem- 
ber, always  choose  BUCILLA  and  BEAR  brand  for 
your  knitting  and  needlework.  Here's  another 
good  tip — for  smart  finished  decorative  linens, 
ask  for  BUCILLA  in  your  favorite  Linen  Depart- 
ment. 


''ho  first  name  in  needlework 

BEAR  BRAND 
YARNS 

FAMOUS  FOR   OVER  78  YEARS 

230   Fifth    Avenue      •      New  York  1,  N.  Y. 


ANN   BUCILLA 

230  5th  Avenue,  New  York  1,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  the  new  BEAR  BRAND- 
BbCILLA  Men's  Book,  Vol.  329.  I  am  enclos- 
ing 30((. 

Name . 


Address_ 
City 


_Zone_ 


State- 


as  they  passed.  Three  policemen  were  there. 
They  did  not  stop  the  car,  but  one  of  them 
followed,  in  a  moment,  on  a  motorcycle. 

Charlie  observed  it  cheerfully.  "Fellow 
seems  to  be  taking  a  sporting  interest,"  he 
said.  "Let  me  off  at  the  entrance  to  the  next 
island,  old  chap.  I'll  walk  to  the  house. 
It's  only  a  small  place,  Silver  Point.  Nothing 
like  Tim's  place.  Here  we  are." 

They  stopped  at  a  narrow  road  leading 
from  the  causeway  to  another  island,  very 
small  and  masked  with  casuarinas  so  the 
house  was  not  visible.  Charlie  Ingram  waved 
and  started  down  the  road. 

Bill  Cameron  started  on.  "The  Wales 
family  are  now  having  a  heart-to-heart  con- 
versation. And  our  policeman  is  sticking 
right  with  us.  Now  then— I  thought  I'd 
never  get  you  alone.  Tell  me  all  about  what 
Manson  said." 

She  told  him. 

They  crossed  Indian  Creek  and  turned  on 
Collins  Avenue.  Houses,  walled  and  laden 
with  vines,  brilliant  hibiscus  and  bougain- 
villaea and  pepper  trees  lined  the  wide 
street.  Occasionally  there  were  glimpses  of 
the  ocean,  with  the  surf  remarkably  even 
and  breaking  very  slowly  and  heavily. 

"Manson's  okay,"  Bill  said  thoughtfully, 
but  frowned  a  little  too.  "Well,  tomorrow's 
another  day.  Let's  have  dinner  somewhere. 
It's  early,  but  I  can't  take  another  meal  to- 
day at  the  Wales  place.  I  don't  like  the 
island.  I  don't  like  the  house.  And  I  think 
we're  going  to  get  the  hurricane."  He  leaned 
out  and  waved  his  hand  at  the  following  po- 
liceman as  they  turned  on  Lincoln  Road. 
"This  way,  buddy,"  he  called. 

But  over  the  small  table,  a  few  minutes 
later,  they  talked.  Rather  guardedly,  as 
there  were  tables  near  them,  but  the  dance 
band  muffled  their  words  in  music. 

Ihe  cigarette  case  is  news  to  me,"  said 
Bill.  "I'd  like  to  know  what  they  made  of  it, 
but  it  doesn't  really  prove  anything  as  long 
as  Judith  sticks  to  her  story." 

"You  feel  sure  that  Andre  did  it?" 

He  shrugged.  "Andre  or  Laideau.  But  the 
police  are  not  going  to  do  anything  too 
quickly — anything  that  might  make  mon- 
keys of  them  later.  It  all  takes  time.  There 
are  some  funny  angles,  though."  He 
frowned,  tracing  circles  on  the  tablecloth 
with  his  fork.  "How  did  Charlie  Ingram 
know  Cecily  had  seen  you?  I  was  sitting  on 
the  porch  when  she  left.  Charlie  Ingram 
definitely  was  not  there  then.  He  might 
have  come  quietly  into  the  room  off  the 
porch  while  you  and  I  were  talking.  It  was 
at  least  twenty  minutes  before  I  went  into 
the  drawing  room.  Judith  and  Andre  came 
in  and  then  Ingram  and  Tim  Wales  and 
Winnie.  But  Ingram  wasn't  in  the  drawing 
room  when  I  entered  it.  So  if  he  didn't  over- 
hear our  talk,  somebody  must  have  told  him. 
And  if,  say,  Judith  told  him,  how  did  she 
know?  I  don't  like  this  business  of  a  woman 
in  a  white  dress  either.  Our  young  ensign 
saw  a  lot,  considering  the  short  time  it  took 
him  to  pass  the  island,  but  I'm  sure  he  was 
sincere  about  it;  and  when  I  got  to  figuring 
the  time  it  takes  to  approach  and  pass  any 
given  point,  I  decided  he  could  have  seen 
just  what  he  says  he  saw.  But  it  was  still 
fairly  light.  And  if  he  saw  all  that,  I  think 
he'd  have  seen  the  gun.  If,  that  is,  it  was 
then  that  Cecily  was  shot.  So  maybe  Cecily 
was  then  talking  to  somebody  else  in  a  white 
dinner  dress." 

"They  said  mine  was  the  only  one." 

"A  dress  can  be  xiestroyed  quickly  and 
thoroughly."  He  thought  for  a  moment. 
"Judith  wore  black  later,  but  she  could  have 
changed  after  meeting  Cecily.  The  time  is 
obscure,  and  a  few  minutes  one  way  or  the 
other  would  make  a  great  difference.  Winnie 
wore  blue,  but  she  could  have  changed  too. 
And  of  course"— he  signaled  to  the  waiter 
to  bring  the  next  course— "it  may  not  have 
been  a  woman  at  all.  It's  an  easy  disguise. 
At  night  and  at  a  distance." 

Andre!  Laideau!  Andre  had  the  run  of 
the  house  and  knew  the  place.  He  could 
have  taken  a  white  dress  from  Judith's  or 
Winnie's  wardrobe  and  later  destroyed  it. 

Bill  said,  watching  her,  "Of  course,  who- 
ever owned  the  dress  knows  it's  gone  and  is 


The  Countesiis  of  Carnarvon 

A  colorful  and  glamorous  figure  of  international  society 
is  the  Countess  of  Carnarvon,  the  former  Tilly  Losch.  A  famous 
ballerina,  she  is  noted  for  her  strange  dynamic  beauty — warm 
chestnut  hair  .  .  .  startling  sapphire-blue  eyes  .  .  .  and 
skin  like  creamy  velvet.  "I've  discovered  a  lovely  new 
beauty  trick!"  Lady  Carnarvon  says.  "It's  the  1-Minute  Mask 
with  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream.  Such  a  tiny,  short  time  it  takes 

to  make  my  skin  look  so  much  brighter  and  smoother!" 


fPi 


The  Countess  of  Carnarvon  has  a  1-Minute  Mask  3  or  4  limes  a  week 

\ou  can  "pe-style"  your  complexion  in  1-Minute! 

Mask  your  entire  face — except  eyes — with  a  silky-cool  coat  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream.  Leave  on  for  one  full  minute.  "Keratolytic" 
action  of  the  cream  loosens  tiny  scales  of  dead  skin  and 

trapped  dirt  particles.  Dissolves  them!  Now— tissue  off  the  Mask. 

Results  are  dramatic!  Your  skin  looks  clearer,  softer,  even  lighter! 

And  it's  ever  so  much  smoother  beneath  your  powder  puff. 
Make-up  goes  on  like  a  happy  dream! 


"Foolproof''  poivder  base!  Light,  non- 
greasy  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream 
is  ideal  foundation  for  quick  make-ups, 

too.  Spread  on  a  thin  film  of 
Cream — and  leave  it  on.  Smooths — 
Protects.  Holds  powder  beautifully. 


Get  a  BIG  jar  of 
glamour-making  Masks! 


62 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


^)lgin¥Jf     <fySj!0MMt 


has  a^i^thats  most  appetizingf  and 


as  aWerag'e  ifs  just4^iki^;^i^!^  ^ood! 


And  have  you  tried  Hot 
V-8?  Just  heat  and  serve 
but  have  plenty  for  "sec- 
onds" because  every- 
body will  ask  for  more. 


c 


ASK    FOR   V-8    AT  YOUR    FOOD    STORE 


*  V-y  is  a  trademark  owned  in  the 
United  States  by  Standard  Brands 
I  ncorporated ;  in  Canada  by  Standard 
Brands  Limited. 


TIMK  WAS 


protecting  Andre  by  not  telling  it.  Don't 
look  at  me  as  if  I'd  discovered  a  gold  mine. 
It  doesn't  get  us  anywhere.  It's  merely  an 
idea.   Now  then,  let's  dance." 

They  did.  Quite  as  if  murder  had  not 
touched  them  with  chill,  inexorable  fingers. 

Bill  Cameron  danced  well.  He  was  light 
on  his  feet,  extraordinarily  light  for  so  big  a 
man;  for  a  moment  the  rhythm,  the  music, 
the  pressure  of  his  arm  made  a  tight,  invul- 
nerable world.  And  while  they  were  dancing 
someone  bumped  against  them.  It  was  only 
one  of  the  small  collisions  that  happen  on 
a  crowded  dance  floor,  but  she  lost  her  bal- 
ance momentarily  and  Bill  Cameron  caught 
her.  Caught  her  and  then  held  her  for  a 
moment,  rather  tight  and  hard  against  him, 
so,  somehow,  her  cheek  was  pressed  against 
his  own. 

It  was  the  way  he  had  held  her  when  he 
kissed  her.  Only  it  wasn't  Bill  ivho  had  held 
her  and  kissed  her!  That,  incredibly,  had 
been  Andre — and  it  did  not  seem  as  if  it  had 
been  Andre  at  all.  Bill  Cameron  had  scarcely 
so  much  as  touched  her  hand.  Yet  the 
warm,  hard  pressure  of  his  cheek  seemed 
extraordinarily  familiar,  as  if  she  had  known 
it,  sometime,  somewhere,  before.  And  as  if 
she  had  Hked  it ! 

He  moved  his  head  away.  "On  your  feet  ?  " 
he  asked  rather  brusquely,  and  they  began 
to  dance  again,  but  this  time,  it  seemed  to 
her,  with  a  certain  self-conscious  formality. 

Through  the  rest  of  the  dinner  he  talked  of 
impersonal  things  and  looked  at  her  with 
friendly    but    impersonal    eyes,    and    when 
they'd    finished    did    not 
linger  but  asked  promptly 
for  the  check. 

They  picked  up  the  po- 
liceman at  the  car,  drove 
back  along  Collins  Avenue 
and  parked  the  car  before 
a  hotel. 

"I'll  get  my  stuff.  Then 
let's  watch  the  sea  for  a 
while,"  said  Bill. 

That,  too,  was  normal, 
everyday,  as  if  they  had 
escaped  a  world  where 
everything  was  awry  and 
out  of  focus  and  horribly 

wrong.    They  sat  in  deep       

chairs  above  a  strip  of  sand 

and  watched  the  black  ocean  roll  in  and 

break  in  long  creamy  lines  of  white  surf. 

A  radio  was  going  in  the  lounge  behind 
them;  they  could  hear  occasional  words. 

"Hurricane's  still  heading  this  way,"  said 
Bill.  "  It's  queer  how  the  surf  is  breaking. 
Looks,  somehow — so  slow.  As  if  it  knew  it 
could  afford  to  take  its  time.  If  the  big  blow 
comes,  you  know,  we'd  better  get  to  a  hotel 
quick.  Manson  won't  stop  us.  He's  a  good 
guy."  He  paused  and  added,  rather  som- 
berly, "Except  maybe  he's  too  good." 

"Too  good?" 

"He'll  do  what  he  thinks  is  right,"  said 
Bill  Cameron.  "I  wish  you  were  out  of  this 
thing."  He  got  up.  "Forget  I  said  that. 
You  didn't  murder  her  and  there  must  be 
ways  of  proving  it.  Tomorrow,  if  you  want 
me  to,  I'll  talk  to  Mr.  Wales  about  a  lawyer 
for  you.  Not  that  I  think  you'll  need  one. 
But  it's — sensible." 

She  remembered  suddenly  that  Tim  had 
called  him  "Bill."  She  said,  "You  talked  to 
Tim  today,  didn't  you?" 

"Some,"  said  Bill  Cameron.  "But  not 
about  you."  He  put  down  his  hand  for  her. 
"  We'd  better  be  getting  back.  I  don't  know 
how  much  good  a  lawyer  would  do  just  now. 
Merely  getting  one  is  an  admission  of  fear, 
so  it's  not  a  good  move.  The  fact  is,"  said 
Bill  soberly,  "unless  they  definitely  remove 
Andre  from  the  suspects,  you  are  safe.  An- 
dre's their  pick.  So' "   He  gave  her  hand 

a  quick  but  impersonal  pat,  and  they  went 
back  to  the  car  and  ?  yawning  policeman. 

Even  then,  however,  they  did  not  go 
directly  to  Shadow  Island.  They  went  in- 
stead to  Charlie  Ingram's  house. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  him  point-blank  who 
told  him  that  Cecily  had  come  to  you,"  said 
Bill,  and  stopped  the  little  coupe  in  front  of  a 
low  wliite  house  which  loomed  up  beyond 
thick,  shadowy  foliage. 


But  Charlie  was  not  at  home;  at  least  he 
didn't  answer  the  bell,  and  there  were  no 
lights  anywhere  in  the  house.  Eventually 
they  gave  up,  backed  cautiously  around  and, 
still  followed  by  the  policeman,  continued 
along  the  causeway  back  to  Shadow  Island. 

At  the  gate,  which  was  lighted,  Edward 
gave  them  a  sleepy  nod;  and  the  two 
policemen  stopped  them,  peered  into  the 
rumble  seat  and  then  let  them  go  on.  The 
third  policeman  left  them  there,  leaning  his 
motorcycle  against  the  gatepost.  The  lights 
of  the  car  glanced  this  way  and  that  upon 
the  green  banks  that  lined  the  driveway. 

Bill  let  her  out  at  the  front  door.  "I'll  put 
the  car  away.  Go  on  in,  don't  wait  for  me." 

She  crossed  the  gravel  as  he  turned  the  car 
toward  the  garage.  The  engine  sounded  loud 
in  the  stillness;  the  car  lights  shot  ahead  and 
disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
as  she  put  her  hand  on  the  latch. 

Ihe  door,  however,  was  locked.  She  tried 
it  and  tried  it  again,  and  started  to  ring  the 
bell  and  stopped.  The  house  was  perfectly  still. 
Everybody  must  have  gone  to  bed  early — 
and  comprehensibly,  considering  the  wake- 
ful hours  of  the  previous  night.  Obviously 
Rilly  or  someone,  forgetting  or  not  knowing 
that  she  and  Bill  were  out,  had  locked  the 
door.  She'd  wait  for  Bill. 

But  Bill  did  not  come.  Minutes  passed. 
There  was  not  a  sound  anywhere.  The  gate 
and  its  lights  were  far  down  the  driveway 
and  hidden  by  foliage.  She  left  the  step  and 
walked  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  garage, 
expecting  to  see  Bill's  fig- 
,  ure  or  hear  the  crunch- 
ing sound  of  his  footsteps 
at  any  instant.  But  she 
reached  the  garage  and  it 
showed  vaguely  light  in 
the  darkness;  and  the  doors 
were  closed  and  Bill  was 
not  there. 

She  went  back  along  the 
driveway,  her  own  foot- 
steps making  small  sounds 
which  seemed  somehow 
furtive  and  yet  too  loud. 
She  reached  the  front  en- 
trance and  the  steps  which 

showed  dimly  white  and 

still.  Bill  was  not  there. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  ring.  She  put 
her  thumb  on  the  bell  and,  as  she  touched  it, 
before  she  actually  rang  it,  she  remembered 
the  porch  and  the  door  into  the  drawing 
room.  That  would  be,  if  it  were  open,  the 
simplest  way  into  the  house. 

The  grass  around  the  house  in  that  direc- 
tion muffled  her  footsteps.  There  was  no 
light  on  the  porch  and  no  light  from  the 
drawing-room  door.  And  no  one  anywhere. 
Well,  she'd  cross  the  porch  and  try  that 
door.  She  was  confused  by  the  darkness,  her 
sense  of  direction  was  awry;  she  brought  up 
against  the  lower  step  of  the  vine-laden 
stairway,  and  ffung  both  hands  out  to  dis- 
cover a  guiding  point,  the  railing. 

Her  hands  encountered  something  that 
moved — heavily,  sluggishly,  only  a  little.  It 
was  soft  and  sagging;  her  fingers  touched 
cloth.  Like  a  coat.  Like  a  man's  coat  hang- 
ing there  in  the  thick,  hot  blackness.  Hang- 
ing as  if  it  were  on  a  man.  She  flung  back 
her  hands  and  her  body;  a  scream  in  her 
throat  could  not  utter  itself. 

A  man  was  hanging  there,  suspended 
somehow,  anyhow— from  the  balcony,  from 
the  stairway,  from  any  nameless  thing  she 
could  not  see  or  know,  but  which  was  only 
black  and  hidden. 

The  senses  have  a  language  of  their  own, 
intangible,  swift,  certain.  Recognition  de- 
rives from  anything  and  everything — even  a 
dim,  pale  outline,  only  and  mercifully  half 
seen,  the  outline  of  a  man. 
Andre  Durant. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  hanged,"  Tim  had  said. 
It  was  as  if  the  words  repeated  them- 
selves, disembodied,  terribly  clear  in  the 
black  silence.  And  then  she  heard  a  light, 
soft  patter  of  footsteps  on  the  balcony  above 
her  head.  Footsteps  that  did  not  diminish  or 
dwindle  but  simply,  abruptly  stopped. 

(To  be  Continued) 


1^  Mother  was  Iflliii^  stories 
^  of  the  tinii-  she  was  a  Utile 
flirl.  Harold  lislened  llioii$;lil- 
fiilly  as  she  toUl  of  riding  a 
|>oii>,  sliding  <low  II  ihe  hay- 
sta<'k  aii<l  ua<liii^  in  the  hrook 
a  I  the  lariii. 

Finally  he  said  with  a  si^h, 
"1  wish  I'd  met  you  earlier, 
iiiolher." 

—  HERBERT  B.  PROCHNOW: 

Public  Speaker's  Treasure  Chest. 

(Harper  &  Bros.) 


AMAZ/A^&  FR££  OFFBR 


THESE  CAKES  USE  NO  BUTTER-SAVE  SUGAR/ 

G(VE  yOUR  FOLKS  UiSC\0[i%  NEW  CAKES-  SO  EASY 
WITH  NEW  SPRY  AN' MY  ONE-BOWL  METHOD 


SEE  DETAILS  BELOW 


Jenn 


ORANGE  UPSIDE-DOWN  CAKE  —  Saves 
sugar — needs  no  frosting.  One-egg  cake 
with  coinpany  glamour.  Ea.sy  to  mix  with 
New  Spry's  One-Bowl  Cake  Method. 


GAIA  PARTY  CAKE— Wins  loads  of  praise! 
Beautiful  nut  cake  for  festive  occasions. 
Stays  fresh  for  days,  thanks  to  New  Spry. 
So  rich  it's  marvelous  without  frosting. 


GLORIA   CHOCOLATE   LAYER  CAKE  — 

Lighter,  more  delicious.  Two-Egg  Cake 
made  Spry's  new  one-bowl  way.  Mixed  in 
J^  usual  time.  Grand  new  frosting,  too! 


PEERLESS    COCONUT    WHITE    CAKE  — 

Feather-light,  snowy  white!  So  easy  with 
New  Easy-Mix  Spry  and  its  new  method. 
No  creaming — no  long,  hard  beating! 


FILIGREE  DEVIL'S  FOOD  CAKE  —  Richer 
flavor,  moist,  velvety  texture.  Economi- 
cal. U.ses  cocoa.  Mixed  in  less  than  6 
minutes — with  quick-blending  Spry. 


VICTORIAN  APPLESAUCE  CAKE  — Spicy, 
fruity!  Favorite  with  all  ages!  So  easy 
with  Spry!  Keeps  fresh.  Grand  for  lunch- 
boxes.  Saves  sugar — needs  no  frosting. 


CHERRY  DREAM  CAKE— How  your  guests' 
eyes  will  shine!  Hear  them  exclaim,  "Ex- 
quisite!" "Divine!"  And  this  party  cake  is 
so  easy  to  make  Spry's  new  way. 


FUDGE  BAR  CAKE — A  favorite  with  every 
man — and  even  a  man  can  make  this 
lighter,  chocolat.\'  licli  cake  to  perfection 
— with  Easy-Mix  Spry's  new,  sure  recipe. 


MARBLED  SPICE  CAKE— Fluffy,  delicious 
cake.  Looks  different.  Made  so  quick  and 
easy — no  creaming  or  long,  hard  beating, 
thanks  to  Spry's  new  blendability. 


2  cups  sifted  cake  flour* 
1 H  cups  sugar 

2  teaspoons  baking  pow- 
der   (with   a   tartrate 
powder,  use  3i4  tea- 
spoons) 
K  teaspoon  soda 
1  teaspoon  salt 

1  teaspoon  grated 
orange  rind 

yi  teaspoon  grated  lemon 

rind 
^  cup  Spry 

Juice    of     1     medium 

orange  plus  water  to 

make  %  cup 

2  eggs,  unbeaten 
2  tablespoons    lemon 

juice 
♦Cake  flour  makes  the 
finest  oakes.  But  if 
all-purpose  flour  is 
used,  reduce  flour  2 
tablespoons;  beat  200 
strokes  instead  of  150; 
the  n  proceed  as  with 
cake  flour. 


THE  makers  of  Spry  are  celebrating  their  Golden 
Jubilee  .  .  .  you  will  find  cause  for  celebration,  too, 
in  New  Spry  and  the  lighter,  more  delicious  cakes  you 
can  get  now.  Try  tliis  festive  sunny  orange  cake! 
siFTi  flour,  sugar,  baking  powder,  soda  and  salt  into 
mixing  bowl,  add  grated  fruit  rinds,  dkop  in  Spry. 
ADD  orange  juice  and  water,  beat  150  strokes  (takes 
only  a  jiffy,  allow  100  strokes  per  minute),  scrape 
bowl  and  spoon  often  throughout  entire  mixing,  add 
eggs,  beat  250  strokes,  add  lemon  juice  last,  beat  50 
strokes,  bake  in  two  deep  8-inch  Spry-coated  layer 
pans  in  moderately  hot  oven  (376°  F.)  .'iO-40  minutes. 
SUGAR-SAVING  .lUBILEE  FROSTING- Mix  in 
double  boiler:  2  egg  whites,  1  cup  light  corn  sirup, 
J^  cup  sugar,  J4  teaspoon  cream  of  tartar.  Place  over 
boiling  water  and  beat  constantly  with  rotary  beater 
until  mixture  will  hold  a  peak  (about  7  minutes). 
Remove  from  fire;  add  !^  teaspoon  orange  rind,  \4 
teaspoon  lemon  extract,  and  a  few  drops  of  orange 
coloring.  Spread  between  layers,  on  toi)  and  sides. 
Sprinkle  sides  with  V^  cup  slivered  almonds  or  coconut. 


You  can  be  a  BETTER  COOK  wlfh  LESS  WORK 

with  New  Spry  and  Aunt  Jenny's  free  cake  booklet 


HERE'S  Aunt  Jenny's  thrilling  offer  to  you:  Get  her  grand  new 
cake  booklet  FREE  at  your  grocer's.  Pictures  in  full  color  .  .  . 
recipes  for  all  10  of  these  super-delicious  cakes  with  luscious  easy 
frostings  to  match!  Discover  how  easij  it  is  to  get  lighter  cakes  with 
'New  Easy-Mix  Spry  and  its  amasiing  One-Bowl  Cake  Method. 
Get  set  to  dazzle  your  family  and  friends  with  your  cake-making 
skill.  Not  one  of  these  proud  beauties  takes  butter  .  .  .  several  cakes 
and  frostings  are  dandy  sugar-savers. 

Give  your  folks  cause  for  extra  bragging  about  your  other  cook- 
ing, too  .  .  .  change  to  pure,  all-vegetable  Spry  for  all  your  baking 
and  frying.  Save  time  and  work  with  Aunt  Jeimy's  short-cut 
recipes  that  give  such  grand  eating.  Remember — the  flaky, 
tender  pastry  and  crispy-brown,  delicate-tasting  fried  foods  you 
get  the  Spry  way  are  .so  digestible.  Spry  stays  fresh  without 
refrigeration.  Don't  wait — get  your  free  cake  booklet  today! 


If  your  grocer  doesn't 
have  booklet  just  write 
for"FREECAKEBook- 
let"  to  Aunt  Jenny,  Box* 
91,  Madison  Square  Sta^ 
tion.  New  York  10.  N.  Y. 


64 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


T 


wice  as  e, 


effectipe. 


tk 


MODESS^ 
DEODORANT 


Kf. 


li'es— put  through  26  different  tests,  by 
aai  impartial  laboratory,  and  proved 
twice  as  effective  as  another  leading 
napkin  containing  a  deodorant! 


WONDERFULLY —  Sensationally — effec- 
tive, by  actual  laboratory  test!  No 
wonder  women  are  all  so  keen  about  the 
marvelous  new  Modess  with  a  fine  de- 
odorant powder  sealed  right  in! 

It's  been  used  by  thousands  of  women 
for  a  whole  year.  You  should  read  their 
letters  of  praise!  Try  it,  yourself,  and 
you'll  write  one,  too! 

Think  of  it!  No  fuss,  no  nuisance  of  a 
separate  deodorant  powder!  Marvelous! 

And  besides  this  daintiness  extra — at  no 
extra  cost — Modess  gives  you  other  tested 


extras:  3  out  of  4  women,  in  a  nationwide 
poll,  voted  it  softer  to  touch;  209  nurses,  in 
hospital  tests,  found  it  safer,  less  apt  to 
strike  through  than  nationally  known  lay- 
er-type napkins. 

Hurry  and  get  the  wonderful  new 
Modess  with  Deodorant,  today! 


j  PLEASE  NOTE:  Your 
t  store  has  two  kinds 
of  Modess.  If  youd 
j  rather  have  softer, 
I  safer  Modess  without 
}  deodorant, just  ask  for 
- "  Standard  Modess.^' 


Just  look  at  these  j)ratses  / 


^od^^uw.o  V»vt_^ 


QjukcX 


NOW  THAT 
APRlL'Jfi   THERE 

{Continued  from  Page  18) 

"These  centaurettes,  Wincy,  remind  me 
of  you,"  he  exclaimed  gaily.  "See  this  one 
with  the  flying  plaits— that  is  precisely  the 
way  you  looked  before  you  went  to  Belmont. 
And  this  one— all  over  ringlets— is  the  way 
you  look  now.  A  transmogrification  I "  With 
a  mischievous  smile,  he  looked  up  at  her. 
"Even  when  you  were  quite  a  baby,  I  used 
to  recite  Greek  poetry  to  you  when  you  were 
brought  down  after  tea.  It  seemed  to  soothe 
and  please  you.  I  very  much  deplore  the 
fact  that  you  did  not  study  Greek  or  at  least 
Latin  in  your  American  school.  It  was — I 
shall  say  it  openly— a  matter  of  great  dis- 
tress to  me  that  Professor  and  Mrs.  Hilliard 
did  not  consider  your  welfare  in  this  regard." 

"It  wasn't  the  Hilliards'  fault,  daddy.  I 
could  have  elected  Latin  at  Agassiz,  only 
then  I  wouldn't  have  had  time  for  physics 
and  chemistry." 

"Chemistry,"  he  repeated,  with  evident 
distaste.  "That  is  Professor  Hilliard's  field 
and  you  have  been  influenced  by  him." 

Angus  burst  into  the  drawing  room  with  a 
package  for  his  father,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Turner.  Angus  laid  the  package  on  his 
father's  knees. 

This  was  something  very  special.  For 
weeks  he  had  struggled  to  think  of  a  suitable 
gift.  He  had  looked  at  the  things  in  Uncle 
Bill's  study,  asking  himself  whether  his 
father  would  like  any  of  them.  Over  the 
mantel  above  the  fireplace  hung  the  airplane 
model  that  Sutty  and  Angus  had  made,  with 
a  good  deal  of  help  from  Uncle  Bill.  If  he 
brought  a  model  kit  to  his  father,  they  could 
build  the  plane  -together.  That  was  what 
Sutty  did  with  his  father. 

But  Professor  Turner  examined  the  mark- 
ing on  the  balsa  boards  in  utter  bewilder- 
ment. He  had  never  made  things  with  his 
hands.  Wincy  doubted  if  he  could.  He  did 
know,  however,  how  to  steer  the  subject  to 
familiar  ground. 

"It  was  Daedalus."  he  told  Angus,  "who 
invented  the  first  aircraft,  fashioning  wings 
of  wax  and  feathers.  He  and  his  son  Icarus 
attempted  to  fly  with  them.  But  Icarus  flew 
too  near  the  sun.  His  wings  melted." 

"What  a  sap!"  Angus  remarked. 

Mrs.  Turner  smiled,  but  then  a  worried 
look  crept  into  her  face.  "John,  I  quite  for- 
got " — she  looked  at  her  husband  anxiously — 
"the  Warden  wishes  to  see  you  tonight." 

"Bother!" 

"Do  you  suppose  it's  one  of  those  Under- 
graduate Approach  things  again?" 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  We've  already  had 
three  of  the  beastly  things  this  week,"  the 
professor  said  bitterly. 

"Oh,  John,  I  can't  think  why  the  college 
is  making  such  a  to-do.  After  all,  you've 
been  teaching  classics  for  thirty  years." 

"You  won't  go,  will  you — tonight,  when 
we've  only  just  come  home?"  Angus  asked. 
"I  wanted  to  watch  you  make  the  model." 

"I  fear  I  must,  Angus,"  his  father  said. 
"  It's  a  frightfully  important  college  matter." 

"  We  could  do  it  around  nine,"  Angus  sug- 
gested. 

"Nine!"  Mrs.  Turner  exclaimed.  "You'll 
be  long  asleep  by  then,  Angus." 

"It  will  be  nearly  midnight  before  I  re- 
turn," the  professor  said,  sighing.  "I've 
home  guard  after  I've  seen  the  Warden. 
Some  other  time,  perhaps,  my  boy." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  "Say," 
Angus  asked  suddenly,  "when  do  we  eat?" 

"But  you've  had  your  supper." 

"What — that  snack?  No,  mummie,  I 
mean  when  do  we  have  dinner — all  of  us, 
in  the  dining  room?" 

"In  England  children  your  age  do  not 
have  dinner  in  the  dining  room.  At  that 
hour  they  are  in  bed.  A  quiet  nursery  supper 
is  much  the  best  for  the  digestion." 

"Rats  on  the  digestion.  I'm  hungry. 
Sutty  and  us  always  had  our  meals  in  the 
dining  room  with  Uncle  Bill  and  Aunt  Polly." 

"Shocking  language  you've  learned  in  the 
Stales,  my  boy,"  Professor  Turner  remarked. 


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65 


"Mummie  dear,"  Wincy  put  in,  "we 
don't  have  to  go  back  to  the  old  nursery 
ways,  do  we — now  that  Angus  is  a  big  boy 
and  I'm  grown  up?  It  would  be  humiliating." 

"Not  nursery  ways,  pet — of  course  not," 
Mrs.  Turner  said.  "But  in  matters  of  supper, 
and  so  on,  you  must  do  as  other  children  do 
in  England." 

There  was  a  soft  thudding  on  the  stairs. 
Wincy  rushed  out  and  looked  over  the 
banisters.  There  on  the  last  step  was  a  sheet- 
covered  ghost,  wrestling  with  a  mattress. 
At  the  sound  of  footsteps,  Angus  looked  up, 
fear  in  his  eyes. 

"Is  it  Halloween?"  Wincy  asked,  laugh- 
ing. "Wait  a  minute  and  I'll  help." 

"Good  morning,  children,"  Mrs.  Turner 
called,  emerging  from  the  scullery.  "Dear 
me — Angus,  what  is  this?" 

"Such  a  big  mattress,"  Angus  remarked, 
tugging  furiously.  "The  one  in  Belmont  I 
could  manage  alone  easy." 

"But  why  should  you  wish  to  take  your 
bedding  into  the  garden?"  Mrs.  Turner 
asked.  "We  always  air  it  at  the  window." 

"It's  wet,"  Wincy  explained,  trying  to 
give  her  mother  the  knowing  look  which 
passes  between  grownups. 

"Do  you  mean Angus,  how  shock- 
ing! Why,  even  as  a  little  chap  you  never 
did  a  thing  like  that." 

That  dreadful  look  was  in  Angus'  face 
again.  Wincy  wished  people  would  stop 
harping  on  this  business  and  give  the  kid  a 
chance. 

"Has  this  been  going  on  all  the  time  you 
were  with  the  Hilliards?  "  Mrs.  Turner  asked. 

"Oh,  no!"  Wincy  assured  her. 


OF  LOVE 

^  Remember  that  man's  love 
^  thrives  far  better  on  the  stimu- 
lant of  suspense  than  on  the  anes- 
thetic of  memory. 

—HELEN  ROWLAND:  This  Morried  Life. 
(Dodge  Publishing  Company.) 


"Dear  me,  Angus,"  Mrs.  Turner  con- 
cluded wearily,  "you  had  better  air  your 
pajamas  as  well." 

Angus  shook  his  head.  "I  didn't  wear 
them." 

"You  didn't?"  mummie  cried.  She  was 
shocked.  "Oh,  Angus,  what  shall  I  do  with 
you?  If  you  are  going  to  be  tiresome,  we'll 
never  manage  without  a  governess." 

"I'm  not  tiresome,  mummie.  You  just 
don't  understand.  Sutty  Hilliard  and  I 
always  sleep  raw  in  the  summertime." 

"That,  then,  is  the  cause  of  your  trouble," 
Mrs.  Turner  announced,  and  seemed  re- 
lieved. "You  have  taken  cold  in  the  bladder. 
Peg  the  linen  on  the  lines,  then.  Don't  look 
disturbed,  my  boy.  We'll  soon  have  you 
right.  A  flannel  band " 

Before  her  mother  could  say  any  more, 
Wincy  pushed  the  sheet-draped  Angus  out 
into  the  garden.  The  grass  felt  lovely  be- 
tween her  toes.  Everything  was  just  the  way 
it  had  always  been — wallflowers  and  alyssum 
in  the  border,  the  great  oak  tree  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  and  daddy's  pear  tree 
growing  up  the  wall. 

Wincy  and  Angus  had  put  the  bedding  in 
the  sun  and  were  chasing  round  the  house 
when  Wincy  heard  her  mother's  voice: 

"  Do  come  in !    Brekker  is  almost  ready." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Wincy.  "Sorry.  I'll  be 
down  in  two  shakes  and  help." 

When  she  had  dressed,  she  found  Angus 
already  in  the  kitchen,  rooting  about  for  a 
skillet. 

"Mind  the  stove,  Angus,"  Mrs.  Turner 
warned.  "I  shouldn't  come  too  close." 

"Nuts!"  he  replied.  "I'll  just  fry  us  up 
some  flapjacks." 

The  professor  had  come  down  and  was 
standing  in  thedoorway. "  Splendid  weather, " 
he  remarked. 

Angus  was  singing: 

"Mammy's  little  baby  loves  shortnin',  shortnin'. 
Mammy's  little  baby  loves  shortnin'  bread." 


Drain  can  Stokely's  Finest  Whole 
Kernel  Corn.  Cook  3^  cup  diced 
green  pepper  in  IJ^  tablesp.  hot 
shortening  5  min.  Add  corn,  yi 
cup  diced  pimiento,  34  teasp.  salt, 
few  grains  pepper.  Heat  thorough- 
ly. Serves  4.  Corn  CaUente  is  a 
tempting  dish  to  set  before  the 
most  particular  person  because 
it's  made  with  fresh,  canned-from- 
the-cob  com  .  .  .  specially  grown, 
picked  and  packed  to  capture 
perfect  flavor  and  golden  good- 
ness in  every  single  kernel.  That, 
of  course,  means  nothing  but  the 
finest .  .  .  Stokely's  Finest. 


66 


"Are  you  certain  you  know  the  proper 
thing  to  do?"  his  mother  asked  nervously. 
"I  should  never  have  thought  a  boy  of  nine 
could  be  experienced  in  cookery." 

"Wait  till  I  flip  'em!"  Angus  shouted. 
"Boy,  you  should  see  Uncle  Bill — he  flips 
'em  so  high  they  just  miss  the  ceiling." 

Mrs.  Turner  dropped  into  cook's  chair. 
"  It  has  been  very  difficult  for  me  since  the 
maids  left,"  she  said,  and  Wincy  could  see 
she  was  tired.  "Cook  was  with  us  twenty 
years,  and  I  seldom  entered  the  kitchen." 

"We'll  fix  things."  Angus  was  beating 
the  batter.  "We're  not  used  to  cooks." 

"Didn't  the  Hilliards  have  servants  at 
all?"  Mrs.  Turner  inquired  with  surprise. 

"Of  course  not,"  Angus  replied  disdain- 
fully. "We  didn't  need  any  of  those  old 
women  fussing  at  us.  Aunt  Polly  tacked  our 
house  jobs  on  the  bulletin  board  and  then 
we  knew  what  to  do." 

"Just  at  first,"  Wincy  remembered,  "it 
was  rather  difficult.  We  were  such  babies 
I  when  we  got  there.  I  couldn't  even  comb  my 
hair,  and  Angus  just  stood  with  his  arms 
stretched  out  waiting  for  someone  to  put 
clothes  on  him." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  a  mistake,"  Mrs.  Turner 
said  thoughtfully,  "Nannie's  never  allowing 
you  to  dress  yourselves.   I  see  it  was  a  poor 
preparation    for 
your  American  ex- 
perience." 

"It  never  oc- 
curred to  us  that 
the  Hilliards  would 
not  have  plenty  of 
servants,"  Professor 
Turner  added. 


Angus,  pouring 
the  batter  into  the 
pan,  looked  around. 
"But  they  liked  us," 
he  explained. 

"Of  course  they 
did,  my  love,"  his 
mother  said.  "But 
I  mean,  the  extra 
trouble  — to  say 
nothing  of  the  ex- 
pense. Many  people 
here  in  Oxford  have 
found  the  evacuees 
extremely  tire- 
some." 

"Oh,  sure,"  said 
Angus,  "evacuees. 

But  us  "    He 

grasped  the  pan 
with  both  hands. 
"Watch  now — I'm 
going  to  flip!" 

Terror  passed  over  his  mother's  face  as 
Angus  sent  the  pancake  flying  out  of  the 
skillet.  With  striking  coolness  he  recovered 
the  pancake,  golden  side  up,  and  his  mother 
rewarded  him  with  a  look  of  respect. 

Ah-h!"  exclaimed  Professor  Turner  when 
they  were  at  breakfast.  "Nectar  and  am- 
brosia! I  never  tasted  anything  so  deli- 
cately flavored." 

Angus  was  bursting  with  pride.  He  said 
nothing,  but  the  very  silence  was  an  indica- 
tion of  his  joy. 

"Since  you  are  still  tired  from  the  jour- 
ney," Mrs.  Turner  announced,  "we  shan't 
go  to  church.  Children  dear,  I've  planned 
rather  a  jolly  surprise  for  you.  We're  having 
the  Quelches  for  tea — you're  to  have  it  with 
us  in  the  drawing  room." 

"Quelches!"  Angus  repeated.  "What  are 
quelches?" 

"You  don't  remember  the  Quelches? "  his 
father  asked.  "Quelch  is  a  Senior  Fellow  at 
St.  James's." 

"You  used  to  be  so  sweet  together  when 
you  were  very  little — you  and  Mark  and  the 
two  little  Quelches,"  Mrs.  Turner  recalled, 
"all  sitting  round  the  nursery  table  being 
fed  by  the  two  nannies."  Wincy  noticed 
that  when  she  spoke  of  the  past,  her  face 
brightened  and  became  quite  beautiful. 

"Francis  is  two  years  younger  than 
Mark,"  Mrs.  Turner  went  on,  "but  Brenda 
is  exactly  your  age,  Wincy." 

"I  remember  them.  Francis  was  an  awful 
pest.   He  used  to  pull  my  braids." 


THE  mmn 
M\mu 

Never  were  there  any  two  so  un- 
fitted to  marry.  She  was  so  pre- 
posterously young — young  enough 
to  be  his  daughter!  And  yet'at  tfie 
same  time  his  weakness  and  his 
fear  cried  out,  "Let  it  be!  Let  me 
be  safe  with  her!   Let  it  happen!" 

It  happened.  The  town  raised 
its  eyebrows  halfway  up  its  fore- 
head, but  Tom  Pelletier,  conserva- 
tive pillar  of  the  neighborhood 
schoolhouse,  tossed  convention  to 
the  breeze  and  married  The  Farm- 
er's Daughter! 

A  novelette  by  Nelia  Gardner 
White  in  which  ages  do  not  matter. 

Complete  la  ibe 


April,  1945 

"Yes,  he  was  quite  a  naughty  little  boy, 
but  you'll  find  Francis  well  behaved  now. 
He's  going  up  to  St.  James's  in  the  autumn." 

"If  he  can  pass  in  the  Latin  paper,"  Pro- 
fessor Turner  added.  * 

"Boys  always  seem  to  have  trouble  with 
Latin,"  Wincy  observed.  "Sandy  Whipple 
had  a  terrible  time." 

"WTio?"  Mrs.  Turner  asked.  "I  don't  re- 
member hearing  about  him  in  your  letters." 

"Just  a  boy  in  Belmont." 

"Indeed?"  Mrs.  Turner  remarked  with  a 
queer  note  in  her  voice.  "I  thought  you 
would  be  impatient  to  see  Brenda  as  soon  as 
you  arrived." 

"Haven't  seen  her  for  ages,"  Wincy  mur- 
mured. 

Because  he  felt  out  of  things,  not  being 
able  to  remember  the  people  who  were  being 
discussed,  Angus  made  up  a  little  singsong. 
"Quel-chy,  Quel-chy,  Quel-chy,"  he  sang. 

"Do  stop,  Angus,"  his  father  commanded. 
"You  are  very  rude.  Quelch  is  quite  the 
coming  man  in  our  college.  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  to  see  him  Warden  someday." 

Angus  stopped  singing,  stuffed  in  the  last 
mouthful  and  got  down  from  the  table.  "I'll 
wash  up,"  he  announced. 
"And  I'll  dry,"  Wincy  said. 

"I  was  going 
to "  Mrs.  Tur- 
ner began,  looking 
surprised. 

"Oh,  no,  mum- 
mie,  you  were  set- 
ter. That  leaves 
you  the  retriever, 
daddy." 

"Leaves  me 
what?"  the  profes- 
sor asked. 

"You  clear  the 
table,"  Angus  ex- 
plained. "In  Bel- 
mont we  had  two 
trays — one  had  a 
picture  of  a  setter 
painted  on  it  and 
one  a  retriever.  The 
guy  who  set  the 
table  used  the  set- 
ter tray  and  the  guy 
who  cleared  used 
the  retriever.  See?" 
"You  want  me 
to  be  a  retriever?" 
Professor  Turner 
asked  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Doing  house- 
work alone  is  drudg- 
ery," Wincy  explained.  "But  when  everyone 
pitches  in,  it's  fun.  We  used  to  have  some  of 
our  best  times  in  the  kitchen  in  Belmont." 
"You  bet,"  Angus  agreed.  "Uncle  Bill 
would  put  a  saucepan  on  his  head  and  dance 
a  jig  and  sometimes  we'd  all  sing  while  we 
cleaned  up.  Now,  daddy,  you  just  take  the 
oleo  and  the  milk  jug.  Put  them  in  the 
larder  and  wipe  up  the  crumbs." 

To  Wincy's  amazement,  her  father  did  as 
he  was  told. 

Wincy  looked  about  the  kitchen  to  see 
whether  there  was  anything  more  to  do  be- 
fore the  guests  arrived.  The  loaf  had  been 
sliced,  the  tea  caddy  stood  ready,  the  crum- 
pets were  arranged  on  the  platter. 

From  the  passage  she  could  see  into  the 
■drawing  room.  Her  father  was  reading 
and  her  mother  was  composing  a  letter  of 
thanks  to  Aunt  Polly.  It  was  a  friendly 
room,  with  the  chintz-covered  armchairs, 
and  the  French  windows  opening  out  into 
the  garden.  Why  had  it  always  frightened 
Wincy  when  she  was  brought  down  after 
tea  to  spend  an  hour  with  her  parents? 

Professor  Turner  glanced  up.  "Wincy,  my 
dear,"  he  called,  shutting  the  book,  "we 
haven't  heard  you  play.  Do  give  us  a  tune." 

"Yes,  dear,  do  play  something,"  Mrs. 
Turner  urged. 

Wincy  fetched  her  case  and  opened  it. 

She  held  the  bow  to  her  eye  and  squinted 

down  the  length  of  the  stick  to  see  whether 

the  dampness  on  board  ship  had  warped  it. 

(Continued  on  Page  68) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


t 

yVbat !  ]^  hanfetif  Irid  a 


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Vi  teaspoon  salt 
1  cup  sugar 

Measure  into  bowl: 

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shortening 


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Bake  in  moderate  oven  (375°F.)  30  to  35  minutes.  Or 
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N? 


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&fce  a  b^  caks  vwlli 


mJhmi 


58 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


C^hese  favorites  of  distinguished 
American  hostesses  are  available  now  in  limited  items.'  Choose  yours, 
order  now.  Place  settings  .  .  .  luncheon  knife  and  fork, 
cream  soup  spoon,  teaspoon,  butter  spreader,  salad  fork  .  .  . 

average  ^23,  incl.  Fed.  Tax. 


STERLING 

I'    R    0    V    I    D    K    N    C    K        7  ,    K .    I . 


\       {Continued  from  Page  66) 
Then  she  took  up  the  fiddle  and  tuned  it, 
bowing  the  strings  in  pairs. 

Now  she  was  no  longer  in  Oxford,  nor 
even  in  Belmont,  but  deep  in  some  lucid 
pool  of  sound,  the  hollow,  unmixed  intervals 
vibrating  in  widening  circles  around  her. 
This  was  not  a  mechanical  preliminary  to 
music,  but  part  of  the  music  itself — a  prel- 
ude, fifth  following  fifth,  something  Bach 
might  have  used  to  begin  a  suite. 

A  loud  clanging  suddenly  drowned  it  out. 
Wincy's  bow  arm  dropped.  Her  parents 
jumped  up  and  hurried  out  into  the  passage. 
Wincy  hung  back,  putting  the  fiddle  away, 
and  Angus  kept  close  beside  her.  They  could 
hear  their  parents  and  visitors  all  talking. 
Then  Mrs.  Turner  drew  Wincy  and  Angus 
into  the  passage  to  be  presented. 

"There  you  are  at  last,  you  poor  chil- 
dren," Mrs.  Quelch  exclaimed  in  a  high- 
pitched  voice.  "How  you've  grown,  all  this 
nasty  long  time  out  of  England!" 

"It  wasn't  nasty,"  Angus  protested.  "It 
was  swell." 

Mrs.  Quelch  gave  a  well-bred  snicker  at 
his  flat  pronunciation  of  the  word  "nasty." 

Right  then  Wincy  decided  that  she  didn't 
care  for  this  lady.  But  her  father  had  seemed 
anxious  to  impress  the  Quelches  and  so  she 
put  in  primly,  "Angus  and  I  are  jolly  glad 
to  be  home." 

Doctor  Quelch  turned  to  Angus.  He  was 
a  tall  man  with  an  important-looking  nose. 
"See  any  Indians,  young  chap?"  he  asked, 
playfully  jDoking  Angus  in  the  solar  plexus. 

"Nope.  We  weren't  out  West,"  Angus 
told  him.  "We  were  in 
Massachusetts." 

Professor  Turner 
came  forward.  "They 
were  in  Belmont,  on 
the  outskirts  of  Cam- 
bridge, slopping  with 
a  Harvard  professor." 

"Quite,"  Doctor 
Quelch  remarked. "  It's 
a  strange  thing.  Tur- 
ner, but  whenever  I 
hear  the  name  Cam- 
bridge, I  assume  that  it 
refers  to  our  sister  uni- 
versity. It  always  takes 
me  a  moment  to  recol- 
lect that  it  is  also  the 
name  of  a  city  in  the 
States."  He  laughed 
heartily,  but  Wincy  couldn't  see  what  was 
funny  about  being  so  dumb. 

Francis  smiled  politely,  following  Pro- 
fessor Turner  into  the  drawing  room.  He 
was  a  tall,  good-looking  fellow  with  nice 
eyes,  but  Wincy  thought  if  he  enjoyed  his 
father's  joke  he  must  be  a  drip.  She  took 
Brcnda's  coat  and  then,  smiling,  drew  her 
into  the  drawing  room. 

"We  used  to  go  to  Newfields  together," 
Wincy  began.  "Do  you  still  go  there?" 

"Yes,"  said  Brenda,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"I'm  going  there  next  term,"  Wincy  con- 
tinued. "I  guess  it'll  be  strange  after 
Agassiz — that  was  my  school  in  America. 
Are  you  taking  physics  or  chemistry?" 

"No,"  said  Brenda. 

Well,  Brenda  might  be  fifteen  too,  but  she 
acted  like  one  of  the  sixth-grade  kids  at 
Agassiz. 

Mrs.  quelch  immediately  brought  out  her 
knitting  and  set  to  work.  "My  dear  Wini- 
fred," she  rattled  on  in  her  high-pitched 
voice,  "you  can't  guess  how  impatient  your 
dear  parents  have  been !  All  winter  they've 
talked  of  nothing  but  your  coming  in  April. 
And  now,  at  last,  April  is  here." 

Mrs.  Turner  nodded,  her  eyes  shining. 
She  was  really  beautiful  when  she  looked 
that  way,  Wincy  discovered. 

"'Oh,  to  be  in  England,'"  Doctor  Quelch 
began,  "'now  that  April's  there '" 

Wincy  looked  up  at  him  swiftly.  She 
wouldn't  have  recognized  the  line  if  Mr. 
Thurman,  who  taught  Sophomore  English  at 
Agassiz,  hadn't  been  a  Browning  fan.  Oh, 
to  be  in  Ennland Doctor  Quelch  re- 
minded Wincy  of  it  all  again,  though  he 
didn't  make  it  sound  so  beautiful  as  Mr. 
Thurman  used  to  do.  To  be  in  England  — — 


"  I  managed  to  get  some  sausage  meat  off 
the  ration  yesterday,"  Mrs.  Quelch  said. 

"  Did  you  really?  "  Mrs.  Turner  exclaimed, 
pouring  the  tea.  "Lucky  duck!"     ^ 

Angus  was  passing  the  whole-meal  bread 
and  Wincy,  remembering  her  part,  took  up 
the  crumpets.  When  the  platters  were 
empty,  they  went  to  the  kitchen  to  refill 
them. 

Even  here,  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Quelch's 
voice  penetrated.  "I  must  say,  they  look 
well  fed  and  singularly  cheerful.  I  was  so 
afraid  they  might  have  been  ill-treated. 
Strangers,  you  know,  and  foreigners  to  boot. ' ' 

"Where  does  she  think  we've  been?" 
Wincy  asked  Angus.  "  In  jail?  She's  a  pill." 

"Picklepuss." 

Mrs.  turner  was  reassuring  Mrs.  Quelch. 
"They  seem  to  have  had  a  very  agreeable 
stay.  Some  things  seem  a  trifle" — she  hesi- 
tated— "odd,  but  we'll  have  them  right  in 
no  time.*' 

"I  am  so  relieved,"  Mrs.  Quelch  said, 
though  she  sounded  faintly  disappointed. 

"Some  of  those  Americans " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Mrs.  Turner  said,  loyally 
cutting  the  remark  short.  "  Wincy  and  Angus 
were  very  fortunate.  To  be  sure,  those  slang 
expressions  are  frightful.  I  can  barely  under- 
stand Angus  half  the  time." 

Francis  broke  in.  "Look  here,  Mrs.  Turner, 
you  ought  to  go  to  the  flicks.  You'd  catch  on 
to  American  slang  fast  enough  there." 

Wincy,  coming  in  with  the  platter,  looked 

up  to  see  how  her  mother  was  taking  this 

suggestion,  but  Francis  caught  her  eye  and 

winked.  He  wasn't 

such  a  drip  as  she  first 

thought. 

"How  poised  Wini- 
fred is,"  Mrs.  Quelch 
remarked.  "She  seems- 
quite  at  home  among 
grown  people." 

"Yes,  Wincy  has 
been  in  the  company 
of  older  people  a  great 
deal,  I  gather,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said,  looking 
pleased  by  the  compli- 
ment. "You  have  no 
idea  how  handy  they 
both  are.  Their  foster 
mother  taught  them  to 
consider  housekeeping 
fun." 
"Housekeeping  fun?"  Mrs.  Quelch  re- 
peated. "Fancy  anything  so  ridiculous!" 

"Yes,  fun,"  Mrs.  Turner  insisted.  "All 
the  family  seems  to  do.  the  work  together 
out  there  and  they  make  a  game  of  it.  This 
morning  the  children  even  induced  their 
father  to  be  the  retriever.  It's  going  to  be  a  i 
great  help  to  me  without  cook." 

"  I  wonder  what  sort  of  people  these  Amer- 
ican foster  mothers  are,"  Mrs.  Quelch  said, 
sucking  on  a  knitting  pin.  "They  sound 
rather  like  superior  nannies  with  husbands." 
Having  given  up  all  hope  of  making 
Brenda  speak,  Wincy  sat  listening  while  her 
father  and  Doctor  Quelch  mapped  out  a 
strategy  for  the  invasion  of  the  Continent. 
Francis  listened  too. 

"Sooner  the  better  is  what  I  say,"  Doctor 
Quelch  announced,  banging  his  fist  on  the 
arm  of  the  oak  settle. 

"Yes,"  Professor  Turner  answered.  "It 
will  be  fraught  with  great  anxiety  for  us.tj 
Mark's   squadron    will    undoubtedly    take 
part." 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  moment.  It  was  as  if|  p 
Mark's  shadow  had  fallen  across  the  room 
"When  we've  settled  the  Continent,  we  can 
turn  our  attention  to  the  East,"  Doctor 
Quelch  said  at  length.  "It's  high  time  we 
settled  the  Indian  question  too." 

Professor  Turner  remarked  that  he  wished 
Sir  Stafford  had  been  successful  there.  Doc- 
tor Quelch  didn't  agree. 

Wincy  felt  a  warmth,  a  sense  of  being 
where  slie  belonged.  In  the  Hilliard  house- 
hold politics  were  constantly  discussed,  some 
times  with  sharp  differences  of  opinion. 

"We  ought  to  have  been  firmer  with  those  m 
mischief-makers    from    the    first,"    Doctor 
Quelch  said.  "Too  much  sentimental  bog- 
gling." (Conlinued  on  Page  70) 


H Your  Copy  is  Late 

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destination.  If  your  Jour- 
nal or  Reference  Library 
order  does  not  reach  you  on 
time,  please  do  not  write  com- 
plaining of  delay.  The  delay 
is  caused  by  conditions  aris- 
ing after  your  copy  or  order 
has  left  Philadelphia. 


;•( 


:L- 


jr: 


LADIES'  HOME  JOLK.NAL 


69 


,VAR  BONDS  AND  STAMPS 


A  tip  to  the  women  in  tlieir  lives! 


Fncle  Sam  is  feeding  your  service  man  today 
nd  feeding  him  well  —  even  if  GI  cooking 
m't  compare  with  yours!  But  against  the 
me  when  you  take  over,  here's  a  friendly 
p  to  remember. 

The  chances  are,  your  man  xvill  tvant  more 
•ilk,  butter,  cheese  and  ice  cream  than  he 
;er  did  before.  That's  a  natural  result  of  his 
rvice  diet.  In  training  in  this  country,  he 
as  given  about  3  times  as  much  dairy  prod- 
its  as  men  got  in  the  last  war. 

Overseas,  of  course,  the  supply  problem  is 
ugher,  but  about  10%  of  all  the  food  ex- 
)rted  to  our  forces  has  been  dairy  products 


—  as  compared  with  only  2%  in  '17  and  '18. 
That's  one  big  reason  why  America  has  the 
healthiest,  huskiest  fighting  men  in  all  the 
world  —  for  milk  is  nature's  most  nearly  per- 
fect food. 

Part  of  your  post-war  job  will  be  to  keep 
your  veteran  fit  and  feed  him  as  carefully  as 
Uncle  Sam  did.  Part  of  our  post-war  job  is 
to  keep  on  improving  the  processing  of  milk 
and  its  many  products  —  developing  new  prod- 
ucts—  and  protecting  their  purity  — as  our 
laboratories  have  done  so  long. 

We  know  you'll  do  your  job  well.  And  we 
expect  to  do  the  same. 


Dedicated  to  the  wider  use  and  better  under- 
standing of  dairy  products  as  human  food 
.  .  .  as  a  base  for  the  development  of  new 
products  and  materials  ...  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and   in   the   toivns   and   cities   of  America. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS     CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


70 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  194', 


New  Suffusing  Ingredient 
gives  Ponds  Dreamf lower  Powder 
im-ijaa^e  color  smoothness 

A  powder  should  go  on  with  a  smooth  "sheer-gauge"  effect  to 
bring  smoothly,  expensively,  "sheer-gauge"  color  to  your  skin. 

Now — a  new  suffusing  ingredient  makes  Pond's  Dreamtiower 
Powder  go  on  extra  "sheer-gauge"!  This  new  ingredient 
spreads  the  tiny  particles  of  soft  color  more 
smoothly,  more  clingingly  over  your  skin. 
Gives  Pond's  more  luxurious,  "sheer-gauge" 
evenness  on  your  face! 

That's  why  Pond's  shades  not  only 
have  lovely  color  in  the  box — thoy  add  f^  j  /, 

lovely  color  to  your  skin!  Smoother  color. 
Sheerer  color.  More  glamorous  color. 

Compare  "sheer-gauge"  Band's  with 
the  powder  you  are  wcarji^  now. 
See  for  yourself  the  soft;'  sweet  delicacy 
it  gives  your  skin-tone!  The  all-over 
velvety  smoothness  it  lends  your  face! 
6  beautiful  Drcamflower  shades. 
49«f,  27u,  UU  (plus  tax). 


^ 


PONDS  Dreamf  lower  Powder 

made  ''slieer-gauge"  l»y  experts  in  l)<-ant\  ! 


"Sheer-gauge"  means 
more  flattering  shades 
on  the  skini 

Two  stockings— exactly  the 
same  shade  in  the  box  — 
bu^  so  different  "on"! 
Now — Pond's  Dreamflower 
Powder  shades  look  love- 
lier^'on"  because  they're  so 
baoutifully  "sheer-gauge"! 


(Continued  from  Page  68) 

"Oh.  no,  Doctor  Quelch.  we  should  have 
given  India  greater  independence,"  Wincy 
put  in  earnestly.  "It's  just  like  England's 
colonial  policy  in  the  reign  of  George  the 
Third.  If  she  had  been  wiser  then,  the  Amer- 
ican colonies  never  would  have  rebelled. 
And  just  think  what  a  help  it  would  have 
been  in  this  war  if  there  hadn't  been  all  the 
delay  in  arranging  for  Lend-Lease  and  a  uni- 
fied command." 

"That  will  do,  Wincy,"  her  father  said. 
"Little  girls  don't  hold  political  opinions." 

Wincy's  cheeks  felt  on  fire.  Little  girls 

To  hide  her  confusion,  she  got  up  and  passed 
the  last  of  the  crumpets.  When  she  had  made 
the  circle,  there  was  one  left.  She  reached 
out  for  It,  but  .'^ngus  sneaked  up  and  grabbed 
the  crumpet  from  under  her  hand. 

"You  bum  1 "  she  exclaimed  good-naturedly. 
Instantly  she  realized  that  something  dread- 
ful had  happened.   Conversation  stopped. 

Although  Mrs.  Turner's  face  was  scarlet, 
her  voice  sounded  quite  controlled  as  she 
said  firmly,  "Go  to  your  room,  Wincy." 

Wincy  did  not  move.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter? What  have  I  done?" 

"Go  to  your  room,"  Mrs.  Turner  re- 
peated. 

Wincy  rushed  across  the  drawing  room 
and  managed  to  get  to  the  stairs  before  the 
tears  showed.  She  threw  herself  across  the 
bed,  punching  the  pillow.  It  was  all  so  differ- 
ent from  Sunday  in  Belmont. 

/  didn't  want  to  think  about  America — / 
wanted  to  be  fair,  she  told  herself.  /  tried  to 
forget  how  homesick  I  am  for  Aunt  Polly  and 
Uncle  Bill  atul  Sally  Sutton  and  the  kids  at 
Agassiz.  It  just  shows  what  this  has  done  to 
me — /  wanted  to  be  fair,  but  they  make  me 
wish  I  was  back. 

JxiGHT  now  the  Milliards  and  Suttons  were 
probably  cooking  beans  and  hot  dogs  over  a 
campfire  somewhere  in  the  country.  Wincy 
thought  of  afternoons  in  winter,  when  they 
would  come  in  from  skiing  or  skating  and 
fix  supper  either  at  their  house  or  the  Sut- 
tons'. After  that  came  the  best  part  of  all- 
Uncle  Bill's  orchestra.  When  Uncle  Bill  had 
seen  she  wasn't  satisfied  playing  a  toy  in- 
strument, but  was  eager  to  learn  to  play  the 
fiddle  like  Sally,  he  had  bought  her  one  and 
sent  her  to  music  scliool. 

Although  Sally  was  two  years  older,  she 
had  liked  Wincy  right  away— it  wasn't  just 
that  Sally  felt  she  had  to  be  nice  because 
her  father  was  Aunt  Polly's  brother.  When 
Sally  outgrew  her  dresses,  she  handed  them 
down.  There  were  some  hanging  in  the  ward- 
robe now.  Wincy  especially  liked  the  Aus- 
trian dirndl  with  the  silver  buttons.  But 
when  she  had  unpacked  it  mummie  said  it 
would  look  outlandish  in  Oxford. 

At  first,  Agassi/,  School  had  seemed  very 
queer.  Having  boys  in  the  class  seemed  posi- 
tively dopey.  But  Wincy  had  got  used  to  it. 
She  hadn't  gone  goofy  over  the  boys  the  way 
Penny  Poole  and  Brocky  did.  Last  term, 
though.  Sandy  Whipple  had  started  hanging 
around  and  some  of  the  girls  teased  her. 
They  said  he  was  nuts  about  her.  But  he 
wasn't.  He  w-as  just  a  friendly  kid  who 
liked  hunting  rocks  and  minerals,  the  way 
she  did.  Sandy  had  taken  her  to  school 
dances  a  couple  of  times — he  was  a  nice  kid. 

But  not  so  nice  as  Hank  Sutton.  Nobody 
could  be  as  nice  as  Hank.  The  girls  couldn't 
tease  her  about  him,  because  he  was  her 
foster  cousin.  Hank  and  Sally  were  only  a 
year  apart.  When  Wincy  came  they  made  a 
threesome. 

When  they  first  arrived,  and  Angus  saw- 
Uncle  Bill  playing  catch  with  Sutty  after 
supper,  or  making  things  with  him  in  the 
workshop,  he  became  furiously  jealous  of 
Sutty.  Of  course  he  didn't  say  anything. 
He  just  wet  his  bed.  Wincy  herself  wouldn't 
have  understood  if  Uncle  Bill  hadn't  ex- 
plained about  the  subconscious.  Uncle  Bill 
was  wonderful  the  way  he  made  you  see 
things— no  wonder  he  was  so  pojiular  with 
the  students.  Even  Sutty  had  been  swell 
to  Angus.  He  was  eight  when  they  arrived, 
and  Angus  was  only  six,  but  Sutty  dragged 
him  around  with  his  gang,  introducing  him 
to  everyone  as  "my  kid  brother."  Pretty 
soon  Angus  began  to  feel  Uncle  Bill  cared 


SECRET  OF  A 


I 


A  pliant  Flexees  girdle. 

an  exquisite  Flexaire 

bra.  Skillfully  designed 

to  accentuate 

bosom  contours, 

to  slenderize 

your  waist, 

to  give  firm 

beauty  to 

your  hips. 

The  try-on 

is  the  test. 


GIRDLES   AND   COMBINATIONS:   $5.95  TO  $15 
FLEXAIRE  BRAS:  $1   TO  $5 


LADIES'  II 


ME  JOURNAL 


73 


THE    WANDA 

In  Blatk  Patent, 
Navy  or  White  Caracul 


A  pretty  picture  — when 
you  are  poised  in  a  pair 
of  smart  Miracle-Tread 
Shoes  — footwear  with 
special  features  that  help 
develop  that  graceful 
poise  and  lovely  ankles. 
Step  Into  a  pair— today! 


THE    SIREN 

In  Black,  Navy 
or  While  Coracu/ 


WOMENS  DIVISION 

CRADDOPC-TERRY  SHOE  CORPORATION 
LYNCHBURG,  VIRGINIA 


for  him,  that  he  treated  him  just  like  Sutt^ 
After  that  first  camping  trip  the  three  :. 
them  took,  Angus  never  wet  again,  un' 
just  the  night  before  they  sailed. 

Aunt  Polly  had  said  a  lot  of  nice  thm. 
to  Wincy  that  night.  She  reminded  her  th) 
different  countries  had  different  custoh 
and  that  Wincy  must  try  to  adjust  to  Oxfoi' 
as  she  had  to  Belmont.   .   .   . 

She  must  have  been  asleep,  for  the  ne3 
thing  she  knew,  she  was  wakened  by  a  litt 
scraping  sound.  The  door  opened  a  cracl 
It  was  Angus,  carrying  a  tray  of  milk  an 
biscuits. 

"Mummie  sent  you  this  supper,"  he  said 
"I'm  sorry  I  swiped  the  crumpet." 

"I  don't  want  supper,"  Wincy  said 
"Never  mind  about  the  crumpet.  It  wasn' 
your  fault.  Here  I  am,  all  grown  up,  anc 
they're  trying  to  make  an  infant  of  me  again 
sending  me  to  my  room." 

Angus  sat  down  on  her  bed.  "Wincy," 
he  said,  "let's  go  back.  It's  rotten  here." 

"We  can't,  goofy." 

"Gosh,"  he  sighed,  "I  didn't  think  Engi 
lish  people  were  going  to  be  like  that." 

"It  might  be  just  mummie  and  daddy,' 
Wincy  said,  as  much  to  herself  as  to  Angus 
"If  only  I  knew  what  I'd  done." 

"I  know,"  Angus  said,  sitting  up  sud 
denly.  "Francis  told  me.  He  thought  it  wa 
a  big  joke.  'Bum'  doesn't  mean  the  sam( 
thing  here  it  does  at  home." 

"Oh,"  said  Wincy.  "I  wonder  what  i 
does  mean.  I  wish  he'd  told  you  that." 

"He did,"  said  Angus. "  It  means '  fanny.' 

Angus  was  in  the  doghouse,  too,  the  ne> 
morning.  The  night  before,  Mrs.  Turner  ha 
insisted  that  in  addition  to  his  pajama 


''COME   tJIVTO   ME" 

^  The  smallest  children  are  near- 
^  est  to  God,  as  the  smallest 
planets  are  nearest  the  sun. 

—  RICHTER:  Quoted  in  Mother  Ttiought, 
by  Alice  W.  Rollins. 


Angus  wear  a  flannel  band  around  hi 
tummy.  Angus  had  refused.  His  mother  hac 
insisted.  It  wasn't  clear  to  Wincy  how  thing 
had  come  out,  but  she  had  heard  the  mat 
tress  being  heaved  down  the  stairs.  I 

Mrs.  Turner,  however,  didn't  notice  i 
until  much  later,  when  she  was  gatherin 
acorns.  She  was  sitting  with  her  leg 
stretched  straight  out  before  her  on  a  roc 
of  the  great  oak  at  the  bottom  of  the  gardei 

"For  Pete's  sake,  mummie,"  Angt 
shouted,  as  he  and  Wincy  came  out,  "whj 
the  heck  do  you  think  you're  doing?  " 

"W.V.S.,"  his  mother  answered. 

"But  what  do  you  want  acorns  for?" 

"Pigs — the  pigs  of  Oxfordshire,"  Mr 
Turner  explained.  It  was  then  that  sh 
saw  the  mattress.  She  was  quite  upset. 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  angry  with  hin 
mummie,"  Wincy  broke  in;  "it'll  only  mat 
matters  worse.  He'd  stop  wetting,  I'm  sur 
if  you  coul^l  only  make  him  feel  you  lo% 
him.  That  worked  in  Belmont." 

Her  mother  turned  on  Wincy.  "Do  stc 
talking  nonsense,  child.  You're  merely  pu 
ting  ideas  into  his  head,  very  unhealth 
and  improper  ideas,  which  you  picked  up 
the  States.  You  can't  think  how  I  suffert 
while  you  were  gone.  And  now  to  have  yc 
tell  me  I  don't  love  my  own  boy." 

"I  only  said  if  you  could  make  him  /< 
you  love  him,"  Wincy  said  softly. 

"English  people  of  good  taste  do  not  di 
play  their  emotions,"   Mrs.   Turner  sai 

This  isn't  getting  Angus  anywhere,  Wini 
thought.  /  wonder  whether  daddy  unde 
stands — someone  has  to  help. 

Professor  Turner's  study  was  a  little  roo 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  Wincy  knocked  ( 
the  door  and  looked  in. 

"Do  you  mind,  daddy?" 

Her  father  looked  up  from  the  papers  > 
his  desk.  "Not  this  once,"  he  said,  "if  y 
have  something  of  importance  to  say." 

"It's  about  Angus  wetting  his  bed." 

Embarrassment  was  so  plainly  marked 
her  father's  face  that  Wincy  stopped.  Th 


Watch  it  mother! 
Just  2  inches 
from  where  you 
washed  that  apple 


your  sink  drain  is 
a  hotbed  of  filthy 

SEWER  GERMS ! 


Survey  by  Molnar  Laboratoriei, 
Now  York  City 


Scouring  the  sink 
wont  discourage 
these  Kttle  monsters 
down  in  the  drain 

Actual  sewer  germs  magnified 
approximately  20,000  times 


but  Drano  boils 
SEWERGERMSout 
in  a  jiffy. 
Makes  your  sink 
safe,  sanitary! 


\fes,  and  Drano 
opens  clogged  drains, 
-drains  so  stopped 
up  even  water 
cant  trickle  through! 


1 

f/^?? 

■ 

^m 

fr     'V      'y'^<      • 

T''  1 

-t^fl 

Hi 

•  1 

^1^1 

m 

»V  7?HL      •  '  ''~yi  * 

j 

B^l 

^^^Bl 

mm      •  *  ^  ••     *     ' 

^B^I^^H 

^HHBB 

•  **i^ 

^BH^^B 

W' 

■H 

M 

\*Bl^fcli_"''       '  ^^ 

^ 

m 

Never  over  25i  at  drug,  hardware,  and  grocery  stores 


Drano 

CLEARS  OUT  SEWER   GERMS 
OPENS  CLOGGED  DRAINS 


Copr.  1944  The  Diackett  Co. 


JOURNAL 


70 


LADIES'  HOME 


April,  1945 


gives  Ponds  Dreamf lower  Powder 


99 


fwi^^cai^e  color  smoothness 

A  powder  should  go  on  with  a  smooth  "sheer-gauge"  effect  to 
bring  smoothly,  expensively,  "sheer-gauge"  color  to  your  skin. 

Now — a  new  suffusing  ingredient  makes  Pond's  Ureamflower 
Powder  go  on  extra  "sheer-gauge"!  This  new  ingredient 
spreads  the  tiny  particles  of  soft  color  more 
smoothly,  more  clingingly  over  your  skin. 
Gives  Pond's  more  luxurious,  "sheer-gauge 
evenness  on  your  face! 

That's  why  Pond's  shades  not  only 
have  lovely  color  in  the  box — they  add 
lovely  color  to  your  skin!  Smoother  color. 
Sheerer  color.  More  glamorous  color. 

Compare  "sheer-gauge"  Bf)nd's  with 
the  powder  you  are  wearji*^  now. 
See  for  yourself  the  soft;  sweet  delicacy 
it  gives  your  skin-tone!  The  all-over 
velvety  smoothness  it  lends  your  face! 
6  beautiful  Drcamflower  shades. 
i9i,  2S^  KV  (plus  tax). 

PONDS  Dreamf  lower  Powder 

made  "shccr-gaiigt;"  l)y  I'.xpcrls  in  l)<-aut\  ! 


"Sheer-gauge"  means 
more  flatterinfg  shades 
on  the  skin  I 

Two  stockings— exactly  the 
sanoe  shade  in  the  box  — 
bufr  so  different  "on"! 
Now— Pond's  Dreamflower 
Powder  shades  look  love- 
lier"on"  because  they're  so 
baootifully  "»heer-gauge"I 


ic  thought  the  most  polite  thing  would  be 

)t  to  notice  his  embarrassment,  so   she 

ent  on. 
gi "  It's  no  good  scolding  Angus  for  wetting," 
p\e  explained.  "You  could  cure  him,  just 
c(ie  way  Uncle  Bill  did." 
T  "  I  ?  "  Professor  Turner  asked  in  astonish- 
iiient.  "How  could  I  possibly?    This  is  a 
hsQ  for  a  kidney  specialist." 
b  "No,  daddy,  it's  not." 
d  "In  any  case,"   Professor  Turner  con- 
luded,  "it  is  not  a  matter  for  a  father  to 
liscuss  with  his  young  daughter." 

Wincy  pulled  at  her  father's  sleeve.  "Look, 
laddy,  let  me  tell  you  about  it.  Angus  and 

felt  terribly  unhappy  those  first  weeks  at 
he  Hilliards'  when  he  wet — we  were  so 
inxious  to  make  a  good  impression.  But  we 
acedn't  have  worried,  because  Aunt  Polly 
didn't  fuss  at  all.  She  just  showed  Angus 
low  to  work  the  pulley  line." 

Professor  Turner  looked  puzzled. 

"Skip  it,"  Wincy  said.  "It's  just  a  con- 
traption the  Hilliards  have  for  hanging  out 
the  washing.  Angus  felt  frightened  because 
everything  was  strange." 

"We  feared  that  would  be  the  case  when 
you  left.  But  under  the  circumstances,  with 
nvasion  threatening " 

"Certainly,"  Wincy  said.  There  was  no 
jse  going  into  that.  "The  main  trouble, 
.hough,  was  that  Angus  was  jealous  of 
5Utty  Hilliard.  You  see,  when  Uncle  Bill 
•.omes  home  in  the  evening,  he  does  things 
vith  Sutty.  They  work  the  electric  trains  or 
nake  airplane  models.  In  the  summer  they 
»lay  catch  in  the  back  yard." 
)  "Indeed?" 

I  "Angus  had  never  had  fun  like  that  with 
/ou.  When  he  was  brought  down  to  the 
n^awing  room  after  tea,  you  thought  him  so 
toisy  that  mummie  would  ring  for  Nannie 
J  take  him  away  again.  And  you  seldom 
lent  to  the  nursery." 

Ij 

aER  father  gave  Wincy  a  searching  look. 
tTell  me,  my  dear,  in  Belmont — in  the 
Hates — do  fathers  make  a  practice  of  spend- 
hg  their  leisure  in  the  nursery?" 

"They  don't  really  have  nurseries.  Fami- 
ics  just  do  things  together.  When  Angus  got 

0  feel  that  Uncle  Bill  cared  for  him,  as  well 
IS  for  Sutty,  he  stopped  wetting.  It's  psy- 
:hology — don't  you  see?"  Wincy  leaned 
orward  earnestly.  "Something  in  his  mind 
mothers  Angus  while  he  sleeps  and  makes 
lim  wet.  I  think  he  wants  to  be  chums  with 
'ou,  the  way  Sutty  is  with  his  father." 

Professor  Turner's  face  lit  up  with  a  sud- 
Icn  flash  of  understanding.  "You  mean,  if 

1  were  more— more  companionable?  Would 
hat  really  make  a  difference?  But  I  don't 
mow  how  to  make  airplanes.  I  haven't  a 
vHion  how  'catch'  is  played.  In  any  case, 
^m  too  old.  I  am  fifty-eight,  you  know.  In 
oint  of  age,  I  could  be  Angus'  grandfather." 
(  "Yes,  that  does  make  a  difference," 
\^incy  reflected.  "Uncle  Bill  is  only  thirty- 
Sght  and  Sutty  is  already  twelve." 

'.  "Yet,"  Professor  Turner  continued 
noughtfuUy,  "I  was  no  closer  to  Mark, 
rhen  he  was  a  lad.  But  I  never  thought  he 
'eeded  me.  There  may  be  something  to  what 
K>u  say  about  companionship. '  I  wish  now 
hat  I  had  known  him  more  intimately." 
s  "Oh,  daddy,  you  do  understand!  Please 
ry  to  help  Angus." 

Her  father  was  looking  at  her  curiously. 
(You're  very  knowledgeable,  Wincy.   How 

0  you  come  to  see  things  with  the  wisdom 
f  a  grown  woman  at  the  age  of  fifteen?" 

:  Wincy  was  pleased.  "Aunt  Polly  and  Uncle 
till  explained  psychology  to  me  so  I  could 
ilp  Angus,"  she  said. 

1  "Psychology,"  Professor  Turner  repeated. 
;A  suspicion  began  to  grow  in  Wincy's 
^ind.  Perhaps  psychology  was  one  of  those 
Jrictly  American  things— like  corn  on  the 
bb  and  baseball  and  sweet  potatoes. 

1  Professor  Turner  was  rubbing  his  eyes. 

ihey  looked  very  tired. 

\"The  light  is  f)oor  in  here,"  Wincy  said. 

t"Yes,  the  wistaria  wants  trimming,  but 

ti've  not  been  able  to  get  a  gardener." 

t  "Angus  will  do  it.   He  and  Sutty  did  all 

;e  gardening  at  the  Hilliards'." 

1  Professor  Turner  looked  up  in  surprise. 

tJo  you  suppose  a  little  chap  like  that 

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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


73 


GRIMY  DISHCLOTH  is  not 

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iet  More 
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could?  It  would  help  a  great  deal.  I  didn't 
mind  so  long  as  the  student  lamp  was 
functioning,  but  I  haven't  been  able  to  use 
it  for  a  year." 

"Did  the  fuse  blow  out?" 

"I  can't  say.  I  have  thrice  asked  Purse- 
glove  to  send  a  man.  And  my  reading  stand 

wants  mending,  but  the  joiner  "    His 

voice  trailed  off  despondently. 

Wincy  looked  at  the  lamp  cord.  The  silk 
was  frayed  around  the  plug,  exposing  the 
wires.  "Angus  can  probably  fix  it,"  she  said. 

This  time  her  father  thought  Wincy  was 
joking.  He  laughed. 

"I  mean  it,"  Wincy  insisted.  "He's  quite 
good  at  things  like  that.  Angus  and  Sutty 
made  hundreds  of  lamps  and  thingumajigs." 
Wincy  put  her  arms  around  her  father.  "But 
I  think  it  would  be  nice  if  you  asked  him 
to  do  the  vine — as  between  men,  you  know." 

Wincy  found  Angus  on  the  kitchen  step. 

"Gosh,  there's  nothing  to  do  here,"  he 
complained. 

"Yes,  there  is.   Daddy  needs  you." 

"He  does?"  Angus  jumped  up  and  raced 
to  his  father's  study. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  boon  to  me  if  you  can 
put  the  student  lamp  to  rights,  my  boy," 
Professor  Turner  said  gravely. 

"Sure  I  will,"  Angus  replied,  examining 
the  plug.  "All  I  need  is  a  screw  driver." 

He  hunted  in  the  scullery  and  finally  re- 
turned with  an  implement  equal  to  the  job. 
He  sat  on  the  floor  of  the  study,  opened  the 
plug  and  put  the  loosened  wire  back  inside. 

"You  put  me  in  mind  of  Prometheus,  my 
boy,"  Wincy  heard  her  father  say.  "You  are 
bringing  me  light." 

It's  Mark,  Wincy  thought,  seeing  a  tall, 
lean  figure  through  the  glass.  She  ran  to 
open  the  door,  rumpling  the  rug  in  her  haste. 


LESSON  No.  1 

1^  Just  look  after  these  new  kids. 
^  Teach  them  that  a  slap  on  the 
back  and  a  sock  on  the  chin  are 
really  the  same  if  your  balance  is 
good.     _jLSIE  JANIS:  In  a  letter  to  Frank  Cose. 


It  wasn't  Mark,  though,  just  Francis 
Quelch  with  a  Latin  book  he  had  borrowed. 
What  must  he  think  of  her,  after  the  break 
she  made  yesterday?  Wincy  wanted  to  run 
upstairs,  but  it  was  too  late.  She  tried  to 
look  lofty  and  bored,  like  a  model  in  Vogue. 

"I  say,"  Francis  began  as  though  nothing 
had  happened,  "will  you  please  give  this  to 
Professor  Turner?" 

"Certainly,"  Wincy  drawled  languidly, 
lifting  her  nose  so  high  that  she  could  feel 
the  skin  stretch  along  her  throat. 

Francis  didn't  stir.  He  just  stood  there, 
looking  at  Wincy  in  a  nice,  smiling  sort  of 
way,  a  little  puzzled,  but  friendly.  "Well," 
he  said  at  last,  "I  thought  I'd  just  pop  in 
with  the  book.  Cheerio!"  Still  looking  at 
her  in  that  funny  way,  Francis  made  for  the 
door  and  tripped  over  the  hump  in  the  rug. 
"Oh,"  he  cried  in  alarm,  "  I  thought  I'd  trod 
on  the  dog." 

Somehow,  Wincy  couldn't  help  laughing. 
And  then  Francis  laughed. 

All  at  once  Wincy  noticed  that  her  chin 
was  at  its  usual  level.  It  didn't  matter  now. 
Francis  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  break 
she  had  made.  Besides,  from  all  accounts,  he 
had  his  troubles  too.  "Is  the  Latin  bad?" 

"Candidly,  it's  most  frightful.  I  swot  all 
day— there  are  such  hundreds  of  pages.  I ' ve 
only  a  month  till  Smalls,  and  the  river's  ever 
so  jolly  now." 

"Smalls? "  That  was  a  new  word  for  her. 

"Examinations  to  let  me  into  the  uni- 
versity. I'm  bound  to  say,  I  don't  really 
want  to  go  up.  It's  father's  plan.  I  want  to 
join  the  navy.   But  father's  pigheaded." 

Wincy  looked  up  into  his  face  earnestly. 
"The  older  generation  doesn't  understand 
a  lot  of  things,"  she  said  sympathetically. 

He  nodded.  "D'you  know,  Wincy,  it's 
impossible  to  believe  you're  not  much  older 
than  Brenda?" 

(Continued  on  Page  75) 


Watch  it,  mother! 
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from  where  you 
washed  that  apple 


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SEWER  GERMS ! 


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Makes  your  sink 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


because  no  other  container 
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Now  That  April's  There 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


75 


(Continued  from  Page  73) 

She  really  wasn't  any  older— five  days 
younger — but  she  was  too  polite  to  say  so. 
She  didn't  want  to  hurt  Francis  by  agreeing 
that  his  sister  was  a  baby. 

"I  expect  America  was  an  eye  opener — 
everything  so  large  and  wonderful.  Did  you 
ever  go  to  New  York?  " 

"Yes,  Aunt  Polly  took  us  there  once  in 
vacation.  We  saw  the  planetarium  and  ate 
at  the  Automat  and  went  to  the  top  of  the 
Empire  State  Building.   It  was  wonderful." 

Francis  looked  impressed.  "Sounds  jolly." 

Wincy  suddenly  decided  to  ask  him  the 
question  that  had  come  to  her  when  she  was 
talking  to  her  father.  "Francis,  do  English 
people  know  about  psychology — inferiority 
complexes  and  that  sort  of  thing?" 

He  thought  for  a  long  time.  "Candidly, 
not  very  much.  I  believe  they're  doing  some 
experiments  in  Cambridge -" 

"What  about  Oxford?" 

"Oh,  not  at  Oxford.  At  least,"  he  added, 
doubtfully,  "I  shouldn't  think  so.  Never 
any  new  ideas  at  St.  James's,  at  least.  Just 
the  old  traditional 


Wincy  bit  her  lip.  Lifting  her  head,  she 
noticed  through  the  tears  that  Mrs.  Turner 
was  standing  at  the  nursery  window.  All  at 
once,  Wincy  understood  what  had  happened. 
Her  mother  had  called  to  Francis  from  the 
window,  just  as  she  would  have  done  years 
ago,  when  they  were  still  kids.  Her  mother 
had  sent  him  away. 

As  SHE  and  Angus  walked  down  Banbury 
Road  with  Mrs.  Turner,  Wincy  began  to  feel 
smoothed  out  inside.  The  streets  of  Oxford 
were  so  lovely,  with  the  May  trees  and 
chestnut  candles  in  full  bloom  and  climbing 
roses  dropping  over  the  garden  walls. 

"  I  fear  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  you  a  frock 
and  Angus  a  knicker  suit  as  well,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said.  "The  coupons,  you  know.  But 
Mrs.  Tippet  may  be  able  to  contrive  some- 
thing for  you  out  of  my  old  Liberty  print." 

"Not  a  smock,  please,  mummie.  I've 
plenty  of  clothes — really  I  have,"  Wincy  in- 
sisted. "Beautiful  ones." 

"They  are  nice,"  Mrs.  Turnet  acknowl- 
edged, in  the  tone  one  uses  to  soothe  a  child. 
' '  You  may  wear  them 


studies."  And  he 
laughed. 

So  that  was  it — 
that  explained  every- 
thing. Her  parents 
just  hadn't  heard 
about  psychology. 
She  sighed,  thinking 
of  all  the  things  she 
would  have  to  teach 
them. 

"Thumbs  up ! " 
said  Francis.  "I  ex- 
pect it's  a  bit  of  a 
tax  for  you,  coming 
back  to  Merrie  Eng- 
land." 

"Oh,  not  for  me. 
Just  for  Angus.  Do 
you  go  out  on  the 
river  often?" 

"Whenever  I  can. 
I  was  on  my  way  now, 
as  a  matter  of  fact. 
Would  you  like  to 
come  along?" 

"I'd  love  to." 

"Cheers !"  cried 
Francis.  ' '  But  I 
mean — do  you  think 
your  mother  will  al- 
low it?" 

Wincy  looked  at 
him  with  pity.  "Does 
Brenda  have  to  ask 
permission  to  go  out 
in  the  daytime?  It's 
not  at  all  necessary," 
she  assured  him. 
Then  she  added,  just 
to  be  a  sport,  "But 
if   you'd   rather,   I 


•  •••••••• 

BY  LESLEY  DODGE 

Down  in  the  singing  valley 

The  waters  tumble  and  rill, 
But  I  will  go  by  the  other  path 

Over  the  brackeny  hill. 
Up  to  the  rolling  moorland. 

Purple  and  gold  and  brown, 
Where  the  distant  sea  is  a  tender 
blue 

And  the  far  blue  sky  leans  down. 
Here  clean  sheep  crop  at  the 
roadside 

Of  turf  that  is  springy  and  fine, 
And  a  ragged  cloud  to  sunward 

Is  staining  the  ling  like  wine. 
And  here  and  there  in  a  hollow 

A  farmhouse  weathered  and  gray 
With  its  outflung  fringe  of  farmland 

Is  quietly  folded  away. 
There's  a  buzzing  of  flies  in  the 
bracken, 

A  shrilling  of  ■wind  in  my  hair. 
And  all  the  sting  of  a  mountain 
spring 

Abroad  the  astringent  air. 
So  I,  and  the  dear  companion 

Who  faces  the  road  with  me, 
Will  walk  in  the  bright  cool 
sunlight 

Straight  to  the  beckoning  sea. 

•  •••••••• 


will."    Seeing    that 

this  was  what  he  wished,  she  went  upstairs. 
Mrs.  Turner  was  in  the  nursery,  looking 
through  Angus'  clothing.  "There  you  are," 
she  said.  "I  couldn't  think  where  you  were 
keeping  yourself." 

I'm  going  on  the  river  with  Francis." 
Wincy  bent  over  to  kiss  her  mother  good-by. 

"You'll  not  do  anything  of  the  sort,  my 
dear."  Her  mother  was  firm.  "You  are 
going  shopping  with  me." 

"Oh,  mummie,  you  didn't  tell  me  you 
were  planning  to  take  me  shopping,"  Wincy 
cried.  "If  I'd  known,  I  wouldn't  have  made 
the  date  with  Francis." 

"You  should  have  asked  permission  first. 
in  any  case.  You're  far  too  young,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said,  smiling  indulgently. 

"  What'll  I  do?  "  Wincy  asked  desperately. 
"I  can't  stand  Francis  up.  In  our  crowd  a 
girl  who  would  stand  a  boy  up  was " 

"There  is  no  question  as  to  what  you  will 
do.  You  are  coming  with  me." 

Wincy  knew  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  explain  to  Francis.  Angry  and  embar- 
rassed, she  hurried  down  the  stairs  and 
through  the  gate.  Francis  wasn't  there.  He 
was  halfway  up  the  street,  disappearing  rap- 
idly. 


at  home,  and  for  cer- 
tain occasions.  But 
for  the  Warden's  gar- 
den party  you  will 
need  something  more 
appropriate.  I  do  wish 
I  could  buy  you  a 
pretty  frock,  but  I 
fear  Angus  needs  the 
suit  more." 

"Yes,  get  Angus 
the  suit." 

"I  fear  I  must.  It 
does  seem  a  pity, 
though,  to  spend  cou- 
pons on  shorts,  for 
he'll  want  trousers  in 
September,  when  he 
goes  away  to  school." 

"Goes  away  to 
school?  Mummie, 
you're  not  thinking 
of  sending  Angus 
away — to  boarding 
school?" 

"Why  not?  He's 
nine." 

Wincy  looked 
around  quickly  to  see 
if  Angus  had  heard. 
This  was  awful  — 
worse,  even,  than  the 
way  her  mother  had 
acted  about  Francis. 
But  Angus  was  half- 
way down  the  street. 

"He's  much  too 
young,"  Wincy  said. 
It  was  the  first  objec- 
tion that  she  could 
think  of. 

' '  Not     really 


young — though  he 
seems  so,  I  grant  you.  But  Mark  went  away 
when  he  was  nine.  Many  boys  do.  Angus 
will  get  excellent  preparation  for  Winchester 
and  make  nice  friends." 

"Couldn't  he  prepare  for  Winchester  in 
Oxford?"  Wincy  pleaded.  "What  about 
St.  George's  School?" 

"Angus  is  going  there  next  week  for  the 
remainder  of  the  term.  The  classics  master  is 
going  to  give  him  special  help.  I  can't  think 
why  the  school  the  Hilliards  chose  for  him 
didn't  teach  Latin." 

"Nobody  takes  Latin  in  grammar  school 
in  America." 

"How  strange — for  a  boy.  At  all  events," 
Mrs.  Turner  said  with  finality,  "Angus  will 
go  to  St.  Tim's  in  September." 

It  was  like  a  trap,  Wincy  thought,  this 
lack  of  understanding  on  her  mother's  part. 
"Daddy  told  me  yesterday  that  he'd  give 
more  time  to  Angus  when  the  vac  begins," 
she  said  desperately.  "Take  him  walks  and 
things." 

"Dear  man,"  Mrs.  Turner  said,  smiling 
indulgently,  "it's  good  of  him.  But  John 
hardly  takes  the  place  of  a  governess.  If 
only  I  could  put  my  hands  on  one.  Besides, 
with  home  guard  and  fire  watching  and  his 
garden,  your  father's  overworked  as  it  is. 


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76 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


You  can 
acpena  on 

KRAFT 


QUAUTy 


For  sandwich  fillings  Kraft  Cheese  Spreads 
do  double  duty:  They  spread  the  bread 
with  moist  richness  ond  tantalizing  flavor. 
They  provide  variety  for  the  lunch  box,  too, 
because  Kraft  gives  you  seven  different 
kinds — all  tempting  and  nutritious.  The  name 
Kraft,  on  the  labels,  tells  you  you're  buying 
a  quality  dairy  food.  Get  acquainted  with 
all  seven  Kraft  kinds. 


BACON  ROLLS  Cut  Vi"  thick 
slices  lengthwise  from  a  loaf  of 
bread.  Spreod  with  Kraff  Pimento 
Cheese  Spread  and  roll  up  like  a 
jelly  roll.  Cut  each  roll  in  half. 
Wrap  with  a  slice  of  bacon;  broil 
with  bacon  toward  heat,  turning 
until  bacon  is  done. 


SOON    AGAIN,    WE    HOPE— 

Because  of  the  government's  tremen- 
dous need  for  cheddar  cheese,  these 
two  famous  Kraft  varieties  have  been 
missing  from  your  food  dealer's  dis- 
play. But  soon  again,  we  hope,  civil- 
ians can  have  Kraft  American  with  the 
wonderful  medium-mellow  flavor,  and 
our  famous  sharp  Old  English.  Keep  on 
the  watch  for  them. 


The  World's  Favorite  Cheeses  are 

made  by  the  Men  ar)d  Women  of 

Copr.  1945  by  Kraft  (Micf^e  Company 


And  he's  rather  nervy  just  at  present  any- 
how— something  to  do  with  St.  James's." 

"I  know,  mummie.  What's  it  about?" 

"A  very  grown-up  sort  of  thing,  my  dear — 
nothing  to  bother  your  little  head  over." 

They  had  reached  St.  John's  College  and 
the   Martyrs'    Memorial.    Wincy    used    to 

shiver  at  the  words:  " who  near  this 

spot  yielded  their  bodies  to  be  burned." 
Even  now,  Wincy  remembered  that  Bishop 
Cranmer  had  put  his  right  hand  in  the  flame' 
first  because  it  had  signed  his  recantation. 

Magdalen  Street  and  the  Cornmarket 
were  more  crowded  than  Wincy  had  ex- 
pected. 

"Look,"  Angus  said,  "there's  an  Amer- 
ican flag — isn't  that  nice?" 

"Need  you  shout  so,  dear?  It's  the  old 
Clarendon  Hotel,"  Mrs.  Turner  explained. 
"They've  converted  it  into  an  American 
Red  Cross  Club." 

She  shepherded  the  children  into  a  de- 
partment store. 

"Oh,  I  reqiember,"  Wincy  said.  "We  used 
to  buy  my  gym  tunics  here,  and  those  awful 
beaver  hats." 

"Right  you  are,"  her  mother  answered, 
leading  the  way.  "A  summer  hat  for  New- 
fields  School,  please,"  she  said  to  the 
assistant. 

Before  Wincy  could  think  what  was  going 
to  happen,  there  it  was  on  her  head,  the  very 
same  straw  model  she  used  to  wear  before 
she  went  away. 

The  clerk  put  a  mirror  into  Wincy's 
hand.  It  was  not  exactly  an  unbecoming 
hat— rather  Peck  and  Peckish  or  Dobbs. 
But  so  young. 

"Keep  it  on,"  Mrs.  Turner  said  briskly. 
"I  should  like  to  see  you  wear  it  home." 
And  Wincy  knew  the  matter  was  settled. 

Angus  was  less  easily  fitted.  "Only  nine 
years  old!"  the  old  man  who  measured  him 
marveled.  "  What  a  great  young  gentleman." 

"It's  all  that  milk  I  drank  in  America," 
Angus  explained  proudly. 

At  last  they  found  a  suit  that  would  do. 
"Wear  it  home,"  Mrs.  Turner  urged.  "You 
look  ever  so  much  nicer." 

They  came  out  of  the  shop  again,  Angus, 
except  for  his  crew  cut,  looking  quite  Eng- 
lish, and  Wincy  much  more  so. 

After  the  first  minute,  when  she  recovered 
from  the  surprise,  Wincy  stood  back  and 
looked  at  Hank.  She  hadn't  remembered 
he  was  so  handsome:  but  then,  she  had  never 
seen  him  in  his  uniform. 

"You've  changed,"  she  said,  as  he  hung 
his  cap  on  one  of  the  branching  arms  above 
the  umbrella  stand. 

"So  have  you,"  Hank  answered.  "You've 
changed  back  again."  His  American  intona- 
tion sounded  beautiful  to  her. 

"Back  again?  How  do  you  mean?" 

Hank  cocked  his  head,  smiling.  "Well,  not 
quite,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  mean,  you're  not 
really  the  way  you  were  when  you  arrived 
in  America.  You  had  pigtails  and  long  brown 
stockings  then." 

"But,  Hank,  that  was  years  ago,"  Wincy 
protested.  "Little  English  girls  dress  that 
way.  I  learned  a  lot  about  clothes,  though, 
while  I  was  stopping  with  the  Hilliards. 
Don't  I— Hank,  don't  I  look  different?" 

Hank  laughed.  It  was  nice  to  hear  him 
laugh  again.  "I  wasn't  thinking  of  clothes," 
he  said  slowly.  "It's  something  in  your  face 
that's  more  English.  How's  everything? 
What's  it  like,  being  back  in  Oxford?" 

"Angus  and  I  are  jolly  glad  to  be  home 
again,"  she  answered.  The  polite  phrase  had 
become  a  habit.  Then  she  remembered  that 
she  did  not  have  to  pretend  to  Hank.  "Well," 
she  added,  "mummie  and  daddy  are  a  little 
hard  to  please.  But  they'll  get  used  to  us. 
Oh,  Hank,  it's  wonderful  to  see  you.  I 
didn't  even  know  you  were  in  England." 

"I  was  pretty  surprised  myself,  when  my 
outfit  came  to  England,"  Hank  answered. 
"Then  I  got  this  pass,  and  there  wasn't 
anything  I  wanted  to  see  so  much  as  you 
and  Angus." 

"Angus  will  be  thrilled  too,"  Wincy  said. 
"He's  gone  to  the  Warden's  garden  party." 

"The  warden?  Jail?" 

Wincy  smiled.  "The  Warden  is  the  head 
of  daddy's  college.  A  very  important  person. 


c:^^^b> 


Smells  Keen. 

MRS.6REEN 

"Absence  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder."  When  we  can  "reconvert" 
to  peacetime  fishing  we  will  be 
able  to  give  you  all  of  these  fa- 
mous tunas  you  want. 

In  the  meantime,  keep  looking 
for  these  quality  brands  at  your 
grocer's ...  we  are  supplying  him 
as  often  as  we  can  with  as  much  as 
possible. 


VAN  CAMP  SEA  FOOD  CO.,  INC. 
Terminal  Island,  California, 


FAMOUS  VAN  CAI^P 
SEA  FOODS 


Buy  EITHER  brand... 
the  quality  is  the  same 


Vou  ore  on  kmer\car\ 
...buy  WAR  BONDS! 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


77 


THE 
FLAVOR 

MEN 

HEMSMBEZ 


Genuine  Stone-Crround 

I-Ieinz 

PreporecL 

IVIUSTASD 

2  Kl  NDS 


Mummie  had  managed  a  firock  for  me,  what 
she  calls  'something  appropriate' — it  makes 
me  look  thirteen.  But  I  had  a  headache,  so 
she  thought  I'd  better  stop  at  home." 

"Maybe  I  ought  to  leave,"  Hank  said, 
without  stirring,  "if  you're  not  feeling  well." 

"Oh.  no,  I'm  quite  fit  now,  really.  I  have 
been  ever  since  >-ou  came.  Oh,  Hank,  sup- 
pose I'd  missed  you — you  can't  imagine  how 
dull  it  is  here." 

Hank  looked  around  the  room,  at  the  oak 
settle  and  the  stiff  chairs,  at  the  overpower- 
ing brown  mantelshelf.  "I  guess  it's  not  so 
hot."  he  said  with  feeling. 

"There's  no  fun,  the  way  there  was  in  Bel- 
mont," Wincy  said  slowly.  "Maybe  if  my 
elder  brother  were  home  it  would  be  more 
that  way.  But  mummie  and  daddy  really 
need  us  quite  badly.  Daddy's  so  helpless — 
he's  a  Greek  professor." 

"Uncle  Bill's  a  professor."  Hank  said. 

"Oh.  yes,  but  chemists  are  different,  don't 
you  think,  from  Greek  professors?  Come  in 
the  kitchen  and  we'll  fbt  some  grub,"  she 
said,  laughing.  She  wanted  Hank  to  know 
she  could  still  speak  his  language. 

The  large  red  tiles  in  the  kitchen  floor 
fascinated  Hank.  "This  is  the  first  Enghsh 
home  I've  ever  been  in."  he  explained.  "  I'm 
seeing  you  for  the  first  time  in  your  natural 
habitat.  But  you  were  a  natural  for  Amer- 
ica. Wincy,  once  the  Hilliards  broke  you  in." 

"  I  loveid  it,"  Wincy  said,  placing  a  platter 
of  biscuits  on  the  kitchen  table  and  setting 
out  the  tea  things.  "You  know,  I  miss  the 
queerest  people — people  I  didn't  really  care 
for.  like  Miss  Lowell,  my  math  teacher.  And 
Sandy  Whipple — he  was  that  kid  the  girls 
used  to  tease  me  about.  But  everj^body 
knew  you  were  the  only  boy  I  really  liked. 


HIGH   POINT 

Ever>"  man  is  entitled  to  be  valued 
by  his  best  moment. 

— EMERSON:  Quoted  in 

Catchwords  of  Cheer,  by  S.  A.  Hubbard. 

(A.  C  McClurg  Co.) 


Hank,  and  ihcv  cooidn  t  tease  me  about  my 
foster  cousin.  There  can't  be  boy-and-girl 
stuff  between  cousins,  can  there?" 

"Can't  there  be?" 

"Of  course  not,"  Wincy  said  flatly,  as  they 
sat  down.  "Remember  that  time  you  took 
me  to  a  concert  at  the  Fogg?" 

"I  remember,"  Hank  answered,  looking 
at  her  intently  in  a  way  Wincy  couldn't  un- 
derstand. Suddenly  he  pushed  back  his  chair 
noisily  and  stood  at  attention.  Wincy  turned 
around.  F*rofessor  and  Mrs.  Turner  were  in 
the  doorway.  They  looked  horrified. 

"Oh,  hello,"  Wincy  said  weakly. 

"We  walked  in  on  tiptoe,  Wincy,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said,  "lest  you  bad  fallen  asleep 
nursing  that  headache." 

The  front  door  slammed  and  Angus  trailed 
in.  Seeing  Hank,  he  took  a  flying  leap  be- 
tween his  father  and  mother  and  landed  with 
his  arms  around  Hank's  neck. 

"You  old  bozo!"  he  shouted.  "Where  in 
the  heck  did  you  come  from?" 

"  Don't  be  rude,  .-^ngus,"  Professor  Turner 
said  sharply.  He  turned  to  Wincy.  "\\'ho  is 
this — gentleman,  Wincy?" 

"It's  Hank,  daddy.  Hank  Sutton.  He 
lived  ne.xt  door  to  us  in  Belmont.  You 
know — one  of  the  foster  cousins." 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Turner  said,  with  a 
look  of  tremendous  relief.  "It's  Mrs.  Hil- 
liard's  nephew." 

"That's  right,"  Wincy  said  happily. 

"The  children  gave  us  such  disjointed  ac- 
counts in  their  letters,"  Mrs.  Turner  told 
Hank, "  that  we  do  not  have  a  ver>-  clear  pic- 
ture of  their  life  in  the  States.  We  feared  you 
were  a  total  stranger,  some  soldier  Wincy 
had — well — befriended  during  our  absence." 
She  looked  about  the  kitchen  distastefully. 
"Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing  room?"  She 
led  the  way,  but  no  one  followed. 

Professor  Turner  advanced  upon  Hank  to 
shake  hands.  "Yes."  he  was  saying,  "Wincy 
and  .-Vngus  had  so  many  friends  out  there." 

"Yes.  sir,"  Hank  said. 


LIKE  SWIFT'S  PREMIUM  HAM 

It's  a  clever,  clever  wife  ^vlio  keeps  Prem  in 
her  pantrv.  Because,  when  company  comes, 
she  can  always  come  up  with  a  clever  di#h 
like  this.  Just  cover  a  loaf  of  Prein  \sith 
biscuit  dough  and  hake  in  a  hot  oven  (475°) 
about  15  min.  Serve  with  mushroom  sauce. 
Vt  hat  if  more  companv  comes  than  you  ex- 
pect? No  matterl  Just  add  a  second  or 
third  loaf  of  Prem.  It's  thrifty,  satisfying 
and  nutritious,  too.  because  Prem  supplies 
valuable  proteins,  minerals  and  B  complex 
vitamins.  And.  best  of  all.  it  has  that  sure 
taste-tempter  ...  the  exclusive  Swift's 
Premium  sugar  cure. 

Swijt  &  Company:  Purveyors  of  Fine  Foods 


78 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Helps  reveal  your  fresher 

CLEARER  TOP  SKIN' 

..with  all  its  natural  blushing  charm! 


This  Remarkable  Method  In  Skin  Culture  Also 

Marvelous  For  Enlarged  Pore  Openings 

and  To  Loosen  Blackheads 


If  the  skin  (even  of  young  girls) 
doesn't  constantly  "flake  off"  those 
dried-up,  faded,  aging  top-skin  cells 
— your  complexion  often  appears 
muddy,  drab,  coarse-textured — so 
dull  and  lifeless. 

This  "flaking  off"  process  is  prac- 
tically invisible  but  it  tal{es  place  as 
any  skin  specialist  will  tell  you. 

And  here's  why  Edna  Wallace 
Hopper's  White  Clay  Pack  is  so 
helpful  in  hastening  this  process 
along — why  it's  one  of  the  quickest 
and  most  effective  ways  to  reveal 
this  underskin  with  all  its  naturally 
clear,  blushing  freshness. 

The  Simple  Easy  Treatment 

Just  spread  Hopper's  White  Clay 
Pack  over  your  face  and  neck.  Lie 
down  and  relax.  Feel  how  refresh- 
ing its  tightening,  stimulating  effect 
is  on  tired  tissues  and  muscles. 
Wash  off  after  8  minutes.  Now  look 
in  your  mirror — 

Notice  how  that  tired,  faded  look 
seems  to  disappear.  Your  skin  ap- 
pears so  alive  looking.  The  mild 
rubefacient  or  "blushing"  action  of 


Hopper's  Clay  Pack  helps  give  your 
skin  a  thrilling  glow — a  bewitching 
rosy  charm  which  should  captivate 
the  most  "hard-to-impress"  he-man. 
Use  Hopper's  White  Clay  Pack 
whenever  you  want  to  look  your 
own  dazzling  best  on  short  notice — 
and  to  help  maintain  an  enviable 
'top-skin'  throughout  the  years.  Buy 
Hopper's  Clay  Pack  at  any  cosmetic 
counter. 


Homogenized  Facial  Helps 

Give  Face  and  Neck 
Exciting   'BEAUTY-LIFT' 

Always  use  Hopper's  Homogen- 
ized Facial  Cream  every  night. 
This  super-lubricating  cream 
works  wonders  for  face  and  neck. 
Press  an  extra  amount  of  cream 
over  any  lines  or  wrinkles.  Leave 
on  at  least  8  minutes  or  overnight. 
Also  excellent  base  for  make  up. 


HOPPER'S  *"!5LS"' 


"Wincy,"  Mrs.  Turner  called  from  the 
drawing  room,  "do  bring — bring — Wincy, 
what  is  his  name?" 

"Harley,  mummie." 

"Do  bring  Harley  in  here,  dear."  Mrs. 
Turner  waited  until  everyone  was  seated  and 
then  she  took  charge  of  the  conversation. 
"How  old  are  you,  Harley?"  she  asked. 

"Eighteen,  ma'am." 

"Indeed!  Younger  than  our  boy  Mark," 
Professor  Turner  remarked.  "  I  fancied  you 
were  a  good  deal  older." 

"Mark's  in  the  RAF.  When  last  we  heard, 
he  was  in  Africa,"  Mrs.  Turner  explained, 
taking  his  picture  from  the  writing  desk  and 
showing  it  to  Hank.  "What  a  pity  you 
couldn't  have  met  him." 

Professor  Turner,  standing  with  his  hands 
clasjjed  behind  his  back,  coughed.  Wincy 
knew  he  was  about  to  make  a  speech. 

"Professor  and  Mrs.  Hilliard  had  never 
heard  of  us,"  he  began,  clearing  his  throat, 
"when  they  offered  their  home  to  our  chil- 
dren. They  gave  them  what  appears  to  have 
been  the  most  affectionate  care.  In  token  of 
our  gratitude,  we  shall  always  extend  hos- 
pitality to  any  connection  of  these  good  jjeo- 
ple.  Harley,  we  should  be  delighted  if  you 
would  stay  with  us  during  your  leave." 

"Do,"  Angus  begged,  tugging  at  Hank's 
sleeve.  "You  can  have  Mark's  room." 

"Thanks."  said  Hank.  "I'd  like  to  stay, 
but  I  just  got  a  twelve-hour  pass.  We're  be- 
ing shipped  out  in  a  couple  of  days." 

"Oh,"   Wincy  said. 

There  was  a  long.  ^^^^^^mm 
cold  quiet.  It  was  Hank 
who  broke  the  silence 
with  a  laugh.  "  Imagine 
being  in  Africa  on 
Halloween!" 

"Ah,  yes,"  the  pro- 
fessor remarked,  "the 
Eve  of  All  Hallows." 

"In  .'\merica," 
Wincy  put  in  eagerly, 
"they  have  parties  and 
square  dances." 

"We  dress  up  like 
ghosts,"  Angus  broke 
in  excitedly.  "And  rap 
on  windows  and  ring 
people's  doorbells.  If 
we  don't  run  away, 
they  give  us  candy." 

"Jack-o'-lanterns," 
Wincy  went  on. 

"How  jolly!"  Mrs. 
Turner    said.    "You 
never  told  us  anything       gumumgi^^mg 
about  it." 

"Well,"  Hank  said  with  a  sigh,  "guess 
I've  got  to  be  going.  Have  to  get  back  to 
camp  by  midnight."  He  shook  his  head 
gloomily.  "Thanks  for  everything." 

When  Hank  got  up,  Mrs.  Turner  led  the 
way  into  the  passage,  the  others  following. 
Angus  held  Hank's  cap  behind  his  back. 

"Let's  have  it,  kid,"  Hank  said,  and 
Angus  reluctantly  gave  it  up»  "Good-by, 
Mrs.  Turner;  good-by,  sir." 

uiNCY  pushed  past  everyone.  In  a  sud- 
den frenzy,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
Hank's  neck.  He  held  her  against  his  hard 
chest.  Over  his  shoulder,  Wincy  saw  her 
mother's  face  and  knew  at  once  that  she  had 
done  the  wTong  thing.  When  Hank  was  gone, 
her  mother  would  very  likely  be  extremely 
cross,  but  this  time  she  would  not  care.  It 
was  nothing  like  that  silly  business  with 
Francis.   Only  Hank  mattered  to  her  now. 

From  the  doorstep,  Wincy  watched  him 
hurry  along  Banbury  Road  in  the  hazy  twi- 
light. Halfway  down  the  street,  he  turned 
and  saluted. 

"So  long."  she  called,  but  her  voice  did 
not  sound  like  her  own.  It  was  like  someone 
else's,  coming  from  a  long  way  off. 

The  day  after  Hank's  visit  to  Oxford, 
Wincy  went  through  her  scales  and  arpeggios 
with  concentration  for  a  little  while,  but 
soon  found  herself  wondering  whether  Hank 
had  been  shipped  out.  Hank  fighting;  Hank 
wounded,  perhaps,  or  taken  prisoner.  She 
played  more  slowly,  sliding  over  the  notes. 
Perhaps,  if  she  did  well  at  Newfields,  they 


The  li%'ise  Counsel  of  the 
Chinese  Prineess 

^  If  he  tells  you,  "I  love  you  more 
^  than  any  thins  else  in  the  world," 
turn  away  your  head  and  carefully 
arrange  your  hair. 

If  he  tells  you.  "I  adore  you  more 
than  the  golden  god  of  the  temple." 
arrange  the  folds  of  your  dress  and 
laughingly  reproach  him  for  his 
impiety. 

If  he  passes  under  your  window- 
on  his  white  horse  to  bid  you  good-by 
because  he  prefers  to  die  in  battle 
rather  than  of  despair,  give  him  a 
flower  and  wish  him  good  luck. 

But  if  he  sits  near  you  dumb  as  an 
oyster,  and  so  clumsy  that  be  spills 
tea  on  the  blue  cloth,  smile  at  him 
tenderly  as  to  the  one  whom  you 
are  willing  to  make  your  mate  for 
life.  — From  The  Poems  of  Princess  Chou: 

Mercure  de  France,  Paris. 


April,  1945 

would  let  her  go  to  college  in  Amenca.  After 
that  she  could  marr\'  Hank  and  stay  on. 

Above  the  daydream,  Mrs.  Quelch's  high- 
pitched  voice,  holding  forth  on  the  drawmg- 
room  side  of  the  dividing  doors,  pusjjed  itself 
into  Wincy's  consciousness:  "I  do  hope 
you'll  pardon  my  sa%-ing  it,  Rachel— but 
Winifred  seems  a  bit  too  forward  for  Brenda." 

"Girls  grow  up  far  too  fast  in  the  States," 
Mrs.  Turner  admitted.  "I  can't  help  wish- 
ing we  had  kept  her  at  home." 

"  It  all  comes  of  having  been  frightened  by 
the  blitz,"  Mrs.  Quelch  exclaimed.  "Now,  I 
resolved  to  keep  Brenda  by  my  side  at  all 
costs.  If  your  Wincy  had  stopped  at  home, 
she  would  not  have  these  wild  notions." 

Picklepuss,  thought  Wincy. 

"But  the  stay  did  do  her  good  in  many 
ways,"  Mrs.  Turner  argued.  "She  learned 
to  be  ver\-  helpful  in  the  house.  She  was 
taught  to  play  the  violin  amazingly  well." 

"Nevertheless,"  Mrs.  Quelch  insisted.  "I 
do  think  Winifred  too  much  of  a  child  to  be 
entertaining  a  young  man,  especially  alon:- 
in  the  house.  I  shouldn't  dream  of  lettir.; 
Brenda." 

1  cax't  think  what  you  mean,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said  sharply,  then  added,  laughing, 
"Oh,  that^t's  so  long  ago,  I  had  forgotten. 
I  shouldn't  say  Wincy  was  entirely  to 
blame.  Your  Francis  invited  her." 

"Francis?"  Mrs.  Quelch  repeated,  her 
voice  rising.  "Indeed,  it  wasn't  Francis  we 
saw  embracing  Wini- 
■■■ji^^^^i^ll  fred  in  the  doorway 
yesterday.  It  was  a 
tall,  dark  boy,  my  dear 
Rachel,  in  uniform.  An 
American,  I  suspect." 
There  w'as  a  hush. 
"That  was  Harley  Sut- 
ton," Mrs.  Turner  said. 
"Mrs.  Hilliard's 
nephew.  He  landed  in 
England  with  his  out- 
fit last  week  and  came 
to  see  the  children  on 
his  sight-seeing  leave." 
"Indeed?"  Mrs. 
Quelch  remarked,  full 
of  interest.  "But  such  a 
warm  embrace.  I'm  sur 
prised  you  didn't  st 
at  home  to  greet  hir: 
Rachel.    All  the   wa 

from  the  States " 

"We  had  no  idea  he 

was  coming, "  Mrs.  Tur- 

■■■■■■■■■       ner  explained  hastil:. 

"The  boy  never  thought 

to  telephone.  Wincy  just  happened  to  be  at 

home,  as  she  had  a  headache." 

"WTiat  a  coincidence" — she  drew  out  the 
words  sententiously — "her  headache,  and 
this  young  soldier's  visit." 

"I  can't  think  what  you  mean,"  Mrs. 
Turner  cried  angrily. 

"Can't  you?  "  Mrs.  Quelch's  rasping  voice 
was  like  honey  now.  "Our  generation  had 
headaches,  too,  Rachel,  when  we  were  young, 
and  eager  for  forbidden  fruit.  Had  you  for- 
gotten, my  dear?" 

Wincy  was  furious.  The  snake,  she  gasped. 
/'//  open  the  door  and  tell  the  reptile  what  I 
think  of  her,  even  if  mummie  brains  me. 

Then,  as  a  brilUant  surprise,  it  came  to 
her — how  you  handled  a  snake.  You  didn't 
talk  to  it — that  showed  no  understanding  of 
psychology  at  all — you  charmed  it.  With 
dramatic  suddenness,  Wincy  threw  open  the 
door.  Mrs.  Quelch,  sitting  on  the  window 
seat,  did  not  have  a  chance  to  say  a  word, 
for  Wincy  fixed  her  eye  upon  her  and  in- 
stantly began  playing.  0  for  the  wings,  for 
the  wings  of  a  dove,  she  played  with  long, 
sweeping  bows  and  a  sustaining  vibrato. 

Like  a  boa  constrictor  who  has  raised  him- 
self to  strike  and  then  thought  better  of  it. 
Mrs.  Quelch  shrank  back  among  the  cush- 
ions. Under  Wincy's  spellbinding  stare,  she 
dropped  her  eyes.  She  looked  quite  fright- 
ened. WTien  Wincy  and  Mendelssohn  and 
the  Psalmist  had  done  with  her,  Mrs.  Quelch 
was  nothing  but  a  crumpled  old  gossip. 

Intent  on  Mrs.  Quelch,  Wincy  did  not  see 
her  mother's  face.  She  drew  her  bow  slowly 
through  the  last  beat;  then,  as  suddenly  as 


LADIES'  nOME  JOURNAL 


79 


IF  you  suffer  from  pains,  cramps  or  cal- 
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M.  Scholl,  the  noted  foot  authority,  has 
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cost  is  very  small.  At  all  Drug,  Shoe, 
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FALLEN  ARCHES 

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WEAK  ARCHES 

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Supports^  help  quickly  relieve  pain- 
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BUNIONS 

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BUNIONS 

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ubber,  relieves  pain  from  shoe 
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uather  Buitwn  Protector,  75^  each. 
ys::..'  ■  :::'qiiyiiji 

'ATHLETE'S  FOOT 

Dr.  Scholl's  Solfex  relieves  itching 
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[Liquid,  Ointment  or  Powder,  500. 


DrSchot/s 

REMEDIES  •  PADS  •  PLASTERS  •  ARCH  SUPPORTS 
FOR  MOST  ALL  COMMON  FOOT  TROUBLES 


■REE  Foot  Book,  also  sample  of  Dr.  Scholl's  Zino- 
lads  for  Corns.  Address  Dr.  Scholl's,  Inc. .Chicago, 111. 


Name 

Address . 


she  had  opened  it,  she  shut  the  door.  After 
that,  the  tears  spilled  over. 

But  Mrs.  Quelch  never  knew  about  them. 
She  removed  herself  into  the  passage.  "Quite 
a  talented  girl,  my  dear,  really,"  she  said. 
"That  would,  of  course,  account  for  her 
irregular  conduct.  We  all  know  artists  are 
given  to  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  we?  Good 
day,  Rachel." 

"Your  mother  tells  me,"  Professor  Turner 
began,  "that  Miss  FuUeylove  finds  your  his- 
tory preparation  at  Agassiz  deplorably  in- 
adequate." 

"I  know,"  Wincy'said,  "but  there's  the 
whole  summer.   I  can  make  it  up." 

"Actually,"  Professor  Turner  began, 
"we — your  mother  and  I — consider  it  advis- 
able that  you  enter  school  at  once." 

"But,  daddy,  it's  almost  June.  It  isn't 
worth  it  and  I'd  hate  to  go  before  I'd  made 
up  the  history." 

"Quite.  I  will  not  conceal  the  fact  that  I 
am  in  full  agreement  with  you  on  that  point, 
but  the  matter  has  been  decided,  so  let  us 
not  discuss  it  further."  He  looked  sad,  al- 
most old,  as  he  left  for  home  guard.  Wincy 
wondered  how  things  were  going  at  St. 
James's.  If  only  she  could  find  out  what  was 
wrong ! 

Now  she  was  supposed  to  go  to  school. 
Whatever  for,  in  May?  Nothing  made  sense. 
What  would  they  call  her  at  Newfields?  An 
evacuee?  Well,  she  wasn't  going  to  school, 
anyhow,  till  Michaelmas  term.  That  was  ab- 
solutely flat. 

Having  made  the  decision,  Wincy  felt  bet- 
ter. Running  upstairs,  two  steps  at  a  time, 
she  had  almost  reached  the  landing  when  the 
front  door  opened.  Wincy  turned  round  and 
saw  Mrs.  Turner  come  in  carrying  a  large 
bundle  of  clothing.  "Hello,  mummie."  Her 
mother  looked  nice,  with  her  fresh,  pink 
cheeks  and  golden  hair.  She  was  a  lot  pret- 
tier than  Aunt  Polly,  even  in  her  W.V.S.  hat. 

I  GOT  them,"  Mrs.  Turner  announced, 
her  eyes  shining,  and  dropped  the  bundle  on 
the  monk's  bench,  "at  the  clothing  ex- 
change. It  would  have  been  wicked  to  spend 
couf)ons  on  a  school  uniform,"  Mrs.  Turner 
went  on,  opening  the  bundle  and  displaying 
a  mass  of  navy-blue  serge,  "and  that  travel- 
ing costume  you  wore  home  from  the  States 
would  have  been  quite  out  of  place  in  Oxford, 
so  I  put  it  down  in  the  barter  book  and  got 
these  instead." 

"You  gave  my  suit  away?"  Wincy  cried. 
"The  suit  Aunt  Polly  bought  me?" 

"Yes,  dear.  You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 
Mrs.  Turner  looked  at  Wincy  in  surprise. 
"Oh,  darling,  you  do!  I  never  thought  of 
asking  you.  You  know,  sometimes  I  forget 
you're  not  a  little  poppet  any  more." 

"It's  okay,"  Wincy  muttered,  eying  the 
blue  serge  with  disgust.  "But  I  don't  need 
a  uniform  yet.  I'm  going  to  make  up  the 
history  by  myself." 

"I  shouldn't  worry  about  it  too  much, 
chicken,"  Mrs.  Turner  said  comfortingly. 
"Miss  FuUeylove  says  the  form  mistress  will 
help  you." 

Wincy  put  her  arm  around  her  mother's 
waist.  "I'm  so  glad  you  understand,"  she 
said  happily.  "I'll  start  working  right  away." 

"You're  being  sensible  about  the  cos- 
tume," Mrs.  Turner  said.  "  I  must  see  how 
the  gym  tunic  fits." 

"There's  no  point  in  it — if  it's  right  now, 
it  won't  fit  when  I  start  school  in  September 
at  the  rate  I'm  growing." 

"I  hope  it's  right  now,"  Mrs.  Turner  an- 
swered, "because  you're  starting  school  to- 
morrow. I  toldMiss  FuUeylove  this  morning." 

"I  don't  want  to.  There's  no  use  going 
to  school  just  for  a  few  weeks." 

"Yes,  there  is,"  Mrs.  Turner  insisted. 
"You  will  be  looked  after  there.  If  we  had 
Nannie,  or  even  maids,  I  shouldn't  urge  you. 
But  I  cannot  keep  my  eye  on  you.  Just  at 
present  I'm  frightfully  occupied,  collecting 
books  for  the  military  camps." 

Wincy  looked  at  her  mother  earnestly. 
"You  needn't  keep  your  eye  on  me,"  she 
said.  "We  often  stayed  alone  in  Belmont." 

"I  dare  say,"  Mrs.  Turner  answered,  and 
Wincy  thought  she  sounded  a  little  bitter. 
(Continued  on  Page  81) 


Eight  dainty  bathsticks  here  you  see, 
Bright  and  pretty  as  can  be. 
Hang  the  container  on  the  wall — 
Keep  it  there  till  you've  u.sed  them  all. 
Family  and  guests  will  find  them  fun, 
Three  fragrant  baths  in  every  one. 

A  SHUI.TON   ORICilNAL 


NUR5E5  ARE  NEEDED 

lake  home-nursing  or  nurses' aide  course*  Enlist  tn 
U.  S,  Cadet  Corps.  Registered  nurses,  join   U.S.  A.rmy  Corps. 

iPlttm  Tom 
*T.M.Res.  U.5.Pat.Otr.  •   5HULTON,    INC.  •    RockefeUer  Center   •  New  York  20,  N.Y. 


•  'l^^f^--  *^' 


8      ' 


'f^  m 


V 

\ 


'-^'"snH 


i/' 


riEAT  LIGHTNING  flickering  through  your  veins. 

Thunder  pounding  in  your  pulses.  Then  the  first  impassioned  kiss, 

like  the  sharp  sting  of  rain  on  your  hps.  This  is  the 

beginning!- This  is  the  moment  sudden  but  long  awaited  . . . 

when  your  beauty  stirs  a  tumult  in  his  heart  that  will  never  be  stilled! 


\. 


For  this  moment .  .  .  you  keep  your  beauty 

bright  with  Woodbury,  the  Facial  Soap 

made  for  the  skin  alone.  A  daily  Woodbury  Facial 

Cocktail .  .  .  gentlest  of  cleansing  care  .  .  . 

coaxes  your  complexion  to  smooth,  soft  enchantment. 

Woodbury  is  a  truly  fine  sV'm  soap,  made 

in  cake  form  only.  It  is  your  wonderfully  simple, 

simply  wonderful  way  to  loveliness. 


■^w^ 


WOODBURY 


Fr^p    TWF    c^k'iM    vrM  I     \  cwi  ^    Tr-\    Tr\\\r-\-i 


V  That  April's  There 

(Continued  from  Page  79) 
3ur  behavior  indicates  neglect.    But  at 
vfields  you  will  be  kept  from  running  off 
lines.   Now  try  these  on."  Mrs.  Turner 
iped  the  serge  mass  onto  Wincy's  bed. 

0  that  was  it — she  was  being  sent  to 
)ol  for  safekeeping,  to  jail,  she  who  had 
•neyed  all  the  way  to  America  and  back 

1  a  small  boy  to  look  after.  What  would 
ncis  think  of  her  now,  in  these  weeds, 
1  all  her  glamour  gone? 

he  wondered  what  Mark  would  think,  if 
should  suddenly  come  popping  in  the 
it  door.  Would  he  like  her,  regardless — 

because  she  was  his  sister?  He  had 
er  been  friendly  when  they  were  younger, 

it  would  be  different  now,  more  like 
ik  and  Sally. 

ut  when  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  long 
/al  glass,  she  was  crushed.  One  look,  and 
knew  the  uniform  was  worse,  far  worse, 
\  she  had  feared.  The  gym  tunic,  reach- 
no  farther  than  the  top  of  her  knees, 
g  straight  from  her  shoulders,  tied  in  the 
die  like  a  sack  of  grain.  It  was  more  than 
could  bear.  She  crumpled  on  the  floor 
he  foot  of  the  mirror.  Now  there  was 
ling  left  to  her  looks  except  her  hair, 
ut,  as  she  turned  her  head  from  side  to 

in  the  glass  to  console  herself,  she  dis- 
sred  that  even  her  wave  wasn't  nice  any 
e.  The  curls  were  beginning  to  straggle. 

he  telegram  came  on  Saturday  while  the 
ners  were  at  breakfast.  Wincy  brought 
ito  the  dining  room. 

Irs.  Turner  glanced  at  the  message 
:kly  and  gave  a  little  cry.  "Mark " 

gasped  pitifully, 
iding  the  telegram 
her  husband,  she 
t  to  the  window  and 
d  looking  out,  her 
i  turned  away. 
Missing,"  the  pro- 
Dr  explained  briefly, 
ing  over  the  paper 
Vincy.    He  got  up 

went  to  his  wife, 
re  they  stood — no 
jds,  no  tears — look- 
out into  the  garden, 
'incy  felt  horror 
p  through  her  as      

saw   her   father's 

shrink.  Angus  was  clutching  her  arm, 
ing  terrified.  But  he  had  the  sense  to 
)  still.  Good  kid! 

i'incy  pulled  Angus  gently  into  the  pas- 
.  "Don't  speak  to  them,"  she  whispered. 
What  is  it?"  he  asked,  clinging  to  her. 
iSomething's  happened  to  Mark — some- 
g  terrible.  Just  don't  bother  them."  She 
down  and  rubbed  her  cheek  against 
us'  soft  hair. 

EEMED  a  long  time  before  there  was  any 
d  in  the  dining  room.  Then  Mrs.  Turner 

into  the  passage.  "Oh,"  she  exclaimed 
lenly,  seeing  Wincy  and  Angus  there, 
i  poor  little  souls,  I'd  forgotten  about 

My  poor  babies!"  And,  to  Wincy's 
lishment,  she  burst  into  tears,  running 
airs  as  fast  as  she  could. 
!x)me  on,"  Wincy  said  to  Angus.  "I'll 
mummie's  job  and  you  do  daddy's.  I 
t  he's  the  washer  up  this  week." 
ley  kept  the  house  going  all  day,  she  and 
IS.  They  even  did  the  "weekly  shop," 
ling  in  line  for  hours  without  knowing 
;  there  was  at  the  end.  But  Mrs.  Turner 
satisfied  when  they  returned  and  showed 
ow  much  food  they  had  managed  to  get. 

Mrs.  Palmer,  across  the  street,  had  of- 
.  to  take  Mrs.  Turner's  place  at  the 
S.  that  afternoon.  Professor  Turner 
laded  his  wife  to  rest  in  a  deck  chair 

tea  while  he  thinned  the  carrots  and 
up  the  scarlet  runners, 
'our  Roi  de  Dijon  roses  are  doing  well 
,'ear,"  he  called,  and  she  nodded,  trying 
ok  pleased, 
ley  were  nice  together,  Wincy  thought. 

could  fall  back  on  each  other  in  time 
Duble,  and  they  had  courage.   It  must 

been  this  way  when  they  sent  her  and 
IS  to  an  unknown  home  across  the  ocean, 
hen  Wincy  hadn't  understood.  She  had 


WASTED  TIME 


^  Have  you  ever  thought  how  many 
^  minutes  in  every  day  most  of  us 
devote  to  nursing  grievances,  manu- 
facturing sharp  retorts,  cursing  our 
luck,  allowing  ourselves  to  be  an- 
noyed by  trifles?  It  will  be  a  ghastly 
reflection,  when  we  come  to  die, 
that  we've  spent  perhaps  one  year 
of  our  lives  working  ourselves  into  a 
fury  because  our  breakfast  egg  is 
underboiled.  —STEPHEN  McKENNA. 


81 


only  seen  their  brave  smiles  and  never  sus- 
pected how  they  must  be  crying  inside. 

"John,"  Mrs.  Turner  said  suddenly,  sit- 
ting up,  "I  fear  we've  let  Wincy  and  Angus 
become  aware  of  our  anxiety.  Children 
shouldn't  be  allowed  to  feel  these  things." 

"They're  not  such  children,"  the  professor 
answered,  as  he  scraped  the  earth  from  his 
trowel.  "Wincy's  a  woman,  actually.  I  don't 
think  you  appreciate  how  responsible  she  is. 
And  Angus  is  capable  of  sharing  the  family 
burden  too.  It's  not  the  way  it  was  when  we 
were  children.  Rachel." 

Wincy.  standing  by  the  French  windows 
in  the  drawing  room,  felt  pleased.  Daddy 
really  did  understand  about  her  age,  and  he 
was  bringing  mummie  around  too. 

Strange  voices  came  from  the  passage.  The 
Warden  of  St.  James's  had  come  with  his 
daughter,  as  well  as  Doctor  Quelch  and  some 
of  the  Fellows. 

Ihe  Warden  smiled  down  on  Angus  and 
patted  his  shoulder.  He  wore  a  parson's  col- 
lar, and  he  was  so  old  that  he  had  an  almost 
childlike  face. 

So  that's  the  Warden,  Wincy  said  to  her- 
self— not  at  all  frightening.  The  way  daddy 
talked,  I  thought  he  must  be  terrifying.  Rather 
sweet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  so  pink  and  gentle, 
and  those  pale  blue  eyes. 

More  people  arrived — Mrs.  Palmer,  who 
reported  about  the  work  at  the  W.V.S.,  and 
Mrs.  Quelch  with  Francis.  Evidently  they 
had  all  come  because  of  the  dreadful  news 
about  Mark,  but  they  never  mentioned  him 
at  all.  Queer,  Wincy  thought — they  must  all 
be  people  of  very  good  taste. 

The  Warden's  dau^h- 

ter  looked  very   nice. 

She  wore  her  hair 
wound  in  a  crown 
around  her  head  and 
she  had  lovely  gray 
eyes,  but  she  must  be 
at  least  twenty,  so  she 
was  not  likely,  Wincy 
thought,  to  notice  her. 
Francis  suddenly 
stood  before  her.  "Did 
you  read  the   tele- 


gram? "he  asked  softly. 


"What  did  it  say?' 

Francis    and    Mark 

had  been  chums,  though 
Francis  was  younger.  Wincy  wondered  if 
that  was  why  he  was  being  nice  to  her  now. 

"Missing,"  she  answered.  Suddenly  her 
heart  jumped.  "Could  that  mean  that  Mark 
isn't— dead?" 

"  It  could.   No  one  knows  yet." 

"Oh,  Francis!"  she  exclaimed  and  in  her 
relief  she  clutched  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Quelch  was  watching.  She  looked 
directly  at  W^incy.  Wincy  dropped  Francis' 
hand  quickly.  He  must  have  noticed  his 
mother,  too,  for  he  hurried  off  to  speak  to 
Professor  Turner. 

Someone  said,  "Your  father  tells  me  you 
are  a  budding  musician,  Winifred." 

Turning,  Wincy  found  that  the  Warden 
had  moved  over  to  talk  to  her.  "Do  you 
play?"  she  asked  shyly. 

"Not  the  fiddle.  Before  the  war,  we  used 
to  have  a  great  deal  of  music  in  our  college," 
he  said,  looking  back  through  time  with 
those  pale  blue  eyes.  "I  hope  it  can  be  re- 
vived." 

"What  instrument  do  you  play?" 

"Flute,  my  dear,  that  mellifluous  instru- 
ment   " 

"Oh,"  Wincy  exclaimed,  before  she 
stopped  to  think  whom  she  was  addressing, 
"you  could  be  the  cuckoo." 

"The    what?" 

"The  cuckoo.  Don't  you  know  the  Toy 
Symphony?" 

The  old  gentleman's  eyes  took  on  that  dis- 
tant expression  again.  "Do  you  mean  that 
symphony  Haydn  wrote  for  a  lark?  Where 
part  of  the  orchestra  uses  toy  instruments^ 
the  nightingale  and  quail  and  so  on?" 

"Yes,"  Wincy  said  happily.  She  had  be- 
gun to  fear  no  one  in  Oxford  knew  the  music 
she  had  played  at  the  Hilliards'. 

"Once,  long  ago.  we  performed  it  at  a 
gaudy,"  the  Warden  said.  "It  was  a  huge 
success.  The  audience  laughed  till  it  wept." 


1  STlli  SHOW 


for  discriminating  yon! 


f 


All  tne  delignt  and  excitement  of  peefeing  tnrougn 
a  Keynole  at  secret  advancea  rasnions  ...  all  tne  unnurried 

comrort  or  snopping  ror  lovely  rrocks  in  your  own  nome 
make  a  Fasnion  FrocKs  Style  Snow  an  economical  must  on 

your  list  or  tnings  to  see.  A  post-card  requesting  tne 

name  or  our  representative  in  your  community  is  the  easy  wa' 

to  see  tnis  gala  snowing  or  rasnion-rignt  Fasnion  Frocks 

witnout  moving  from  your  comfortanle  cnair. 

Fasnion  Frocks,  Inc.,  Dept.  J.,  Cincinnati  25,  Onio 


CHARMINGLY  DIFFERENT 

WELCOME  THE  FASHION  FROCKS  REPRESENTATTVE  WHEN  SHE  CALIS 


Presented  for  the 
Production  ot 
Paracbutes. 


l.vniKS"  H0\1K  JOl  UN  VI. 


•  ^  oiiU  never  worry  al>out 
stavinc  s^veet  and  dainty  if  you 
use  Ff\^ESH,  the  creain  deixlorant 
that  stops  perspiration 
worries  completely.  It's  gentle, 
Slavs  creamy  and  smooth. 
.^<V  .  .  .  25^  .  .  .  10c. 


"We  have  the  nightingale  here."  Wincy 
Kiid  eagerly.  "It  was  .Angus'  part  when  we 
pla\od  the  syniphon\'  in  Belmont — our  home 
in  .\inerica.  you  know." 

The  Warden  laughed.  "It's  a  jolly  work." 

Wincy  forgot  what  an  important  person- 
age the  Warden  was.  He  was  so  nice  and 
seemed  sti  interested  that  slie  went  on  to  tell 
him  about  the  other  music  they  used  to  play. 

"What  a  happy  experience  you  had 
aba>ad."  the  Warden  said.  "Have  you  met 
Daphne?  She  plays  the  cello.  You  might  do 
something  together."  He  went  otY  to  detach 
his  daughter  trom  Mrs.  Quelch's  conversa- 
tion. "This  is  my  daughter  Daphne."  the 
Warden  said,  presenting  her  to  Wincy.  "Do 
get  Winifred  to  tell  you  atxiut  her  jolly  times 
in  the  States.  Daphne."  he 

urged,  walking  ot^'  to  speak       

to  Mrs.  Tunier. 

".Are  you  a  musician?" 
Wincy  asked  shyly. 

"Oh,  no."  Daphne  an- 
swered, "but  I  used  to 
play  quite  a  lot  when  I 
was  at  Scimerville.  Now 
I   keep  house   for  father 

and  help  the  head  almoner       

at  the  Radchfte." 

"RadclitTe?"  Wincy  rei^eatixi.  dazed.  She 
knew  Daphne  was  not  referring  to  Sally  Sut- 
ton's college  in  Cambridge,  U.S..\..  but  that 
was  what  she  saw  in  her  mind.  ^ 

"Come  to  tea  on  Sunday."  Daphne  said 
cordially.  "We'll  play  duets  or  sing  madri- 
gals." 

"  It  was  a  joy  hearing  about  music  in  the 
States,"  the  Warden  told  Wincy  in  parting. 

"  I  wish  mummie  and  daddy  cared  for  that 
sort  of  thing.    It  would  help  now." 

"Pity  they  aren't  musical."  the  Warden 
agreed.  "We  must  think  of  some  means  of 
distracting  them  until  better  news  arrives." 

Wincy  entered  the  great  oaken  portal  of 
St.  James's  and  crosstKi  the  college  gardens 
on  her  way  to  tea  with  Daphne  Godstow. 
\\  arden  House  appeared  at  the  bottom  of 


srtTEss 


,  h. 


^  A  mail's  life 
^  priiiiuriK 
failed.    Kor  it  is  a  si 
has  trioil   to  siirpa: 


April.  1<)4S 

the  gardens.  The  walls  of  the  house  were  cov- 
ered with  creeper,  making  it  look  stately, 
and  yet  it  was  homey,  tcxi.  with  tlie  border 
of  blue  lupine  and  columbine  and  the  Ward- 
en's bicycle  parked  beside  the  dri*".  Wincy 
laughed.  Since  the  blackout,  the  Warden 
had  painted  "The  Ltird  is  my  Light "  on  the 
place  where  tlie  lamp  sliould  have  been. 

Daphne  seemed  so  pleased  to  see  her  that 
Wincy  felt  a  sudden  glow  of  happiness.  "Any 
news?"  Daphne  asked  anxiously. 

"No."  Wincy  answered.  "  It's  so  dreadful 
for  mummie  and  daddy,  not  knowing." 

Daphne  put  her  hand  on  Wincy's  for  a 
moment  and  looked  at  her  fondly.  "Then  slie 
talked  of  other  things.  She  wanted  to  know 
all  ab<,-)ut  \\'incy's  life  abroad. 

Wincy  found  herself  tcll- 

ing  her  new  frien(^  abtnit  • 

the  Hilliardsand  the  Sut- 
tons  and  how  nice  it  was 
in  Belmont.  She  looked 
through  the  casement 
windows  across  the  garden 
and  the  meadows.  "It's 
lovely  here  too,"  she  said 
suddenly. 

"Been  a  wee  bit  homo- 
sick,    haven't    you?" 
Daphne  asked.  "I  know  precisely  how  it 
feels.   I  still  miss  my  friends  at  Somer%nlk'  ' 
"Did  you  all  study  Greek  and  Latin?" 
■  ■  Not  all .  One  of  my  friends  was  interest  ed 
in  chemistry,  another  in  psychoIog>'.  I  stud- 
ied musicology." 

"I  didn't  think  people  did  in  England, 
lispcvially  psydiology.  The  English  don't 
seem  to  know  much  about  it." 

"Have  you  talked  to  Doctor  Wilson?  He's 
doing  some  very  interesting  experiments" 
"No."  Wincy  answered.  "I  was  afraid 
nobody  here  understood  about  complexes. 
Of  course,  my  parents  aren't  used  to  chil- 
dren— tliey're  only  beginners," 

Daphne  laughed.  "I  believe  you'll  educate 
them."  slie  said  gaily.  She  stood  up  and 
collected  the  tea  things.  "You're  an  inter-' 
esting  person.    It's  fun  to  come  up  against 


iitort^tiii^ 
II  lie  has 
ill  that  he 
s  himself. 


— CIEMENCEAU. 


Does  the  soft  touch  of  your 
hands  bring  a  warm  glow  to  his  eyes?  Sofskin  Creme  is  a  depend- 
able beauty  aid  for  keeping  your  hands  the  way  he  loves  them  — 
soft,  white  and  lo\ely.  Sofskin  smooths  wrists,  elbows,  and  ankles, 
too.  Try  a  jar  today  — you'll  be  delighted  with  the  new  beauty  of 


your  skin  — and  so  will  he! 


soi9kincR€m< 


/^  ^/^e^  ywir////j  t?////^Jrf)?^ 


'/^. 


In  the  Black  and  Gold  jars-3Sf  •  bO'  •  $1.00  siies* 
»P/ii..i  Ta.t 

Your  beauty  salon  or  cosmetic  counter  will  be 
delighted  to  giie  you  a  free  Sofskin  application. 

SOFSKIN  COMP.\NY  •  F1NDL.\Y,  OHIO 


Now  That  April's  There 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


83 


new  ideas,  and  one  isn't  so  apt  to  get  them 
stopping  at  home.  You've  been  very  fortu- 
nate, haven't  you?" 

Wincy  looked  up  with  a  grateful  expres- 
sion. No  one  else  in  England  had  seemed 
to  think  that  she'd  been  fortunate  in  going 
to  America. 

"Brenda  Quelch  feels  no  end  sorry  she 
didn't  go,"  Daphne  said.  "Since  you  came 
home,  she  wishes  she'd  been  too." 

"Oh,"  Wincy  said  in  surprise.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  her  that  Brenda  might  feel 
anything  but  superior  to  her. 

It  was  time  for  Evening  Prayers.  Wincy 
could  see  the  undergraduates  strolling  across 
the  lawns  in  the  late  sunlight. 

"By  Jove,  it's  time  already,"  Daphne 
said.   "You're  coming,  too,  aren't  you?" 

Wincy  did  not  want  to  go.  But  she  would 
not  refuse  Daphne.  She  went  along,  sitting 
beside  her  new  friend  in  the  Warden's  pew. 
Across  the  aisle  she  could  see  her  mother  and 
Angus.  As  Angus  bent  his  head,  an  impres- 
sive collar  popped  out  at  the  back  of  his  coat. 
Where  had  he  got  that  collar?  Had  it  been 
stored  in  the  boxroom  for  years  and  years, 
ever  since  Mark  was  nine? 

Wincy  shut  her  eyes  and  swallowed  hard. 
Nobody  was  safe,  really.  A  bomb  might 
fall  on  the  chapel  right  now,  killing  them  all. 
She  hadn't  realized  all  this  in  Belmont.  Her 
mind  knew  it,  but  she  hadn't  felt  the  danger 
deep  within.  As  she  opened  her  eyes  again, 
Wincy  saw  her  mother  grasping  the  back  of 
the  pew  in  front,  her  head  bent  over  her 
hands.  She  must  be  praying  for  Mark. 

Wincy  felt  too  old  to  pray.  Yet  the  chapel 
was  filled  with  grown  people — members  of 
the  college,  many  of  them  in  military  uni- 
form. Doctor  Quelch  in  his  gown  and  Mrs. 
Quelch  with  Brenda  beside  her.  There  must 
be  something  to  it  which  Wincy  didn't  un- 
derstand. Someday  she  would  ask  Daphne. 

The  choir  went  out  singing  God  Moves  in 
a  Mysterious  Way.  Wincy  recognized  it  as 
her  father's  favorite  hymn.  Before  she  knew 
it,  she  found  herself  on  the  porch  beside 
Daphne,  shaking  hands  with  the  Warden. 


He  smiled  at  her.  Then  he  bent  down  and 
put  his  face  close  to  Wincy's  ear.  "I'm  still 
cogitating,  Winifred,  seeking  something  to 
distract  them — something  gay,  yet  not 
frivolous,  something  engrossing " 

Daphne,  standing  close,  heard  the  words, 
too,  and  smiled  at  Wincy.  The  three  of  them 
were  like  conspirators. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Quelch,"  Wincy 
heard  the  Warden  saying,  as  he  straightened 
and  turned  away  from  her. 

But  Mrs.  Quelch  gave  the  dear  old  gentle- 
man only  the  most  cursory  greeting.  She 
was  glaring  at  Wincy. 

"Everything  I  do  gets  me  in  wrong  with 
Picklepuss,"  Wincy  observed.  "Just  going 
to  Evening  Prayers " 

"With  whom?"  Daphne  asked,  and 
Wincy  jumped. 

"Mrs.  Quelch,"  she  explained  primly. 

"I  knew  whom  you  meant,  but  what  was 
that  amusing  name  you  gave  her?" 

Wincy  felt  troubled.  "Picklepuss,"  she 
repeated.  "Sorry — it  isn't  very  nice.  People 
say  it  a  lot  in  America.  It  means  gherkin- 
face — you  know,  sour." 

"Very  fitting  indeed!"  Daphne  laughed. 
"I  must  tell  daddy — he'll  enjoy  it." 

"Oh,  Daphne,  please  don't,"  Wincy 
begged.  Then,  as  she  thought  of  the  Ward- 
en's gentle  humor  and  the  inscription  on  his 
bicycle,  she  knew  he  would  understand. 

Funny,  Wincy  thought,  as  she  walked 
home,  that  something  dreadful  should  cause 
something  lovely  to  happen.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  bad  news  about  Mark,  the 
Warden  and  Daphne  would  never  have  come 
to  call.  It  was  true  what  the  hymn  said: 
God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way.  If  only  He 
would  move  for  Mark ! 

At  the  close  of  school  on  Monday,  Wincy 
hurried  home  before  anyone  could  say  things 
to  her  about  Mark. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  garden  gate 
when  she  saw  her  father  coming  toward  her 
from  St.  Giles.  Wincy  ran  to  meet  him  and 
he  handed  her  a  phonograph  record. 


They're  Pretty . .  .They're  Perfect . .  .They're  PROPORTIONED 


Proporf/oned 


Hosiery 


T       ,       ,  ^   rr.   vonr   lees  with   Proportioned   Holeproof  Hosiery. 

Let  lovehness   go   to   ^T/   '^f^  J      j.^  you /..r/..^ //•   They  fit  the  con- 
tour:" ;o;r^?g-p  oponrrned7hr^ough'out'in'wU.XH  as  well  as  len.L 
The  smart  new  seasL's  shades  are  Refreshing  Colors  ...  get  yours  today 
Cor"thee  lengths  ...  so  whether  you're  short,  average  or  tall  ...  all 
eyes  and  your  eyes,  too,  will  turn  to  your  well-turned  ankle. 


rOOF  HOSlPtV  COMPANY,  MIlWAUKEi  I,  WISCONSIN 


FOR  SMART  WOMEN 


WHAT'S  YOUR  MAKE-UP  TIME- 
TABLE? Some  girls  seem  to  reach 
for  their  lipsticks  about  once 
every  hour.  Not  you,  of  course! 
You're  different.  You  use  longer- 
lasting  Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lip- 
stick. It  holds  all  sorts  of  "endur- 
ance records"— clings  to  your 
lips  for  many  extra  hours. 


WHAT  ARE  TODAY'S  SMARTEST 
LIPSTICK  COLORS?  Don't 
answer  this  one  until  you  see 
Tangee's  exciting  new  colors. 
There's  Tangee  Red-Red  — bold, 
dark  and  handsome.  Tangee 
Theatrical  Red  — it  dramatizes 
your  lips.  Tangee  Medium-Red— 
the  fashionable  new  shade  that 
goes  with  everything. 


WHEN  DO  LIPS  LOOK  JUST 
RIGHT?  \^Tien  they're  not  too 
dry  — or  too  moist.  Avoid  these 
extremes  by  using  the  modern 
Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lipstick.  Its 
exclusive  cream  base  ])rotects 
against  chapping  and  dryness— 
yet  does  not  smear. 


WHAT'S  HER  NAME?  This  is  Constance  Luft  Huhn,  one  of  America's 
best  known  authorities  on  beauty  and  make-up,  Head  of  the 
House  of  Tangee.  Mrs.  Huhn's  cosmetic  masterpiece  isTangee 
Satin-Finish  Lipstick ..  .which  gives  your  lips  a  soft  satin- 
smooth  gleam  that  adds  greatly  to  their  loveliness. 


U> 


se 


TANGEE 


a  see  Aow  heautiiul 


ana  see 


you  can 


84 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


c^o  Oounfry-fres^  /„  p/^yor! 

Its  so!  AH  the  important  ingredients  come  from  American  farms.  That  ex- 
plains why  good  cooks  are  talking  about  how  Durkee's  Margarine  improves 
all  foods  in  them  and  ofi  them.  It's  so  smooth  and  perfectly  blended  because 
Durkee's  Margarine  is  made  by  a  scientific  process  that  churns  the  pure,  nutri- 
tious vegetable  oils  right  in  with  the  fresh,  pasteurized  skim  milk.  Every 
pound  is  enriched  with  9,000  units  of  Vitamin  A.  That's  anotiier  reason  why 
delicious  Durkee's  Margarine  is  a  healthful,  important  energ}   food. 

SPREAD    •     COOK    •     BAKE    •     FRY 
with  Durkee's  Margarine 


Spread  Durkee's  Margarine  on  all  your 
breads  .  .  .  use  it  to  season  vegetables,  to 
make  sauces,  for  frjing!  Bake  delicious 
cakes,  pastries,  and  hot  breads  with  it,  too! 


One  of  the  Basic  7  Foods 
Tecammended  in  the  V.  S. 
Sutrition  Food  Rules 


WEST  OF  THE 

ROCKIES  irs 

DURKEE'S  TROCO 


"A  present."  he  said  briefly. 

No  sooner  had  they  got  to  the  house  than 
Wincy  hunted  for  the  title  of  the  record.  It 
was  Pomp  and  Circumstance.  "Thank  you, 
daddy,"  Wincy  said,  giving  him  a  kiss. 

"Are you  pleased?  I  wasn't  quite  sure  what 
composer  you  would  prefer,  but  I  knew  I 
couldn't  go  wTong  with  Sir  Edward." 

"It'll  make  a  start,"  Wincy  answered. 
"We  must  get  Bach  and  Beethoven  and 
Prokofiev.   But  what'll  we  play  them  on?" 

"There's  a  phonograph  in  the  nurser>'," 
Mrs.  Turner  reminded  Wincy.  "Nannie  used 
to  play  it  for  you." 

"  Where's  Angus?  "  the  professor  inquired. 
"I  have  something  for  him  too." 

"Upstairs,"  Mrs.  Turner  answered  wea- 
rily. Wincy  had  never  seen  her  mother  look 
so  hopeless. 

'  I'll  get  Angus."  she  oflFered. 

"There's  really  no  occasion  for  a  present," 
Mrs.  Turner  said.  "Actually,  Angus  is  doing 
ver>'  poorly  in  school.  Last  week,  Mr.  Rot- 
tingdean  said " 

"Daddy's  present  will  make  up  to  him  for 
what  old  Rotter  said,"  Wincy  put  in  quickly. 
"It's  not  Angus'  fault  that  he  doesn't  know 
Latin,  and  we  don't  want  him  to  get  an  in- 
fenority  complex." 

"\  what?"  Mrs.  Turner  asked. 

".An  inferiority  complex.  Aunt  Polly  used 
to  say " 

"Aunt  Polly,"  Mrs.  Turner  repeated 
crossly.  "WTiy  didn't  she  see  to  it  that  Angus 
did  his  work  properly?  It's  'Aunt  Polly  said 
this'  and  'Aunt  Polly  did  that'  till  I'm 
fed  up." 

"Rachel — you  forget  yourself.  The  Hil- 
liards  did  their  best  for  the  children." 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Turner  said  penitently. 
"I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that.  It  was  very 
good  of  them  to  take  the  children  in — all 
unknown,  and  so  on." 

"You're  upset,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Turner  crumpled  in  her  chair.  "I 
expect  you're  right,"  she  said  bleakly.  "It's 
awful— not  knowing  about  Mark.  Three 
days  now.  Oh,  John,  how  can  we  go  on  this 
way,  not  knowing  perhaps  until  the  very  end 
of  the  war " 

"We  do  know,  my  dear,"  the  professor 
said  in  that  calm  voice  of  his.  "There  isn't 
any  doubt  but  that  he's  safe  somewhere. 
He  merely  cannot  communicate  with  us  for 
the  moment." 

"Are  you  certain,  John?    If  that's  the 

case  Still,  I  do  think  Mrs.  Hillrard 

made  things  difficult  for  us." 


Professor  Turner  said,  "  I  believe  Wincy  is 
right.  This  present  will  help  Angus.  One 
has  to  use  psychology-  in  matters  like  this." 

Well.  I  never,  Wincy  thought.  "You've 
two  books,"  she  said  in  surprise.  « 

"Yes,  one  of  them  is  for  mj-self.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact.  Wincy,  it's  something  to  do  with 
psychology'.  You  have  piqued  my  curiosity. 
Treatise  on  psycholog\-  by  a  Cambridge 
don,"  the  professor  explained.  "I  confess  it 
sounds  like  some  sort  of  mechanical  trea- 
tise. But  I  only  glanced  at  it  in  the  shop." 

■"May  I  call  Angus  now?"  \Mnc>-  ^ed. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Turner  said,  her  face  bright- 
ening, "we'll  put  the  present  on  the  mantel- 
piece and  let  Angus  look  at  it — a  reward  he  is 
to  receive  when  he  has  passed  a  dry  night." 

Wincy  called  Angus  down  and  brought 
him  into  the  drawing  room.  He  looked  de- 
jected. It  was  a  shame  the  way  all  the 
bounce  had  gone  out  of  him  since  he  heard 
he  was  going  to  be  sent  to  boarding  school. 
But  when  he  saw  the  parcel  on  the  mantel- 
piece, his  face  brightened. 

"Gee,  dad.  thanks.    Gee,  that's  swell!" 

Professor  Turner  glanced  at  his  wife  a  lit- 
tle sheepishly.  Then  he  took  the  parcel  off 
the  mantelpiece. 

Angus  read  the  title  page.  The  Age  of 
Fable,  by  Thomas  Bulfinch.  "Cfti."  he 
sighed,  skimming  through  the  pages.  He 
laid  the  book  down  and  went  to  the  window, 
looking  out  while  he  fiddled  with  the  weight 
at  the  end  of  the  curtain  cord. 

Wincy  felt  sorr>'  for  her  father.  "Ill  read 
it  with  you,  Angus.    It's  going  to  be  fun." 

"Okay."  Angus  answered  without  en- 
thusiasm. Then  his  tone  became  urgent, 
"Daddy,  can't  I  stay  at  St.  George's  next 
term?  Tons  of  chaps  in  my  form  are  going 
to  be  there." 

"You  must  leave  it  to  your  elders  to  de- 
cide upon  your  education,  my  boy."  Profes- 
sor Turner  answered  gently.  His  face  was 
very  w  hite  and  drawn. 

The  light  faded  from  Angus'  face.  "Well, 
if  I've  got  to  go  away,"  he  said  with  a  sigh, 
"I'm  going  back  to  Agassiz.  I  can't  think 
how  .\iuit  Polly  gets  along  without  me." 

There  was  a  terrible  silence. 

"Rachel,"  Professor  Turner  suddenly 
said  in  a  hearty  voice,  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
the  last  remark,  "when  are  we  going  to  have 
our  tea?  Angus  and  I  feel  no  end  peckish." 

Wincy  was  serving  the  porridge  in  the  si- 
lent dining  room  five  days  after  her  parents 

(Continued  on  Page  86j 


Other  Durkee  Famous  Foods 

Durkae'i  Fomout  Dresjing      .  .  Durkee's  Spicei  .  .  ,  Durkeet  Worc*st«rthir*  Sown 
DIVISION  OF  THE  GLIDDEN  COMPANY 


LITTLE  GLT 


^ixx^Jj^  UhIDT 


"Lox>e,    love,   love!!!    Why   don't   they  get 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


"...comin'  to  my 
sundae  social?" 


"There's  gonna  he  four  kinds-a  sundaes!  Step  up  and 
take  your  choice — or  try  'em  all! 

They're  really  delicious,  'cause  my  fav'rite  Karo 
makes  'em  smooth  and  not  too  sweet.  Mom  says  they're 
easy  to  make — and  don't  get  "grainy".  They  keep  well 
in  the  refrigerator,  so  we  always  have  sundae  treats 
when  comp'ny  drops  in. 

And  don't  forget  they're  good  for  you  'cause  Karo 
is  rich  in  dextrose,  food-energy  sugar." 


2.  ^/mf^^-^^^^ 

1/2  c.  brown  sugar.  Dash  salt 

"^  firmly  vf-l     IJ^^P^^Zied 

y^  c.  Blue  Label      Vz  '^'.'^^^^ 

Cook  brown  sugar.  Karo,  soa^^^^ 


y^  i'>'P-  salt 
1.3  c.  Red  or  Blue        1  c.  milk 

Label  Karo  3  tbsp.  butter 

f)  tbsp.  water  J^  tsp.  vanilla 

\y,c.  sugar 

Cook  cocoa,  Karo  and  water  over 
low  heat  until  well  blended.  Stir  in 
sugar,  salt  and  milk.  Cook  gently 
7  to  8  mill,  until  the  mixture  thick- 
ens, (220  degrees  F.).  Remove  from 
heat;  add  butter,  and  beat  until 
the  color  starts  to  change.  Stir  in 
vanilla.  Makes  2  cups.  May  be  kept 
in  a  co\ered  jar  in  refrigerator 
several  weeks. 


^^ --  A  NEW,  SPECIAL  BOOKLET,  containing  dozens  of 
y^i^  tested  recipes  for  ap|)etizing,  nutritious  treats  for 
growing  children  .  .  .  desserts,  cereals,  puddings,  party  foods 
and  beverages.  Send  postcard  with  name  and  address  to  Corn 
Products  Sales  Co.,  Dept.  L4,  Box  36,  Station  P,  NewYork  4. 


2  c.  Red  Label  Karo      i  ^  tsp  salt 
2  egg  whites  (i^  cup)    y^  t,p.  vanilla 
Cook  Karo  over  medium  heat  until  a 
small  amount  will  f„rm  a  soft  ball 
when  dropped  in  cold  water,   (234 
degrees  F  ).  Whip  egg  whites,  salt 
and   vanilla  until  stiff,   in   a  large 
bowl.  Add  hot  syrup  in  four  sections 
heatmg  after  each  addition.  As  mi.x 
becomes   stiff,    use   wooden    spoon, 
lakes  about  5  minutes.  When  ready 
mixture  will  stand  in  soft  peaks  when 
dropped  from  a  spoon.  Makes  4  cups 
Keeps  indefinitely  in  a  covered  jar 
at  room  temperature. 

For  Cake  Toppimj  or  Filling:  Use 
recipe  as  given.  ForSututacs  (as  illus- 
trated) or  Desserts:  Mix  licaF)ing  tbsp 
iiasic  Cream  with  1 3.^  tb.sp.  hot  water 
or  fruit  juice.  IJIend  vigorously. 

For  Colored  Swirl  (as  illuMrated) : 
(  oior  a  small  portion;  stir  gently 
through  white  portion  with  tip  of  a 
small  knife. 

©  C.  p.  s.  Co. 


86 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


It'd  be  a  $ndp...Mritli 


Scotch  Tdjpe 


^ 


...  but  right  now  "Scotch"  Brand  Tapes 
are  on  war  duty — sealing  gas  capes  to  protect 
assault  forces — doing  countless  other  impor- 
tant war  chores. 


Window  shades  to  mend . . .  torn  book  pages 
to  repair . . .  snapshots  to  mount . . .  packages 
to  seal .  .  .  remember  how  easily  "Scotch" 
Tape  did  all  those  tricky  home-front  jobs? 

Well,  our  fighting  men  are  finding  "Scotch" 
Tape  even  more  useful  on  every  war  front 
.  .  .  and  as  long  as  they  need  it  we  home- 
fronters  can  get  along  without. 

Some  day,  though,  you'll  be 
able  to  catch  up  on  all  your 
mending,  sealing  and  holding  jobs 
.  .  .  with  a  "Scotch"  Cellulose 
Tape  that'll  be  better  and  more 
useful  than  ever ! 


Scotch 


BRAND 


for!  QUALITY.. .look for 

the  "SCOTCH"  trademark. 

It  identifies  the  more  than  100  furteties 
of  adhesive  tapes  made  in  U.  S.  A.  by 
Minnesota  Mining  &  Mfg.  Co., 
Saint  Paul  6,  Minnesota. 


TAPE 


©  IMS  M.  M.  a   M.  CO. 


(Continued  from  Page  84) 
received  the  news  about  Mark,  when  the 
telephone  rang.   As  soon  as  Mrs.  Turner 
heard  the  Warden's  voice,  she  put  her  hus- 
band on  the  line. 

"The  Undergraduate  Approach  again, 
most  likely,"  she  whispered  cynically. 

It  was  not,  however.  Professor  Turner 
whom  the  Warden  wished  to  speak  with,  and 
he  made  that  point  so  clear  that  the  profes- 
sor was  a  trifle  nettled. 

"Not  scheming  to  become  a  don,  are 
you?  "  he  asked  Wincy  superciliously,  as  she 
came  to  the  telephone. 

When  the  conversation  was  ended,  Wincy 
would  reveal  nothing.  "He  has  the  most 
wonderful  idea,"  was  all  she  would  say. 
"I'm  not  to  tell  you  and  mummie — it's  a  sur- 
prise. They're  coming  round  tonight — the 
Warden  and  Daphne." 

"Coming  to  see  us  again?"  her  father 
asked.  "The  Old  Boy  seldom  goes  visiting." 

The  Warden  had  been  seeking  some  means 
of  distracting  the  unhappy  Turners  while 
they  waited  for  news  of  Mark,  and  the  idea 
had  come  to  him — he  would  persuade  them 
to  join  in  playing  the  Toy  Symphony.  He 
felt  sure  no  one  could  resist  the  charm  of 
that  gay  work,  nor,  while  concentrating  on 
its  performance,  brood  over  sorrow. 

Angus  alone  shared  the  secret.  He  pushed 
the  chairs  in  a  semicircle  facing  the  profes- 
sor's reading  stand.  "You  going  to  be  the 
conductor?"  he  asked  Wincy. 

"I'm  going  to  try,"  Wincy  said  faintly. 
"The  Warden  can't  read  a  score.  We'll  make 
him  concertmaster."  She 

had  never  tried  conduct-       

ing,  but  she  remembered 
how  Uncle  Bill  had  indi- 
cated beats  with  his  head 
as  he  played  the  fiddle. 

After  supper,  Angus 


WOMEl^ 


brought  the  trumpet  and 
drum  he  had  played  with 


^  I'lic  uiiconifortahle  thing 
^  about  women  is  that  they 
are  gienerally  right. 

—JAMES  BARRIE. 


as  a  little  chap  down  from 
the  nursery,  as  well  as  the 
nightingale.  "What about 
the  rattle?"  he  asked 
Wincy. 

"Why  don't  you  ask 
Mrs.  Palmer,  across  the 
road?"  the  professor  sug- 
gested. "I  expect  she  has 
a  rattle  for  her  baby." 

Angus  flew  through  the      

passage  and  out  the  door. 

Mrs.  Turner  stood  at  the  door,  looking  in. 
She  tried  hard  to  conceal  her  disapproval, 
but,  when  Angus  left  the  house,  she  could 
not  help  asking,  "Does  he  really  mean  to 
use  my  cooking-pan  lids  in  the  drawing 
room?" 

"I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  use  them," 
Wincy  said. 

"And  that  dreadful  nightingale — he  drools 
so.  I  shan't  want  water  spilled  in  the  draw- 
ing room." 

"Let  him,  Rachel,"  the  professor  urged. 
"  It  seems  to  be  a  necessary  adjunct  to  these 
mysterious  rites.  The  thing  I  can't  fathom  is 
what  the  Old  Boy  can  have  to  do  with  all 
this  childish  pother — one  of  the  foremost 
philosophers  of  our  time." 

Ihe  bell  clanged  and  Professor  Turner 
went  to  open  the  door.  Only  Francis  and 
Brenda  Quelch  were  at  the  door,  and  the 
professor's  face  showed  disappointment, 
which  he  quickly  concealed.  But  it  did  seem 
out  of  place,  he  whispered  to  Wincy,  to  have 
invited  children  with  the  Warden.  She  ex- 
plained that  two  more  players  were  needed. 

"Then  it  must  be  charades,"  the  professor 
declared  triumphantly. 

The  Godstows  arrived  at  last,  bringing 
their  instruments  and  music  stands  and  the 
precious  score.  Then  Angus  came  in  with 
Baby  Palmer's  rattle. 

The  players  began  to  take  the  seats  that 
Wincy  assigned  to  them.  When  everyone 
was  settled,  the  Warden  rose. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  bowing 
deeply,  "this  evening  we  propose  to  bring 
back  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth  century  by 
playing  Haydn's  Toy  Symphony.  This  work, 
while  scored  in  part  for  toy  instruments,  is, 
nevertheless,  a  real  symphony.  To  perform 


A  scolding  wife  can  say 
cikIIcss  disconcerting  things, 
and  she  hits  or  misses:  but  a 
silent  woman  says  everything. 

— H.  G.  WELLS. 


I  wrote  to  her  every  day  for 
two  years,  and  wliat  do  you 
think  was  the  result?  She 
married  the  postman. 

—ANON. 


it  is  a  rare  privilege,  for  it  takes  a  skilled 
conductor.  Mistress  Winifred,"  he  an- 
nounced, drawing  Wincy  to  the  reading  stand 
before  the  hearth,  "will  now  wield  the  baton 
and  we  shall  be  her  faithful  followers." 

Wincy  curtsied  gravely.  Taking  ^is  seat, 
the  Warden  began  to  applaud  so  vigorously 
that  the  other  players  joined.  Wincy  felt  her 
cheeks  grow  hot,  but  a  happy  glow  enveloped 
her  as  she  and  the  Godstows  tuned  up.  She 
had  never  felt  that  way  before  in  this  room. 

Angus  bustled  about,  giving  out  the  in- 
struments and  music.  First  he  handed  his 
father  the  toy  trumpet. 

"Of  the  harmonies  I  know  nothing," 
Professor  Turner  protested. 

"None  for  me,  dear,"  Mrs.  Turner  said. 
"I'm  not  musical." 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  Angus  insisted. 
"You  can't  listen — the  sound  would  kill 
you."  He  left  the  music  with  his  mother. 

DRENDA  looked  frightened.  "I've  never 
played  the  cymbals,"  she  said. 

"I  say,"  Francis  objected,  "I'm  not  very 
quick  at  reading." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  Wincy  told  everyone. 
"You  don't  have  to  know  how  to  read  music, 
but  you  must  watch  and  count  carefully. 
The  Warden,  Daphne  and  I  are  going  to  play 
the  melody  on  real  instruments  and  you  are 
going  to  play  the  accompaniment  on  toys." 

"But  I  can't  read  a  note  of  music,"  Mrs. 
Turner  protested. 

"Just  wait,  mummie,  and  you'll  see.   I'm 

going  to  beat  like  this" — she  indicated  the 

rhythm  in  the  air  with  her 

bow,   just   as  Uncle   Bill 

used  to  do — "and  you  will 
count  the  measures  you 
rest  until  it's  time  for  you 
to  come  in.  But  first  we'll 
introduce  the  players  and 
theirinstruments.  Ourcon- 
certmaster,  playing  the 
cuckoo." 

Warden  Godstow  rose, 
held  up  his  flute,  and  made 
a  deep  bow. 

"Now  the  cello— you 
needn't  hold  that  up," 
Wincy  added,  laughing. 

Daphtle  curtsied  in  an 
old-fashioned  way. 

"Now  the  rattle." 

Mrs.  Turner  rose,  feel- 
ing slightly  foolish,  as  she 

held  up  Baby  Palmer's  rattle.  Everyone 
laughed. 

"Next,  the  cymbals,"  Wincy  said. 

Brenda  stood  up,  holding  the  saucepan 
lids.   She  was  both  pleased  and  frightened. 

"The  trumpet  and  drurh  play  in  unison," 
Wincy  announced,  beckoning  for  Professor 
Turner  and  Francis  to  rise.  "Please  blow, 
daddy,  so  we  can  hear  if  you're  in  time." 

A  feeble  peep  emerged  from  the  trumpet. 
The  players  roared. 

"Louder,  please,"  Wincy  commanded. 

The  professor  tried  again.  His  face  was 
pink,  but  there  were  amused  crinkles  aroimd 
his  eyes. 

"Well,  it's  not  exactly  in  pitch,"  Wincy 
admitted,  "but  I  expect  it's  the  best  we  can 
do.  Now  the  nightingale." 

Angus  stood  up  and  proudly  displayed  his 
instrument,  dripping  water  all  over  the  floor. 

"Last  of  all,"  Wincy  said  modestly,  hold- 
ing up  the  violin,  "the  fiddle.  Now  the 
tempo  of  the  first  movement  is  allegro  and 
goes  like  this."  She  played  the  first  few  bars. 
Daphne  joining  in  the  bass.  "I'll  count  one 
measure  first  and  then  you'll  come  in  when 
I  nod  my  head."  Wincy  counted  four  beats, 
waving  her  bow,  and  the  symphony  began. 

"That's  the  cuckoo,"  Mrs.  Turner  ex- 
claimed in  surprise,  when  the  Warden  played 
his  thirds.  "That's  precisely  the  way  it 
sounds  on  Boar's  Hill." 

At  the  end  of  the  first  few  measures,  Wincy 
rapped  the  reading  stand  with  her  bow. 
"Good!"  she  exclaimed.  "Everyone  came 
in  on  time."  The  players  laughed.  "Well, 
nearly  on  time,"  Wincy  admitted,  laughing 
too.  "Francis,  a  little  softer,  please — you're 
drowning  out  the  other  instruments.  And, 
Brenda.  you  must  count  more  carefully." 
(Continued  on  Page  88) 


ladiesme  journal 
JOIN     THE     THOUSANDS     WHO     ARE     CH/ 


lONGERlASTII 
TAVERN  WAX 


89 


w 


Gives  floors  a  finish  that 
resists  even  water  spots! 

Bathrooms,  kitchens,  halls— wherever  floors 
get  hard  wear— that's  where  you  need  Tavern 
Non-Rub  Wax!  Its  lustre  lasts  longer— actually 
brightens  with  use.  Not  even  water  spots  cein 
dim  that  Tavern  gleam! 

Easy!  No  Rubbing! 

This  quick-to-use,  Non-Rub  Wax  was  specially 
developed  by  Socony- Vacuum  to  give  a  glossy, 
protective  finish  to  all  kinds  of  floors — 
linoleum,  wood,  rubber,  asphalt  tile.  It  goes 
on  in  seconds — dries  in  20  minutes.  Makes 
housework  so  much  easier — as  thousands 
of  women  from  coast  to  coast  are  finding  out. 
Try  it  yourself  and  see! 

Tavern  Liquid  Wax,  Tavern  Paste  Wax 

These  two  famous  buffing  wsixes  give  a  long- 
wearing  lustre  and  are  especially  recommended 
for  wood  floors  to  bring  out  their  natural  beauty. 
They  remove  unsightly  marks  and  clean  as 
they  wax.  Excellent  for  polishing  and  protecting 
window  sills,  woodwork,  furniture  and  painted 
surfaces.  Use  Liquid  or  Paste  as  you  prefer. 

•  •  • 

Ask  for  the  Weix  best  suited  to  your  needs  at 
your  favorite  department,  hardware  or  grocery 
store.  Tavern  Non-Ruh  Floor  Wax,  Tavern 
Paste  Wax  or  Tavern  Liquid  Wax. 


JUST  3  OF  THE  MANY  TAVERN  WORK- 


Tavern  Furniture  Gloss 
polishes  without  leaving  an 
oily  surface.  Its  lustre  won't 
attract  or  hold  daily  dust. 


Ttcice  aa  smart  to  wear  Vitality  Shoes— 
and  to  vary  one  good  suit  with  two  bows. 

Wear  one  bow  to  work,  change  to  another 
for  dates.  You^re  smart  tivicel 


FAY  RE  •  Black  pofenf 

perforated  tie.  Smooth  fitting, 

wonderful  walking  shoe. 


t  to  >****       Yirst, 
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TAVERN  HO 


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-$5.50  and  $6.00 
/ 


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Alto:  Tavern  Window  Cleaner,  Tavern  Lustre  Cloth,  Tavern  Electric  Motor  Oil,  Tav 


VITALITY  SHOE  COMPANY  •  DIVISION  OF  INTERNATIONAL  SHOE  COMPANY.  ST.  LOUIS.  MO. 


86 


LADIES'  HOME  JC 


JOURNAL 


If'd  be  a  $nap...tvith 


Scotch  Tdipe 


...  twf  right  now  "Scotch"  Brand  Tapes 
are  on  war  duty — sealing  gas  capes  to  protect 
assault  forces — doing  countless  other  impor- 
tant war  chores. 


Window  shades  to  mend . . .  torn  book  pages 
to  repair  . . .  snapshots  to  mount . . .  packages 
to  seal  .  .  .  remember  how  easily  "Scotch" 
Tape  did  all  those  tricky  home-front  jobs? 

Well,  our  fighting  men  are  finding  "Scotch" 
Tape  even  more  useful  on  every  war  front 
.  .  .  and  as  long  as  they  need  it  we  home- 
fronters  can  get  along  without. 

Some  day,  though,  you'll  be 
able  to  catch  up  on  all  your 
mending,  seaUng  and  holding  jobs 
.  .  .  with  a  "Scotch"  Cellulose 
Tape  that'll  be  better  and  more 
useful  than  ever ! 


Scotch 


BRAND 


FOR  t  QUALITY... look  for 

the  "SCOTCH"  trademark. 

I(  identifies  the  more  than  100  varieties 
of  adhesive  tapes  made  in  U.  S.  A.  by 
Minnesota  Mining  &  Mfg.  Co., 
Saint  Paul  6,  Minnesota. 


TAPE 


©  lt4S  M.  M.  »  M.  CO. 


rece 


(Continued  from  Page  86) 
telei  Francis  tapped  the  drum  softly.  Then  he 
j^g^jOked  up  at  Wincy  and  she  gave  him  a  sat- 
L      led  nod.    She  could  see  he  was  enjoying 
..-mself. 

^"Now,"  said  Wincy,  "we'll  start  again." 

tAu   the  Trio,   the   Warden    played    the 

.     rt  of  a  quail  instead  of  the  cuckoo,  and 

1^    n-incy  noticed  the  other  players  laugh  when 

ey  recognized  the  bird  call.   In  the  Finale 

..icy  made  a  magnificent  noise:  the  violin 

■d  cello  carried  the  melody,  the  trumpet 

'id  drum  were  going  great  guns  and  Brenda 

^,  ought  the  saucepan  lids  together  smartly, 

lile  the  Warden  came  in  with  the  cuckoo 

;ain  and  Mrs.  Turner  trailed  along,  vio- 

..  T.  Jitly  shaking  her  rattle.  Angus  had  a  pool  of 

•  ater  at  his  feet.  There  was  a  round  of 

^   ughter  as  the  last  measure  subsided. 

,,  "Splendid,   my  dear,"  the  Warden  ex- 

,  aimed,  patting  Wincy's  shoulder. 

J  Wincy  looked  up  from  the  score.  What  she 

r   iw  startled  her.  An  airman  in  blue-gray 

.,     ood  in  the  doorway. 

,     ;  Mrs.  Turner  was  the  first  to  notice  Wincy's 

artled  expression.  Glancing  over  her  shoul- 


toj 
felt 
that 
its  p 
M 


■r.  she  jumped  up  and  ran  into  the  passage. 
Mark!"  she  cried.  "Mark,  are  you  safe?" 
In  an  instant.  Professor  Turner  and  Fran- 
were  on  their  feet. 
,       'Mark!"  everyone  cried.  "Mark!" 
,  "Mark's  parents  clung  to  him.  Although 
ey  were  radiant,  they  looked  almost  as 
..jDcked  as  when  the  telegram  had  arrived. 
.,^,  "Why  didn't  you  let  us  know  you  were 
,  .     ming,  my  boy?"  the  professor  asked. 
,     ,  "I  did,"  Mark  answered.  "I  sent  a  tele- 
am  as  soon  as  I  got  back  to  the  base." 
j  ^'  "It  hasn't  yet  arrived.    It  doesn't  mat- 
r  now.  We're  delighted  to  see  you." 
•  The  Godstows  and  Brenda  surged  toward 
.  e  passage.  But  Angus  hung  back,  clinging 
,       yly  to  Wincy.  The  two  stayed  on  the  edge 
,      the  group,  staring  at  their  brother. 

He  was  very  handsome,  Wincy  thought, 
.  a  distinctly  British  way.  His  bearing  was 
.  .ore  soldierly  than  Hank's,  but  Hank 
,    idn't  been  a  soldier  very  long. 


April,  1945 

Francis  said  nothing  as  he  shook  hands 
with  Mark,  but  when  the  two  boys  faced 
each  other,  Wincy  could  see  that  a  world  of 
unspoken  messages  passed  between  them. 

Then  Mark  greeted  the  Wartien  and 
Daphne  politely  and  waved  at  Brenda,  but 
he  looked  faintly  bored  by  the  welcome. 
This  puzzled  Wincy,  for  she  thought,  con- 
sidering how  worried  they  had  all  been  be- 
fore, they  appeared  far  too  casual  now  that 
he  was  actually  here  and  quite  alive. 

"The  children  are  here,  Mark,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said. 

Wincy  grasped  Mark's  hand  in  both  of 
hers.  She  wanted  him  to  know  how  happy 
she  was. 

"  I  say,  Wincy,"  he  said,  holding  his  sister 
at  arm's  length,  "you  are  impetuous."  He 
spoke  jokingly,  but  now  that  she  was  closer, 
Wincy  saw  that  Mark's  cheeks  were  sunken 
and  his  eyelids  twitched.  ' 

"I  say,"  Mark  exclaimed,  as  he  watched 
Professor  Turner  scoop  boiled  mutton  and 
parsnips  out  of  the  pot  the  following  day, 
"things  have  changed  here." 

Wincy,  taking  her  place  at  table,  was 
studying  the  details  of  her  brother's  face — 
the  hollows  under  his  narrow  cheekbones, 
the  pointed  nose  like  mummie's,  the  restless 
eyes  under  twitching  lids.  They  had  always 
been  such  calm  eyes. 

"Changed,  Mark?"  Mrs.  Turner  was 
beautiful  with  happiness  as  she  surveyed  her 
family  complete  about  her. 

"  I  mean,"  Mark  explained,  "  I  mean — the 
way  you  were  all  playing  when  I  popped  in 
last  night.  You  never  did  such  things  when  I 
was  at  home.  And  father  on  active  duty  on 
the  kitchen  front." 

"I've  learned  a  great  deal,"  the  professor 
said  proudly.  "To  be  setter,  retriever  and 
what  to  do  for  dishpan  hands." 

Mark  laughed.  "And  fancy  us  being  matey 
with  the  Warden,"  he  went  on. 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  different,"  Mrs. 
Turner  admitted.  "It  must  have  happened 
gradually,  for  I  wasn't  aware  of  any  change. 


deep]' 
back  _|i 
playi  II; 
while 
never 


w  That  April's  There 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


89 


vender   what   could   have   brought    it 

ut." 

Vast  improvement,"  Mark  said  bluntly. 

[is  mother  looked  pleased,  yet  faintly 

zled. 

lark  had  offered  very  little  explanation 

ut  himself.  He  had  been  forced  down  in 

Channel  and  picked  up  some  hours  later 

armed.    But  it  was  several  days  before 

A^as  able  to  return  to  his  base,  and  there 

been  some  official  confusion  about  his 
;reabouts.  Now  he  was  on  his  way  to  an 
gnment  in  the  west  of  England  and  had 
i  days  to  spend  at  home, 
i'^incy  was  surprised  to  see  her  parents 
;idly  accepting  Mark's  silence.  She  was 
tig  to  know  everything,  but  it  didn't 
Ti  wise  to  ask  while  her  parents  were 
ient.  Perhaps  later, 
.ngus'  spirits  had  risen 
might.  He  could  not 
'e  Mark  for  an  instant, 
e,  at  last,  was  someone 
)  understood  things — 
erators,  propellers, 

ismitters,  motors — just       

)eople  did  in  Belmont. 

Come  up  to  the  nursery,  Mark,"  Angus 

ged.  "I'll  show  you  my  things." 

hw,  Wincy  thought  as  Mark  followed 

;us,  we'll  have  him  to  ourselves.  He  used  to 

too  superior  to  come  to  the  nursery,  but  he 

that  things  are  different.  After  all,  he's 

I  a  speck  older  than  Hank,  and  Hank 
tght  it  worth  while  to  come  all  the  way  across 
'land  to  visit  us. 

rofessor  Turner  came  out  of  his  study  as 
;us  went  by.  "Why  don't  you  and  Mark 
:e  this  model  plane  you  brought  me?" 
Gee,  Mark,  wait  till  you  see  this — it's  a 

II  one,"  Angus  shouted. 

You  never  came  up  here  before  we  went 
y,  did  you?"  Wincy  asked,  when  they 
B  in  the  nursery. 

Great   snakes,   no,"   Mark   exclaimed. 
i)0  stuffy  with  Nannie." 
ngus  put  the  dope,  nose  block  and  pro- 
r  aside  and  laid  the  intricately  marked 


A  THOUGHT 

^  A  chip  on  the  shoulder  in- 
^  dicates  that  there's  wood 
higher  up.  —ANON. 


boards  out  on  the  dwarf  table  with  the 
working  drawings.  He  hadn't  looked  so 
happy  since  he  left  Belmont. 

Mark  was  very  much  interested.  Wincy 
watched  him  study  the  drawings  and  give 
commands  to  Angus,  who  jumped  to  carry 
them  out.  Mark  turned  his  attention  to  the 
model  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  he  stood 
up,  stretching. 

"You're  not  going  away?"  Angus  asked, 
deeply  disappointed. 

"Meeting  a  chum,"  Mark  explained. 

"Is  it"— Wincy  hesitated — "Francis 
Quelch?" 

"Matter  of  fact,  it  is,"  he  said,  eying  her 
curiously.  "Any  concern  of  yours?" 

"I  wondered  if  you  were  going  on  the 
river  with  him.  He  asked  me  once.  Mummie 
wouldn't  let  me  go." 

"Not  potty  about  him, 

are  you?"  Mark  asked. 

"Goodness,  no!  Actu- 
ally, I  don't  even  like  him 
at  all.  Haven't  you  ever 
noticed  the  way  his  nose  is 
the  exact  same  shape  as  his 
father's  and  Brenda's?  " 

"No,  I  hadn't,"  Mark  answered  crossly. 

"It's  not  repulsive — the  nose,  I  mean," 
Wincy  said  hastily,  not  meaning  to  seem 
rude  about  Mark's  friend.  "It's  very  hand- 
some, in  fact.  Francis'  father  is  going  to  be 
the  new  Warden — did  you  know?" 

"Can't  be  bothered,"  Mark  muttered  in- 
differently. "Francis  ought  to  join  the 
navy."  He  walked  toward  the  nursery  door. 
"Look  here,  Wincy,  Francis  is  my  friend.  I 
won't  hold  with  any  cheek  concerning  him." 

"Sorry.  I  didn't  mean  anything,  Mark — 
really.  He's  all  right,  in  a  way.  It's  just- 
somehow  American  men  suit  me  better." 

Mark  leaned  against  the  doorjamb,  spin- 
ning a  sixpence  in  the  air  thoughtfully. 
"Rot!"  he  muttered,  and  walked  off. 

Wincy  sat  at  the  writing  table  near  the 
French  windows.  Her  parents  had  ap- 
parently forgotten  that  she  was  there. 


B 


erkshire's  sheerness  is  flattering.  They're 
full-fashioned  for  perfect  fit.  So 
for   a   lovelier,    smarter  appear- 
ance,   always  ask  for  Berkshire 
Stockings. 


I 


^H 


er  wea| 


BERKSHIRE   KNITTING   MILLS  •  READING,   PHNNA. 


Twice  as  smart  to  wear  Vitality  Shoes— 
and  to  vary  one  good  suit  with  two  bows. 

Wear  one  bow  to  -work,  change  to  another 
for  dates.  You're  smart  tivicel 

FAYRE  •  Black  patent 

perforated  He.  Smooth  fitting, 

wonderful  walking  shoe. 


tbey 


*^'C\t^-  6-e  X^real  co-^^j;  eon^tott 


Buy  U.  5.  War  Bonds      %  \ 


Vilallly  Open  Road  Shoes 

for  Outdoor  and  Campus  Weor 

$5.50  and  $6.00 

/ 


Complete  Range  of  Sizeiand  Widitts 

VITALITY  SHOE  COMPANY  •  DIVISION  OF  INTERNATIONAL  SHOE  COMPANY  •  ST.  LOUIS,  MO. 


90 


LADIES"  HOME  JOLRNAL 


■A{nl,194l 


"Why  cooking  is  easier- 

with  Wear-Ever  Aluminum  in  tfie  Icikhen 


...    .^,o  a   V/eor- 
Poi/r  a  pint  «>'  ""      '         p,oce  the 

joucepon    d.rec   y^^_^    ^.^^^^^  j,,^. 
quorter  pi"'- 


.''°' »Pof  on  the  bo«o  %°''°''''"9  = 


;^s: 


. . .  More  good  news,  too, 
will  be  the  sensational 
new  Weor-Ever  Pressure 
Cooker,  to  cut  your  kitch- 
en hours  and  make  meals 
more  delicious. 


Wouldn't  it  be  a  cinch  if  all  cooking  could  be  as  simple 
as  just  boiling  water!  But  there  are  sauces,  puddings, 
cereals,  cakes,  roasts  .  .  .  a/l sorts  of  cooking.  And  with 
all  of  them,  the  fast  spreading  of  heat  in  Wear-Ever 
Aluminum  .  .  .  avoiding  hot  spots  .  .  .  certainly  con- 
tributes to  making  life  pleasanter. 

We're  sorry  no  Wear-Ever  utensils  could  be  made 
during  these  last  four  years;  but  just  as  soon  as  the 
enemy  is  -well  on  the  run,  and  Uncle  Sam  says  "Reduce 
war  work,  start  home  front  production,"  we  shall  start 
making  joy-to-use  Wear-Ever  aluminum  cooking 
utensils  again. 

Genuine  Wear-Ever  is  worth  waiting  for. 

WEAR*EVER 

ALUMINUM     UTENSILS 

Made  of  the  mefal  thai  cooks  besf .  .  .  easy  lo  clean 
THE  ALUMINUM  COOKING  UTENSIL  COMPANY,  NEW  KENSINGTON,  PENNSYLVANIA 


"It  must  be  ratber  dull  for  Wincy  here." 
her  father  was  saying,  "after  all  the  frientk 
and  parties  and  laikii^  about  she  v!&  ac- 
customed to  in  Beimoot.'* 

Mrs.  Turner  .nodded  tboug^UfuDy.  "If 
only  I  had  the  time  to  be  with  her  more. 
But  the  WA'^S.  and  the  sfaopfsng  seem  to 
take  an  my  time.  Brenda  Qudch  would  be 
just  the  friend  ior  her.  Do  you  remember 
how,  «hen  they  were  little " 

"But  ^le  doesn't  seem  to  fancy  Brenda 
now." 

"That  will  pass  when  she  knows  her  bet- 
ter. 111  a^  her  to  tea  with  her  mother.  Be- 
sides"— Mrs.  Turner's  voice  became  in- 
tense— "  I  should  rather  like  Monica  to  see 
how  weU  Wincy  is  ?haiwi^ — a  few  American 
comers  have  been  rubbed  oR." 

"I  never  noticed  any  comers,"  the  pro- 
fessor munnuied.  "ITyou  know,  BachdU  I 
stnnetimes  wonder  whether  ^fcHiica's  pre- 
occupation with  \^'incy's  behavkx  may  not 
be  due,  in  part,  to  jealousj".  I  mran.  Wincy 
is  90  much  more  vivid  than  that  mousj-  little 
QuekhchikL" 

'"Oh,  I  don't  think  that  can  be,  John," 
Mrs.  Turner  said.  "She's  been  ever  so 
solicitous  about  the  children  all  through 
their  American  stay,  worr>Tiig  lest  thej-  fall 
in  with  tmscrupulous  people." 

"  Well.  I'm  not  sure  that  she  wasn't  Mop- 
ing ior  something  of  the  sOTt.  merely  be- 
cause Brenda  stopped  at  home." 

"1  really  can't  beli€\-e  it,"  Mrs.  Tumo- 
said,  a  trifle  hurt.  "  1  do  wish  you  had  never 
read  any  of  those  psycholog>"  bocdcs.  All  you 
do  no«-aday3  is  read  them  arid  think  about 
them  and  imagine  things.  It  makes  me  feel 
no  end  queer,  as  thou^  things  wereai't  at  all 
what  they  seem." 

Profesor  Turner  looked  at  his  wife  ten- 
derly. "It  is  queer,  all  this  new  knowledge, 
and  quite  upsetting.  But  whatever  muta- 
tions it  may  presage  in  my  outlook,  my  dear, 
one  thing — my  affection  for  you — will  re- 
main steadfasL" 

WINCY  wished  now  that  she  had  left  the 
room  sooner.  The  back  of  her  eyes  {Mickled, 
though  she  didn't  imderstand  why. 

Mrs.  Turner  moved  closer  to  her  husband. 
"John,"  she  said  in  a  tense  voice,  *I  must 
tell  you  something." 

The  professor  looked  up  gravely. 

"That  morning  a  fortnight  ago.  after  the 
telegram  arrived,  you  know.  I  was  so  terri- 
fied, thinking  the  worst  had  happened  to 

Mark,   praying I   had   forgotten   all 

about  the  little  ones.  And  then  I  came  upon 
them  looking  so  mournful  that  I  suddenly- 
felt  frightfully  sorr>'  for  them.  It  was 
strange — Mark  was  the  one  I  was  grieving 
about,  really,  but  I  felt  more  than  anjthing 
sorry  for  the  children.  They  looked  different 
to  me.  somehow — more  like  persons  than  like 
children.  Queer  that  grief " 

Involuntarily,  Wincy  stirred. 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  up.  "Wincy!" 

The  professor  turned  around,  aghast. 
"Have  you  been  here  all  this  time?" 

Wincy  turned  from  the  writing  desk.  "I 
was  writing  to  Sally  Sutton." 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  weak.  "I  think  I  diall 
make  myself  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  said,  starting 
for  the  passage.  .\t  the  door  she  stopped. 
•■D'you  know,"  she  said,  presumably  to  her 
husband,  but  it  was  more  as  if  she  were 
talking  to  herself,  "it  may  be  all  for  the 
best,  her  knowing  these  things.    Perhaps 

if  I  had  understood  at  Wincy's  age Of 

course,  it  would  have  been  impossible — 
dear  mother  was  such  a  typical  Victorian. 
But,  I  mean,  one  really  feels  that  one  is  get- 
ting closer  to  life." 

It  wasn't  verj'  clear,  just  what  she  did 
mean,  but  \\'incy  felt  a  flutter  in  her  chest, 
finding  herself  so  close  to  her  mother's  secret 
thought,  closer  than  she  had  ever  been.  Her 
mother  was  trj'ing  hard  to  see  things. 

After  school  the  following  afternoon 
Wincy  hiked  through  the  Commarket  with 
Sally  Sutton's  letter.  She  went  into  the  post 
office  and  slid  her  letter  into  the  box.  She 
had  to  get  back  home  because  Brenda  and 
her  mother  were  coming  to  tea. 

Wincy  had  set  out  the  tea  things  and  the 
kettle  before  going  out.  With  everything 


GINGERBREAD 


for  ■«%'xnter--*v-eary  appetitei 

It  s  really  wonderiul  .  .  .  tiie  wav 
golden -brown  gingerbread  adds 
spice  to  Spring  meals.  And  it  < 
a  time-saving  idea  alwavs  to  make 
vour  gingerbread  fne  sure,  quick, 
easv    Ijull    wav 


Means  "Oh,  So  Better" 
salads    when    served 
with  a  genuine  French 
Dressing  that's  made 
really   genuine    with 
zestful.    superfine 
and  pure  Pompeian 
Olive  Oil  —  the  olive 
oil    with    the    clear 
color    and     deli- 
cate flavor. 


pompeiax 
Olive  Oil 

BALTIMORE,  MD. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


91 


fx,?-: 


i>-^' 


m 


Day-long  Baking 
Gives  These  Beans 
Their  Delicious  Flavor 

They're  on  sale  again  .  .  . 
delicious  B  &  M  Brick- 
Oven  Baked  Beans . . . the 
genuine  New  England 
baked  beans,  baked  (not 
steamed)  slowly  ...  all 
day  long  ...  to  give  you 
extra-tempting  flavor. 
Whenever  your  Grocer  is 
out,  remember  it's  this 
long,  slow  baking  that 
keeps  us  from  hurrying 
more  of  these  Down  East 
favorites  your  way.  Burn- 
ham  &  Morrill  Company, 
Portland  2,  Maine. 


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prosptMs.  Write  for  tainulepon  approval  &  Special  Offer. 

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MRBEST 


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Mm!  Fresh-cherry  ftoodncss 
and  aroma — right  from  the 
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with  the  butter- 
Sfnoothnessofour 
famous  seedless 
black  raspberry... 
and  tastes  just  as 
richly  delicious! 
GLkSER,  CRANDUL  CO. 
DepL  84,  Cliicaio  8 


fUEE 


RECIPES 


booklet  «-■_ 


ready,  she  could  spare  five  minutes  to  have 
a  look  at  the  river  from  Folly  Bridge. 

Mrs.  Turner  was  frightfully  anxious  to 
show  Mrs.  Quelch  that  Wincy  was  becoming 
civilized.  When  Doctor  Quelch  became 
Warden  of  St.  James's,  it  would  be  awkward 
if  his  wife  didn't  approve  of  a  Fellow's 
family. 

Personally,  Wincy  said  to  herself,  /  ivish 
old  Picklepiiss  would  slip  down  a  drainpipe. 
SHU.  if  it's  going  to  help  daddy,  I  guess  I  can 
be  decent  to  her. 

One  bank  of  the  river  was  lined  with  col- 
lege barges.  Wincy  rested  her  bike  against 
the  railing,  and,  looking  up  the  river, 
thought  how  lovely  it  was  compared  with 
the  Charles,  although  when  she  was  in  Cam- 
bridge she  had  loved  the  Charles. 

"Halloa,  Wincy,"  someone  said  behind 
her. 

Turning,  she  saw  Francis  Quelch.  "Hi, 
Francis."  Wincy  hoped  she  appeared  non- 
chalant, instead  of  startled.  "Going  on  the 
river?" 

"Just  been,"  he  answered.  "On  my  way 
home  now — have  to  swot,  you  know."  In- 
stead of  going,  though,  he  leaned  beside  her 
on  the  railing.  "The  Isis  is  the  jolliest  part 
of  the  Thames,"  he  said.  "  In  fact,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it's  the  prettiest  stretch  of  water 
anywhere  in  the  world." 

Wincy  looked  up  at  him.  It  seemed  such 
an  inane  remark.  But  then,  if  she  had  not 
been  evacuated,  she  might  also  have  taken 
it  for  granted  that  her  little  corner  of  the 
earth  was  loveliest. 

"Well,  I  mean,"  Francis  went  on,  awk- 
wardly, seeing  the  doubt  in  Wincy's  face,  "I 
haven't  been  about,  like  you.    Other  places 


BUT  NOT  LOVE 

1^  All  things  change  in  the  world 
^  of  change  and  sorrow,  but  Love's 
way  of  promising  never  to  change — 
that  alone  changes  not. 

—  ORIENTAL  PROVERB. 


must  be  nice  too.  But  to  me  this  is  para- 
dise." 

"Paradisis,"  Wincy  corrected,  laughing. 

He  looked  at  her,  charmed  with  the  dis- 
covery. "Paradox ford,"  he  retorted.  "Para- 
doxford  on  the  Paradisis." 

They  laughed  over  the  phrase,  repeating 
it  over  and  over. 

"I  wish  you  could  come  punting  with  me 
someday,"  Francis  said  wistfully.  "Through 
Iffley  Lock  to  Sandford." 

"I'll  come  someday,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  sounded  firmer  than  she  had  expected. 
"Quite  soon,  in  fact." 

"Cheers ! "  Francis  exclaimed,  and  Wincy 
jumped.  That  was  what  he  had  said  that 
dreadful  day  when  she  had  promised  to  go, 
but  had  been  obliged  to  stand  him  up. 

She  looked  at  him  from  the  side  of  her 
eye.  Until  this  moment  he  had  been  a  boy 
like  the  others  who  walked  about  Oxford 
in  cricket  blazer  and  flannels.  Now  there 
was  an  individual  selfness,  a  personalness 
about  him  that  she  had  never  seen  in  any 
boy,  not  even  the  ones  she  had  known  well, 
like  Sandy  Whipple  and  Hank  Sutton. 

Wincy  thought.  It  isn't  his  nice  eyes  or  the 
handsome  Quelch  nose  which  gives  him  that 
special  look,  but  the  funny  things  about  him — 
his  forehead,  his  mouth  which  hasn't  made  up 
its  mind  yet  whether  to  be  good-natured  or  firm, 
and  the  way  his  Adam's  apple  keeps  bobbing 
up  and  down. 

He  was  the  most  understanding  person. 
First,  when  she  called  Angus  a  bum  at  the 
tea  party,  he  had  passed  over  the  incident 
as  though  he  had  been  an  American.  Then, 
when  her  mother  shamed  her  by  sending 
him  away,  he  had  let  that  pass  too.  No 
matter  what  mess  there  was,  he  always  re- 
turned cheerful  and  friendly,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

She  hadn't  seen  all  this  in  him  before,  any 
more  than  she  had  seen  his  face— really — 
until  today.  It  was  a  moment  of  special 
(Continued  on  Page  93) 


LIX 


Reg.  U.  S.  Pol.  Off. 


m 


EARTHQUAKE     M=  GOON 
LOCKED    ME   IN  WIF  THIS  LION 
ON    ACCOUNT  AH  REFOOZED  T' 
LET    HIM   WALK    ME.  HOMEL— 

SKUNK  HOLLOW  STYLE.7 


LI'L  ABNER  T' HELP 

YC  ON  ACCOUNT  YO'  15 

HIS  RESPONSIBILITY.''/ 


XIEAM  or  WHE*r  AND  CHI»    ll 


^Ilifiki  iCyiwdi/  c^  ¥^iiAAm.-iJ^ 


When  fresh  froil  is  hard  to  get — and 
expensive — stretch  it  with  luscious, 
inexpensive  Jell-O!  Since  Jell-O,  too, 
is  sometimes  scarce  these  days, 
you're  making  the  most  of  two  good 
things  when  you  put  them  together  ! 


Yi;  r-H^  lAsr  cm 

0?  SUMMBK 


It'll  be  a  sad  day  when  last  sum- 
mer's careful  hoard  of  home-canned 
fruits  gets  low.  Match  the  sun-ripe 
flavor  of  your  fruit  with  Jell-O — 
then  every  jar  will  brighten  two 
meals  instead  of  one! 


W4^EN  TflE  POTLUCK 
I5KT  suck  wot  iiXCK 


Leftover  vegetables  are  good  enough 
for  a  family  salad — but  for  "potluck" 
company  they  need  a  build-up.  Let 
Jell-O  glamourize  and  multiply  those 
tasty  little  odds  and  ends! 


Wh^>  toi/wo  owt/  (f^ 


FRUITED  RUBY  FLAKES 

1  package  Jell-O  (any  red  flavor) 

2  cups  hot  ^ater 

1  banana,  scored  with  fork  and  sliced 
1  orange,  peeled  and  sectioned 

Dissolve  Jell-O  in  hot  water.  Turn  into 
shallow  pan.  Chill  until  firm.  Break  into 
flakes  with  fork.  Pile  lightly  into  serving 
dish.  Arrange  fruit  on  Jell-O  as  illustrated. 
Makes  4  to  6  servings. 

NOTE:  To  prevent  darkening  of  bananas, 
sprinkle  with  orange  juice. 

Ever  wonder  why  people  try  so  hard  to 
find  genu  JTie  Jell-O.  ..why  they  talk  about  its 
"richer  taste"?  It's  because  every  particle  of 
fruit  flavor  is  "locked-in"  the  Jell-O  crystals 
—by  a  process  exclusive  with  JeU-O. 

SUNNY  CHERRY  TARTS 

1  package  Jell-O  (any  red  flavor) 

1  cup  hot  water 
V2  cup  canned  cherry  juice 
V4  teaspoon  cinnamon,  if  desired 
V3  cup  light  cream 
10  baked  S'^-inch  tart  shells 

1  cup  drained  canned  red  cherries 

Dissolve  Jell-O  in  hot  water;  add  cherry 
juice  and  cinnamon.  Measure  %  cup  and 
chill  until  slightly  thickened.  Place  in  bowl 
of  ice  and  water  and  whip  with  rotary  egg 
beater  until  fluffy  and  thick  like  whipped 
cream.  Fold  in  cream.  Pile  into  tart  shells. 

Chill  remaining  Jell-O  until  slightly  thick- 
ened; fold  in  cherries.  Spoon  over  whipped 
Jell-O  in  tart  shells.  Chill  until  firm.  Makes 
10  cherry  tarts. 

Notice  how  extra -tangy  Jell-O  is  —  how 
clearly  it  recalls  the  flavor  of  the  ripe  fruit 
itself!  But  get  the  real  thing— genuine  Jell-O 
with  the  "locked-in"  firuit  flavor.  It's  worth 
waiting  for! 

VEGETABLE   RICE  MEDLEY 

1  package  Lime  Jell-O 

IV2  cups  hot  v/ater  and  vegetable  stock 
and  2  chicken  bouillon  cubes 

2  tablespoons  vinegar 

V2  teaspoon  scraped  onion 

1  tablespoon  pimiento  strips 
V2  cup  thinly  sliced  celery 
1/3  cup  mayonnaise  or  salad  dressing 
V2  cup  cooked  peas  or  string  beans 

1  cup  cooked  rice 
Va  teaspoon  celery  salt 

Dissolve  Jell-O  in  hot  liquid.  Add  vinegar 
and  onion.  Measure  J^  cup;  add  2  table- 
spoons water.  ChUl.  When  slightly  thick- 
ened, add  pimiento  and  J^  cup  celery.  Turn 
into  mold.  ChUl  until  firm. 

Add  2  tablespoons  water  to  remaining 
Jell-O.  Chill  until  slightly  thickened.  Place 
in  bowl  of  ice  and  water  and  whip  with 
rotary  egg  beater  until  fluffy  and  thick  like 
whipped  cream.  Fold  in  mayonnaise  and  re- 
maining ingredients.  Add  salt  to  taste.  Turn 
into  mold  over  firm  Jell-O.  Chill  until  firm. 
Unmold.  Garnish  with  escarole,  or  other 
salad  greens,  and  egg  slices.  Serves  6. 


The  Kate  Smith  Hour  — Every  Sunday  — CBS  Network 


-jV/ir'tflc^pV  J5«*  mvdiU, 


I 


Jell-O  it  a  trade-mark  owned  by  General  Foods 


Now  That  April's  There 


93 


(Continued  from  Page  91) 
seeing.  Everything  felt  different,  looked  dif- 
ferent— there  was  a  realness  to  things  that 
had  never  been  before. 

"It  was  nice  in  Belmont,"  Wincy  said 
dreamily.  "  In  summer  we  used  to  go  hostel- 
ing." 

"Do  you  mean  youth  hostels?  We  have 
those." 

"Yes.  We'd  all  bike,  except  Aunt  Polly. 
She  followed  in  the  station  wagon,  because 
we  used  to  go  quite  far  sometimes  and  Angus 
couldn't  make  more  than  ten  miles  a  day. 
So  Aunt  Polly  put  his  bike  in  the  station 
wagon,  and  we'd  all  meet  at  the  next  hostel." 

"Sounds  ever  so  jolly,"  Francis  put  in. 

"The  Suttons  used  to  come  too — you 
know,  our  foster  cousins." 

"You  mean  that  chap  who  came  to  see 
you?"  Francis  asked  quickly.  "Mother 
told  me  about  it." 

"Yes,"  Wincy  answ-ered  vaguely. 

"It  was  beastly  with  Mark  away — until 
you  came,"  Francis  said  suddenly. 

The  chimes  of  Great  Tom  floated  down 
the  Christ  Church  meadows  and  Wincf 
listened  raptly,  counting  each  stroke.  There 
were  six,  yet  the  number  held  no  meaning 
for  Wincy.  Standing  on  the  bridge,  she  had 
seen  new  things  in  the  world  about  her,  but 
it  was  a  timeless  world. 

Francis  sighed.  "  I  expect  we'd  better  go." 

They  started  back  across  the  Broad  Walk, 
passing  through  the 
War  Memorial  gate. 
On  the  pavement 
Winpy  noticed  some 
copper  letters  in  the 
dusky  light. 

"'My  sword,'" 
she  read,  "  T  give  to 
him  that  shall  suc- 
ceed me  in  my  pil- 
grimage.'" 

Wincy  looked  up 
at  Francis.  He  stood 
there,  twiddling  the 
grip  of  his  handle 
bar  and  looking  at 
the  words  on  the 
ground.  All  the  hap- 
piness was  gone  out 
of  his  face. 

"I  just  can't  stick 
it,"  he  blurted  out. 
"Hang  it  all, 
Wincy — a  chap  be- 
longs on  a  ship,  in- 
stead of  swotting  at 
construe." 

My  sword  I  give  to  him.  So  that  was  why 
Francis  spent  his  days  punting  instead  of 
studying — it  was  the  closest  to  a  ship  that 
his  father  would  let  him  get. 

"We  have  to  make  our  own  decisions, 
don't  you  think?"  she  said.  "You  can't  ex- 
pect the  older  generation  to  see  things  the 
way  we  do — at  least  my  family  doesn't." 

TRANXis  looked  up  at  Wincy  in  surprise. 
Somehow    I'd   never   thought   of   taking 
matters  into  my  own  hands.    Perhaps   I 
shall — how  dim  of  me." 

"After  all,"  Wincy  went  on,  as  they  began 
biking  again,  "it's  our  world — the  older 
generation  is  practically  through  with  it." 
They  were  passing  the  Martyrs'  Memorial. 
"He  must  have  wished  that  he  had  never 
taken  back  his  word,"  Wincy  said,  "since 
he  had  to  be  burned  anyway." 

"W'ho?"  Francis  asked,  surprised.  "Oh — 
Bishop  Cranmer !  I'd  never  thought  of  that. 
Beastly  way  to  die — what?" 

They  parted  with  nothing  but  a  look  of 
Ifarewell.  It  wasn't  necessary  to  say  any- 
thing; Wincy  knew  Francis  felt  the  way  she 
Idid  about  the  important  moment. 

She  rushed  into  the  house.  There  was  a 
it'i'.t  in  the  drawing  room  and,  as  Wincy 
led  through  the  passage,  she  heard  Mrs. 
.     ich's  voice. 

I  should  call  the  police  if  I  were  you, 
R::chel,"  she  was  saying.  "She  may  have  run 
:■/.  Such  a  strange  child." 
or  the  first  time  since  she  slid  Sally 
'on's  letter  into  the  box,  Wincy  r^mem- 
d  her  mother's  tea  party.  It  was  almost 
\' ' )  hours  since  she  had  met  Francis. 


mi  WASTE  PAPER 

•  Don'tbuy  paper  you  don't  need. 

•  Don't  let  the  druggist,  grocer, 
butcher,  baker,  wrap  articles  you 
can  carry  home  unwrapped. 

•  Don't  throw  paper  away  until 
it's  thoroughly  used. 

•  Don't  throw  this  magazine 
away — pass  it  on  to  some<jne  who 
couldn't  buy  a  copy;  wartime  paper 
needs  are  forcing  us  to  print  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  fewer  copies 
than  we  printed  last  vear. 

Lend  Yonr 
•Journal  to  a  Friend 

Make  a  Friend 
by  Lending  Yonr  Journal 


"Where  have  you  been,  child?"  Mrs. 
Turner  cried,  as  Wincy  stood  in  the  passage. 
She  drew  her  into  the  lighted  drawing  room. 
"Are  you  hurt,  pet?  I've  been  terrified." 

Mrs.  Quelch,  sitting  in  the  big  armchair, 
looked  Wincy  over,  too,  but  not  with  such 
solicitude.  Brenda  was  not  there,  and  all 
signs  of  tea  had  been  removed. 

"So  sorry,"  Wincy  said  breathlessly. 
"Am  I  late?" 

"Late?"  Mrs.  Quelch  echoed  sarcasti- 
cally. 

"I'm  so  relieved,"  Mrs.  Turner  said.  "I 
feared  an  accident.  Where  have  you  been?" 

"Mailing  a  letter." 

"It  couldn't  have  taken  two  hours,  just 
to  the  pillar  box,  Wincy,"  Mrs.  Turner  said, 
but  not  reproachfully. 

Wincy  was  surprised.  She  had  done  an 
awful  thing — not  turning  up  for  tea  when 
she  was  supposed  to  make  a  good  impression 
on  Picklepuss.  Yet  Mrs.  Turner  merely 
looked  relieved  and  loving. 

"I  didn't  think  I  was  gone  very  long," 
Wincy  murmured.  Had  she  and  Francis 
spent  nearly  two  hours  on  the  bridge? 

oiNCE  Winifred  is  safe  at  home,  Rachel," 
Mrs.  Quelch  announced,  rising,  "I  shall  go." 
She  turned  to  Wincy.  "I  sent  Brenda  home 
after  tea  to  say  that  everything  must  pro- 
ceed without  me.  Poor  Francis  has  been 
at  home  all  the  afternoon  swotting." 

That's  wliat  you 
think,  Picklepuss, 
Wincy  thought. 

"So  good  of  you 
to  remain,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said,  leading 
the  way  into  the 
passage. 

"Fancy,  almost 
three  hours  to  the 
pillar  box,"  Mrs. 
Quelch  murmured, 
shaking  her  head  at 
Wincy.  "You didn't 
by  any  chance  see  a 
soldierontheway?" 
But  Wincy  did 
not  notice  the  im- 
plications.The  ques- 
tion had  struck  her 
as  very  funny  and 
she  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. "No,"  she  an- 
swered, "no,  not  a 
soldier,  rather  a 
sailor — well,  not  ex- 
actly   " 

"I  thought  so,"  Mrs.  Quelch  broke  in 
triumphantly.  "You  see,  Rachel,  it  was  just 
as  I  feared.  It's  the  lure  of  the  uniform.  I'm 
so  glad  Brenda  isn't  that  way,"  she  added 
with  nauseating  smugness. 

"He  hasn't  got  a  uniform."  Wincy  said. 
"A   sailor,   yet  not  in  uniform?"   Mrs. 
Quelch  said  suspiciously.  "What  did  he  look 
like?" 

Wincy  hesitated  a  minute,  picturing 
Francis  again  as  he  had  looked  in  that  mo- 
ment of  special  seeing  on  Folly  Bridge.  "He 
has  rather  a  bony  forehead,"  she  said,  "and 
his  mouth  hasn't  made  up  its  mind  yet 
whether  to  be  good-natured  or  firm,  but  I 
think  it's  going  to  be  firm.  And  his  hair — his 
hair  reminds  me  of  the  marsh  grass  around 
Scituate.  That  was  where  we  used  to  go 
swimming  in  America." 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  at  Wincy  curiously. 
The  anxiety  had  gone  out  of  her  face.  "He 
sounds  rather  nice,"  she  murmured. 

"  Rachel,"  Mrs.  Quelch  broke  in,  "  I  didn't 
say  it  before,  although  I've  wanted  to,  ever 
since  Winifred  returned  from  that  abom- 
inable country,  and  of  course  it's  really  no 
fault  of  hers,  but  the  child  has  positively 
been  corrupted." 
"Monica!" 

""'Yes,  Rachel.  I  cannot  let  Brenda  asso- 
ciate with  Winifred.  I  have  already  for- 
bidden Francis " 

"That's  not  in  the  least  friendly,  Monica." 
"She  has  been  running  about  town  with  a 
sailor,"  Mrs.  Quelch  said  accusingly. 
"  I  haven't,"  Wincy  blurted  out. 
"You  said  you  did." 
"I  didn't." 


6/1^^ 


Aie^^ 


«'« 


'^. 


/ 


^«r  Dromedary  >^- 

Wbake^-        elted  r^J^fly  square 
Then  ^°5      ;re  cie*"^' 

YoU»s«  i'litw""""./ 


M0-KOU  "f"^- 


94 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


"It  took  a  doctor  to  wake  me  up 
to  my  need  of  a  SPENCER" 


Her  doctor  included  a  support  for 
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There  is  a  vast  difference  be- 
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"You  did,  Winifred,"  Mrs.  Quelch  said 
haughtily.  "You  are  not  only  corrupt,  but 
ill-mannered  as  well." 

"But  what  you  said  wasn't  true." 

"Wincy,"  Mrs.  Turner  cried,  "that's  un- 
pardonable rudeness.  Apologize  to  Mrs. 
Quelch  at  once." 

"  I  can't  apologize,  mummie,"  Wincy  said, 
and  she  was  terribly  afraid  that  she  was  go- 
ing to  cry.  "She  wants  me  to  admit  some- 
thing that  isn't  true." 

"  I  think  the  child  is  perfectly  right,"  Mrs. 
Turner  said — Wincy  could  hardly  believe  it. 
"If  she  has  not  been  running  about  with  a 
sailor,  there  is  nothing  to  apologize  for." 

"You,  Rachel — you ! "  Mrs.  Quelch  shouted. 
"I  never  thought  that  you  would  uphold 
this  wanton  child.  We  all  want  to  protect  our 
children — but  we  must  not  uphold  them  in 
sin." 

"Monica,  you  have  no  right  to  speak 
about  Wincy  in  such  terms." 

"I  shall  never  forget  this,"  Mrs.  Quelch 
said  menacingly,  as  she  fumbled  with  the 
doorknob.  "A  disgrace  to  St.  James's!" 

All  of  a  sudden,  Mrs.  Quelch  changed 
shape  before  Wincy's  eyes.  She  was  no 
longer  Picklepuss.  She  was  the  wife  of  the 
next  Warden  of  St.  James's. 

"Mrs.  Quelch,"  Wincy  called,  just  as  the 
door  was  about  to  be  closed.  "I  didn't 
mean " 

who  near  this  spot  yielded  their  bodies 

to  be  binned Would  she  put  her  right 

hand  in  the  flarne  first? 

"I  did  mean  it — I  did  mean  every  word." 

The  door  slammed. 

Professor    Turner    looked    tremendously 
surprised  when  he  opened  the  door  and 
found  his  wife  and  daughter  sitting  on  the 
monk's  bench  in  the  pas- 
sage.   

"Uncommonly  drafty 
place  you've  chosen  to  sit 
in,  I  should  say,  Rachel," 
he  remarked,  "though  you 
look  pleased  as  Punch. 
Mark's  not  getting  a  leave, 
by  any  chance?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Tur- 
ner. "Wincy  and  I  simply 

collapsed   here   after   de-       

molishing  Monica  Quelch. 

We  were  exhausted,  but  victorious."  She 

smiled  at  Wincy. 

"  Demolished  her,  did  you?"  the  professor 
asked,  laughing. 

"She  was  simply  livid,"  Mrs.  Turner  re- 
plied gaily.  "Come  into  the  drawing  room." 

But  Wincy  remained  on  the  monk's  bench. 

tiVER  since  Wincy  returned,"  she  could 
hear  Mrs.  Turner  saying,  "Monica  has  held 
such  an  unkind  opinion  of  her.  At  first,  I  was 
rather  inclined  to  agree  with  some  of  her 
criticism.  Wincy's  foreign  ways  were  very 
unsettling.  The  more  Monica  elaborated  on 
them,  the  worse  they  seemed.  But  this 
afternoon  she  became  insufferable,  and  I 
ticked  her  off.  She's  no  understanding  of  the 
child's  psychology  at  all." 

Wincy  jumped.  Her  mother 

"No  what?"  Professor  Turner  asked. 
"Bless  my  soul,  Rachel.  What  happened?" 

"She  went  away,  practically  shaking  her 
fist  at  me.  Actually,  Wincy  was  rather 
naughty,  coming  home  at  half  past  six, 
when  we  expected  the  Quelches  for  tea." 

"Where  was  she?"  the  professor  asked. 

"Posting  a  letter." 

Wincy  jumped  off  the  monk's  bench  and 
ran  into  the  drawing  room.  "I  met  Francis," 
she  explained.  "We  talked — I  guess  we  must 
have  talked  a  long  time." 

"You  see,  John,  I  knew  all  along  there 
was  nothing  to  make  such  a  to-do  over." 
Suddenly  she  laughed.  "Oh,  Wincy,  how 
funny — when  she  asked  you  what  he  looked 
like — it  was  her  own  boy." 

Professor  Turner  seemed  mystified  by  his 
wife's  laughter,  but  it  reassured  him. 
"Poisonous,  that  woman,"  he  declared. 
"Seems  to  fancy  herself  an  excellent  help- 
mate, though.  Doing  everything  to  secure 
Quelch  the  Wardenship— already  rushing 
about  pulling  wires,  though  the  Old  Boy 
won't  resign  for  another  three  months." 


WHAT  FEAR   YOr? 

^  iMon  love  because  they  are 
^  afraidoftheinselves,  afraid 
of  the  lonehness  that  lives  in 
them,  and  need  someone  in 
whom  they  can  lose  them- 
selves as  smoke  loses  itself  in 
the  sky.  _V.  F.  CALVERTON. 


"Do  you  really  suppose  that  sort  of  thing 
will  help  her  husband?"  Mrs.  Turner  asked. 

"No,  I  don't.  But  his  wife  must  think  so. 
No,  Quelch  will  stand  or  fall  on  his  merits. 
Rachel,  do  you  think  I  might  hatre  some 
bread  and  jam?  Beastly  fare  in  hall.  And 
the  coffee!  Now  that  I'm  accustomed  to 
Wincy's,  I  simply  couldn't  drink  it." 

They  went  into  the  kitchen. 

Angus  had  been  sent  to  bed  before  Wincy 
reached  home,  but  he  sneaked  down  in  the 
pajamas  which  he  was  learning  to  wear  and 
hung  over  the  banister.  "I  say,  Wincy,"  he 
whispered.  "Daddy  let  me  come  to  his  room 
at  St.  James's  this  afternoon.    It's  wizard." 

"That's  nice,"  Wincy  said,  trying  hard  to 
look  interested. 

1  here's  a  ripping  little  window  called  an 
oriel,  and  potty  old  gargoyles  spitting  water 
all  around  the  building.  He  took  me  to  the 
library  too.  You  know  what  ?  The  books  are 
chained  to  the  wall.  Isn't  that  rum?  Must 
be  mostly  gangsters  in  the  college." 

Professor  Turner  came  out  of  the  kitchen, 
!nunching  his  bread  and  jam.  Wincy  was 
afraid  he  would  scold  Angus  and  order  him 
off  to  bed,  but  to  her  surprise  he  greeted  him 
quite  warmly  and  offered  him  a  bite  of  his 
bread. 

"  I've  been  hearing  about  your  wonderful 
room,"  Wincy  said. 

"Yes,  we  had  a  splendid  time  there, 
Angus  and  I,"  Professor  Turner  said.  "Can't 
think  why  J  never  invited  him  before.  I 
cherish  that  room  in  St.  James's.  Been  in  it, 
you  know,  ever  since  I  first  was  made  a 
Fellow — thirty-one  years  ago,  come  Michael- 
mas. Now  up  with  you,  Angus,  and  to  bed." 

"It's  better  than  Uncle  Bill's  old  lab," 
Angus  called  as  he  mounted  the  stairs. 

Uncle  Bill's  lab  flashed 

before  Wincy's  mind,  but 

it  was  a  blurred  picture, 
like  a  snapshot  when  the 
camera  has  moved. 

"Yes,"  Professor  Tur- 
ner murmured,  "thirty- 
one  years.  Couldn't  bear 
to  part  with  that  room." 

"Part  with  it?  You 
mean  lose  your  place  in 

the    college,    daddy?" 

Wincy    cried.    And    then 

she  saw  Mrs.  Quelch  again,  but  this  was 
a  very  distinct  picture.  "A  disgrace  to  St. 
James's,"  she  had  called  Wincy.  When  her 
husband  became  Warden,  she  might  even 
have  Professor  Turner  expelled.  There  was 
only  one  thing  for  Wincy  to  do.  As  she 
realized  this  the  tears  suddenly  began  run- 
ring  down  her  cheeks.  "I'll  have  to  go  back 
to  Belmont,"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  daddy — just 
when  I  was  beginning  to  like  it  here." 

"  Beginning  to  like  it  here,  are  you?  Well, 
I'm  ever  so  pleased."    He  stroked  her  hair. 

"You  don't  understand,  daddy,"  Wincy 
said,  drying  her  eyes.  "I've  got  to  get  away. 
When  he's  Warden,  Mrs.  Quelch  will  get  you 
expelled." 

"Impossible!"  the  professor  exclaimed. 
"I've  a  University  Chair,  and  such  action 
could  only  be  taken  by  the  Fellows  of  the 
college.  Never  fear — Quelch  is  an  honest 
man,  though  I  doh't  fancy  him  as  Warden." 

Mrs.  Turner.came  in  from  the  kitchen. 

"Rachel,"  the  professor  began,  "I  won- 
der— do  you  suppose — could  we  have  been 
a  wee  bit  jealous  of  the  Hilliards?  " 

Mrs.  Turner  went  almost  white.  "I 
shouldn't  be  surprised,"  she  murmured. 

One  morning  a  few  weeks  later  Angus 
brought  in  the  post,  devoured  his  porridge 
and  rushed  off  to  play. 

"There's  one  for  you,  John,  in  Mrs.  Hil- 
liard's  hand,"  Mrs.  Turner  remarked  with 
suq^rise,  looking  over  the  letters.  "How 
strange.  You  never  wrote  to  Mrs.  Hil- 
liard." 

"I  might  have  done,"  he  confessed,  look- 
ing guilty. 

"But  you  expressly  asked  me  to  write  and 
thank  her  when  the  children  returned." 

"So  I  did— when  the  children  returned," 
Professor  Turner  admitted.  "By  the  by, 
whom  is  your  letter  from?" 

"Nannie,"  Mrs.  Turner  answered. 


LADIES'  IIOMK  JOLHNAL 


95 


CLEANSE 
REFRESH 
SMOOTH 

These  are  the  Elizabeth  Arden 
essentials  . . .  essentials  with 
which  every  woman  can  keep 
herself  lovely,  make  herself 
prettier.  They   represent  the 
cleansing,  refreshing,  lubri- 
cating treatments  that  are  her 
daily  beauty  routine,  the 
very  foundation  of  good 
grooming.  If  you  have  never 
used  what  Elizabeth  Arden 
has  prepared  for  you,  here  is 
a  thrilling  experience  because, 
for  pleasure  in  use,  for 
delicious  fragrance,  indescrib- 
ably delightful  texture  . . .  the 
fee/  of  loveliness  and 
luxury  . . .  these  Essentials 
are  without  parallel. 


Ardena  Cleansing  Creom, 

1.00  to  6.00 
■  Ardena  Skin  Lotion,  .85  to  15.00 
Ardena  Fluffy  Cleonsing  Cream, 

1. 00  to  6.00 
Ardena  Velva  Cream,  1.00  to  6.00 
Ardena  Orange  Skin  Cream, 

1.00  to  8.00 
Ardena  Special  Astringent, 

2.25,  4.00,  10.00 
Ardena  Velva  Cream  Mask, 

2.00  and  5.00 
Ardena  All-Day  Foundation  Creom, 

1.00 
Illusion  Powder,  1.75  and  3.00 
Cameo  Powder,  1.75  and  3.00 
[Prices  plus  taxes) 


"What  does  Nannie  say?  Is  she  still  in 
that  infant  welfare  center  in  Birmingham?" 

"Yes,  but  she's  leaving  shortly.  John, 
she's  coming  back — how  splendid!" 

"What?"  Wincy  cried  in  alarm.  "Nannie 
coming  back?" 

"She  says  she'll  give  me  a  hand  with  the 
household."  Mrs.  Turner  went  on  happily. 
"Isn't  that  splendid?  But  I  wonder."  she 
added,  her  voice  becoming  doubtful, 
"whether,  with  Angus  away  at  school " 

Wincy  jumped  up  from  the  table.  "I'm 
too  big  for  her,"  she  stated  in  such  a  loud 
voice  that  she  startled  herself. 

"Perhaps,"  Professor  Turner  ventured, 
"with  Nannie  to  help  you,  we  could  keep 
Angus  at  home  another  year." 

Wincy  sent  her  father  a  grateful  look. 

"Such  an  excellent  nurse,"  Mrs.  Turner 
murmured.  "Oh,  we've  quite  forgotten  your 
letter.  Did  you  actually  write  to  Mrs.  Hil- 
liard?" 

Professor  Turner  had  been  thoughtfully 
munching  his  toast.  "Those  books  we  read 
together,  you  and  I,"  he  said  after  a  pause, 
looking  meaningly  at  his  wife,  "gave  me 
many  new  thoughts.  Bless  my  soul,  Rachel, 
with  this  new  understanding  of  the  mind,  I 
believe  I  can  even  do  something  for  young 
Quelch — prepare  him  for  his  Smalls." 

"But  you  have  done,  John.  I  can't  think 
how  often  that  boy  comes  here  to  have  a  text 
explained.  What  has  all  this  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Hilliard's  letter?  You  are  trying  to  evade 
the  issue — did  you  write  to  her?" 

"Somehow,"  the  professor  admitted,  "I 
suddenly  appreciated  how  much  the  chil- 
dren's American  stay  had  enriched  them. 
You  know,  it  might  have  been  merely  a  re- 
grettable hiatus  in  their  life.  I  had  to  tell 
Mrs.  Hilliard." 

Mrs.  turner  looked  strangely  at  her  hus- 
band. "Well,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  can't 
think  why  you  were  secretive  about  it.  I've 
had  much  the  same  thought  myself." 

Impatiently,  Mrs.  Turner  watched  him 
open  the  letter. 

"'How  we  do  miss  that  pair!'"  he  read. 
"'Things  at  every  turn  remind  us  of  the 
happiness  we  had  in  the  years  Wincy  and 
Angus  were  with  us.'" 

Professor  Turner  looked  up  at  his  wife, 
deeply  touched. 

" '  Isn't  it  wonderful,' "  he  continued  read- 
ing, '"that  children  tend  to  remember  the 
pleasant  things  and  forget  the  painful? 
From  your  letter  I  judge  that  Wincy  and 
Angus  have  painted  a  much  rosier  picture 
than  w^  deserve — I  know  there  were  times 
when  humdrum  household  chores  affected 
my  viewpoint  to  such  an  extent  that  I  could 
have  shaken  each  of  the  three  youngsters 
until  his  teeth  rattled.  But  I'm  glad  that 
Wincy  and  Angus  remember  our  merrier 
times.'" 

"So  Mrs.  Hilliard  found  the  children  tire- 
some, too,  occasionally,"  Mrs.  Turner  ex- 
claimed with  satisfaction.  "I  never  sus- 
pected. I  had  the  impression  her  household 
was  always  perfectly  serene." 

"Oh,  no,"  Wincy  put  in,  "not  always. 
There  was  the  time  Angus  almost  set  fire  to 
the  boxroom.  And  one  New  Year,  when  we 
all  went  away  to  Vermont,  I  forgot  to  leave 
the  taps  open  in  my  bathroom  and  when  we 
came  home  we  found  the  pipes  had  burst." 

"Dear  me!"  the  professor  exclaimed. 

"Poor  woman,"  his  wife  murmured,  smil- 
ing sympathetically,  "with  two  strange  in- 
fants— I,  at  any  rate,  had  Nannie.  She's  a 
treasure,  but" — her  voice  trailed  off  uncer- 
trjr.ly — "I'm  not  convinced  that  I  want  her 
back,  John.  She's  very  set,  you  know." 

"Do  I  not?"  Professor  Turner  replied 
quickly.  "I've  wondered  recently  whether 
she  didn't  do  the  children  more  harm  than 
good." 

Mrs.  Turner  did  not  reply.  She  was  look- 
ing out  the  window  thoughtfully.  "Nannie 
could  go  to  her  married  sister,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  believe  I'll  have  her." 

Wincy  clutched  her  mother's  arm.  "Do 
let  her  come,"  she  begged.  If  Nannie  came, 
there  might  still  be  a  chance  for  Angus  to 
stay  home. 

"Don't  worry,  chicken,"  Professor  Turner 
said,  as  he  helped  Wincy  remove  the  dishes, 


Sergeant  mac 


Match  your  costume  tlie  RHYTHM  STEP 

way  .  .  .  w'itli  shoes  thai  <i«e  ri^ht  with 
your  spriiiij  warclrolje.  Ri^ht  itir  that 

well-thossecl   feeling  .  .  .  aiul  rishl,  loo, 

ill  the  h^hl  way   llieir  invjsihle   Rhiitnm 

TrcaJs  hin)y  your  toot  at  the 

three  strain   points. 


MOST  SI  Vl.ns 


a 


795 

/  S.^.5()   IXi.ver  a.ul   VPc.l 


Rhythm  Step  S 


)OiiNsc>N.  ?'n:i'nr;N5  &  siiiNKih  siuji:  co,  •  ST.  i.oms,  MlSSOl'Rl 


96 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


AprU,  194 


TRY  THIS  NEW  RECIPE  TONIGHT!      1  pound  Skinless  frankfurters  or  wieners 
2  tablespoons  shortening  4  strips  bacon  ii  pound  peas 


1  bunch  green  onions 
1  can  mushrooms 

(or  y2  lb.  fresh  mushrooms) 


2  cups  rice  (brown  or  white)      'i  pound  string  beans 
^2  pound  mustard  greens,  2  large  green  peppers 

spinach  or  turnip  tops  1  cup  celery 


Steam  rice  In  double  boiler.  Brown  the  rice,  onions  (chopped  fine)  and 
mushrooms  in  melted  shonening.  Crisp  and  crumble  the  bacon.  Form  all  this 
in  a  ring  around  your  platter.  Wash  vegetables  and  cut  in  large  pieces.  Boil  or 
steam  umil  tender,  drain,  add  bacon  drippings,  and  pour  into  center  of  rice  ring. 

To  prepare  SKINLESS  frankfurters:  Simply  bring  water  to  a  boil,  turn  off 
heat  and  drop  in  Skinless  frankfurters.  You  don't  have  to  boil  them!  In  just 
5  to  7  minutes  they're  ready  to  arrange  in  center  of  platter  and  serve — so  tender 
they  cut  with  a  fork!  And  because  they  have  no  skins  to  split  open,  no  flavorful 
juices  are  lost— you  relish  every  single  morsel.  They  cost  no  more— so  ask  today 
for  your  favorite  brand  of  frankfurters  made  the  Skinless  way! 


^JlU4i£eM 


FRANKFURTERS  AND  WIENERS— THE  NO-WASTE  FOOD 

THE  VISKING  CORPORATION     •     6733  WEST  65fh  STREET,  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 

"Vi«ldn(j"  is  tbc-  rcKi-ileri-d  trademark  of  Thi-  Vi«kinK  <"oriii.raliiin 


"I  expect  Angus  will  stop  at  home  in  any 
case — I  simply  couldn't  get  on  without 
him." 

"He  does  seem  a  little  chap  to  be  pushing 
off  into  the  world  alone,"  Mrs.  Turner 
agreed.  "  I  couldn't  bear  it,  actually." 

Wincy  rushed  off  in  a  glow  of  happiness. 
Angus  was  safe.  Life  was  wonderful,  if  only 

Francis  Disconsolately,  she  fetched 

her  violin  and  music.  In  the  passage,  Mrs. 
Turner's  words  were  distinctly  audible. 

"I'd  been  meaning  to  tell  you,  John,  but 
I  couldn't  mention  it  in  Wincy's  presence: 
Angus'  bed  has  been  dry  for  the  past  fort- 
night." 

"Has  it  really?  Jolly  good ! "  the  professor 
exclaimed.  "Wincy  was  right,  then,  when 
she  said  that  my  companionship  would  cure 
him — knowing  little  minx,  isn't  she?" 

"I  shouldn't  say  it  was  that  altogether," 
Mrs.  Turner  objected,  "though  Angus  does 
seem  very  chummy  with  you  now.  I  think 
he  also  feels  that  I  love  him.  Indirectly,  Mrs. 
Hilliard  taught  me  rather  a  lot  about  my 
three  children.  Odd,  isn't  it,  that  the  threat 
of  invasion " 

Her  father  was  singing  when  Wincy  shut 
the  door: 

"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform " 

Wincy  smiled — as  usual,  he  was  quite  off 
key. 

Wincy  had  hardly  seen  Francis  in  two 
months.  Then  she  had  run  into  him  in  St. 
Giles  one  September  noon.  He  was  coming 
home  from  the  Examination  Schools,  where 
he  had  written  the  Latin  paper.  He  was 
jubilant  to  be  done  with  it. 


THE  KAMK  THRIFT 

1^  "Il's  been  along  and  tiring  jour- 
^  nfv."  sai«l  an  Kiielislinian  to  a 
Soolsinan,  as  the  IjOiitlon  to  Aber- 
deen express  neared  its  destination. 
".Aye,""  agreed  llie  Seolsnian.  "an' 
sae  it  ought  to  be  for  the  money." 


"Let's  celebrate,"  Wincy  had  said. 

"Do  you  mean  you'd  like  to?  We  could 
go  on  the  river — I  didn't  think  you " 

"Of  course  I'd  like  to,"  Wincy  said.  "I 
promised  you  I'd  come  someday.  I'd  been 
rather  expecting " 

Francis  looked  pleased,  and  yet  worried. 
"Well,  I  didn't  know,"  he  said.  "They  seem 
to  do  things  so  differently  in  the  States — I 
wasn't  sure  how  you  felt." 

"Weren't  you,  Francis?"  Wincy  asked. 

His  mouth  settled  in  a  smile.  "We'll  go  to 
Sandford,"  he  said  happily. 

But  Wincy  puzzled  over  Francis'  strange 
behavior  all  the  way  home.  It  was  so  differ- 
ent from  the  way  an  American  boy  would  act. 
At  least,  they  were  going  to  go  on  the  river — 
if  her  mother  let  her  go. 

Fortunately,  Mrs.  Turner  was  at  home. 
Wincy  ran  in  and  asked  permission.  Mrs. 
Turner  considered  a  minute.  "Why,  yes," 
she  said  at  last,  "I  think  it  would  be  jolly. 
It's  such  a  ripping  day." 

"Oh,  mummie,  thanks!" 

"After  all,"  Mrs.  Turner  said,  "you're 
growing  old  enough  to  go  punting  with  a  boy 
we  all  know.  You'll  be  sixteen  soon.  Why 
don't  you  take  the  tea  basket?  Pack  a  nice 
tea  for  two." 

It  had  been  super  on  the  river.  Francis 
was  in  gay  spirits  at  the  start,  because  he 
was  through  with  Latin  forever. 

"Did  you "  Wincy  began  to  ask,  and 

stopped.  She  didn't  like  to  ask  whether  he 
had  passed. 

Francis  understood,  though.  "I  don't 
know,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  so,  for  father's  sake. 
It  makes  no  difference  to  me.  I'm  joining  the 
navy." 

Wincy  was  startled.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  her  that  if  he  did  join  the  navy  he  would 
leave  Oxford. 

"  When  I  come  back,"  he  said,  not  looking 
at  her  in  his  shyness,  "I'm  going  to  study 


//a'^^ 


FRENCHS  IS  SMOOTHER, 
CREAMIER.  A  BLEND  OF 
THE  FINEST  SPICES  AND 

MUSTARD  SEED  MONEy 

CAN  Buy' 


iNothing  like  a 
1  sizzling,  juicy  hot 

dog  spread  thick 
I  with  French's  to 

pep  up  appetites. 
This  famous  golden  mustard  has 
a  delightfully  different  flavor- 
just  try  ajar  and  see!  French's  is 
made  of  the  finest  spices  and 
mustard  seed  money  can  buy— it 
brings  outa//the  good  meat  flavor. 

Largutt  Selling  Pnparmd  Muttard  in  U.S.A.  Today 
Alto  Math  In  Canada  I 


Mir/ 

MD  COFFEE 


Ien  love  this  delicious 
ew  instant  coffee.  try  it! 

you  do  is  add  boiling  water  to 
t  halt  a  teaspoonful  of  the  NEW 

Washington — for  a  pure,  rich,  sat- 
ying  cup  of  coffee!  No  coffee  pot; 

grounds;  no  fuss.  And  it  costs  no 
jrethan  old-type  coffee;  the  2  oz. 
ntainer  is  equal  to  a  full  pound  of 
3und  coffee.  Try  this  delicious  NEW 

Washington! 


NSTAtfT  tXinU. 


97 


engineering.  I've  decided  that  too.  It  isn't 
what  father  had  in  mind,  but  it's  what  Eng- 
land needs — the  England  of  Tomorrow." 

"The  England  of  Tomorrow?"  Wincy 
repeated,  puzzled. 

"Yes,"  Francis  went  on,  sitting  down  and 
letting  the  punt  drift,  "there'll  be  so  much 
to  do — rebuilding  the  bombed  areas:  London 
and  Bristol  and  Coventry.  You  must  have 
noticed  the  frightful  mess  as  you  came 
through  London." 

"We  weren't  in  London  very  long," 
Wincy  explained.  "And  I  was  so  homesick 
for  Belmont,  I  guess  I  just  didn't  notice." 

This  seemed  to  puzzle  Francis.  "There'll 
be  a  need  for  engineers  and  architects — so 
much  to  do,"  he  went  on.  "But  we  mustn't 
leave  it  to  stuffy  people,  else  they'll  rebuild 
England  to  look  like  the  Albert  Memorial." 

"Architecture,"  Wincy  repeated  thought- 
fully. "I'd  never  thought  of  doing  that.  It 
would  be  fun  building  houses.  I'd  like  that — 
houses  not  all  in  a  row,  hiding  behind  a  wall, 
like  in  Banbury  Road,  but  set  down  here  and 
there,  any  old  way,  with  gardens  all  around, 
instead  of  just  at  the  back." 

"It  isn't  the  bombed  areas  alone,"  Fran- 
cis said,  "but  all  those  frightful  slums  in 
London.  We  want  to  clear  them  away,  put  in 
a  central  heating  plant  for  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood." 

"I'd  never  thought  of  becoming  an  archi- 
tect," Wincy  put  in,  "but  I  think  that  would 
suit  me  very  well.  I'm  glad  you're  going  to 
do  the  things  you  really  wish,  Francis — the 
navy  and  the  England  of  Tomorrow."  She 
opened  the  tea  basket. 

So  AM  I,"  he  said,  biting  into  a  bun,  and 
added  shyly,  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  you, 
Wincy,  I  never  would  have  done.  It's  the 
way  you've  gone  ahead  with  things  you 
thought  were  right,  and  what  you  said  about 
the  older  generation." 

"What  did  I  say?"  Wincy  asked. 

"About  it  being  our  world.  It  is,  naturally, 
but  I'd  never  thought  of  it  before." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  him,  "it's  our 
world." 

Francis  exclaimed,  smiling  suddenly,  "Our 
world — how  ripping — I  thought  you  meant 
our  generation's." 

"Well,  it's  both  in  a  way,  don't  you 
think?"  Wincy  asked.  "I  mean,  there's  the 
England  of  Tomorrow,  which  we  are  going 
to  build,  and  there's  our " 

"We  could  build  it  together,"  Francis 
said,  "you  and  I.  We  could  make  a  sort  of 
combine — you  designing  the  houses  and  I 
putting  in  the  appliances  and  doing  the  en- 
gineering for  a  whole  area.  It  would  be  jolly, 

only  "    Joy  and  enthusiasm  suddenly 

seemed  extinguished  in  him.  "Wincy,"  he 
said,  "are  the  Hilliards  Mormons?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  What  of  it?" 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  had  been  influ- 
enced by  that,"  Francis  explained  seriously. 
"  I  mean — well,  you  rather  seem  to  like  me, 
and  yet  you  were  so  matey  with  that  Amer- 
ican chap." 

"Hank,"  Wincy  put  in.  He  ought  to  know 
the  name  by  now  and  stop  saying  "that 
chap." 

"Mother  told  me  about  it,"  Francis  said. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  "that." 
Picklepuss  had  said  those  nasty  things  be- 
cause she  had  seen  Wincy  throw  her  arms 
about  Hank  when  he  was  leaving.  Wincy 
ought  not  to  have  behaved  that  way— she 
saw  it  now.  It  made  Francis  think  she  was 
boy-crazy.  But  she  had  been  young  then^ 
now  she  was  almost  sixteen,  seeing  things  so 
differently. 

Francis  turned  the  punt  about  and  began 
poling.  It  seemed  no  time  at  all  before  they 
reached  the  landing  stage  at  Folly  Bridge 
and  he  helped  her  out.  "D'you  know,"  he 
said,  "it's  two  months  since  the  day  I  met 
you  here." 

So  Francis  was  counting  time  from  that 
important  moment  too.  Wincy's  heart  sud- 
denly soared. 

They  parted  at  St.  Giles'  Church.  Francis 
looked  melancholy  and  he  was  twiddling  the 
grip  on  his  handle  bar. 

/  ought  to  tell  him  not  to  do  that,  Wincy 
thought;  he'll  ivear  it  loose.  But  she  said 
nothing. 


T  R  e  /^T 


With  Van  Camp's  always  at  hand  . . .  you  can  serve  o 

delicious  meal  in  a  minute  that  appeals  to  all  appetites  ...  is  a  treat        Listen  to 

to  alt  tastes.  Prepared  for  you  by  Van  Camp's  exclusive  flavor-     "TAKE  IT 

penetration  method  of  cooking  .  . .  every  plump,  tender  bean  is  rich  easy  TIME" 

with  the  flavor  of  the  secret,  savory  tomato  sauce  . . .  ready  to  heat   Mufua/Brocdcoif/ng system 

and  eat  .  .  .  easy  to  digest. 

Look  to  Von  Camp's  for  a  variety  of  famous  foods  that  let  you 
take  it  easy  in  serving  your  family  and  friends  interesting,  appe- 
tizing meals  at  small  cost  with  little  effort.  Ask  for  . . .  reach  for  . . . 
Van  Camp's  at  your  grocer's. 


VAN  CAMP'S   FOODS  —  Products  of  Stokely-Van  Camp,  Inc.,  Indianapolis 


MONDAY  •  WEDNESDAY 

FRIDAY 

11:30  AM  EWT 

10:30  AM  CWT 

9:30  AM  MWT 

8:30  AM   PWT 


/  /lAtL^    ^  lA^ 


«L.^2>i.A/ 


U3-I^U\    \^ayi^  do/t/viAi.^ 


98 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


loaster  of  the  future 


THE  ONLY  ONE  THAT  CRISPS  TOAST 


AUTOMATICALLY 


OTHER  PROCTOR  PRODUCTS  THAT  ARE  COMING  POSTWAR 


Proctor  Automatic 
Waffle  Iron.  For 
vvuHles  browned  to 
your  taste  by 
tberniostatic 
control.  Glow 
cone  signal  tells  ^f^ 

when  ready.  /^ 


The  Famous  Proctor  Never-Lift  Iron.  So 
easy.  Touch  a  button  and  it  lifts  it- 
self .  .  .  stand#on  its  own  "legs" 
while  you  arrange  work.  Legs  snap 
back  into  iron  when  you  resume  iron- 
ing. Lightweight.  Long  lived.  Fabric 
Dial  plus  Speed  Selector. 


ON  THE  WAY! 

THE  PROCTOR  CHAMPION  SPEED  IRON 
Production  of  these  fine  irons  will  be 
resumed  as  soon  as  possible  and  will 
be  made  available  at  Proctor  Dealers. 
Accurate  thermostat  control.  Fabric 
dial.  Long  life  heating  element. 


Proctor  Roasl-or-Grille.  Combined 
oven  and  grilling  unit  in  conve- 
nient, portable  form.  Heavily 
insulated.  Easy  to  use. 


ro  0157*11  UTOIISl 


Philo^ilphla  40,  Pa 


PROCTOR 

AUTOMATIC  ELECTRIC  APPLIANCES 


Then,  suddenly,  she  giggled.  It  wasn't  be- 
cause Francis  looked  so  melancholy  and  his 
Adam's  apple  was  behaving  so  badly,  but  he 
might  have  thought  so,  for  he  looked 
offended  and  suddenly  biked  home.  Wincy 
was  sorry.  She  hadn't  meant  to  hurt  his  feel- 
ings. She  had  merely  understood,  all  at  once, 
what  Francis  had  been  driving  at  when  he 
asked  if  the  Hilliards  were  Mormons. 

//  only  I  had  understood  then^how  dim  of 
me,  she  thought.  Now  he  thinks  I'm  making 
fun  of  him. 

Wincy  went  home  slowly.  It  was  strange — 

'  she  had  been  so  happy  on  the  river,  yet  now 

she  was  sad.  How  could  one's  feelings  change 

so  quickly?    She  had  never  been  that  way 

before.  Was  she  sick — ill? 

Or  maybe — could  it  be— love? 

Professor  Turner  said,  "Francis  got  full 
marks  in  his  Latin  paper.  I  saw  it  this 
afternoon."   Wincy's  heart  jumped. 

"How  nice,"  Mrs.  Turner  said.  "Quelch 
will  be  pleased." 

"It  was  amazingly  good,"  the  professor 
continued.  "Astonishing  how  easy  it  was  to 
teach  that  lad,  once 


PROCTOR  ELECTRIC  CO.-DIVISIUN.  PROCTOR  &  SCHWARTZ.  INC..  PHILAUKLPHIA  40.  PA. 


I  understood  the 
workings  of  his 
mind." 

Wincy  was  happy 
Francis  had  done 
well,  but  why  hadn't 
he  come  to  tell  her? 
He  knew  she  was  anx- 
ious about  the  re- 
sults. Besides,  she 
wanted  to  explain  to 
him  about  Hank- 
that  he  was  nothing 
more  than  just  a  fos- 
ter cousin. 

"Daddy,"  she 
asked,  and  suddenly 
felt  shy ,  "do  you  think 
I  could  go  to  Somer- 
ville?" 

"Somerville?"  Pro- 
fessor Turner  re- 
peated. First  surprise 
and  then  tremendous 
joy  came  into  his  face. 
"My  dear,  how  per- 
fectly splendid  that 
you  should  want  to 
go  up.  I  had  hoped 
that  you  would  follow 
in  my  footsteps— not 
necessarily  classics, 
but  some  branch  of 
higher  learning " 

"Architecture." 
Wincy  broke  in,  un- 
able to  keep  it  to  her- 
self any  longer.  "You 
know,    after    the 

war "  She  saw  it 

all  again  the  way 
Francis  had  described 
it— the  bombed  areas 
that  would  need  re- 


April,  1 

"I  guess  I  was  rather  self-centerei 
Wincy  said  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  the  professor's  turn  to  look  n 
chievous.  "You'll  have  to  do  construe,  j 
know,  for  Somerville."  « 

Wincy  looked  up  quickly.  "But  La 
doesn't  have  anything  to  do  with  arc 
tecture  in  the  England  of  Tomorrow."  i 
protested.  "We  don't  want  to  be  stuff; 
Wincy  added  sternly,  "and  rebuild  Engla 
so  it  looks  like  the  Albert  Memorial." 

JMy  dear,"  Professor  Turner  said,  "t 
England  of  Tomorrow — on  what  foun( 
tion  will  your  generation  build  it?  On  1 
England  of  the  Present.  And  on  what  foi 
dation  was  this  England  built?" 

"Why,  the  past,"  Wincy  answered, 
course — how  dim  of  me.  Oh,  well " — Fran 
had  managed  the  Latin,  in  spite  of  all 
worrying— "I'll  take  it."    She  would  go 
Somerville  like  Daphne  Godstow  and  ha 
lots  of  friends  and  do  tons  of  jolly  thin 

"Latin  can  be  very  stimulating,  actuallj 
her  father  was  saying,  "since  I  have  a  n( 

undergraduate  approach " 

"Daddy,"    Win 


•     •••**••• 


By  Eleanor  Alletta  Chaffee 

He  opened  wide  the  gray  barn  door: 
Nothing  that  was  not  there  before 
Met  his  eyes,  yet  he  knew  well 
April  had  worked  her  yearly  spell. 
The  old  cow  stood  there  facing 

south, 
A  silver  thread  hung  from  her 

mouth; 
The  mare  threw  back  her  shining 

head. 
Her  quick  hoofs  answered  to  his 

tread. 
As  he  let  down  the  pail  to  dip 
Water  up,  his  puckered  lip 
Shaped  a  whistle  in  the  air. 
And  the  animals'  slow  stare 
Caught,  as  in  a  glass,  a  sprite 
Lively  in  the  lantern  light. 

He  closed  the  door,  looked  at  the 

sky. 
All  his  world  was  to  his  eye 
Yellow  with  young  dafFodils; 
Buttercups  crowned  all  the  hills. 
He  was  an  acolyte  of  spring; 
On  each  heel  a  sudden  wing 
Lifted  up  his  feet:  and  though 
He  walked  through  frost  as  crisp  as 

snow. 
Grass  was  green  beneath  his  tread; 
On  dreams  of  April  he  was  fed. 

•     •••••••■A- 


building,  the  modern 

little  houses  going  up  where  the  frightful 

slums  had  been. 

Professor  Turner  listened  with  such  in- 
terest that  Wincy  was  certain  he  was  hearing 
these  things  for  the  first  time. 

"Funny  thing,"  Wincy  said  thoughtfully. 
"I  hadn't  noticed  these  things  about  Eng- 
land before.  I  mean,  just  because  no  bombs 
fell  around  here  I  didn't  think " 

I'd  been  wondering."  the  professor  broke 
in.  "how  long  it  would  take  until  you  dis- 
covered your  own  country.  That's  why  I  was 
so  surprised  just  now.  when  you  spoke  of 
these  things.   It's  the  first  time." 

"Oh,"  Wincy  said.  Her  father  was  right. 
"I  wonder  why." 

"You  were  too  wrapped  up  in  your  adjust- 
ment to  your  mother  and  myself.  I  presume, 
and  too  nostalgic  for  America— which  was 
only  natural.  But  I'm  ever  so  glad  you've 
awakened  to  the  needs  of  England." 

"I  didn't  think  of  it  myself,"  Wincy  ad- 
mitted. "It  was  Francis." 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  at  Wincy  and  smiled 
like  a  conspirator.  They  shared  a  secret. 


broke   in,   "what 
the   Undergradus 
Approach,    anywa 
It's  bothered  you 
lot." 

"Yes.  it  did.  thou 
I  hadn't  realized  y 
knew.  Some  Fello 
feel  that  we  oug 
to  approach  the  i: 
dergraduates  qu; 
differently — not  tet 
nical  training,  y 
understand,  but 
new  approach  to  t 
old  classical  studie; 
"  Sounds  all  right 
Wincy  said. 

"Yes.  it  is.  I  fi 
so  from  the  first 
her  father  agree 
"Nevertheless.  I  w 
bound  by  habit  to  ct 
tain  methods  of  teac 
ing.  But  Quelch  car 
see  the  need  for  ai 
change.  When  he  t 
comes  Warden.  I  fe 
there  will  be  evi 
greater  difficulties,  f 
I  have  become  e 
tremely  radical  in  n 
views.  " 

"Radical,  daddy's 
"Well,  for  S 
James's,"  the  pr 
lessor  replied,  sm 
ing.  "Last  spring 
was  troubled  becau 
I  could  not  make  t 
classics  more  mea 
ingful  to  my  st 
dents.  Your  introdu 
ing  me  to  psycholoj 
gave  me  the  key 
"Psychology."   Wincy  murmured.    Pe 

haps  psychology  would  help  her  with  Fra 

cis.   But  you  touldn't  use  psychology  on 

boy  who  wasn't  even  around. 
Psychology's  no  use  at  all  ivhen  ycni're  ■ 

love,  Wincy  decided.  God  must  move — then 

nothing  I  can  do. 

"There  was  some  ginger  beer  in  the  coUej 
cellars,"  Professor  Turner  said.  "The  ma! 
ciple  presented  it  to  me  when  I  told  him  v 
were  having  a  Halloween  party." 

Mrs.  Turner  was  putting  the  finishiJ 
touches  on  the  jack-o'-lanterns.  She  had  a 
some  eerie  creatures  out  of  gourds  and  veg 
table  marrow. 

"They're  beauties,"  Angus  said,  roUil 
out  piecrust. 

Professor  Turner  was  peeling  and  slicil 
the  apples.  "How  did  you  ever  come  1 
think  of  giving  a  Halloween  party,  Rachel? 

Mrs.  Turner  finished  sticking  the  cand 

in  a  jack-o'-lantern  before  answering 

was  a  most  peculiar  thing,"  she  said,  "tl 

way   it  struck  me   all  of  a   heap  at   t| 

(Continued  on  Page  100) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


99 


OurPhi/co  '^ngenrhr 
saveelihe  ch^..Mhen  Bi/th 
boss  came  h  cffiiHer 


X  u 


'OU  SIMPLY  CAN'T  make  some  men 
understand  about  rationing !  The  other 

day,  Bill   blithely   telephones   he's   bringing 

the  boss  to  dinner. 


"Not  a  doubt  in  his  mind  that  I'll  wave  a 
magic  wand  and  produce  something  for  such 


an  occasion  .  .  .  and  for  a  man  who  actually 
dotes  on  good  eatings  ! 

"But  I  did  come  through  .  .  .  thanks  to  my 
Philco  Refrigerator.  You  see  ...  it  just  hap- 
pened that  a  whole  week  before  I  had  more 
red  points  than  usual  .  .  .  just  when  my 
butcher  had  plenty  of  meat  on  hand  ...  in- 
cluding the  sort  of  roast  you  dream  about. 

"The  roast  went  home,  where  I  popped  it  into 
the  Frozen  Food  Compartment  of  my  Philco. 
And  there  it  was  .  .  .  frozen  through  and 
through  .  .  .  and    was    I    happy    that    I    had 


resisted  a  whole  week  of  temptation  !  But  I've 
warned  Bill !  We  can  always  depend  on  our 
Philco  to  freeze  meat  for  future  use  .  .  .  but 
he  certainly  can't  depend  on  my  having  red 
points.  Not  these  days  !" 

Tune  in  the  RADIO  HALL  OF  FAME  .  .  .a  full 
hour  of  Top  Hits  from  all  fields  of  entertainment. 
Sunday.    6    to    7    P.M.,   EWT,    Blue    Network. 


PHILCO 


On  every  battle-front,  products  of 
Philco  ingenuity  and  Philco  productive 
capacity  are  serving  our  fighting  forces. 
To  the  task  of  maintaining  and  increas- 
ing the  flow  of  this  materiel,  the  men 
and  women  of  Philco  have  dedicated  all 
their  energies.  When  the  war  is  won, 
Philco  will  tell  you  about  the  new  and 
even  more  advanced  types  of  refrigerators 
which  will  bear  the  Philco  name. 


KEEP    BUYINO  WAR  BONDS  . . . 
KEEP   THE    BONDS    YOU    BUY  I 


To/mowi  ^?9*  Qaa/l^  tAe  'Tf'or^  &t/e^ 


100 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


So  EASY  and  quick!  Creamy 
"Baked  Eggs  Savory"  bub- 
bling in  their  tangy  sauce  topped 
by  golden-crusted  croutons... and 
served  with  a  green  salad  tossed 


in  wonderful  Wesson  Dressing.  To 
make  both  these  dishes,  be  sure 
to  use  New  Orleans'  own  salad  oil 
...fine,  delicate  Wesson  Oil. ..so 
pure  it  sparkles  as  it  pours. 


2^  ^T  Want  to  give  your  favorite  salad  a  new  zip  and  tang 
'  •  *^"  for  Spring?  Then  serve  it  with  this  famous  Wesson 
Dressing.  It's  grand  with  almost  every  type.  But  don't  forget 
i..make  it  with  Wesson  Oil,  America's  favorite  salad  oil. 


^Vesson  Oil 

FOR  SALADS  6?  COOKING 


NEW  ORLEANS 


(Continued  from  Page  98) 
fishmonger's.  I  was  thinking — how  sweet 
these  children  are.  And  then,  as  I  was  pass- 
ing the  American  Red  Cross  Club  on  my  way 
home,  I  remembered  what  Harley  had  said 
about  Halloween  in  Africa — how  dismal  it 
would  be.  The  children  had  mentioned  about 
tonight  being  Halloween.  So  I  popped  in  to 
see  the  matron,  a  charming  young  person 
from  South  Carolina." 

"How  do  you  know  which  state  she  comes 
from?"  Professor  Turner  inquired  curiously. 

"I  asked  her." 

"My  dear,"  the  professor  said,  laughing, 
"you've  come  all  over  American,  asking  per- 
sonal questions  of  a  total  stranger." 

"And  she  said."  Mrs.  Turner  continued, 
pretending  not  to  notice  that  her  husband 
was  pulling  her  leg,  "that  it  would  be  swell 
if  we  had  a  party  and  she  would  send  round 
half  a  dozen  lonely  boys.  One  of  them,"  she 
finished  proudly,  "comes  from  Belmont, 
Massachusetts." 

Instantly,  Wincy  looked  up.  Could  it  be 
Hank?  No;  if  he  were  in  Oxford,  he  would 
have  let  her  know.  How  she  wished  it  might 
be— Hank  was  steadfast.  He  liked  Wincy, 
and  he  didn't  turn  cold  on  her  suddenly,  the 
way  Francis  had  done.  Hank  and  she  spoke 
the  same  language. 

But  it  had  been  childish  to  think  that 
someday  she  might  marry  Hank.  He  was 
not  only  steadfast,  he  was  sweet.  And  yet, 
there  was  a  sort  of  roughness  about  him:  his 
way  of  saying  things  right  out,  anything  he 
happened  to  think,  and  of  asking  the  most 
personal  questions.  Besides,  she  intended 
visiting  the  Hilliards  after 

the  war,  but  she  couldn't       

live  in  America.  That 
wouldn't  be  the  way  to  get 
caught  up  in  England. 

Francis,  she  whispered 
to  herself.  Why  couldn't 
he  have  been  the  stead- 
fast one? 

"I've  invited  Daphne 
Godstow,"  Mrs.  Turner 
was  saying,  "and  Brenda 
and  Francis." 

Wincy,   carrying  mugs 
into  the  dining  room,  al- 
most  dropped   the   lot  as 
mother's  words. 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Turner  went  on, 
"Francis  cannot  come,  as  it's  his  last  night 
at  home." 

His  last  night  at  home.  There  was  a  bitter 
taste  in  Wincy's  mouth.  He  wasn't  even 
coming  to  say  good-by. 

"The  name  of  the  new  Warden  will  be 
announced  tonight,"  Professor  Turner  said. 
"The  Fellows  convene  this  afternoon." 

"Then  you  won't  be  home  for  the  party? " 
Angus  asked. 

"Of  course  I  shall,  my  boy,"  his  father 
promised.  "Nothing,  not  even  the  election 
of  a  new  Warden,  could  keep  me  from  at- 
tending our  Halloween  party.  I  shall  excuse 
myself  when  the  votes  have  been  cast.  It's 
the  merest  formality,  in  any  case." 

Yes,  thought  Wincy,  we  all  know  what  the 
result  will  be  for  the  Turners  when  Picklepuss 
becomes  Mrs.  Warden. 

Wincy  stood  looking  into  the  little  mirror 
between  the  windows.  It  was  ages  now  since 
anyone  at  Newfields  had  called  her  "the 
Yankee,"  but — even  in  the  gym  tunic — she 
never  felt  she  looked  quite  like  the  others. 
She  knew,  though  she  hated  to  admit  it, 
that  this  was  because  of  her  hair.  It  had 
grown  so  long  since  it  was  bobbed  seven 
months  ago  that  she  had  had  to  put  the  ends 
up  in  curl  papers.  The  long  curls  made  her 
look  foreign. 

She  took  one  more  long  look  in  the  mirror, 
and  then  grasped  the  scissors  and  cut  her 
hair.  The  curls  lay  in  bright  patches  all 
about  her  on  the  floor.  But  Wincy  did  not 
look  at  them.  She  was  looking  at  her  head, 
turning  and  twisting  to  get  a  better  view  of 
the  back.  It  was  not  very  even,  but  she  was 
satisfied:  she  had  that  tidy  Newfields  look. 

Angus  came  in  to  have  his  face  blackened. 
He  was  so  engrossed  in  his  costume  that  he 
did  not  notice  Wincy's  hair. 


IIV  THE  KNOW 

^  The  things  most  people 
^  want  to  know  ahoiit  are 
usually  none  of  their  busi- 
ness. —  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW. 

It  is  not  enough  to  l>e  right. 

You  niustn't  he  right  too  soon 

or  too  late.     —JACQUES    BAINVILLE: 

In  Je  Suis  Portout,  Paris. 


she  heard   her 


"You're  a  gruesome  sight,"  Wincy  said 
as  she  blackened  his  face. 

What  should  she  wear  for  the  party — 
Sally  Sutton's  dirndl?  Since  her  motjjer  had 
called  the  dress  outlandish,  Wincy  had  never 
worn  it.  For  Halloween,  though,  something 
like  that  might  be  appropriate. 

"It's  going  to  be  wizard,"  Angus  said  hap- 
pily. "I  wish  Mark  was  coming." 

And  Francis,  Wincy  thought,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"I  say,  Wincy,  d'you  know,"  Angus  said 
eagerly,  "I'm  going  to  be  hooker  in  scrum 
tomorrow.  It's  a  ripping  game,"  he  said 
with  such  an  inward  glow  that  Wincy  could 
see  the  game  had  completely  won  him  over. 

"Clear  off  now,"  she  said,  giving  him  a 
little  shove.  "You  look  terrifying." 

The  door  of  her  mother's  room  was  open 
and  Wincy  could  hear  her  talking  to  Pro- 
fessor Turner. 

Monica  was  doubtful  about  letting 
Brenda  come,"  she  was  saying.  "She  was  just 
beginning  one  of  her  homilies  about  girls 
that  age.  I  said,  'Monica,  your  daughter 
will  not  be  defiled  by  contact  with  those 
wholesome  young  Americans.  It  will  do  her 
good,  actually.  She  might  even  lose  some  of 
her  inhibitions.'" 

"Did  you  really,  Rachel?"  Professor 
Turner  asked,  and  Wincy  could  hear  his 
hearty  laugh. 

"I  did.  But  I  doubt  she  knows  what  in- 
hibitions are.  I  said,  'If  you  take  my  ad- 
vice, you  will  send  Brenda  to  America  after 
the  war  for  a  bit  of  study.'" 

Wincy  opened  the  silver 

buttons  of  the  dirndl  and 

held  up  the  shirred  blouse 
to  examine  it. 

Mrs.  Turner,  crossing 
the  landing  on  her  way  to 
the  bathroom,  peeped  in. 
"Shall  you  wear  that?" 
she  asked  approvingly. 
"It's  really  lovely."  She 
stopped  suddenly,  aghast. 
"Wincy,  what  have  you 
done  to  your  hair?" 

Wincy    turned   around 

so  that  her  mother  could 

get  a  good  view  of  the  back.  "Do  you  like 
it,  mummie?  I  think  it's  no  end  more  Eng- 
lish, don't  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Turner  said 
sadly.  "Yes,  it  is  more  English,  but  I  rather 
liked  the  way  you  wore  your  hair  before.  It 
suited  you.  There  was  something  attrac- 
tively"— she  searched  for  the  right  word — 
"individual  about  it — quite  individual." 

But  Wincy  wasn't  disappointed.  She 
gave  only  a  casual  glance  to  the  circle  of 
yellow  curls  lying  on  the  floor  of  her 
room.  She  was  looking  toward  the  Eng- 
land of  Tomorrow.  She  considered  the 
dirndl  a  long  time.  It  was  lovely,  but  some- 
how she  couldn't  see  herself  wearing  it  in 
Oxford. 

When  the  doorbell  clanged,  she  was  tying 
the  sash  of  the  frock  her  mother  had  had 
made  over  for  her  to  wear  to  the  Warden's 
garden  party. 

t 

Looking  very  festive  in  one  of  the  orange 
hats  Angus  had  made,  Professor  Turner 
came  out  to  the  larder  to  fetch  the  pie. 
Wincy  was  washing  the  forks  so  that  they 
could  be  used  over  again,  just  as  the  Hilliards 
did  when  they  gave  a  party. 

There  was  a  tremendous  racket  in  the 
dining  room.  The  American  soldiers  had  not 
been  in  the  house  five  minutes  before  they 
began  talking  to  the  Turners  and  Daphne 
and  Brenda  as  if  they  had  known  them  all 
their  lives. 

"The  pie  looks  lovely,  daddy,"  Wincy 
said. 

The  professor  stopped  to  tip  up  Wincy's 
chin  and  peer  into  her  face.  "Happy  with 
your  Americans,  chicken?" 

"No."  ♦ 

"But,  Wincy,"  Professor  Turner  ex- 
claimed, "you  used  to  be  so  keen  about 
Americans.  And  these  lads  are  ever  so  amus- 
ing, only  I'm  disappointed  in  the  one  from 
Belmont:  he  doesn't  know  the  Hilliards." 
(Continued  on  Page  102) 


LADIES'  IIOMP:  JOURNAL 


Frigidaire  repeats  its 
wartime  suggestions  on 

HOW  TO  KEEP  MEAT 


In  these  days  of  smaller  civilian  supplies,  save  all 
of  meat's  goodness,  and  use  all  of  it,  too! 

Here  are  helpful  hints  based  on  Frigidaire's  25 
years'  experience  in  the  food-keeping  field.  All  of 
these  meat -keeping  facts  have  been  checked  and  veri- 
fied by  other  eminent  authorities.  Keep  them  handy! 

54  Suggestions  for  Leftovers 


USE  IN 

(i. 

GO 

CD 

s 

< 

< 

X 

< 
> 

o 

a. 

o 

Q. 

X 

Hash 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Meot  Pie 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Sliced 

X 

^ 

X 

X 

X 

Soup 

X 

X 

X 

Stuffed  Pepper 

X 

X 

X 

Slew 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Chili 

X 

Croquettes 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Creamed 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Meat  Loaf 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Scalloped 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Sandwich  Filling 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

Salads 

X 

X 

X 

X 

STEAKS,  CHOPS  AND  ROASTS  may  be  kept  up  to  three  days  in 
meat  tray  or  loosely  wrapped  just  below  freezer.  If  you  buy  for 

later  use,  wrap  ani]  lieeze.  See  how  on  this  page. 


LEFTOVER  COOKED  MEATS  should  be  stored  in  a  covered  dish  to 
prevent  drying.  Generally,  leftover  meat  should  not  be  cut  or 
ground  until  just  before  using. 


General  Rules  of  Meat-Keeping 

After  purchase,  remove  meat  from  market  paper. 
Don't  wash  or  wipe  with  a  damp  cloth.  Don't  cut  or 
chop  it  until  just  before  using.  If  your  refrigerator 
has  a  covered  meat  compartment,  the  meat  can  be 
stored  without  wrapping.  Otherwise,  wrap  lightly 
in  waxed  paper,  leave  ends  open  for  free  air  cir- 
culation, and  store  in  defrosting  tray  or  as  near 
freezing  unit  as  possible. 

How  to  Freeze  Meats 

Wrap  well  in  waxed  paper  and  place  in  ice  tray. 
(Separate  individual  portions  with  waxed  paper  to 
prevent  freezing  together.)  To  freeze  quickly,  place 
tray  on  bottom  shelf  of  freezer  and  turn  control  to 
fastest  freezing  point.  For  continued  storage  after 
freezing,  reset  control  to  a  colder  than  normal  posi- 
tion. Never  refreeze  meat  after  thawing.  Frozen 
meat  may  be  thawed  before  cooking,  or  cooked 
directly  from  the  frozen  state,  but  when  this  is 
done,  more  time  must  be  allowed  for  cooking. 


FROZEN  MEATS  will  keep  for  long  periods  in  the  freezing  unit. 
After  thawing,  frozen  meat  should  be  cooked  as  soon  as  |)ossible. 
Caution:  Never  refreeze  meat  after  it  has  thawed. 


GROUND  MEAT  should  he  (looked  within  24  hours  alter  purchase 
or  frozen  when  you  gel  home.  For  convi'iiieiice,  separate  ground 
meats  into  individual  portions  bcloic  Ircczirig. 


POULTRY, 

refrigerati 
up  birds  j 


unlike  meat,  should  he  cleaned  and  washed  before 
on.  Whole  birds  keep  better  than  disjointed  birds.  (]ul 
ust  before  using.  Freeze  chicken  like  meats. 


For  Excellence 


FISH  should  be  cooked  wilhiii  21  hours  alter  purchase,  if  it  is  to 
be  kept  longer,  freeze  it  innnediately.  To  freeze  (ish  and  meats  at 
home,  follow  directions  yiveii  ill  the  first  column  at  left. 


Free!   Get  WARTIME   SUGGESTIONS   from   your 
Frigidaire  Dealer 

36  pages  of  helpful,  practical  ideas  like  those 
on  this  page.  Look  for  your  dealer's  Frigidaire 
store  sign,  or  find  name  in  your  classified 
directory  under  REFRIGERATORS.  Or  write 
Frigidaire,  349  Taylor  Street,  Dayton  1,  Ohio. 


in  War  i*rwUtction 


FRIGIDAIRE 

Division  of 

GENERAL  MOTORS 

Peacetime  builders  of  Electric  Refrigerators, 

Ranges,  Water  Heaters,  Home  Freezers, 

Commercial  Refrigeration,  and  Air  (Conditioners 


Food  Fights  for  Freedom! 

Store  foods  properly  as  soon  as  you 
get  them  home.  Prepare  foods  care- 
fully. Cook  and  serve  no  more  than  is 
needed.  UseaW  of  your  leftovers.  Throw 
nothing  away! 


102 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


Cupyritfht.  1945,  by  Dorothy  Gray.  Ltd. 


..»«w**<^-^ 


.,«;!«»;»«»•**■ 


Uorothy  Gray  Finisheen . . .  creamy,  eye-deceiving 
make-up  base.  Makes  tiny  imperfections  invisible 
. . .  Creates  a  fresh,  enduring  finish  that  helps 
your  complexion  say  to  the  world,  "I'm  young, 
vital,  fascinating ! "  All  smart  shades.  $1,  plus  tax. 


FROM  THE 
FIFTH  AVENUE 


SALON  OF 


Q)<,to- 


miu  CAlau 


AND  AT  THE 

BEST  COSMETIC 

COUNTERS 


.    (Continued  from  Page  100) 

"They're  all  right,"  Wincy  admitted, 
"but  crude,  don't  you  think?  I'd  give  the 
lot  of  them  for  one  English  chap." 

Her  father  smiled  knowingly.  "He'll  come 
back,  my  dear." 

Wincy  gave  her  father  a  wan  smile.  He 
was  nice.  But  he  didn't  know  about  her 
trouble  with  Francis.  If  they  could  only 
have  hashed  everything  out,  she  and  Fran- 
cis, they  might  have  parted  good  friends. 

Going  back  into  the  dining  room,  Wincy 
blinked.  It  was  dark,  except  for  the  eerie 
shadows  of  the  jack-o'-lanterns  flickering  on 
the  chocolate-colored  walls. 

Mrs.  Turner  was  talking  to  the  man  they 
called  Horny.  "We  were  all  playing  a  charm- 
ing symphony,"  Wincy  heard  her  say, 
"when  we  looked  round  and  there  he  stood." 

Her  mother,  Wincy  thought,  smiling  to 
herself,  her  mother  describing  the  most  inti- 
mate family  scene  to  a  stranger! 

The  boy  from  Belmont  proposed  a  toast 
to  the  Turners.  He  stood  holding  his  ginger 
beer  in  the  air.  But  the  other  boys  went 
right  on  talking. 

The  one  they  called  Tex  seemed  to  have 
gone  quite  potty  over  Daphne.  He  was  tell- 
ing her  in  his  deep  Southern  voice  about  his 
home.  "Miles  and  miles  of  cotton,"  he  was 
saying,  "as  far  as  the  eye  can  see." 

Wincy  was  embarrassed.  She  kept  watch- 
ing Daphne  to  see  whether  she  was  revolted 
by  all  this  chatter,  but  Daphne  seemed  fas- 
cinated. 

The  other  two  soldiers  were  taking  a 
wicked  delight  in  making  Brenda  giggle. 
The  boy  from  Belmont,  Vin  O'Reilly,  was 
nice-looking.  His  G.I.  haircut  and  the  way 
he  talked  reminded  Wincy  of  Hank,  but  of 
course  he  wasn't  so  nice. 

"Golly,"  Vin  was  say-       

ing,  looking  at  Wincy ,"  it's 
swell  seeing  an  American 
girl." 

"I'm  not  American," 
Wincy  blurted  out  crossly. 
"  I  should  think  you  could 
tell  the  difference." 

"Well,  you've  lived  in 
Belmont.  Whereabouts  did 
you  live?" 

"That's  just  what  I  was      

wondering  about  you," 
Wincy  said.  Could  he  read  her  thoughts, 
too,  like  Francis?  "You  know  Concord 
Avenue?  Well,  you  go  out  under  the  rail- 
road bridge  till  you  come  to  the  hill  where, 
if  you  look  back,  you  can  see  Boston — the 
dome  of  the  State  House  "  Sud- 
denly, as  she  spoke,  it  rushed  over  her  like 
the  wiry,  warm  water  in  the  Hilliards' 
shower— all  the  happiness  and  excitement 
of  those  years.  She  saw  it  all,  but  not  ach- 
ingly,  as  she  had  before.    It  was  pure  joy. 

Vin  was  explaining  where  he  lived,  but 
Wincy  didn't  hear  a  word.  She  tried  to  look 
interested,  but  she  could  only  think  of  the 
Belmont  which  Vin  didn't  know. 

She  wouldn't  have  missed  those  years  for 
anything.  People  were  wrong  if  they  thought 
being  away  had  made  her  any  less  English. 
Sometimes  looking  at  a  place  from  the  dis- 
tance gave  you  a  better  view  of  it.  People 
seemed  to  forget  that.  Francis  had.  She 
might  have  been  able  to  make  him  see  it, 
though,  if  he  had  only  come  around. 

IHE  bell  clanged.  Wincy  flew  to  the  door. 
It  was  Warden  Godstow.  "I'm  bringing]  a 
bit  of  news,  Winifred,"  he  began,  but  sud- 
denly, hearing  the  noise  in  the  drawing  room, 
he  stopped  and  looked  around. 

"It's  the  Halloween  party,"  Wincy  ex- 
plained. "Daphne  is  here." 

The  Warden  nodded.  "What  about " 

He  hesitated.  "Is  Madame  Pickleface  here 
too?"  he  asked  finally,  looking  like  a  wicked 
little  boy. 

Wincy  burst  out  laughing.  "No,  she's 
not." 

The  Warden  looked  relieved.  "At  the 
meeting  this  evening,"  he  said,  "your  father 
was  elected  Warden  of  St.  James's." 

"My  father— you  mean  daddy?  The  new 
Warden?  But  Doctor  Quelch " 

"Your  father,  Winifred,"  the  Warden  re- 
I^eated  solemnly.  "We  need  a  man  with  mod- 


THAT  tOVEIIS  IT 

^  A  California  authoress  sent 
^  a  manuscript  to  Ambrose 
Bierce  with  the  request  that 
he  sive  her  a  "crilieism  in  one 
sentence  and  drop  further 
comment."  He  replied:  "The 
covers  of  your  hook  are  too 
far  apart." 


em  views  who  is  sensitive  to  young  minds, 
a  man  interested  in  music  and  science  as 
well  as  the  humanities.  You  will  readily  see, 
Winifred,  that  your  father  is  eminently  fitted 
for  this  post."  * 

"Oh,  Warden  Godstow,  how  swell— how 
wizard,  I  mean,"  she  exclaimed. 

The  Warden  hadn't  noticed  the  slip,  for 
the  racket  in  the  dining  room  had  become 
terrific. 

"Play  Casey  Jones,"  Wincy  heard  some- 
one shout. 

They  all  joined  in  with  their  barber- 
shop harmony. 

The  Warden  was  fascinated.  "Delight- 
ful," he  shouted,  in  order  to  make  himself 
heard.  "  Isn't  it  delightful? " 

Wincy  didn't  think  so.  "Rather  crude," 
she  said. 

"But,  Winifred,"  the  old  gentleman  ex- 
claimed, disappointed,  "I  thought  you  liked 
American  music." 

"I  do.  But  madrigals  are  ever  so  much 
nicer." 

The  Warden  laughed.  "Well,  I  see  you 
are  becoming  a  little  insular,"  he  said. 
"Young  people  often  are.  But  never  fear, 
Winifred.  You  will  appreciate  these  things, 
too,  when  you  are  my  age." 

"Come  and  meet  the  American  soldiers," 
Wincy  begged. 

"Yes,"  he  said — and  added  in  a  whisper, 
"I've  brought  my  flute." 

At  the  door  of  the  dining  room,  the  Warden 
stopped,  blinking.  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Turner  came  forward  in  welcome. 

"I've  come  in.  Turner,  to  tell  you,"  the 
Warden  began,  "that   at   the  meeting  of 

the  Fellows  this  evening " 

Wincy  did  not  hear  the 
rest  of  Warden  Godstow's 
announcement.  The  door- 
bell had  clanged  again. 

Francois  was  at  the  door. 
He  would  not  join  the 
party,  as  there  was  no 
time,  he  said.  He  had 
only  come  for  a  moment. 
He  stood  looking  down  at 
Wincy  with  a  troubled  ex- 
pression.  She  asked: 

"Have     you     heard 

about  the  Warden?" 

"Yes.  As  soon  as  father  came  home,  I 
knew  by  his  face  that  he  hadn't " 

"I'm  sorry  about  Doctor  Quelch," 
Wincy  broke  in.  "Was  he  terribly  disap- 
pointed?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  he  cares.  He  wasn't  so 
keen  for  it,  really.  It  was  mother." 

Wincy  nodded.  Poor  Mrs.  Quelch  must 
feel  frightfully  after  pulling  all  those  wires. 

"I'm  glad  for  your  sake,  Wincy,"  Francis 
said,  "that  it's  your  father.  That's  what  I 
came  to  say." 

"Oh,"  Wincy  exclaimed.  Was  that  all  he 
had  come  to  say?  "Tell  me,"  she  begged 
shyly,  "was  it  because  I  was  evacuated  that 
you  "    She  didn't  know  how  to  put  it. 

But  Francis  understood.  He  was  reading 
her  thoughts  again,  only  they  were  hard  to 
answer.  He  stared  at  the  floor.  "I  didn't 
think  there  was  mi^h  use,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I  mean,  you  were  so  frightfully  keen  about 
America  and  all  those  people " 

"Francis,  guess  what — I'm  going  to 
Somerville." 

He  looked  surprised.  "But  I  thought  you 
wanted  to  go  to  that  college  where  your  fos- 
ter cousin  is." 

"Oh — Radclifife.  No,  I  don't  want  to  go 
there.  I  think  Somerville  will  be  heaps  bet- 
ter for  the  England  of  Tomorrow." 

"You  mean,"  Francis  said— and  his  face 
was  like  the  sun  suddenly  coming  out  from 
behind  a  cloud — "you  mean  you're  going  to 
stop  in  England  after  the  war?" 

"Naturallv,"  Wincy  answered  impa- 
tiently. 

"Wincy "  he  exclaimed. 

"I'd  love  to  go  to  America  for  a  visit." 

"Oh,"  Francis  put  in  quickly,  "I'd  like 
I  hat  too." 

Wincy 's  heart  soared.  "I'll  show  it  all  to 
you,"  she  said  happily.  "Belmont  and 
Scituate,  and  we'll  go  skiing  in  Vermont. 
But  of  course  I  want  to  live  in  England." 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


103 


Wh 


y  doQS 

TAMPAX 


sen  so 


womQin  ? 


Millions  of  women 
now  use  Tampax  for 
monthly  sanitary  protection  and 
they  give  dozens  of  reasons  for  pre- 
ferring the  Tampax  method.  Here 
are  twelve  of  the  most  popular 
points  of  appeal: 

"Modern  as  tomorrowl" 
"No  pins  or  belts" 
"Quick  to  change" 
"You  feel  so  free!" 
"Odor  can't  form'* 
"So  neat  and  dainty" 
"Worn  internally" 
"No  bulges  to  show" 
"Handy  to  carry" 
"Can  go  in  swimming" 
"Improves  the  poise" 
"Easy  disposal" 

Tampax  is  made  of  pure  cotton, 
compressed  in  dainty  applicators  for 
quick  and  easy  insertion.  Perfected 
■  by  a  physician,  Tampax  comes  in  3 
absorbencies  (Regular,  Super,  Junior) 
to  suit  individual  needs.  Sold  at 
drug  stores,  notion  counters.  A 
whole  month's  average  supply  will 
go  into  your  purse.  Economy  Box 
contains  4  months'  supply.  Tampax 
Incorporated,  Palmer,  Mass. 


3  absorbencies  < 


REGULAR 

SUPER 

JUNIOR 


■ptedfor  Advertising 

be  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


AVKK  INCORPORATED 
oet,  Mass. 


LHJ-45-F 


ease  send  me  in  plain  wrapper  a  trial  package  of 
ipax.  I  enclose  10(i  (stamps  or  silver)  to  cover  cost 
tailing.  Size  is  checked  below. 


(      )  SUPER 


(     )  JUNIOB 


ress_ 


_State_ 


"Oh,  Wincy,"  he  said,  and  his  Adam's 
apple  began  to  work,  "how  dim  of  me.  I 
was  afraid  we  couldn't  join  on  those  jobs.  I 
mean,  I  couldn't  live  in  a  strange  country, 
but  if  you'll  stay  in  England " 

"Silly,"  Wincy  said  softly,  "that  was 
what  I  intended  doing  all  along.  Francis, 
do  you  know  how  long  it  is  since  that  day 
we  met  on  Folly  Bridge?" 

"Three  months,"  he  answered  instantly. 

"You  know,"  Wincy  said,  happily,  "it's 
been  like  tuning  up  for  a  duet:  we  started 
with  a  different  pitch — one  sharp,  the  other 
flat — and  then  we  came  closer  and  closer, 
till  we  were  in  tune." 

Very  reluctantly,  Francis  turned  to  go. 
"Cheerio,"  he  said  hoarsely,  opening  the 
door.  "Wincy,"  he  whispered,  "do  you  re- 
member, in  the  War  Memorial  Garden  at 
Christ  Church — you  know,  on  the  ground — 
'My  sword  I  give  to  him '" 

"I  remember,"  Wincy  said  solemnly. 

"'My  sword  I  give  to  him  that  shall  suc- 
ceed me  in  my  pilgrimage,'"  Francis  said. 
"I'm  giving  it  to  you."  And  he  was  gone. 

Wincy  could  not  bear  to  go  back  to  the 
party.  She  flopped  on  the  monk's  bench, 
repeating  the  words  to  herself,  over  and 
over,  like  a  charm.  "My  sword  I  give  to 
him — I'm  giving  it  to  you." 

"Has  everyone  had  a  turn  at  ducking?" 
Mrs.  Turner  asked.  "Where's  Wincy?" 

"I'll  find  her,"  Warden  Godstow  offered, 
and  he  came  out  into  the  passage  in  one  of 
Angus'  orange  hats.  "A  bit  of  America 
transplanted  to  Banbury  Road — what?" 
he  exclaimed. 

Wincy  considered.  "I  don't  think  it  can 
be  done,  really — do  you.  Warden?  I  mean, 
it's  sort  of  silly  to  try." 

"I  should  say  you'd  been  quite  success- 
ful," the  old  gentleman  said.  "Not  since  the 
invasion  of  Poland  have  I  seen  such  happy 
faces — not  since  Munich " 

"I  don't  mean  the  party,"  Wincy  ex- 
plained. "Just — trying  to  do  things  here  the 
way  we  did  in  Belmont.  Instead  of  looking 
about  at  England,  when  we  first  came  home, 
Angus  and  I  wanted  to  make  everything 
over^ " 

"A  I'Americaine,"  the  Warden  put  in. 

Wincy  smiled.  When  Doctor  Quelch  had 
recited  "Oh,  to  be  in  England  now  that 
April's  there,"  she  could  only  picture  Mr. 
Thurman  at  Agassiz.  How  changed  she  was. 

"And  whoever  wakes  in  England  sees " 

she  said  to  herself,  thinking  of  the  rest  of  the 
poem.  She  was  waking  and  seeing  very  fast. 

"  Come  and  have  your  turn  in  the  washing 
tub,"  the  Warden  iirged.  He  drew  Wincy  into 
the  bright  kitchen  and  led  her  to  the  tub. 
There  were  puddles  everywhere,  but  Mrs. 
Turner  did  not  seem  to  mind.  She  was  hand- 
ing out  towels  lavishly. 

If  only  Francis  could  have  stayed  for  the 
party.  He  would  have  liked  these  stunts. 
Someday  the  war  would  be  over;  Francis 
and  Mark  would  come  home.  They  would 
have  tons  of  parties  like  this. 

The  war  would  be  over !  But  life  wouldn't 
be  a  round  of  fun  and  parties,  Wincy  told 
herself.  It  would  take  a  great  deal  of  work 
to  set  England  to  rights  again. 

She  felt  powerful,  suddenly  —  strong 
enough,  almost,  to  put  up  those  houses  with 
her  hands — underpinning,  side  walls,  roof- 
trees — she  could  see  them  rising  from  the 
rubble.  She  knew  she  was  capable  of  doing 
things,  even  such  great  ones  as  putting  Eng- 
land to  rights.  After  all,  it  hadn't  been  easy 
to  put  thi.igs  right  in  Banbury  Road,  but  she 
had  managed  that.  They  were  right  now. 

Very  right,  oh,  very,  Wincy  thought, 
watching  her  mother  mop  Horny's  dripping 
head  while  he,  sprawled  in  cook's  chair, 
munched  the  apple  he  had  retrieved  from  the 
tub.  The  professor  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
kitchen,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back, 
trying  without  success  to  bite  into  an  apple 
that  dangled  from  the  ceiling. 

Yes,  Wincy  thought,  she  would  surely  be 
able  to  set  things  to  rights  in  England.  After 
all,  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  ducked  into  the 
icy  water  and  came  up  with  an  apple  in  her 
teeth,  I've  had  heaps  of  experience. 

(THE  END) 


^ 


Going  bye-bye's  no  chore 
when  feet  are  fit 


'^ 


And  feet  thrive  on  the  wise  "mothering"  they  get 
from  shoes  that  are  strict  about  fit,  but  easy  in 
action.  That,  of  course,  means  Enna  Jetticks! 


ENNA  JETTICK  SHOES,  INC. 
Auburn,  N.  Y. 


kmeT\ca'%    Smartest    Walking    Shoes 


104 


April,  I'MI 


WHAT'S   HAPPENED   TO   MARY? 

(Continy.ed  from  Page  23) 


How  fitting,  now  that 
music  fills  the  soft  spring 
nights  and  city  lights 
bloom  beneath  a 
tranquil  sky,  to  herald 
earth  grown  gay 
again  with  "Bond  Street" 
.  .  .  the  great  perfume 
by  Yardley  which 
has  graced  so  many  such 
romantic  seasons. 
For  added  witchery,  its 
scent  enhances  Yardley 
"English  Complexion" 
powder  and  lipstick. 


BOND  STREET"  P«rfum«! 
t13.50,  S8.S0,  $4.50.  S2.S0. 
Powder:  8  "Engllih  Com- 
plexion" ihado,  SI.  LIpidck: 
In  ifflart-lor-ipring   colon,  SI 

ADD  20%   rEDIRAL  TAX 


of  a  girl  in  a  blue  dress,  and  suddenly  I  got 
such  a  crazy,  homesick  feeling  to  get  Mary 
in  my  arms  again  that  I  couldn't  get  out  of 
there  fast  enough. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  taxi  dropped  me  out- 
side her  door.  I  stood  there,  waiting,  burn- 
ing up  inside,  the  cold,  sleety  rain  drumming 
on  the  porch  roof,  and  blowing  the  bare 
vines  in  against  me. 

The  door  opened  and  I  saw  Mary's 
mother.  She  was  a  small  woman  with 
fluffy  gray-brown  hair  and  glasses. 

"George — it's  really  you!  Come  in- 
come in!  Isn't  it  a  miserable  night?  I've  got 
coffee  on  the  stove.  George,  darling,  it's 
such  a  comfort  to  see  you!" 

"Where's  Mary?"  ' 

"Here,  put  your  coat  right  here — it'll  dry 
out.  Mary  hasn't  come  in  yet.  It's  the 
weather,  of  course.  I  suppose  she  had  to  take 
it  awfully  easy  over  the  ridge  tonight — full 
load  and  all.  I  could  just  cry  about  it — she 
was  so  anxious  to  get  home  early— ordinary 
nights  she'd  have  been  here  at  seven.  She'll 
be  wild,  knowing  you  got  here  first." 

"Look,  Mrs.  Baker — you  trying  to  tell 
me  Mary's  driving  that  big  bus  over  High 
Ridge  tonight?  Mary?  Why,  the  road  will 
be  frozen  to  glare  ice  at  that  altitude — if  it's 
not  blocked  by  snowfall.  Mrs.  Baker,  who's 
crazy  around  here?" 

She  was  setting  cofTee,  sugar  and  cream  in 
front  of  me.  Her  little  chin,  pointed  like 
Mary's,  was  trembling.  "I  know,  George. 
1  know  how  it  must  seem  to  you,  being 
away  like  you  have.  But,  you  see,  the  bus 
company  was  up  against  it.  They  couldn't 
get  drivers — all  the  men  were  gone — only 
Charlie  Banner  left.  Somebody  had  to 
do  it." 

"But  on  a  night  like  this " 

"Mr.  Wilcox  didn't  consider  the  weather 
was  bad  enough  at  four  o'clock  this  after- 
ncjon  to  cancel  the  run,"  Mrs.  Baker  said, 
"and  of  course  Mary  couldn't  ask  for  special 
privileges.  Charlie  Banner  was  taking  the 
other  bus  through." 

"Why  the  heck  couldn't  she  ask  for  special 
privileges?  This  Charlie's  a  man,  and  Mary's 
a  little  slip  of  a  girl!  Who's  running  this 
outfit  now?   I'd  like  to  talk  to  him!" 

"Mr.  Wilcox.  Alan  Wilcox."  Mrs.  Baker 
sat  down  opposite  me.  "You  don't  under- 
stand, George.  You  don't  realize  how  Mary 
lias  changed.  She's  so— so  conscientious  and 
responsible.  Mr.  Wilcox  considers  her  the 
steadiest  driver  he  has."  He— he  thinks 
Mary's  wonderful." 


"Does  he?"  Once  I  had  thought  Mary 
was  wonderful,  too,  but  not  because  she  was 
responsible  and  conscientious.  I  sat  scowl- 
ing at  the  clock  over  the  table.  "What  time 
did  you  say  she  should  have  got  in?" 


she 
she 


had 

was 


Seven  o'clock.    Oh,  George, 
everything    planned — the    dress 
going  to  wear " 

"It's  past  eight-thirty.  I'm  going  to  talk 
to  this  Wilcox."  I  got  up  and  walked  over 
to  the  telephone.  "What's  the  number?" 

Mrs.  Baker  looked  down  at  her  hands,  and 
her  head  shook  faintly.  "It's  no  use,"  she 
murmured.  "I  called  just  before  you  came 
in.  I've  called  three  times  in  the  past  hour. 
He  just  says  all  the  busses  are  late  tonight, 
and  not  to  worry.  He'll  let  me  know  the 
minute  he  hears  anything." 

I  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment.  The  ' 
back  of  her  neck  had  a  small,  helpless  look. 
Mrs.  Baker  could  never  run  a  bus.  An  egg 
beater  was  just  about  her  limit.  I  had  a 
funny  thought:  maybe  I  should  have  been 
born  in  Mrs.  Baker's  generation;  maybe  I'd 
have  got  on  with  her  better  than  with  Mary. 

I  cleared  my  throat.  "My  old  car  still 
running?" 

"Oh,  yes.  It'3  out  back  now— in  the 
shed." 

"Then  suppose  I  take  a  run  down  to  the 
bus  depot.  Maybe  I  can  pick  up  some  road 
reports  or  something." 

I  felt  the  force  of  the  wind  when  I  backed 
the  car  out  against  it.  It  gave  me  a  bad,  icy 
feeling  inside,  different  from  any  time  I'd 
ever  been  scared  for  myself.  A  few  minutes 
later  I  walked  into  the  glaring  lights  of  the 
depot. 

I  went  into  the  office  and  asked  for  Wilcox. 
I  thought  I  felt  a  tenseness  in  here,  a  waiting 
for  something.  I  didn't  like  it.  The  girl  I 
spoke  to  nodded  silently  toward  a  smooth- 
faced, dark-haired  man  talking  into  a  phone. 
A  couple  of  emergency-crew  men  stood  at  a 
doorway  opening  into  the  garage.  A  truck's, 
engine  was  bumbling  away  just  outside. 

The  smooth-faced  man  said,  "All  right — 
I've  got  it.  A  mile  this  side  of  the  pass.  Now 
listen — just  give  me  an  idea,  can  you?  How 
many'shurt?" 

I  said  to  the  girl,  "What  bus  is  he  talking 
about?" 

"There's  been  an  accident.  There  were 
two  sections  out  of  Slater  Springs  up  over 
High  Ridge.  The  rancher  who's  calling 
doesn't  know  which  one  went  off  the  road." 

Wilcox  set  down  the  phone.  He  turned  to 
the  men  waiting  in  the  doorway.   "Start 


BY   IHARrEI.KIVE  COX 


A  WOMAN  who  does  not  get  up  in  time  to 
_  make  herself  attractive  at  the  breakfast 
table  would  do  her  family  more  spiritual 
good  by  remaining  in  bed. 

The  quickest  way  to  get  a  husband  to  re- 
pair household  equipment  is  to  let  him  take 
over  his  wife's  work  for  a  day. 

Politeness  in  an  individual  is  as  necessary 
as  paint  on  both  sides  of  a  fence,  for  a  person, 
like  a  fence,  faces  out  as  well  as  in. 

It  is  possible  to  tell  by  a  boy's  face  whether 
or  not  he  owns  a  dog. 

Some  mothers  who  rejoice  over  the  birth 
of  their  sons  often  end  by  trying  to  make 
girls  of  them. 

An  eye-attracting  breakfast  is  as  impor- 
tant to  a  child  as  the  first  line  of  a  story  to  a 
reader. 

Dieting,  for  some  women,  consists  only  of 
more  food  for  conversation. 


She  has  a  small  vocabulary  but  a  large 
turnover. 

Old  men  working  ambitiously  at  their 
jobs  and  old  cars  going  enthusiastically 
along  the  highway  should  serve  as  warning, 
after  this,  against  discarding  valuable  com- 
modities. 

To  give  away  a  child's  possessions  forcibly 
does  not  teach  sharing,  but  only  the  right  of 
might. 

She  had  an  idea  she  had  been  tuned  to 
concert  pitch. 

One  good  thing  the  tire  and  gasoline  short- 
age has  accomplished  is  to  make  us  realize 
that  children's  legs  can  carry  them  to  school. 

We  did  not  know  whether  to  rejoice  or 
mourn  when  our  small  son  announced  that 
he  was  the  fourth  toughest  boy  in  his  room. 

When  a  good  little  boy  doesn't  behave 
like  a  nice  little  girl,  he  is  often  called  bad. 


New... 
a  Cream  Deodorant 

which  Safely  helps 

Stop  Perspiration 

1.  Does  not  irritate  sicin. 
Does  not  rot  dresses  or 
men's  shirts. 

2. Prevents  under-arm  odor. 
Helps  stop  perspira- 
tion safely. 

3.  A  pure,  white,  antiseptic, 
stainless  vanishing  cream. 

4.  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be 
used  right  after  shaving. 

5.  Awarded  Approval  Seal  of 
American  Institute  of 
Laundering  —  harmless  to 
fabric.  Use  Arrid  regularly. 


39 


piuB  ux   Alio  59»i  size 


ARRID 

MORE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  USE  ARRID 
THAN  ANr  OTHER  DEODORANT 


105 

rolling,  boys.  It  went  over  about  a  mile  this 
side  of  the  pass."  He  spoke  to  the  girl.  "Get 
the  hospital  and  tell  them  to  send  out  the 
ambulance.  This  fellow's  too  excited — 
I  couldn't  get  much  out  of  him." 

My  mouth  felt  stiff.  I  said,  "Which  bus 
was  Mary  Baker  driving?" 

Wilcox  seemed  to  see  me  for  the  first  time. 
"You  a  friend  of  hers?" 

"Yeah.   Is  she  hurt?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  Slater  Springs  depot 
says  she  was  trailing  when  the  two  busses 
left  there.  I  can't  believe  it's  Miss  Baker. 
She's  been  over  that  pass  in  worse  weather 
than  this." 

I  said,  "Can  I  use  the  phone?" 

"Certainly.  Help  yourself." 

I  called  Mrs.  Baker  and  said,  "Word  just 
came  in — Mary's  bus  is  stalled  in  a  drift. 
I'm  going  out  to  help  open  the  road.  Don't 
worry,  mom — I'll  have  her  home  inside  of 
an  hour." 

I  set  down  the  phone  and  took  a  couple 
of  steps  toward  Wilcox. 

I  said,  "They  ought  to  lock  you  up.  You 
and  all  the  fools  who  think  any  woman  can 
take  on  a  man's  job,  just  because  she  says 
she  can.  Let  enough  things  like  this  happen, 
and  maybe  you'll  learn " 

I  don't  know  what  he  answered.  I  got  out 
of  there.  I  swung  the  car  west  on  42.  I  saw 
the  red  lights  of  the  ambulance  move  onto 
Main  Street.  Two  miles  out  I  overtook  the 
truck  and  passed  it.  About  then  I  was  re- 
membering that  I  had  called  Mrs.  Baker 
"mom,"  and  wondering  how  that  would  sit 
with  her.  I  didn't  care;  in  a  way,  I  felt 
closer  to  her  now  than  I  did  to  Mary. 

Now  the  road  began  to  lift,  and  the  rain 
on  the  windshield  was  turning  to  wet,  smeary 
snow.  It  was  still  melting  on  the  pavement. 
There 'd  be  six  miles  of  this  easy  climb,  then 
the  pass  grading  would  start,  and  I'd  have 
to  watch  it. 

Once  or  twice  on  the  curves,  I  caught  sight 
of  the  ambulance  lights.  It  was  making 
time,  but  I'd  pull  away  on  the  tough  grade. 
My  mind  was  all  kind  of  numb  and  empty. 
There  was  trouble  ahead,  but  I  hadn't  bit 
down  on  it  yet.  The  thing  was  to  get  there. 

I  hit  the  grade  at  forty,  and  the  first  hair- 
pin turn  almost  threw  me.  Now  I  was  in  a 
white  world;  the  snow  lay  so  even  that  it 
was  hard  to  tell  where  the  road  divided  the 
shoulders.  At  Jack's  Woods  there  was  a 
cattle  outfit,  and  I  saw  the  tracks  of  another 
car.  That  would  be  the  rancher  who  had 
telephoned. 

Two  miles  beyond  timber  line  I  saw  lights. 
I  eased  up  on  the  gas,  and  then  the  thing 
came  into  sight — the  big  bulk  of  the  bus 
lying  over  on  its  side.  There  were  a  couple 
of  red  lanterns  lighting  it  up.  I  slid  my  car 
against  one  of  the  snow-covered  retaining 
walls  and  cut  the  motor. 

Somebody  picked  up  one  of  the  lanterns 
and  ran  toward  me. 

"You  a  doctor?" 

"No — he's  right  behind  me.  Anybody 
hurt  bad?"  That  wasn't  the  question  I 
wanted  to  ask.  I  think  I  was  too  scared 
to  ask  it. 

"Guy  driving  the  bus.  He's  pretty  bad, 
I  guess.  Most  of  'em  just  kind  of  bruised  up. 
The  girl's  got  'em  inside — she's  taking  care 
of  'em." 

The  guy— the  girl.  The  words  moved  into 
my  mind  and  opened  up,  slow  and  big.  Now 
I  realized  I  was  walking  fast,  following  the 
man,  the  snow  flying  like  feathers  in  our 
faces.  We  rounded  a  little  turn,  and  now  I 
could  see  the  other  bus,  standing  solid  and 
reassuring  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Suddenly  I  remembered:  "Slater  Springs 
depot  says  she  was  trailing  when  the  two 
busses  left  there."  That  meant  Mary  had 
been  right  behind — the  first  one  to  find  the 
thing.  And  I  remembered  something  else — 
Wilcox's  confident,  "  I  can't  believe  it's  Miss 
Baker."  So  Wilcox  had  been  right. 

Somebody  had  built  a  bonfire  at  the  side 
of  the  road,  and  several  people  were  huddled 
close  around  it.  Mary  wasn't  there,  and  I 
went  on  up  to  the  door  of  the  bus. 

Then  I  saw  her.  I  felt  a  sharp  wrench,  as 
though  all  my  insides  had  turned  over,  and 
I  stood  there  a  moment,  one  foot  on  the 


Br/sf/ec/ m'/Zf  FX/OA/'!. .  G/assec//brp/o/ec//on 


SEALED  IN  GLASS 

This  vital  health  safeguard 
is  the  greatest  plus  value  ever 
put  in  a  toothbrush.  And  it 
v/as  originated  by  Dr.  West's. 
To  nlav  .s,ife  .  .  .  get  a,^ir- 


"EXTON"  BRAND  BRISTIING 

Different!  Protected  by  the 
only  patent  ever  granted  for 
waterproofing  a  brush.  "Ex- 
ton"  brand  bristling  won't 
Rnlit.    break    off  nr    shed 


xaMmmm 


IT'S  WATERPROOFED,  ANTI-SOGGY 

Extra  cleansing  power  in 
every  brush -stroke!  That's 
what  you  get  with  Miracle- 
Tuft.  Exclusive,  patented 
wateriH-Qfl  " 


106 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


CLEVER  GIRL,  Sergeant  Bill's  wife.  She's 
making  a  sciapbook  of  swell  home- 
making  ideas  clipped  from  the  maga- 
zines. It's  fun. 

Bill's  going  to  be  mighty  proud  of  her 
when  he  gets  home  from  the  wars . . .  and 
he'll  pat  her  on  the  back  for  her  wise 
choice  of  electric  clocks,  too  . . .  every 
one  a  Seth  Thomas. 
Bill  knows  Seth  Thomas  .  .  ."the  finest  name  in  clocks."  Knows 
they're  traditionally  famed  for  accuracy  and  that  they  continue 
to  tell  dependable  time  for  years  on  end.  Why?  Because  fine 
quality  and  smart  appearance  are  a  happy  team  in  all  Seth  Thomas 
self-starting  electric  clocks. 

Right  now  Bill's  wife  is  buying  War  Bonds  . . .  saving  for  their 
home.  And  at  Seth  Thomas,  all  our  facilities  are  turning  out  pre- 
cision instruments  and  intricate  timing  devices  needed  to  help 
win  the  war.  So  Seth  Thomas  clocks  are  not  now  available.  But 
perhaps  before  long  you'U  see  beautiful  Seth  Thomas  self- 
starting  electric  and  spring-wound  clocks  in  better  stores  every- 
where. Look  for  them.  You'll  be  glad  you  waited. 


X^     Ir      SETH     THOMAS     CLOCKS,     THOMASTON,      CONNECTICUT 

GXI 


^i.1         A    division    of   GENERAL     TIME     INSTRUMENTS     CORPORATION 


SETH    THOMAS    IS    REG.    U.  8.   PAT.  OFF. 


Seth  Thomas  Clocks 

SELF-STARTING   ELECTRIC   OR    SPRING-WOUND 


step,  looking  in  through  the  window.  She 
was  leaning  over  somebody  that  was  laid 
out  on  the  back  seat,  doing  something  to  his 
shoulder,  and  I  could  see  her  profile  and  one 
smudged  cheek.  She  had  on  some  kind  of 
uniform,  wet  and  bedraggled-looking.  I 
opened  the  door  and  crouched  into  the  aisle. 

She  said  sharply,  hardly  glancing  up, 
"Shut  the  door,  please — I'm  trying  to  keep 
this  place  warm." 

"Mary." 

She  turrked  then.  Five  or  six  people,  some 
sitting,  some  lying  on  the  seats,  turned,  too, 
and  they  watched,  their  faces  sickly  white 
in  the  overhead  light,  while  we  moved  to- 
ward each  other. 

"George,"  she  said  very  low,  and  her  hand 
went  uncertainly  to  her  hair  and  the  streak 
of  grease  on  her  cheek,  and  then  she  smiled, 
a  queer,  shaky  smile.  "  It's  kind  of  a  funny 
place  for  a  reunion,  isn't  it?" 

"  Is  that  what  they  call  understatement?  " 

The  ambulance  was  outside  now,  and  was 
edging  into  place. 

I  said  briskly,  "Okay,  relax — there's  your 
relief.  Is  there  any  reason  why  I  can't  take 
you  home  now?" 

"Well,  I — I  have  to  take  the  bus  in." 

"Not  on  your  life.  You're  going  with  me." 

The  door  opened,  and  I  saw  Wilcox  and  a 
man  who  looked  like  a  doctor.  Wilcox  began 
to  talk  right  away.  "You've  been  simply 
splendid.  Miss  Baker — splendid.  They  tell 
me  it  was  you  insisted  on  getting  Charlie 

out,    that   otherwise   he  might   have 

Now  let's  have  a  look " 

I  said,  my  voice  rough  as  a  file  in  my 
throat,  "Maybe  you're  grateful  enough  to 
give  her  the  rest  of  the  night  off.  I'd  like  to 
take  Miss  Baker  home — personally — in  my 
car." 

"Why — certainly."   He  gave  me  a  look. 
It  had  everything  in  it.  He  didn't  need  words 
now  to  answer   my  out- 
burst in  his  office.  Then       I^^H^^^H 
he  turned  back  to  Mary. 
"I  hope  you  haven't  tired 
yourself.  Miss  Baker.  Get 
a  good  night's  rest.  Shall 
I  see  you  tomorrow?" 

"Sure."  She  gave  a  last 
look  around  the  bus,  at 
the  white,  pinched-looking 
faces.  She  said  in  a  tired,  ■■^■■IHI 
tough  little  voice,  "Same 
time,  same  station."  Then  she  followed  me 
out  into  the  snow. 

She  sat  small  and  straight  beside  me  in  the 
car,  her  head  not  much  higher  than  my 
shoulder.  But  not  on  it — no,  brother,  not 
on  it!  This  girl  didn't  need  anybody's 
shoulder. 

There  was  a  kind  of  mean,  bitter  boiling 
inside  me.  I  began  to  talk,  and  nothing  I 
said  was  anything  like  I'd  planned  to  say 
the  first  night  I  was  home. 

You  certainly  are  the  fair-haired  girl. 
It's  not  enough  to  take  on  a  man's  job — you 
have  to  be  a  heroine  too.  You  have  to  save 
somebody's  life.  Some  poor  worm  of  a  guy 
who  lost  his  head.  Say,  what  kind  of  a 
country  is  this,  anyway?  Talk  about  squeeze 
plays!  Soon's  we're  out  of  the  way,  the 
women  take  over,  and  do  everything  a  little 
bit  better  than  it's  ever  been  done  before. 
Sure,  I'm  proud  of  you!  I've  got  pride  so 
big  it's  like  a  lump  in  my  throat  I  can't 
swallow." 

"Maybe  you'll  find  out  we  have  a  little 
more  in  common  than  when  you  went  away," 
she  told  me. 

I  said,  "Listen — when  I  want  a  pal,  I'll 
find  a  man.  I  don't  go  for  this  pal  stufif  when 
it  comes  to  my  girl.  Some  men  may  be 
different.  This  Wilcox  now — I  bet  he's  great 
on  pals.  I  bet  he'd  make  a  wonderful  buddy. 
Or  perhaps  you've  already  tried  him  out." 
I  had  no  business  saying  that,  and  I  knew  it. 
But  the  way  she  sat  there,  quiet,  competent. 

"It's  funny,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 
"I  never  thought  tonight  would  be  like  this. 
I'd  imagined  it  all  so  differently." 

It  occurred  to  me  for  the  first  time  that 
she  might  have  looked  forward  to  this  night 
too— that  it  might  have  meant  something 
special  to  her.  Well,  how  had  she  imagined 


BALANCE 

^  You  might  as  well  fall  flat 
^  on  your  face  as  lean  over 
too  far  barkward. 

—JAMES  THURBER. 
Fables  fof  Our  Time  (Harper  and  Bros.) 


April,  1945 

it,  then?  I  didn't  know.  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  her. 

Neither  of  us  said  anything  more  the  rest 
of  the  way  home. 

Mrs.  Baker  was  on  the  telephone  when 
we  came  in.  She  looked  over  at  us,  and  relief 
washed  over  her  face,  and  when  she  turned 
back  to  the  phone  her  voice  got  high  and 
excited. 

"She's  just  come  in  this  minute!  She'll 
tell  you  all  about  it.  You  can  speak  to  her 
yourself."  She  put  her  hand  over  the  mouth- 
piece. "  Mary — it's  a  reporter  from  the  news- 
paper. He  wants  to  hear  all  about  the  acci- 
dent. Mary,  he  wants  to  put  your  picture 
in  the  paper.  Think  of  that ! " 

1  STOOD  th«-e,  feeling  just  about  as  impor- 
tant as  a  fly  on  the  ceiling,  listening  to  Mary 
talk  to  the  reporter.  Her  voice  was  perfectly 
matter-of-fact.  You'd  think  she  saved  a  lif« 
every  week  or  so.  When  she  was  through,  she 
sat  there  for  a  moment,  staring  absently  a| 
the  tear  in  her  sleeve. 

Suddenly  she  swung  around  toward  he 
mother.  "Where's  my  dress?  Did  it  come? ' 

Mrs.  Baker's  hands  fluttered  helplessly 
"Oh,  Mary — it  didn't!  I  called  the  cleaners 
this  afternoon,  and  they  said  it  wouldn't  be 
ready  till  tomorrow."  | 

"  Wouldn't  be  ready !  But  they  promised  j 
I  told  them  how  important  it  was." 

"I  know,  darling.  I  tried  everything.  I 
offered  to  walk  into  town,  in  spite  of  the 
weather,  and  get  it  myself.  But  no — it 
wasn't  ready.  I  was  just  furious  with  them ! " 

This  was  all  double  talk  to  me.  Why  all 
this  about  a  dress?  You'd  think  they  were 
discussing  something  serious.  And  then, 
while  I  was  still  trying  to  work  it  out,  Mary 
sank  down  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  stair- 
case and  burst  into  tears.  Her  voice  was  all 
choked  up,  and  it  was  hard  for  me  to  catch 
what  she  was  saying,  but 
■■■■I^^^H  I  got  some  of  it.  She  was 
talking  to  me. 

"It's  what  I'd  been 
counting  on!  It  was  the 
dress  you  always  liked— 
the  blue  one.  I'd  planned 
to  be  wearing  it  when  you 
got  here.  And  tonight, 
when  you  walked  into 
^■^^^^■i  that  bus,  and  then  all  the 
way  back,  knowing  I 
looked  so  awful,  and  you  were  saying  such 
awful  things,  I  kept  thinking,  'Wait  till  I 
get  home  and  get  fixed  up,  and  put  on  the 
blue  dress!'  I  thought,  "Then  he'll  love  me 
again.'  And  now — it's  not  here." 

I  felt  something  go  soft  inside  my  chest. 
I  went  over  and  sat  down  on  the  step  beside 
Mary.  I  pulled  her  head  against  my  shoul- 
der. "Heck,  what's  all  this  about?  Listen, 
baby — you're  just  tired,  that's  all.  I  came 
home  to  see  you,  not  a  dress.  You'd  look 
wonderful  to  me  in  a  potato  sack." 

I  met  Mrs.  Baker's  eye  over  Mary's  head. 
I  expected  that  we'd  exchange  an  amused 
smile  at  the  idea  of  anybody  getting  so  ex- 
cited over  nothing. 

But  Mrs.  Baker  wasn't  smiling.  She  said 
indignantly,  "It's  a  shame.  She  was  set  on 
wearing  that  dress.  She  even  bought  a  blue 
flower  to  wear  irt  her  hair." 

"A  blue  flower,"  I  said.  "Think  of  that.'' 

But  what  I  was  thinking  was  this:  They 
don't  change  so  much,  after  all.  Let  them  wear 
overalls,  let  them  work  a  riveting  machine,  let 
them  drive  a  bus.  They're  still  women.  Mary 
and  her  mother  still  talked  the  same  lan- 
guage. . 

And  I  began  to  remember  her  as  I  had 
first  seen  her  tonight — a  tough,  tired,  be- 
draggled little  kid,  doing  a  man-size  job, 
because  there  wasn't  any  man  around  to  do 
it.  And  the  pride  came  up  in  me  again,  only 
this  time  it  wasn't  like  a  lump  in  my  throat; 
it  was  warm  and  good.  I  felt  a  little  shamed 
and  awed  that  she  could  go  through  all  that 
and  then  come  home  and  cry  about  a  dress 
that  hadn't  come  back  from  the  cleaners. 
But  it  was  a  contented  feeling,  like  when 
men  say  comfortably,  "You  can't  under-« 
stand  women,  no  use  to  try." 

I  leaned  over  and  kissed  Mary's  ear.  "Go 
up  and  pin  on  the  flower.  A  blue  flower's  all 
I  need,  right  now,  to  mow  me  down." 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


tUd^^/f/t^ 


1/uce' 


w/.en  purcfiased_ 


fi: 


/ 


'--T 


-r 


>..for  a  Quality  Vacuum  Cleaner? 


We  think  we  know  what  your  answer  will  be.  You 
don't  want  to  pay  any  more  than  you  have  to  for  the 
quality  product  you  insist  upon. 

That's  why  we  feel  sure  you  will  go  to  yovu  electrical  ap- 
pliance dealer  when  you  buy  yovu:  next  vacuum  cleaner. 

You  see,  you  can  get  a  Premier  from  your  dealer  for 
less— because  your  dealer  makes  it  possible  for  Premier 
to  eliminate  the  excessive  costs  of  maintaining  house- 
to-house  salesmen  or  any  other  selling  procedure  involv- 
ing home  demonstrations  and  sales  concluded  in  your 
home.  Your  dealer  is  fully  equipped  and  prepared  to 
give  you  a  complete  in-the-store  demonstration  of  any 
Premier  Cleaner. 


Until  new  Premiers   are  again 

available  your  electrical  appliance 

dealer  will  keep  your  present 

cleaner  fit  for  active  duty. 


That's  why  Premier  vacuum  cleaners  will  be  sold 
only  through  dealers. 

When  you  buy  a  Premier  from  your  appliance  dealer 
you  will  get  a  long-famous  quality  cleaner  sold  only  in 
a  way  that  assures  the  right  price— the  fair  price— to  you. 
Before  you  buy,  you'll  want  to  read  the  full  story  of 
"Why  You  Should  Buy  Your  Next  Vacuum  Cleaner 
from  Your  Electrical  Appliance  Dealer."  Ask  your 
dealer  for  a  copy  or  write: 

Electric  Vacuum  Cleaner  Co.,  Inc. 

CLEVELAND  10,  OHIO 


The  blood  you  give  today 
will  mean  a  life  saved  tomorrow 


PREMIER 

'All  That  the  Name  Implies" 


""^°™-" 


Quickly  dip  two  tasty  Nabisco 
Shredded  Wheat  biscuits  in  hot 
sahed  water,  drain.  Serve  with 
maple  syrup  and  milk.  Simply 
delicious  . . .  and  as  hearty  and 
nourishing  as  a  hot  cereal 
without  the  bother! 


Fruit . . .  any  kind  ...  is  a 
natural  with  Nabisco  Shredded 
^'heat.  Youngsters  love  it  this  way. 
And  remember  . .  .  with  Nabisco 
Shredded  Wheat  in  the  pantry  you 
■an  treat  your  family  to  a  new  sur- 
prise every  morning  in  the  week ! 


Thousands  of  folks  love  Nabisco  Shredded  Wheat  Just  "as  is"  with 
ilk.  Love  its  wholesome,  natural  flavor  . . .  the  delicious  goodness  of  the  sun-ripened 
ole  wheat  from  which  it's  made.  And  tiiis  one  package  is  a  whole  "cereal  shelf". . . 
you  can  fix  Naliisro  Shrcddt'd  Wlieat  so  many  different  ways! 


^(^  Jdiciousujlio/e  u/hegf'cerca/ yoo/ 
lah  ^er/e  a  dozen  c/iffere/?t  i4/ay$/ 


Crumble  biscuits,  mix  with  melted  butter 
and  brown  lightly  under  broiler.  Serve 
with  brown  sugar  and  milk.  It's  super! 
For  the  original  Niagara  Falls  product 
with  the  marvelous  flavor,  always  ask  for 
Nabisco  Shredded  Wheat  when  you  buy. 


ANOTHIR  DELICIOUS   PRODUCT  BAKED    BY 

NABISCO 


NATIONAL 
BISCUIT 
COMPANY 


108 


April,  1945 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

(Continued  from  Page  28) 


really  equals  marriage.  Only  somelimes — yon 
might  as  well  face  it — sometimes,  especially  at 
the  end  of  winter 

She  stacked  the  breakfast  dishes  and 
turned  on  the' hot  water.  This  week  end:  she 
must  plan  for  it.  For  instance — what  was 
she  going  to  wear?  The  old  blue  tweed  suit? 
The  white  dinner  dress  that  had  been  cleaned 
too  often  ?  How,  how  could  she  squeeze  some- 
thing new  out  of  the  budget? 

She  reached  stolidly  for  the  soap  flakes. 
She  knew  that  budget,  merciless  and  inex- 
orable. As  well  squeeze  the  proverbial  stone. 
If  you  go  to  St.  Simeon's,  my  girl,  you'll  go  in 
your  blue  tweed  suit.  It  might  as  well  have  a 
btislle ;  I  feel  as  though  I'd  had  it  since  before 
electricity  was  discovered.  She  splashed  the 
hot  water,  and  against  the  sinking  of  her 
heart  she  sang  at  the  top  of  her  voice: 

"That  old  oaken  budget,  that  iron-bound 
budget. 
That  moss-covered  budget  that  hangs  in  the 
well." 

David  looked  upon  bed  as  an  unnecessary 
evil.  By  the  time  Candy  had  shut  his  door 
that  evening,  she  was  conscious  only  of  a 
deep  desire  to  put  her  feet  up,  just  until  Bill 
got  home. 

She  washed  her  face  and  hands,  brushed 
her  hair  hard  and  put  on  fresh  lipstick.  Then 
she  collapsed  on  her  bed.  All  day  long  a  little 
splinter  of  thought  had  been  working  its  way 
upward  in  her  mind;  now  she  lay  still  and 
let  it  come  to  the  surface.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  letter  from  Pan  that  had  brought  it 
there;  perhaps  it  had  been  coming  a  long 
time.  What,  she  wondered  unhappily,  was 
the  matter  with  her,  anyway?  She  and  Bill 
had  been  married  for  almost  four  years,  and 
for  at  least  three  of  them  he  had  been  per- 
fect. Now  he  wasn't.  He  had  small,  irritat- 
ing habits  he  never  used  to  have.  Was  mar- 
riage always  like  that? 

She  thought.  Everybody  knows  marriage 
was  never  meant  for  men,  anyway.  You  always 
read  it  and  everyone  says  so.  So  maybe  Bill's 
beginning  to  gel  tired  of  it.  I  suppose  a  psychi- 
atrist would  say  it  was  my  fault :  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  keep  his  interest.  But  that's  so  unfair. 
Bill  doesn't  do  anything  to  keep  my  interest, 
does  he? 

The  front  door  slammed,  and  Candy  went 
rigid.  Bill  began  to  come  upstairs,  his  prog- 
ress accompanied  by  a  curious  series  of 
bumping  sounds.  She  set  her  teeth.  //  he 
gets  David  all  waked  up  again  He  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  grinning.  His  hat 
was  cocked  over  one  eye  and  in  his  arms 
were  two  large,  shiny  cardboard  boxes  which 
he  dropped  on  her  stomach. 

"Ouch!"  Candy  was  resentful.  "What  is 
this?" 

Wordlessly,  Bill  took  out  and  opened  his 
penknife,  which  he  offered  to  her  in  courtly 


fashion,  over  one  forearm.  She  cut  the^tring 
on  the  biggest  box.  Underneath  was  a  layer 
of  tissue  paper.  And  underneath  that 

"Bill!"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  Bill — you  got 
it!"  She  lifted  out  the  Utterly  Desirable 
Sports  Dress,  of  cloud-soft,  winter-white 
wool,  with  a  brown  calf  belt.  Size  sixteen. 
She  stared  at  him.  "But  you  can't — how  can 
we— but,£?7/.'" 

"Like  it?"  he  asked,  rubbing  his  hands 
together.  "Go  on  and  open  the  other  one." 

Candy's  cheeks  were  burning  and  her 
hands  shook.  She  cut  strings  ruthlessly, 
whisked  tissue  paper  over  the  floor  and  lifted 
out  a  long,  deceptively  simple  black  dinner 
dress,  high-necked  and  long-sleeved,  a  din- 
ner dress  to  dream  about.  She  held  it  up  to 
her  and  looked  at  her  husband,  who  seemed, 
temporarily,  to  be  in  a  prism  of  light. 

"But — but,  Bill,"  she  said  at  last.  "How 
did  you  get  these?  They're  marvelous — 
they're  exactly  right— but,  darling,  how 
could  you?  Have  we  embezzled?  I  mean  it's 
perfectly  all  right  with  me  if  we  have — but 
what  are  we  going  to  tell  David  when  he 
grows  up?" 

Bill  shook  his  head  pityingly.  "Sordid," 
he  observed.  "Always  thinking  of  money." 

Candy  stepped  across  billows  of  paper 
and  seized  him  by  both  arms.  "Bill  Stewart, 
you're  going  to  tell  me  right  now  how  you 
got  these  things !  Have  they  made  you  presi- 
dent of  the  company?" 

">Io,"  said  Bill  pleasantly,  "just  head 
sales  manager  of  the  New  York  oflfice." 

Candy's  mouth  fell  open.  Her  hands  re- 
leased his  arms  and  she  sank  slowly  to  the 
floor,  where  she  came  to  rest  in  a  dress  box. 
"And  we've  only  got  fish  for  dinner,"  she 
said  weakly.  "Bill  darling,  you  really  are  the 
most  wonderful  man." 

Bill  nodded  happily.  "That's  what  my 
employers  told  me." 

"Oh,  they  did?"  She  scrambled  to  her 
feet.  Things  were  beginning  to  settle  down. 

"Yes,  they  took  the  horses  out  of  my  car- 
riage and  drew  me  through  the  streets." 

"Oh,  and  what,"  Candy  asked  suspi- 
ciously, "were  the  horses  doing  in  your  car- 
riage in  the  first  place?" 

"And  then  they  toasted  me  in  cham- 
pagne." 

"Drunk  out  of  their  slippers,  no  doubt?" 

"No  doubt,"  Bill  agreed.  "Mr.  Denstone's 
slipper  would  hold  about  a  magnum.  Any- 
way, there  wasn't  a  dry  nose  in  the  house." 

Candy  observed,  "Someday,  when  the 
gold  dust  has  settled,  you  must  tell  me  about 
it,  darling.  Did  you  spend  your  entire  raise?  " 

"Not  quite,"  Bill  said  modestly. "  I  bought 
David  a  War  Bond  too." 

"  I  hate  to  be  grasping,"  Candy  said,  "but 
would  there  be  enough  left  for  me  to  get  a 
new  permanent?" 

(Continued  on  Page  110) 


Keep  lunch  box  clean.  Air  daily.  Have  a  lunch  box 
corner  of  cupboard  and  refrigerator  for  materials 
and  equipment — saves  time.  If  time  to  pack  is  at 
an  odd  hour,  make  filUngs,  etc.,  ahead  and  chill  in 
refrigerator.  Have  cold  foods  cold  and  hot  foods  hot. 
Wrap  everything  separately  to  preserve  freshness 
and  prevent  swapping  of  flavors.  Wrap  sandwich 
greens  separately  to  prevent  wilting.  Use  jars  or 
paper  containers  with  non-spill  lids  for  salads,  des- 
serts, puddings,  etc.  Pack  heavy  foods  like  oranges 
and  apples  on  bottom — lighter  things  like  sand- 
wiches and  raw  vegetables  on  top  to  prevent  squash- 
ing. Put  in  extra  napkins,  salt,  pepper  and  sugar 
shakers,  covered  (empty  spice  cans  with  shutter  lids 
good  for  this).    Park  as  late  as  possible. 


tt  Want  the  answers  to  hundreds  of  wartime  house- 

I  keeping  problems?  Order  the  Waktime  HomemaK- 

I  iNt;    Manuai.  from  the  Reference  Library,  Ladies' 

•  Home  Jouknai.,  F'hila.  .•■>,  Pa.,  No.  2007,  25  cents. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


ny  tot  can  shop  at  A&P 

Where  prices  are  plain  as  can  be. 
And  values  galore 

Throughout  the  store 
Are  backed  by  a  guarantee! 


I 


any  a  farmer  h'ke  me 

Gets  a  right  smart  feelin'  of  glee. 
To  see  the  best  things  we  grow 

Arranged  row  on  row 
At  our  favorite  A&P! 


Mlnl^  okar  Coffee's  perfect  for  me — 

(S^^  'Cause  it's  vigorous  and  winey,  you  see ! 

But  there  are  two  other  blends 

That  have  won  legions  of  friends. 

And  your  A&P  sells  all  three* ! 


*Eight  O'clock.  Red  Circle,  and  Bokor  Coffees 


-ou  can  never  go  wrong  shopping  at  an  A&P 
Super  Market.  Most  all  the  famous  brands  are 

yours  to  choose  from and  always  at  mighty 

attractive  prices  every  day.  And  so,  you  can 
shop  any  day  you  wish  and  be  confident  that 
you're  picking  the  bargains.  And  here's  another 
point  about  A&P  Super  Markets:  the  friendly 
manager  backs  everything  he  sells  with  a  liberal 


A&P  SUPER  MARKETS 

191i5—The  Great  Atlantic  &  Pacific  Tea  Company 


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JJULiBi^LliBAi 


110 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


When  he'd  rather  read  a  good  hook — 

Better  reduce  the  Ry-Krisp  way! 


Romance  Fading?  Maybe  "too  fat" 
is  why!  Get  the  Ry-Krisp  plati  for  the 
normal  overweight,  cut  calories,  have 
meals  like  that  shown,  enjoy  delicious 
Ry-Krisp  as  bread.  Only  about  23  calo- 
ries in  it  and  it  supplies  regulating 
minerals  and  vitamin  Bi .  Better  try  it! 


^h^Sc^ 


FR€E   MENUS,    RECIPES    AND    SIMPLE    REDUCING    PLAN    FOR    NORMAL 
OVERWEIGHT.  WRITE  RY-KRISP,  21  CHECKERBOARD  SO.,  ST.  LOUIS  2,  MO. 


IMPERIAL  Cape  Co 


An  elegant  Crystal  table  service,  rich  with  the  tradition  of 
Early  America.  Imperial  "Cape  Cod"  Crystal  may  be  tempo- 
rarily unavailable  in  your  locality,  but  we  think  it  merits  your 
future  consideration. 


THE     IMPERIAL     GLASS     CORPORATION 


BELLAIRE,     OHIO 


(Contintied  from  Page  108) 

"Get  yourself  a  wig  if  you  want  one,"  Bill 
said  regally.  "As  I  said  to  Mr.  Denstone, 
'  What's  money  to  me? ' " 

"And,  as  Mr.  Denstone  answered,  'A  com- 
plete stranger,  Mr.  Stewart.*" 

Bill  went  right  on:  "I  said  to  him,  I  said, 
'My  wife  is  in  rags.  She  wears  newspapers 
for  underwear  and  potato  sacks  tied  on  her 
feet,  or  vice  versa.  She  bought  a  green  dress, 
but  that  was  so  long  ago  that  it  turned  gray, 
waiting,  waiting ' " 

Candy  suddenly  threw  herself  upon  him. 
"Darling,  I  adore  you." 

He  looked  down  at  her.  "May  I  hang  my 
legs  over  the  side  of  the  chair?  "  She  nodded. 
"And  read  my  newspaper  at  breakfast?" 

"  You  can  do  anything  you  want,"  she  told 
him.  "You  can  even  snore." 

Bill  kissed  her  tenderly.  "Women.  The 
romantic  sex.  Pardon  me  while  I  wash." 

The  Demings'  chauffeur  turned  the  sta- 
tion wagon  into  a  pine-bordered  driveway; 
at  the  end  Candy  could  see  glimpses  of  their 
long,  white  house.  Surreptitiously,  she  ran 
a  forefinger  up  the  unfamiliar  sweep  of  her 
back  hair.  It  felt  startlingly  naked  and 
alarmingly  elegant.  Perhaps  it  had  not  been 
entirely  wise  to  add  a  new  hair-do  to  an 
already  complex  week  end— especially  a 
hair-do  which  Bill  had  never  seen. 

She  was  somewhat  reassured,  however,  by 
the  glance  of  grudging  approval  allowed  her 
by  the  Demings'  contemptuous  parlormaid. 
Pan's  great  Dane  padded  across  the  hall  to 


KUItETIKK 

1^  Never  tcli  evil  of  a  man  if  you  do 
T  not  know  it  for  a  certainty:  and 
if  you  <lo  know  it  for  a  certainty, 
then  ask  yourself,  why  should  I 
tell  it?  — LAVATE:  Toojterj  Hondbook,  by 

Edmund  &  Williams.  (H.  W.  Wilson  Co.) 

The  survival  of  the  fittest  is  going 
to  make  some  guy  awful  lonesome 
someday. 

—HARRY  HERSHFIELO.  Now  I'll  Tell  One. 
(Greenberg.) 


welcome  her  and  escort  her  to  the  library, 
where  he  paused,  nuzzling  her  hand. 

"Mrs.  Stewart,"  announced  the  parlor- 
maid, in  a  tone  which  implied  that  Candy 
was  using  a  rather  unconvincing  alias. 

There  was  a  moment  of  arrested  motion, 
a  tableau  in  firelight:  George  Deming  look- 
ing toward  her,  a  smile  in  his  bright  brown 
eyes;  Pan,  her  amber-colored  hair  gleaming, 
her  hand  raised  toward  the  silver  teapot; 
Serena  Perry,  vivid  as  a  gypsy,  cross-legged 
on  the  hearth;  and  the  penetrating  gaze  of 
a  tall,  thin,  gloomy  man.  Then  the  moment 
broke.  George  got  up,  and  Pan  came  toward 
her  quickly — but,  somehow,  it  was  not  one 
welcome,  it  was  two  separate  welcomes. 

"  Darling,  how  lovely ! "  Pan  said.  "  Where's 
Bill?" 

Candy  kissed  her  warmly  and  explained 
Bill's  delay.  A  conference.  "He  was  so 
sorry.    He'll  be  here  on  the  five-ten." 

George  patted  her  shoulder  affectionately, 
Serena  smiled  brilliantly. 

"And  this,"  said  Pan,  in  a  high,  unnatural 
voice,  "is  Mr.  Max  Atlas." 

Candy  said  politely,  "How  do  you  do?" 
to  which  Mr.  Atlas  responded,  in  a  deep, 
rather  harsh  voice: 

"What  an  entrance." 

Serena  chuckled.  "Max  darling,  in  an  in- 
secure world  there's  only  one  thing  you  o-n 
be  certain  of.  Mrs.  Stewart  didn't  plan  it." 

Mr.  Atlas  looked  at  Candy  from  under  his 
lavish  eyebrows.  "Maybe  the  dog  did." 

George  asked  quickly,  "How's  Bill?" 

Candy,  aware  of  Mr.  Atlas'  disconcerting 
gaze,  sat  down  primly,  said  that  Bill  was 
very  well,  hesitated — and  then  added 
quickly,  "He's  just  been  made  head  sales 
manager,  but  he'll  beat  me  for  telling  you." 

"Men,"  said  Serena  profoundly.  "They're 
psychopathic  that  way.  Or  maybe  just  su- 
perstitious. What  does  being  a  head  sales 
manager  mean?" 


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MUSHROOMS 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


111 


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The  DASH  that 

makes  the  DISH 


Under  cover  of  George's  explanation,  Pan 
leaned  closer.  Candy  saw  that  she  was 
thinner;  her  eyes  looked  tired.  "I've  got  to 
talk  to  you,"  Pan  murmured.  "It's  about 
George." 

Candy  patted  her  hand.  "Relax,  darling. 
Aunt  Candace  will  re-educate  him." 

"I  knew  you  would  if  anyone  could.  He 
thinks  you're  wonderful.  You  see " 

"Don't  bother  to  explain,  my  pet,"  Candy 
told  her.  "  I  know  George." 

Pan  looked  worried.  "Well — I'll  tell  you 
about  it  later.  Don't  say  anything  now.  .  .  . 
You  look  marvelous.  When  did  you  start  do- 
ing your  hair  that  way?  And  I  adore  your 
dress.  Max  is  absolutely  transfixed.  I  never 
saw  him  do  this  before." 

Candy  glanced  up  and  met  Mr.  Atlas'  in- 
scrutable black  eye.  Far  inside  herself,  she 
smiled.  It  was  going  to  be  a  rather  interest- 
ing week  end.  First  she  would  change 
George's  outlook  on  women  and  then,  having 
straightened  out  the  Demings'  marriage,  she 
would  lie  back  and  bask  in  the  admiration 
of  Mr.  Atlas.  Of  course,  it  was  silly — but  it 
was  undeniably  fun.  Yes,  it  was  going  to 
be  a  very  interesting  week  end. 

"Max,  darling,"  said  Serena,  "have  you 
read  Bird's  Eye  View  of  Bella?  Why  don't 
you  buy  it?  I'm  dying  to  do  Bella.  It's  ab- 
solutely made  for  me." 

Mr.  Atlas  said,  "Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles 
next." 

Serena  sighed.  "You  always  get  your  own 
way,  don't  you?  You  must  have  been  a  re- 
pulsive little  boy." 

Mr.  Atlas  glanced  sideways  at  Pan,  and 
George  laiTghed.  "He  gets  his  own  way  in 
the  end — but  sometimes  it  takes  a  little  do- 
ing, eh.  Max?" 

Pan  turned  quickly  to  Candy.  "Max  has 
made  me  a  most  inviting  offer." 

"Which  Pan  is  going  to  decline,"  George 
put  in  lightly. 

Candy  eyed  him.  Under  his  lightness  was 
something  else — something  that  was  part  of 
the  tension  in  the  room.  "Really?"  she  said 
coolly.  "Why?  I  think  she  ought  to  accept." 

Pan  cleared  her  throat  sharply,  and  George 
smiled. 

Mr.  Atlas  sat  up.  "Of  course  she  ought  to 
accept,"  he  stated.  "Only  person  to  do  her 
own  book.  Wouldn't  let  anybody  else  touch 
it.   Keep  the  flavor.   Know  what  I  mean?" 

Candy  smiled  at  him.  "Of  course  I  know 
what  you  mean,  Mr.  Atlas.  But  isn't  that  a 
rather  unusual  view  for  Hollywood  to  take? 
Usually  dozens  of  different  people  work  on  a 
script,  don't  they?" 

"My  views  are  always  unusual,"  said  Mr. 
Atlas.  "Successful.  You  talk  to  her." 

Candy  settled  back  in  her  chair,  drank  tea 
and  said,  in  an  excellent  imitation  of  an  off- 
hand manner,  "I've  always  thought  that  it 
was  a  mistake  for  women  to  be  just — women. 
We're  better  women  if  we  do  something  else 
as  well.  Like  flying  a  plane  or — or  acting  or 
something." 

"Very  sensible  point  of  view,"  George  said. 

Candy  glanced  at  him,  startled.  With  all 
his  charm,  George  had  never  before  shown  the 
slightest  hypocrisy.  It  was  mildly  shocking; 
also  it  made  her  a  little  angry.  Now,  she 
thought,  I'll  make  certain  that  Pan  goes  to 
Hollywood. 

Mr.  Atlas  said  suddenly,  "Ever  have  a 
screen  test,  Mrs.  Stewart?" 

Candy  laughed.  "Heavens,  no!" 

Serena  cried,  "  Darling — suppose  you  were 
photogenic!" 

"Then  you  could  all  go  to  Hollywood  to- 
gether," George  suggested  dryly. 

"Bill  would  die,"  said  Pan. 

It  was  a  perfect  opening,  and  Candy  seized 
it.  "  Indeed  he  wouldn't !  Bill  would  be  per- 
fectly delighted  if  I  went  to  Hollywood — or 
anyplace  else  I  wanted  to  go."  In  the  small 
but  solid  silence  that  followed  this  astonish- 
ing statement,  she  had  time  to  reflect  what 
a  good  thing  it  was  that  Bill  had  been  de- 
layed. Then  she  met  George's  eyes.  "Bill 
is  very  fair-minded  about  marriage.  Live 
and  let  live,  he  always  says." 

"I've  never  heard  him  say  such  a  thing  in 
my  life,"  George  said  without  heat.  "At  least 
not  about  his  marriage.  That's  why  I  always 
thought  you  were  the  ideal  wife  for  him." 


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112 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


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Candy  opened  her  mouth,  and  Pan  asked, 
"But,  Candy,  what  would  you  do  with  David 
if  you  wanted  to  go  off  someplace?" 

"Send  him  to  mother,"  Candy  answered 
promptly.  "She's  been  dying  to  get  her  hands 
on  him  ever  since  he  was  bom.  But  it's  not 
my  career  we're  talking  about,  it's  Pan's." 

Pan  leaped  to  her  feet.  "Someone's  com- 
ing— oh,  it's  Bill." 

Bill  came  into  the  warm  library.  He 
looked.  Candy  thought,  cold  and  tired,  but 
he  shook  hands  with  Pan  and  George  affec- 
tionately, greeted  Serena  and  Mr.  Atlas,  and 
turned  to  his  wife. 

"Hello,  sweet — — "  he  began,  and  stopped, 
stricken.  "What  in  the  name  of  rubber  ce- 
ment have  you  done  with  your  hair?" 

Candy  felt  herself  turning  scarlet.  She 
glared  at  him,  not  trusting  herself  to  speak. 

Pan  intercepted.  "Why,  she's  just  put  it 
up,  Bill  darling." 

"Well,"  said  Bill  with  feeling,  "I  hope 
it'll  come  down  again." 

George  snorted.  "Did  you  think  she'd 
nailed  it  up?  Of  course  it'll  come  down 
again — but  it's  not  going  to.  Candy's  going 
to  have  a  screen  test  and  be  a  famous  star. 
Her  name  is  going  to  be — let's  see — Max, 
what  would  you  think  of  Angel  Cholmon- 
deley?" 

"What's  this  all  about,  anyway?"  Bill  in- 
quired. 

"Max  practically  offered  your  wife  a 
screen  test,"  Serena  explained  airily.  "You 
wouldn't  mind  if  she  went  to  Hollywood, 
Bill?  Just  for  six  months  or  so?" 

"Of  course  Bill  wouldn't  mind,"  George 
said  heartily.  "Live  and  let  live,  that's  Bill's 
motto — isn't  it.  pal?" 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  you're 
talking  about,"  Bill  said  tersely.  "One  lump, 
please.  Pan." 

Candy  stood  up  abruptly.  "I  think  if  you 
don't  mind.  Pan,  I'll  go  up  now.  If  we're 
dressing  for  dinner " 

Pan  got  to  her  feet  swiftly.  "I'll  go  with 
you.  Some  people  are  coming  in  after  din- 
ner. We  thought  we  might  dance." 


Candy  stepped  over  Bill's  legs,  bathed  him 
in  a  fiery  glance,  of  which  he  seemed  totally 
unaware,  and  left  the  room. 

On  their  way  upstairs  Candy  glanced  at 
Pan  uneasily,  aware  of  somethifig  very 
wrong.  But  Pan  said  nothing  whatever  un- 
til they  were  inside  the  rose  guest  room. 
Then  she  shut  the  door  and  turned. 

"Candy,  why  did  you?  If  only  you'd 
waited,  I  could  have  told  you " 

"Told  me  what?"  Candy  stared  at  her. 
"That  George  wouldn't  let  you  have  a  life 
of  your  own?  I  knew  that  already." 

"But  I  don't  want  a  life  of  my  own."  Pan 
pounded  the  back  of  a  chair  with  a  fist.  "  It's 
George.  He  wants  me  to  go  to  the  Coast 
and  work  for  Max." 

Candy  sank  down  on  the  chaise  longue  be- 
cause her  knees  seemed  to  be  buckling. ' '  You 
mean  you  don't  want  to  go?" 

"Of  course  I  don't  want  to!  I  want  to' 
stay  right  here  and  be  George's  wife."  Pan 
choked.  "We've  only  been  married  for  six 
months,  and  he's  determined  to  have  me 
leave  him."  Her  voice  shook  ominously,  and 
she  turned.   "He's  tired  of  me,"  she  said. 

"He's  not  tired  of  you!"  Candy  cried.  It 
was  the  only  solid  fact  in  a  whirling  universe. 
"George  adores  you — anyone  can  see  that. 
He  always  has." 

Pan's  blue  eyes  were  burning.  "Then  why 
does  he  want  me  to  go  away?" 

Candy  blinked,  trying  to  grope  her  way 
through  this  bewildering  fog.  "Because,"  she 
said  slowly,  "I  suppose  he  thinks  you  want 
to.  That's  it.  Pan — he's  afraid  you'll  be  rest- 
less and  unhappy  if  you  just  settle  down  and 
be  Mrs.  George  Deming." 

"But   I've   told  him  " 

"I  know,  but — oh,  dear,  it's  so  mixed  up! 
Don't  you  see,  before  you  got  married,  you 
kept  saying  you  wouldn't  ever  marry 
George  because  he  wanted  a  domestic  girl 
who'd  belong  to  him,  body  and  soul.  And 
George  kept  saying  woman's  place  was  in 
the  home.   And  now " 

"And  now,"  Pan  said  with  a  thin  smile, 
"now   it's  after  we're  married,   and   I've 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


113 


changed  my  mind.  I  like  being  owned  by 
George — but  George  seems  to  have  changed 
his  mind  too." 

"But  how  was  I  to  know  that?"  Candy 
demanded  miserably. 

"If  you'd  just  waited  "  Pan  broke 

ofif.  "Oh,  I  know  it  isn't  really  your  fault, 
Candy,  but  things  have  been  so  awful.  I 
thought  you  could  help — you  could  make 
George  understand  how  I  feel — and  you've 
just  made  everything  worse." 

"I'll  fix  it,"  Candy  promised  desperately. 
"I'll  explain  to  him  how  it  happened." 

Pan's  shoulders  sank.  "He'll  never  pay 
any  attention  to  you  now.  Anyway,  you've 
said   you'd  go   away 

yourself  and  George       

always  says  you  and 
Bill  have  the  perfect 
marriage.  Candy, would 
you  leave  Bill  and 
David?" 

"Well.no— but " 

Pan  leaned  forward. 
"If  Max  offered  you  a 
movie  contract, 
Candy,  tell  me  hon- 
estly, would  you  sign 
it?" 

Candylaughed."No,       

I  wouldn't." 

"And  if  you  wanted  to,  would  Bill  let  you? 
Would  he?" 

"He'd  have  a  fit,"  said  Candy  honestly. 

"Well,  why  doesn't  George  have  a  fit?" 
Pan  cried.  "Why  can't  he  be  more  like  Bill?  " 

"Pan  darling,  much  as  I  adore  Bill " 

The  door  behind  her  opened,  and  Bill  stood 
on  the  threshold.  "Oh,  sorry." 

Pan  gave  him  a  pale  smile.  "Candy  and  I 
are  just  gossiping.  I  must  go  and  dress. 
Dinner's  at  half  past  seven." 

Bill  shut  the  door  after  her  and  lay  down 
on  the  bed  with  his  shoes  on. 

"  William  Stewart,  take  your  muddy  shoes 
off  that  bedspread!"  Candy  glared. 

He  groaned  and  hung  his  feet  over  the 
edge  of  the  bed. 


CARRY  ON! 

^  When  a  man  kums  to  me  for 
^  advice,  I  find  out  the  kind  of 
advice  he  wants,  and  I  give  it  to 
him;  this  satisfys  him  that  he  and 
I  are  two  as  smart  men  as  there  is 
living.  —JOSH  BILUNGS. 

Don't  allow  yourself  to  he  carried 
away  by  enthusiasm;  you  may  have 
to  walk  back.  —CHARLES  M.  SNYDER. 


Candy  said  defensively,  "It's  such  bad 
manners." 

"You  knew  what  my  manners  were  like 
when  you  married  me." 

She  spoke  more  tartly  than  she  had  in- 
tended. "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  didn't." 

"Well,  you  do  now,"  Bill  pointed  out. 
"You've  been  telling  me  about  them  for 
weeks."  Candy  stared  at  him,  and  he  added 
in  a  loud  voice,  "Screen  tests!"  and  turned 
over  with  his  head  in  the  pillow. 

"What,"  Candy  asked  stiffly,  "is  so  bad 
about  that?" 

Bill  snorted  into  the  pillow.  "That  alli- 
gator !  You  don't  think  he  meant  it,  do  you  ?  " 
Candyshut  the  bath- 

room    door    with    a 

haughty  bang.  While 
she  bathed,  she  re- 
flected miserably  that 
in  the  space  of  half  an 
hour  the  whole  week 
end  had  gone  topsy- 
turvy. And  only  four 
days  ago  Bill  had  given 
her  the  very  dress  she 
was  about  to  put  on. 
She  looked  at  her  re- 
flection  in    the   bath- 

room  mirror.    Bill  was 

cross  and  rather  quar- 
relsome right  now — but  he  had  been  sweet  to 
get  those  dresses.  She  opened  the  bathroom 
door  a  crack;  he  was  asleep  with  his  feet  on 
the  spread.  Very  gently  she  called  to  him. 
He  groaned  and  opened  his  eyes  reluctantly. 
"Go  away!"  he  grated  through  his  teeth. 
She  shut  the  bathroom  door  very  quietly, 
and  went  on  with  her  dressing.  As  she  got 
into  the  black  dinner  dress  her  hands  shook. 
He  had  no  right  to  speak  that  way.  Presents 
weren't  enough  to  compensate  a  wife  for 
being  treated  as  though  she  were  a  slave. 
Candy  swept  through  the  bedroom  without 
a  glance  at  Bill,  and  down  the  stairs. 

Dinner  was  a  nightmare.  Pan  and  George 
were  scarcely  speaking  to  each  other.  George, 
a  perfect  host,  was — superficially — his  usual 


The  beauty  which  distinguishes  Cambridge  crystal  is  the  result  of  perfect 
modeling  and  proportions,  handcrafted  in  the  clear  and  unusually  brilliant 
Cambridge  glass.  Those  who  employ  taste  and  good  judgment  in  selecting 
crystal  have  long  appreciated  that  Cambridge  styling  is  above  passing 
fashion,  that  the  set  one  starts  with  may  be  added  to  from  open  stock  and 
that  the  prestige  of  the  Cambridge  label  never  places  a 
premium  on  the  price.  If  your  dealer  is  temporarily  out 
of  an  item,  please  make  allowances  for  wartime. 

THE    CAMBRIDGE    CLASS    COMPANY,    CAMBRmCE,    OHIO 


•»■■■»■■    ».-M«^a«-MKAjHli 


114 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


J/Iu/eteae^na  mmW aaahJ. 


IF  BRIDES  could  only  do  a  little  crystal- 
gazing  .  .  .  there's  many  a  girl  would  see 
that  some  things  worked  out  differently. 

Take,  for  instance,  Mrs.  Kathryn  Wil- 
son of  North  Tonawanda,  N.  Y.  She  wrote 
us  this  interesting  story: 

"When   I  was  married,   my  friends 
gave  me  a  wonderful  bedroom 
shower.  Among  the  many  gifts  were 
six  fine-looking  sheets.   One  was 
a  Pequot .  " 

A  fine  gift?  Seemed  so.  But  wait!  Says 
Mrs.  Wilson: 

"That  was  nine  years  ago.  The  other 
day  I  took  an  old  sheet  from  the 
linen  closet  and  used  it  to  cover 
the  family  ironing  board.   I  looked 
at  the  label.  .  .it  was  that  faith- 
ful Pequot.  The  other  five  had 
worn  out  years  before." 

What's  more,  Mrs.  Wilson  explained,  all 
six  sheets  had  been  used  in  rotation  and 
had  the  same  good  care.  Do  you  wonder 
she  enthuses  about  Pequot  sheets  .  .  .  that 


she  ends  her  letter  by  saying: 

"If  I  were  getting  married  again, 
I'd  try  to  hint  to  'showering' 
friends  to  make  all  my  gift  sheets 
Pequots . " 

If  your  local  store  is  out  of  Pequots,  please 
be  patient  .  .  .  because  the  needs  of  our 
armed  forces  must  come  first.  We're  doing 
our  very  best  to  supply  some  Pequots  for 
civilians.  Pequot  Mills,  Salem,  Mass. 


PEQUOT 
SHEETS 


SO  good- 
looking 


so  long- 
weanng 


BUY   MOKK  WAR   BONDS 


urbane  and  entertaining  self;  but  Pan 
shifted  like  mercury  from  brilliant  chat- 
ter, which  did  not  include  her  husband,  to 
pale,  preoccupied  silence  which  excluded 
them  all.  Serena  tried  valiantly  to  strike  a 
spark  of  genuine  gaiety  from  the  party,  but 
as  dessert  was  served  even  she  subsided.  Bill 
was  unusually  quiet  and  Mr.  Atlas  merely 
ate  with  methodical  appreciation. 

Suddenly  he  said,  into  the  icy  silence, 
"Anybody  ever  heard  of  Asmodeus?" 

"Who's  he  —  a  fortuneteller?"  Serena 
asked  flippantly. 

Mr.  Atlas  put  down  his  napkin  deliber- 
ately. "Asmodeus,"  he  said,  "is  the  evil 
spirit  of  matrimony." 

Pan  dropped  a  spoon. 

"What,"  asked  George,  "does  he  do?" 

"Flies,"  said  Mr.  Atlas.  "Over  the  houses. 
He  can  take  off  their  roofs  and  look  in." 

"Oh,  I've  always  wanted  to  do  that!" 
Candy  cried,  with  idiotic  vivacity. 

Mr.  Atlas  threw  her  an  inscrutable  glance. 
"Where  I  come  from,"  he  said — "Middle 
Europe — they  say  on  certain  nights  that 
Asmodeus  flies.  Scared  of  him.  Why  I'm  a 
bachelor — know  what  I  mean?" 

"Emma,"  said  Pan  to  the  parlormaid, 
"serve  the  coffee  in  the  library,  will  you?" 

As  Candy  crossed  the  hall,  George  put  his 
hand  on  her  arm  and  moved  his  head  toward 
the  little  study  next  door. 

"Gloomy  little  place,"  George  said,  shut- 
ting the  study  door,  "but  so  is  my  mind  at 
the  moment.  Candy,  you 

helped  me  once.  Will  you      

do  it  again?" 

Candy  stood  stiffly  by 
the  door.  "To  make  Pan 
go  to  Hollywood?  No, 
George,  I  won't." 

George's  jaw  fell.  "You 
won't?  But  you  said  your- 
self this  afternoon " 

Candy  almost  stamped 
her  foot  with  impatience. 
"Never  mind  what  I  said 
this  afternoon !  This  after- 
noon I  thought  she  was 
dying  to  go  and  you 
wouldn't  let  her.  Now  I 
find  she  doesn't  want  to 
go  at  all." 

George's    mouth    was      

grim.  "Oh,  yes,  she  does — 
really.    I  know  Pan.    She  thinks  it's   her 
duty  to  stay  here.    She's   determined    to 
sacrifice  herself  for  me  and  like  it — all  that 
for-better-for-worse  stuff.  Oh,  no." 

"But,  George "  Candy  "oegan. 

George  smiled  a  wise  and  rather  bitter  lit- 
tle smile.  "  I'm  not  a  child.  Candy.  I  don't 
claim  to  know  much  about  women,  but  I  do 
know  this:  if  I  kept  Pan  now,  she'd  be  re- 
gretting it  inside  of  six  months.  Oh,  no.  I'll 
make  her  go  now — let  her  get  it  out  of  her 
system.  It's  my  only  chance  of  keeping  her." 

"George,"  Candy  said  desperately, 
"you're  all  wrong.  Listen " 

"I  know  what  I'm  doing,"  George  said, 
still  with  that  little  smile.  "My  only  mistake 
was  in  thinking  you'd  help  me." 

"You  don'i  know  what  you're  doing. 
You're  acting  like  an  idiot!" 

George  gulped.  "Shall  we  go  and  get 
some  coffee?"  he  said  with  cool  courtesy. 

Candy  went  out  of  the  little  study  with  a 
sick  sensation.  She  had  come  expressly  to 
help  Pan  and  George,  and  what  had  she 
done?  Said  all  the  wrong  things,  let  Pan 
down  completely.  Made  George  mad. 
Asmodeus — I'm  Asmodeus,  myself. 

From  the  library  came  voices,  and  laugh- 
ter pitched  high.  Some  of  the  guests  had 
arrived,  then.   The  party  had  begun. 

It  was,  it  seemed  to  her,  the  middle  of  the 
night  when  Bill  woke  her.  He  was  shaking 
her  shoulder  gently.  She  opened  her  eyes, 
his  face  came  into  focus — and  she  struggled 
up,  wide-eyed  with  horror. 

"Bill,  what's  happened  to  you?  Your 
face!" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  miserably.  His 
eyes  were  bloodshot  and  frightened.  "I  feel 
awful.  I  can't  swallow.  Do  you  think  I 
have  diphtheria  or  something?" 


^  An  English  society  lady 
"  took  a  soldier  out  for  the 
evening  and  gave  him  a  very 
fine  dinner,  with  champagne 
and  liqueurs,  foll€)wed  by 
stalls  at  a  play.  After,  she  had 
qualms  of  conscience  about 
her  extravagance,  so  went  to 
her  parson  and  told  him 
about  it.  "We  had  champagne 
at  <linner  an<I  liqueurs  after- 
ward, and  did  I  do  wrong?" 

"Don't    you    remember?" 
sai<l  the  parson. 

—SAMSON  LOW:  Scalpel,  Sword  ond 
Stretcher.    (Morston  &  Co.,  Ltd.  London.) 


April,  194 

Candy  looked  at  him  in  awe.  His  fac 
was  enormous — and  suddenly,  with  return 
ing  consciousness,  came  common  sense 
"Darling,"  she  said,  "get  right  back  int 
bed.  I'll  call  Pan.  We'll  get  a  doctor."  Sh 
whipped  on  her  dressing  gown.  He  wa 
peering  at  her  with  hideous  pathos  fron 
under  the  blankets.  "Bill — have  you  eve 
had  mumps?" 

His  lopsided  face  looked  stricken.  "No,' 
he  croaked.  "My  sister  did,  but — I  didn't 

Candy  went  out  quietly. 

TROM  downstairs  drifted  the  lovely  arom: 
of  breakfastcoffee.  Itseemed  a  shame  to  waki 
Pan  so  early;  but  Pan's  voice  answered  ai 
once,  and  Candy  opened  her  bedroom  door 
She  was  standing,  fully  dressed,  with  hei 
back  to  a  half-packed  suitcase.  The  smiU 
on  her  face  was  clearly  an  effort.  Instinc;. 
tively,  Candy  ignored  the  suitcase  anc 
plunged  instantly. 

"Pan,  it's  Bill — he's  got  something 
the  matter  with  him.  I'm  sorry  to  be  a 
nuisance  at  this  unholy  hour  on  a  Sunday, 
but  do  you  suppose  we  could  get  a  doctor?  " 

"My  dear — of  course."  Pan  was  across 
the  room  before  she  had  finished  speaking 
She  dialed.  "Is  he  very  ill.  Candy?  What 
do  you  think  it  is?  " 

Before  Candy  could  answer,  the  door  op- 
posite opened,  and  a  hollow-eyed  George 
stood  there  in  a  dressing  gown.  Pan  began 
to  speak  into  the  telephone. 

"What's    going    on? 

George  inquired  huskily. 

Then  his  eye  fell  on  the 
suitcase,  and  his  whole  eX' 
pression  sharpened. 

"All  right.  Doctor  Lewis, 
and  thank  you  so  much," 
Pan  said  and  hung  up. 

There  was  a  tiny  si- 
lence. Then  George  jerked 
his  head  toward  the  suit- 
case. 

"Going  someplace?"  he 
asked. 

Pan  looked  down  at 
the  telephone,  and  then 
straight  up  at  George. 
"Yes,  I  was — going  some- 
place.   When   the   others 

left,     this     afternoon,    I 

thought  I'd — go  too." 

Candy  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  which 

Pan  was  blocking.  "I  think  I'd  better " 

They  didn't  even  hear  her. 

"Decided  to  take  up  Max's  offer  after 
all?"  George  asked  conversationally. 

"No."  Pan's  voice  was  still  soft.  "No,  I 
was  just— going." 

"Why?"  The  word  was  like  a  bullet. 

"Because  you  obviously  wanted  me  to." 

Candy  pushed  past  her  and  said  loudly, 
"  I  must  get  back  to  Bill.  Please  excuse  me." 
She  went  out  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 
Neither  of  them  had  looked  at  her  at  all. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  later  when  Candy 
went  downstairs  to  breakfast.  Doctor  Lewis 
had  been  and  gone.  Only  Serena  and  Mr. 
Atlas  were  at  the  table. 

"How  is  he?"  they  asked  in  unison. 

Candy  discovered  that  she  was  starving  to 
death.  She  tossed  off  a  glass  of  orange  juice 
and  fell  upon  a  covered  dish  of  popovers. 
"He's  just  uncomfortable.  It's  mumps  all 
right.  He's  got  to  be  kept  still  till  the  swell- 
ing goes  down.  The  poor  Demings " 

"Man  who  came  to  dinner,"  said  Mr. 
Atlas. 

Serena  asked,  "  But  what  about  your  little 
boy.  Candy?" 

Candy  poured  a  cup  of  coffee.  "  I  called  up 
my  mother.  She's  going  right  out  to  our 
house." 

Serena  sighed.  "My  mother  has  all  the 
iron  dependability  of  a  child's  balloon  bump- 
ing on  the  ceiling." 

Candy  said  slowly,  "Max.  That  Asmodeus 
you  were  telling  us  about.  You  said  he  was 
an  evil  spirit — but  what  does  he  do?" 

"He  is  the  demon  of  vanity.  He  makes 
married  couples  try  to  improve  each  other." 

"Oh,"  said  Candy. 
.  "  I  don't  see  why  that's  so  awful,"  Serena 
objected.    (Continued  ov  Page  116) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


115 


OB.  Today  this 
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)n  his  Beautyrest 
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cketed  coils,  and 
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e  a  good  way  to 
you  need  a  new 
ide  by  Simmons. 


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BEAUTYREST 

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0  YOU  BUY  EXTRA  WAR  BONDS  THIS  WEEK? 


'wmmmr  tern 


I  ■  It  ITTM 


116 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


FINE      AMERICAN      PERFUME 

At  An  Jmerkan  Price... Three  Jtfty  the  Ounces 


pttt" 


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NEW    YORK     AND     TORONTO  •»to.  u.s.  p«T.orr. 


(Continued  from  Page  114) 
Mr.  Atlas  said,  "There  is  no  ego  like  that 

of  a  husband  and  wife.  You  know  what  I 

mean?" 

"She  hasn't  the  faintest  idea  what  you 

mean,"  Serena  said  briskly.   "She  thinks 

Bill  is  perfect,  don't  you,  darling?" 

"  Er — yes,"  said  Candy.  Mr.  Atlas  smiled. 

Bill  put  his  extraordinary  visage  outside 
the  sheet,  and  said  hollowly,  "I  bet  I  look 
awful.  Do  I?"  And  as  Candy  swallowed  a 
wild  snort  of  laughter,  he  insisted  morbidly, 
"What  do  I  look  like?  Go  on— tell  me." 

"Darling,"  Candy  told  him  tenderly, 
"you  look  just  like  a  portrait  of  Charles  the 
Second,  painted  on  a  pear." 

Bill  groaned  and  vanished.  She  began  to 
straighten  the  room.    Bill  reappeared. 

"Candy?" 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  so  bad-tempered  yester- 
day. I  felt  terrible.  I  didn't  know  what  was 
the  matter  with  me." 

"I  know,  darling."  She  put  a  cool  hand 
on  his  forehead.  "I  understand." 

"I'll  be  a  very  good  patient,"  he  said 
humbly.  "I'll  try  not  to  make  any  trouble." 

Candy  looked  down  and  her  heart  melted. 
"Now  don't  worry,  darling.  In  just  a  little 
while  I'll  give  you  a  nice  bed  bath." 

Bill  shot  up  his  eyes  wildly.  "  I  don't  want 
a  nice  bed  bath !  If  you  try  to  give  me  a  bed 
bath,  I'll  have  a  relapse.  Why  do  you  think 
I've  led  a  clean,  wholesome,  upright  life? 
Just  to  avoid  bed  baths—that's  why!" 

"Now,  now,  now,  lie  down,  that's  a  good 
boy."  Candy  patted  the  pillow,  and  he  sank 
back. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then,  "Candy." 

"Yes,  darling?" 

"Fix  my  pillows,  will  you?"  She  fixed  his 
pillows,  and  he  said  apologetically,  "My  feet 
are  cold." 

She  got  him  a  hot-water  bottle.  "There — 
that  better?" 

"Much."  He  smiled  up  at  her  patheti- 
cally. "You're  so  good  to  me.  Candy.  The 
light's  in  my  eyes." 

She  adjusted  the  window  shade. 

"Just  sit  down,"  Bill  said  fretfully, 
"where  I  can  see  you." 

Candy  sat  down.  "I  suppose  you'd  like 
me  to  call  the  office  tomorrow  morning?" 

Bill  tried  to  sit  up  again.  "You're  not 
going  to  tell  them  I  have  mumps?" 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  tell  them?" 

Bill  groaned.  "  I  don't  know.  You  think  of 
something." 

"Grippe?"  The  covers  heaved  nega- 
tively. "Pinkeye?" 


Please  take  this  seriously,"  Bill  said 
with  hoarse  anguish.  "I  thought  you  were 
going  to  take  such  good  care  of  me — and  you 
won't  even  think  of  something  dignified  for 
me  to  have." 

"Well,  you  could  have  a  stroke.  A  stroke 
is  very  dignified."    Bill  flo"ncet^j|j^j*'V 
and  Candy  said,  "I'll  tf^  dteifC^^eorge  said 


April,  1945 

"While  you've  got  mumps." 

"O.K."  He  settled  back  unexpectedly. 
"While  I've  got  mumps,  I  do  what  you  say. 
When  I'm  over  mumps,  you  do  what  /  say. 
Is  it  a  deal?"  * 

"Why,  of  all  the  ridiculous " 

He  struggled  up,  panting  and  heaving. 
"Mumps  can  be  dangerous,"  he  warned. 
"Is  it  a  deal?" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes.  Lie  down." 

xlE  SUBSIDED,  a  smile  creeping  over  his  fan- 
tastic face.  "I  can  read  my  paper  at  break- 
fast," he  said  dreamily.  "I  can  drop  my 

shirts  on  the  floor.  I  can  hang  my  legs " 

There  was  a  long  pause.  "No.  No,  I  think 
maybe  you're  right  there.  I  won't  hang  my 
legs."  He  turned  on  her.  "I'm  thirsty.  And 
sort  of  hungry  too.  I  want  some  orange 
juice  with  cracked  ice  in  it.  And  a  little 
squeeze  of  lime." 

Candy  got  up  with  alacrity.  "I'll  get  it 
for  you.  dear." 

She  got  to  the  door  before  he  called  her. 
"And  you  might  toast  some  saltines  and  put 
a  little  butter  on  them.  If  they  have  any 
cream  cheese,  I'd  like  that  too." 

Candy  simply  looked  at  him  and  left  the 
room.  Outside,  she  came  face  to  face  with 
George,  who  inquired  about  Bill. 

"Well,  mumps  aren't  comfortable." 

"I  suppose  not,"  George  admitted.  "I 
never  had  them."  He  beamed  benignly  upon 
her.  "But  of  course  you're  absolutely  in  your 
element,  aren't  you?  Women  always  love 
to  take  care  of  people  who  are  ill  or  helpless. 
Well,  if  there's  anything  in  the  world  you 
want,  you  just  tell  us." 

Candy  gave  him  a  long  and  evil  look. 
Then  she  inquired  sweetly,  "When  is  Pan 
leaving?" 

"Oh,  she's  not  going.  I  decided  against  it 
after  all,"  said  George. 

"Well,  that's  good.  Because  she'd  only 
have  to  come  back  again  in  eighteen  days." 

"Eighteen  days?"  George  looked  baffled. 

"In  eighteen  days,"  Candy  assured  him, 
"you'll  probably  feel  the  first  swelling. 
Maybe  a  little  sooner.  There's  a  shortage  of 
nurses,  you  know,  and  mumps  can  be  quite 
serious.  Pan  will  be  absolutely  in  her  ele- 
ment." 

She  went  down  the  stairs,  happily  aware 
of  George,  standing  on  the  top  step,  staring 
after  her  with  horror  in  his  eyes.  But  at  the 
pantry  door  she  came  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

When  Asmodeus  flies,  she  thought,  frown- 
ing in  concentration,  he  makes  husbands  want 
to  remodel  wives,  and  wives  improve  husbands. 
But  he  doesn't  bother  Bill!  Bill  doesn't  want 
me  to  change.  Not  even  so  much  as  a  new 

hair-do.  And  as  for  things  like  screen  tests 

And  yet  he  gave  me  two  new  dresses.  And  he 
said  he'd  stop  hanging  his  feet  over  the  arms  of 
chairs.  Bill,  she  told  herself  proudly,  is 
unique.  He'sabsoln'  '■  •conderful  ^^^.^   ....use  hi^ 

She  opened  tl    and  snut  the  door  behind  hei 
fronted  .Em'-     .  ^iiem  had  looked  at  her  at  all. 


just  a  touch  of  bu- 
bonic plague,  com- 
plicated  with 
chronic  leprosy. 
Maybe  Mr.  Den- 
stone  will  send  you 
a  nice  little  bell  to 
hang  around  your 
neck." 

"Now,  listen " 

Candy  got  up 
suddenly  and  bent 
over  his  bed.  "Now 
you  listen ! ' '  she  said 
fiercely.  "We're be- 
ing enough  of  a 
nuisance  to  the 
Demings  without 
any  embroidery 
from  you.  For  the 
next  two  weeks. 
Bill  Stewart,  you're 
going  to  do  exactly 
as  I  say.  Do  you 
hear?    Exactly!" 

"  For  the  next  two 
weeks?"  He  looked 
up  at  her  craftily. 


i  smile.  "  My  only  mistake 

bu'd  help  me." 

kow    what    you're   doing. 

an  idiot!" 
"Shall   we   go  and  get 

said  with  cool  courtesy. 

of  the  little  study  with  a 
le  had  come  expressly  to 
orge,  and  what  had  she 

pe  wrong  things,  let  Pan 

y.     Made    George    mad. 

\smodeus,  myself. 

ry  came  voices,  and  laugh- 
Some  of  the  guests  had 

\e  party  had  begun. 


;d  to  her,  the  middle  of  the 
voke  her.  He  was  shaking 
Cly.  She  opened  her  eyes, 
o  focus — and  she  struggled 
ith  horror, 
happened  to  you?    Your 

he  said  miserably.  His 
lot  and  frightened.  "  I  feel 
twallow.  Do  you  think  I 
)r  something?" 


It  was  nearly  an  hour  later  when  Candj 
went  downstairs  to  breakfast.  Doctor  Lewis 
had  been  and  gone.  Only  Serena  and  Mr, 
Atlas  were  at  the  table. 

"How  is  he?"  tjiey  asked  in  unison. 

Candy  discovered  that  she  was  starving  t 
death.  She  tossed  off  a  glass  of  orange  juic 
and  fell  upon  a  covered  dish  of  popovei 
"He's  just  uncomfortable.  It's  mumps  a 
right.  He's  got  to  be  kept  still  till  the  swel 
ing  goes  down.  The  poor  Demings " 

"Man  who  came  to  dinner,"  said  Mi 
Atlas. 

Serena  asked,  "But  what  about  your  litt' 
boy,  Candy?" 

Candy  poured  a  cup  of  coffee.  "  I  called 
my  mother.   She's  going  right  out  to  o 
house." 

Serena  sighed.  "My  mother  has  all  ' 
iron  dependability  of  a  child's  balloon  bur 
ing  on  the  ceiling." 

Candy  said  slowly,  "Max.  That  Asmoc 
you  were  telling  us  about.  You  said  he 
an  evil  spirit — but  what  does  he  do?" 

"He  is  the  demon  of  vanity.  He  ma 
married  couples  try  to  improve  each  othe 

"Oh,"  said  Candy. 
.  "  I  don't  see  why  that's  so  awful,"  Sere      ' 
objected.    (Continued  ov  Page  116) 


l^AUlta     11U31E,   JUUKiNAL. 


'^ 


J 


A  furnished  room — 
''somewhere  in  Texas" 

But  we  made  it  ours,  dear,  didn't  we?  You 

were  proud  of  me,  you  said — cooking 

and  doing  dishes  and  keeping  house  and  a 

war  job,  besides.  "Yet  your  hands  are  just  as  soft," 

you  said.  I  oive  my  nice  hands  to  Jergens 

Lotion;  because  watery  jobs  like  dishes  do  take 

the  softening  moisture  from  a  girVs  skin. 


Alone  with  you,  evenings  — 

'■'My  ivife  has  such  dear,  smooth  hands," 
you  said.  (How  thankful  I  am  for 
Jergens  Lotion  to  help  keep  my  hands  nice. 
Jergens  is  such  simple  hand  care.) 


Our  first  dog. 

"To  protect  you,''  you  said.  You  held  my 

hand  —  tight.  Some  day  we'll  have  a  real  home, 

my  darling.  And  my  hands  will  still  be  nice  for  you. 

Because  I'll  be  using  Jergens  Lotion. 


'^A 


MjlVli 


'^.^ 


Girls  doing  Uncle  Sam's  work  in  airplane  factories 

use  Jergens  Lotion,  nearly  3  to  L  Jergens  helps  protect  your  hands 
from  roughness  and  that  coarse,  too-old  look.   Imagine!  Two 
ingredients  in  your  Jergens  Lotion  are  so  special  for  helping  even 
hard-used  skin   to  dearly-desired  smoothness,   that  many 
doctors  prescribe  them.  No  bothersome  sticky  feeling!  Just 
be  sure  and  use  Jergens  Lotion.    10?^  to  11.00,  plus  tax. 


For  the  Softest 
Adorable  Hands  USE 


JERGENS  LOTION 


— ■"-'  "Ti  1 1  If  lHiM 


118 


LAUltS'  llUMh  JULK.NAL 


AprU,  1945 


HE'S  OIR  BABY! 

(Continued  from  Page  27) 


was  arrested  for  drunk  and  reckless  driving, 
smashed  his  car  into  a  milk  truck  in  the  a.m. 
the  other  a.m.  They  give  him  thirty  days  in 
the  county  jail  and  I'm  askin'  you  how  is 
Etta  Michaels  gonna  feed  them  kids  with  no 
money  comin'  in?  It  makes  me  feel  terrible 
to  sit  here  and  think  about  it." 

"Don't  let  it  get  you  down,  sis,"  he  an- 
swered. "Everything  is  O.K.  I  see  you  are 
not  up  on  this  stuff." 

"What  stuff?" 

"You  realize  of  course  that  when  they 
send  a  man  to  the  clink  they  also  send  out 
cash  money  to  his  family  to  feed  them  while 
he  is  there  temporarily." 

"They  do?  I  never  knew  that.  You  sure 
of  that,  Joey?" 

"Sure  I'm  sure.  Don't  you  never  read  the 
papers?" 

"  I  read  the  papers  every  day  and  I  never 
seen  an  account  of  anything  like  that." 

"The  Sunday  papers?  You  read  the  Sun- 
day papers?" 

"Not  all  the  way  through.  I  got  the  big 
Sunday  dinner  to  get  on  Sundays." 

"Well  then" — Joe  got  up — "it's  all  in 
them.  It's  right  there  in  that  part  you  don't 
read.    'By  now.  Cupcake." 

Joe  went  whistling  out  the  door  and  when 
he  saw  poor  Mrs.  Prentiss  from  next  door 
(arthritis)  raking  the  leaves  off  her  lawn, 
he  said,  "Hiya,  Toots." 

She  stopped  raking  and  leaned  on  her 
rake  (the  handle).  "What  a  kid  you  are.  Tell 
me,  Joey,  where  is  your  brother-in-law 
keepin'  himself?  I  ain't  seen  him  around. 
There's  been  no  trouble  with  him  and  her  I 
hope  over  to  your  place?  Where  is  he?" 
And  when  she  said  this  her  eyes  got  so  bright 
and  so  eager  she  looked  like  kids  when  they 
expect  somebody  to  hand  them  a  big  piece 
of  candy. 

Joe  answered  as  follows:  "You  mean 
Clarence?" 


She  said,  "That's  your  brother-in-law 
ain't  it?  At  least  that  is  what  I  ha var always 
led  myself  to  believe.  Where  is  he?" 

Joe  said,  "He  has  a  brother  Ed'  upstate 
for  a  long  time  and  he  went  up  there  with 
him  on  a  fishing  trip." 

The  light  went  out  of  her  eyes  and  she 
slumped  down  sad.  "Oh,  is  that  all?  Well 
some  people  have  it  pretty  easy,  vacations 
with  me  all  it  is  is  work  and  more  work." 

Joe  hated  to  see  her  slump  and  go  sad  like 
this  so  he  said,  "If  I  tell  you  where  he  really 
is  will  you  promise  to  cross  your  heart  and 
keep  it  dark?  " 

She  said,  "Oh  leave  it  go.  I  was  only 
askin'  to  make  conversation.  I  promise. 
Where  is  he?" 

"Well,"  says  Joe,  "what  happened  to 
Clarence  would  fill  a  book.  Sure  you  won't 
crack  on  it  if  I  give  it  to  you?" 

She  explained  that  she  never  cracked  on  it 
when  people  gave  it  to  her  and  that  was  why 
she  had  so  many  lifelong  friends  running  in 
and  out  of  her  house  all  day  and  ringing  her 
telephone. 

"The  truth  of  the  matter  is,"  said  Joe, 
"that  Clarence  is  serving  out  a  thirty-day 
sentence  down  to  the  county  jail  and  don't 
mention  it  as  it  is  a  sore  subject." 

"Well, well,"  she  said  and  her  eyes  lit  up 
again  and  she  came  over  closer  to  him  quick. 
"I  didn't  quite  catch  that." 

Joe  gave  it  to  her  again. 

"What  on  earth,"  she  gasp>ed,  "why  and 
for  what  reason  what  I  mean  is  I  don't  get 
it  and  living  next  door  to  him  for  ten  years 
and  thinkin'  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his 
mouth." 

"It  was  not  a  question  of  butter  in  his 
mouth,"  Joe  said.  "It  was  somethin'  else 
down  his  tonsils.  Clarence  got  sloppy  one 
A.M.  and  smacked  his  car  into  a  milk  truck. 
Maybe  he  was  lookin'  for  another  quart. 
Keep  it  dark.   'By  now.  Cupcake." 


AND 


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Keep  your  rugs  and  carpets  clean  and 
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once  or  twice  a  month  sprinkle  on 
Powder-ene.  Brush  it  in.  An  hour  or 
two  later,  vacuum  it  off.  It  does  not 
cause  matting,  mildew  or  fading  — 
does  not  remove  curl  from  twist  pile. 
Does  not  leave  rings  when  you  clean 
small  areas. . . .  Keep  them  clean  with 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOLKNAL 


119 


Then  Joe  did  a  half  turn  of  the  double 
Balboa  (jive  stuff)  on  the  sidewalk  and  for- 
got about  the  whole  thing. 

But  everything  comes  to  an  end  (too  bad) 
and  Clarence  returned  home  feeling  fine  but 
mentioning  about  the  inconvenience  of  the 

(Whole  thing  and  how  some  people  have  a 
crazy  idea  of  fun — camping  out — bugs,  etc. 
He  didn't  notice  that  the  neighbors  looked 
at  him  slanchwise  as  he  walked  to  and  from 
work,  and  he  didn't  pay  any  particular  at- 
tention when  they  said,  "How  does  it  feel  to 
be  out — we  mean  "back'?"  Or  how  they 
looked  sly  when  he  stopped  and  spoke  about 
the  fishing  trip  with  his  brother. 
But  he  couldn't  help  but 

I  wonder  one  evening  when       

j  that  rich  old  Mrs.  Paepcke 

fin  the  fifteen-room  house 

[on  the  comer  walked  out 
on  her  porch  and  called  to 
him,  "Mr.  Cochems!  Oh, 
Mr.  Cochems!" 

'Were  you  speaking  to 


me,  Mrs.  Paep)cke?"  was 
what  he  said  and  then  she 

wriggled   a    forefinger   at       

him  and  he  went  up  the 

porch  steps.   He  didn't  read  her  meter  but 

he  figured  it  was  a  complaint  against  the  gas 

company. 

'Mr.  Cochems" — the  old  lady  looked  at 
him  like  a  little  old  eagle  and  the  lace  on  her 
dress  was  long  and  yellow  and  torn  in  one 
spot  but  Clarence  did  not  mention  this  to 
her — "Mr.  Cochems,  how  is  your  wife  and 
your  little  boy?" 

He  replied  they  were  fine  and  then  he 
thought  a  minute  and  asked  her  how  she 
was  (tit  for  tat). 

'  I  want  you  all  to  come  here  on  Sunday 
afternoon  at  three."  She  barked  and 
wheezed  and  coughed  a  little  bit  and  a  maid 
in  a  uniform  came  out  and  threw  a  couple  of 
things.  One  was  a  shawl  over  the  old  lady's 
shoulder  and  the  other  was  a  dirty  look  at 
Clarence  Cochems. 


THIKD  PEKSOX 

^  Every  man  i.-  practirally 
^  three  r>ien:  ihe  man  yon 
knew  Itefore  he  proposed:  the 
man  yi>n've  aee«'ple<l:  and  ihe 
man  >on"ve  marri«-«l. 


"What's  wrong?"  asked  Clarence,  figur- 
ing Louis  had  broke  a  window  and  they  were 
keeping  it  from  him  at  home. 

"Wrong?  What  could  be  wrong?  I  want 
you  and  your  wife  and  your  little  boy  to 
come  over  here  on  Sunday  at  three.  What's 
WTong  about  that?  I'll  go  in  now.  It's 
drafty." 

When  Clarence  got  home  and  told  the 
family,  how  could  they  figure  it  except  that 
the  old  lady  was  losing  her  marbles  maybe? 
"I  want  to  see  the  inside  of  that  house 
though."  Pearl  said.  "But,  honey,  didn't  she 
say  anything  about  bringing  Joe?" 

Clarence  answered  her,  "Sweetheart,  she 

said  nothing  whatsoever  about  Joe.  She  said 

the  same  as  I  been  telling 

you, '  Mr.  Cochems,  I  want 

you  and  your  wife  and 
your  little  boy  to  come  at 
three  on  Sunday.'" 

Pearl  said,  "It's  mighty 
funny  she  didn't  mention 
Joe.  Joe  is  one  of  the 
family." 

Clarence  replied  as  fol- 
lows: "Joe  is  not  one  of 

this  family.    He  is  one  of 

your  father's  family." 
Joe  said,  "Socko  on  the  osenay,  Arence- 
clay.  He's  talkin'  sensible,  sis.  Besides 
which  on  Sunday  P.M.  I  have  a  date  with  a 
new  little  chick  who  thinks  I  am  super  be- 
sides which  that  old  lady  has  asked  me  up 
there  so  many  times  I  lost  count  and  I  don't 
want  to  go  because  all  she  wants  is  to  adopt 
me  and  give  me  all  her  moola  and  what  do  I 
want  with  that  when  I  got  all  this  appeal  for 
the  chicks?" 

Came  Sunday  like  it's  bound  to  (every 
week)  and  Clarence  was  ready  early  and 
looking  at  his  watch  at  2 :30  and  looking  then 
at  Pearl.  "Ready?  Better  get  ready."  And 
then  they  scrubbed  Louis,  who  yelled  while 
Pearl  burned  and  sputtered. 

"She  oughta  know  Joe  lives  with  us.  I 
don't  see  why  she  didn't  ask  him."  She  was 


JOHN  OUVER  HOBBES:  Quoted  ir 

Adam's  Sons,  by  Leila  H.  Learned 

(Sparrell  Art  Co.! 


Helps  a  lot  on  the 
mean  jobs 


•  Even  the  toughest  cleaning  jobs  are 
quickly  done  with  Sergeant's  Disinfectant, 
the  pleasant-to-use  cleaner. 

And  pine-fragrant  Sergeant's  cleans 
thoroughly,  too— removes  dirt,  di^i'iferts, 
deodorizes  and  kills  many  germs.  But  it's 
non-irritating,  and  certainly  refreshing. 

A  little  Sergeant's  Disinfectant  in  warm 
water  really  cleans  sinks  and  sickroom 
utensils.  Perfect  for  garbage  cans— other 
cleaning  where  odors  are  a  problem.  Use 
a  little  full-strength  in  sink  drains,  in 
cellar  toilets.  Works  wonders  in  regular 
cleaning  for  kitchen  and  bathroom. 

Clean  the  pleasant  way.  Get  Sergeant's 
Disinfectant  at  drug  or  department  store. 


Leaves  a  breath  off 
the  pine  woods 


SetqeatvVs 

DISINFECTANT 


^o.-^^^"'" 


Fleisher  Yarns,  Inx. 

32  Mercer  St.,  New  York  13,  N.  Y. 

Please    send    mc    your    Fleisher    Men's    Book, 
\'i)l.   74,  for  which  I  am  enclosing  30c. 

Xame 

Address 

City 


_Zone_ 


_State_ 


®'-««*.^!i»i. 


Here's  why  your  very  first  Halo  Shampoo 
will  leave  your  hair  aglow  with  natural  luster! 

1.  Halo  reveals  the  true  natural  beaut>'  of  your  hair  the  very 
first  time  you  use  it  .  .  .  leaves  it  shimmering  with  glorious 
dancing  highlights. 

2.  Even  finest  joaps  leave  dingy  soap-film  on  hair.  But  Halo 
contains  no  soap  .  .  .  made  with  a  new  type  patented  ingre- 
dient it  cannot  leave  soap-film  ! 

3.  Needs  no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse  .  . .  Halo   rinses 
away,  quickly  and  completely  ! 

4.  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant  lather,  in  hardest  water. 
Leaves  hair  sweet,  naturally  radiant! 

5.  Carries    away   unsightly   loose   dandruff    like    magic! 

6.  Lets  hair  dr>-  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curl!  Get 
Halo  Shampoo  today  ...  in  10c  or  larger  sizes. 


REVEALS  THE  HIDDEN  BEAUTY  IN  YOUR  HAIR! 


Why  Ugly  Blemishes 

respond  to  this  medicated  cream 


rrasfcacrA—BdK!**..'..  *w^^m 


Nurses  among  first  to  discover  this  effective  skin  aid 


O  Are  ugly  externally-caused  pimples, 
blemishes  and  skin  irritations  spoiling 
your  appearance?  If  they  are,  get  a  jar 
of  the  Medicated  Skin  Cream,  Noxzema, 
and  see  how  quickly  it  can  help  your 
skin  back  to  normal  soft  smoothness. 
Nurses  were  among  the  first  to  discover 
how  effective  Noxzf^ma  is  as  a  skin  aid. 
That's  because  it's  a  medicated jormula; 
it  not  only  helps  smooth  and  soften 


^fa 


rough,  dry  skin,  but  helps  heal  pimples 
and  blemishes. 

Apply  Noxzema  generously  each 
night,  for  just  10  days.  See  how  much 
it  can  do  for  your  skin.  It's  greaseless, 
non-sticky.  At  all  drug  counters;  10c, 
25c,  50c  and  $1  (plus  tax). 

*extemally-caused 

NOXZEMA   SKIN  CREAM 


iXiiiuttAfyulii 


120 


LADIES'  JIOME  JOURNAL 


Romance  in  the  moonlight  .  .  .  gaiety  iind 
gracious  living— reminiscent  of  the 
Old  South  and  inspiration  for 
lovely  packages  and  fragrances  that  you'll 
love  to  have  and  love  to  give. 
Old  South  Perfumers, 
347  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


Natchez 
Rose  Jar 
$4.50 


Plus  Tax 


Still  saying  it  as  they  walked  up  the  street 
single  file. 

"The  only  way  he  could  come  is  to  be 
born  all  over  again  with  the  name  of  Coch- 
ems  and  that's  not  gonna  happen  if  I  have 
anything  to  do  with  it,"  was  all  the  answer 
Clarence  made  and  then  they  were  standing 
on  the  porch  of  the  big  house  and  Pearl  was 
trying  not  to  let  on  she  was  stealing  some- 
thing (peeks)  through  the  heavy  lace  cur- 
tains or  at  the  uniform  of  the  maid  who 
opened  the  door. 

The  maid  looked  at  them  and  spoke  as 
follows:  "Good  afternoon."  Then  she  waited. 

Pearl  said,  "Hello.  We're  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clarence  Cochems  and  this  is  Louis." 

Clarence  said,  "Nice  day." 

Louis  said,  "What's  your  name?" 

The  maid  opened  the  door  wider.  "Step 
in  please  and  I'll  see  if  Mrs.  Paepcke  is  at 
home." 

Clarence  stepped  in  first.  "Don't  worry 
about  that.  She's  home  all  right.  She  told 
me  three  and  it's  three  on  the  nose." 

The  maid  must  not  have  heard  him  be- 
cause she  said,  "  I'll  see  if  she's  at  home.  Wait 
in  there  please." 

They  stepped  into  a  big  living  room  full  of 
white  statues  (undressed)  and  gold  furni- 
ture and  thick  rugs. 

"I  know  the  old  lady's  home,"  whispered 
Clarence.  "What  was  that  dame  givin'  us?  " 

"The  run-around."  answered  Pearl. 
"Maybe  you  misunderstood  what  she  said 
and  maybe  she  only  wanted  you  to  read  her 
meter." 

"Not  my  territory."  Clarence  looked 
around.  "Some layout." 

"Louis" — this  was  Pearl — "don't  touch 
anything.   Keep  your  hands  offa  that." 

"That's  right,"  nodded  Clarence.  "Fool 
around  till  you  break  somethin'  and  I  gotta 
pay  for  it." 

In  a  minute  old  Mrs.  Paepcke  came  down- 
stairs with  the  maid  helping  her  do  it.  Her 
hair  was  curled  and  she  wore  black  satin  and 
there  was  powder  caught  in  the  wrinkles  of 
her  little  face.  She  beamed  at  them. 


"How  nice  to  have  you  in  my  home,"  she 
said  first  to  Pearl  then  to  Louis  and  last  of 
all  to  Clarence.  Then  she  sat  down.  "How 
kind  you  were  to  come  over.  Please  sit  down 
and  shall  it  be  sherry  or  shall  it  be  tea?  " 

"Sherry,"  said  Louis  because  it  sounded 
like  "cherry." 

Clarence  Cochems  looked  stem  and  he 
said,  "Just  a  kid.  You  know  kids." 

Pearl  said,  "Well  whatever  is  most  con- 
venient. We  don't  want  to  be  any  trouble, 
Mrs.  Paepcke." 

Clarence  said,  "You  name  it,  Mrs. 
Paepcke." 

"I'm  having  sherry,"  she  answered  and 
then  she  poured  out  a  glass  with  a  gold  rim 
and  handed  it  to  Pearl  and  then  a  glass  of 
cola  and  handed  it  to  Louis  who  was  now 
working  on  a  plate  of  huts  and  cheese  things 
on  the  tray.  "Leave  him  alone,"  said  Mrs 
Paepcke.  "He's  only  a  child  once."  Then 
she  handed  a  glass  of  sherry  to  Clarence.  "I 
know  you  want  sherry,  Mr.  Cochems." 

"I  don't  mind  a  sociable  drink  once  in  a 
while  with  friends,"  he  said  and  then  Mrs. 
Paepcke  smiled  slyly  at  him. 

"  I  guess  you  don't,  Mr.  Cochems." 

Then  she  helped  her  own  self  to  several 
glasses  of  wine  and  then  another  one  while 
they  talked  about  the  weather  and  finally 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  made  a  re- 
mark. This  was  it: 

"God  help  anybody  who  gets  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  law.  I  said  that  then  and  I 
say  it  now.  What  a  person  is  shows  on  their 
face  but  do  they  see  it?  They  do  not.  All 
they  care  about  is  making  an  arrest  and  get- 
ting credit  for  it.  I  hate  them.  When  they 
come  around  here  to  sell  tickets  for  their  po- 
licemen's ball  I  tell  them  how  I  feel.  Didn't  I 
have  a  brother  Henry  and  didn't  they  hound 
him  and  hound  him  and  pinned  the  whole 
thing  on  him  when  he  was  home  in  bed 
asleep  at  the  time?  He  was  all  right  later  on 
after  he  got  out  because  he  married  a  good 
woman.  That's  his  son's  picture  on  the  man- 
tel— infantry.  Did  you  ever  see  a  finer- 
lookin'  man  ?  His  father  looked  just  like  that 


[ 


t 


iJiAie.fHt;, 


vn/t^n 


'P-s-s-t!  Are  you  sure  you  Imven't  just  two  pair  in  the  hack  room?" 


' 


Sorry,  lady,  hut  we're  just  as  unhappy  about  it  as  you  are. 

You  see,  it  takes  fine  cotton  yarns  to  make  authentic  Scrnnton 
Craftspun*  Curtains  and  most  of  the  country'' s  supply  is  needed 
now  to  make  things  for  our  fighting  men.  Luckily,  those 
Craftspuns  of  yours  are  so  smartly  styled,  so  strongly  made 
with  their  tied-in-place  weave,  that  there's  lots  of  modern  life 
in  them  yet.  But  just  as  soon  as  we  can  put  our  yarn-hungry 
looms  back  to  work  on  Craftspuns  again,  there  will  be  plenty 
of  these  fine  lace  net  curtains — sturdier,  smarter  than  ever. 


mmm 

*K>x.  U.  S.  P«t.  OS.  j 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


121 


lis  age.  Don't  you  tell  me  a  thing  about 

;n.    My  heart  goes  out  to  anyone  who 

les  up  against  them.    Have  some  more 

e." 

Clarence  looked  at  Pearl  and  Pearl  looked 

Clarence  and  Louis  said,  "Cops.    She's 

:in' about  cops." 

Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Paepcke.  "Cops. 

1  I  can  look  at  you,  Mr.  Cochems.  and 

r  fine  wife  and  beautiful  httle  boy  and 

ipathize  with  what  you've  been  through. 

It's  why  I  asked  you  here  today.   Have 

le  more  wine." 

Clarence  said,  "Just  a  drop.  But  see  here, 

Paepcke — I  don't  get " 

he  stopped  him.  "I'll  never  say  a  word 
ut  it.  Weren't  we  through  the  same  thing 
1  Henry,  and  my  mother  just  as  fine  a 
nan  as  God  ever  breathed  a  breath  of  hfe 

"  Tears  came  into  Mrs.  Paepcke's  eyes 

into  Pearl  Cochems'  too,  and  she  said: 
Mine  too,  Mrs.  Paepcke,  raised  six  chil- 
1  and  all  of  them  a  credit  to  her.  Joe  is 
baby." 
Irs.  Paepcke's  tone  became  bitter.  "And 

see  some  of  them  walking  with  their 
s  in  fancy  harness  down  the  street.  If 
V've  no  children  of  their  own  they  can  do 
somebody  else's  hke  I  did  for  my  sisters' 
brothers'  children.  Give  the  httle  fellow 
e  nuts.  Come  here,  dear,  and  kiss  me." 
earl  pushed  Louis  over  to  her  and  even 
igh  it  was  her  own  idea  she  seemed  to  feel 

about  it  because  she  kept  crying, 
earl  said,  "You're  one  in  a  milhon,  Mrs. 
pcke.    I  wish  there  was  more  like  you. 

always  tried  to  do  for  my  family  too. 
brother  Joe  hves  with  me  and  Clarence. 
3  our  baby." 

Irs.  Paepcke  wiped  her  eyes.  "And  it's  a 
1  like  Mr.  Cochems  who  would  have  it 
;  way.  The  men  who  get  into  trouble  are 
ones  with  the  hearts.  You  take  these 
3ing,  prissy  prissies  never  getting  into 
jtble  on  their  own — no  heart — no  spirit, 
'e  some  wine,  Mr.  Cochems." 
larence  had  something  to  add  and  he 
:d  it.   "What  you  say  is  right,   Mrs. 


Paepcke.  Now  you  take  some  of  these  fel- 
lows down  to  our  place  of  business,  livin' 
from  hand  to  mouth  spendin'  every  cent 
they  get.  Do  they  think  they're  gonna  be 
young  forever?" 

"Youth,"  sighed  Mrs.  Paepcke,  "most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  world.  Hang  onto  it." 

"My  brother  Joe,"  said  Pearl,  "is  seven- 
teen. Always  a  smile  for  everybody.  You 
know  Joe,  Mrs.  Paepcke?" 

"God  bless  such  people,"  nodded  the  old 
lady.  "I  don't  know  him  but  I  wish  I  did. 
Why  isn't  he  here  now?  Go  and  get  him." 

"He's  not  home,"  said  Clarence. 

"Next  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Paepcke, 
"bring  him  next  Sunday.  Come  early  and 
spend  the  day."  Then  she  turned  to  Clar- 
ence. "And  I'm  going  to  do  something  for 
you  too,  Mr.  Cochems.  I'll  show  them  they 
can't  ruin  a  man's  life.  You  work  at  the  gas 
company.  Do  you  know  Eddie  Carmody?" 

"Mr.  Carmody,"  and  Clarence's  voice 
got  a  hush-hush  sound,  "is  our  president." 

"I  know  him  well,"  said  Mrs.  Paepcke. 
"  I  own  a  big  block  of  preferred  stock  in  that 
company.  I'm  going  to  tell  Eddie  to  give 
you  something  good  down  there.  Oh,  yes, 
Martha " 

There  stood  the  maid  and  she  said,  "Time 
for  your  nap,  Mrs.  Paepcke,"  and  she  then 
did  two  things.  She  helped  her  up  and  then 
she  held  her  up. 

"My  friends  will  stay  right  here,"  the  old 
lady  said.  "They  will  have  more  sherry  and 
the  little  boy  will  have  more  nuts.  Will  you 
excuse  me  now  and  come  again  next  Sun- 
day." Then  she  smiled  and  wiped  her  eyes 
and  the  maid  took  her  out  and  helped  her  up 
the  stairs  and  Pearl  and  Clarence  and  Louis 
sat  very  still  and  they  heard  her  breathing 
hard  and  panting  and  she  was  muttering, 
"I'm  coming.  I'm  coming.  Don't  pull  me." 

"You've  had  too  much  again,"  the  maid 
was  scolding.  "Shame  on  you,  shame,  shame. 
You're  all  wore  out." 

"Oh,  shame  on  you,  you  old  crab,"  was  the 
last  thing  they  heard  Mrs.  Paepcke  say,  and 
Pearl  commented  as  she  helped  herself  to 


a  different  look 


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Surprising  how  a  different  shade  of  Chen  Yu  can 
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122 


LADIES'  IIOiVIE  JOURNAL 


AprU,  19 


BrantI  ]\>\v  Gelatine  lle^sert  Itlea 

Made  with  jam  or  jelly! 
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Gelatine  spoons  raspberry 
Vz  cup  cold  water  jam  (or  jelly) 
1  Vi  cups  hot  water         3  tablespoons 
4  tablespoons                 lemon  juice 

sugar  Vi  teaspoon  salt 

Soften  gelatine  in  cold  water.  Add 
sugar,  salt,  raspberry  jam  and  hot 
water  and  stir  until  dissolved.  (If 
jelly  is  used,  dissolve  over  hot  water 
before  adding.)  Then  a(hl  lemon  juice 
and,  if  jam  is  used,  strain  to  remove 
seeds.  Pour  into  mold  that  has  been 
rinsed  in  cold  water  and  chill.  (If 
more  color  is  desired,  a  little  vegetable 
color  may  be  added.)  Sei-ve,  if  desired, 
with  a  meringue  sauce  or  thin  cream. 


Note:  strawberry,  grape,  blackberry 
or  any  other  jam,  jelly  or  marmalade 
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AT    STORCS 
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more  wine,  "She's  swell.  She's  number  one 
in  my  book." 

"Don't  go  makin'  a  pig  of  yourself  just 
'cause  it's  right  there  before  you,"  Clarence 
mentioned,  and  she  poured  him  some  too. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  maid  came  back  in 
and  she  didn't  say  one  word  but  picked  up 
the  tray  with  the  wine  and  started  out  of  the 
room  with  it. 

"Pardon  my  glove,"  said  Pearl,  who  felt 
good. 

"This  is  where  we  came  in,"  said  Clarence, 
and  he  got  up  and  said  to  Pearl,  "Come  on, 
sweetheart.  Come  on  you  too,  Louis." 

Pearl  waited  till  they  were  out  the  door 
and  then  she  walked  back  into  the  kitchen 
where  the  maid  was.  "Excuse  me,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  get  it.  Are  you  sure  Mrs.  Paepcke 
didn't  have  us  mixed  up  with  somebody 
else?" 

The  maid  answered,  "She  didn't  have  you 
mixed  with  nobody  else.  Your  brother  told 
Mrs.  Prentiss  and  Mrs.  Prentiss  told  the 
chauffeur  all  about  the  trouble  your  husband 
got  into  and  in  jail.  It's  a  new  chauffeur. 
Mrs.  Paepcke  is  always  sorry  for  people  who 
get  in  jail.  We  cut  those  pieces  out  of  the  pa- 
pers before  we  give  them  to  her.  I'm  not 
sorry  for  them  but  she  is." 

When  Pearl  got  outside  Clarence  edged 
over  close  to  her  and  glanced  around  and 
spoke  out  of  the  side  of  his  mouth.  "To  me 
there's  somethin'  disgustin'  about  an  old 
lady  that  gets  so  slopped  over  she  thinks  she 
knows  our  president,  Mr.  Carmody,  and  if 
she  thinks  she's  got  any  of  our  preferred 


stock  she  better  look  again  because  all  of  it 
owned  by  about  only  three  people  in  tl 
town.  Sweetheart,  you  keep  away  from  h 
and  Louis  too  and  Joe  too.   It's  no  place 
be  hangin'  around  with  all  them  statues." 

4 

One  night  about  a  week  later  Claren 
came  home  and  he  had  a  look  on  his  fa 
which  said  "I  know  a  secret."  Then  he  calk 
them  all  together  and  he  said: 

"Well  folks  it  just  goes  to  show.  Do  yo 
best  and  you  get  the  best.  I  never  stalled  i 
my  work  in  bad  weather  (Rule  3)  like  tl 
rest  of  the  guys  and  the  higher  ups  is  watc 
ing  you  even  when  you  don'f  think  so. 
what  happens  to  me?   I  specially  want  yc 
to  get  this  Joe.  Today  Mr.  Carmody  calls  i 
into  the  office  and  says,  'Cochems  we  a 
puttin'  you  on  the  sales  floor  at  a  twentT 
five-dollar-a-month  increase  in  salary  and  I 
chance  for  advancement  which  is  more  inl 
portant  even  than  the  money.'  And  how  di 
it  happen  Joe?    Not  by  kiddin'  aroum 
Think  it  over." 

Joe  did  too.  He  thought  it  over  for  fi\ 
minutes,  because  he  had  a  hunch  there  was 
lot  in  what  Clarence  said.  Then  he  wei 
down  to  the  record  shop. 

And  while  Pearl  was  listening  to  Clarenc 
and  saying,  "That's  swell,  honey,"  she  \vi 
doing  some  figuring  (detective)  on  her  ow 
and  she  got  the  whole  thing  figured  but  sh 
also  made  up  her  mind  to  two  things.  Thej 
were:  she  would  never  tell  Clarence  aboi 
Joe  (nice  big  sister)  and  she  would  nevt 
tell  Joe  about  Mrs.  Paepcke  (loving  wife 


THIS  CM  BE  AMERICA  H^;.;^^:. 


•iV 


THE   FOREST 


■A- 


IN  ANCIENT  American  expression,  still 
M  popular  in  some  parts  of  the  country, 
/■  especially  in  the  Far  West,  is  "Bulling 
iM.  your  way  through."  It  is  not  a  compli- 
ment. At  best  it  is  said  with  a  tolerant  smile; 
at  the  worst,  with  contempt.  The  person  you 
are  describing  is  not  patient.  He  is  not  wise. 
He  docs  not  look  where  he  is  going.  When 
confronted  by  a  problem,  he  puts  his  head 
down  and  charges  at  it  blindly,  like  a  bull. 
Sometimes  he  gets  through,  but  always  with 
unnecessary  damage  to  himself,  to  others 
and  to  whatever  is  in  the  way.  Symbolically 
speaking,  hanging  to  his  horns  there  is  al- 
ways some  part  of  a  fence  that  has  to  be 
rebuilt. 

A  bull  is  a  courageous  animal,  and  cer- 
tainly he  is  useful.  But  a  man  is  supposed 
to  be  wiser. 

Horace  Kephart,  famous  mountain  and 
forest  man,  wrote  several  excellent  textbooks 
on  how  to  find  your  way  through  a  wilder- 
ness and  how  to  be  safe  while  doing  so.  All 
he  did,  of  course,  was  to  collect  and  put  into 
print  what  every  frontiersman  has  always 
known.  Two  of  Kephart's  most  important 
rules  are  these: 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  straight  line 
in  an  untraveled  country.  .  .  .  When  you 
are  lost,  or  in  difficulties,  sit  down,  take 
hold  of  yourself  by  an  effort  of  the  will,  be 
calm.   Panic  is  what  kills  men. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  straight  line 
in  an  untraveled  country  because  too  many 
unexpected  obstacles  intervene:  a  bog  here, 
a  deadfall  there,  a  cliff  somewhere  else.  All 
you  work  by  is  your  general  direction,  the 
points  of  your  compass  and  the  knowledge 
of  your  objective:  where  you  want  to  go. 
As  for  the  rest  of  it,  patiently,  wisely,  cheer- 
fully and,  by  necessity,  circuitously,  you  find 
your  way  through  the  wilderness. 

As  for  not  getting  lost,  that  also  has  to 
do  with  calmness  and  common  sense. 

Getting  lost,  like  everything  else  where 
man  is  concerned,  is  80  per  cent  psycho- 
logical, 20  per  cent  actual.  If  the  80  per  cent 
is  under  control,  the  20  per  cent  is  usually 
surmountable.  Fundamentally,  getting  lost 
is  no  more  than  having  to  alter  somewhat 
the  original  specifications,  the  blueprint, 
because  of  the  unexpected. 


.' 


Panic  is  man's  worst  danger.  Unnecessar 
suspicion,  unnecessary  worry  are  the  nexi 
Men  have  run  themselves  to  death  in  a  ter 
acre  forest  within  five  miles,  or  less,  c 
safety. 

Now  life  is  a  continual  frontier,  and  ca 
be  nothing  else,  for  every  moment  of  eac 
succeeding  hour  we  move  into  the  unknow 
and  unexpected.  Life  is  the  one  frontier  tha 
can  never  be  traveled  until  you  come  to  ii 
Unless  you  use  your  head,  and  all  the  ex 
perience  of  the  moments  that  are  past,  some 
day  you  will  surely  get  lost  in  the  moment 
to  come,  and  then  you  will  get  into  a  pani 
and  run  yourself  to  death,  and  spread  pani 
among  a  lot  of  other  people,  unless  instantli 
you  take  hold  of  yourself.  The  similarity  o 
life  to  making  your  way  through  an  un 
known  forest,  or  climbing  unknown  moun 
tains,  is  perfect.  Everything  a  mountainee 
or  forest  man  or  frontiersman  knows  i 
applicable  to  life.  Where  are  you  going 
Why  do  you  want  to  get  there?  That  ther 
will  be  a  hundred  unexpected  difficulties  t 
be  surmounted  is  inevitable. 

We  are  certainly  in  one  of  the  mos 
dangerous  periods  the  world  has  ever  seer 
All  that  we  hold  dear,  all  that  has  made  thi 
country  great,  is  in  peril,  and  at  stake.  Ou 
enemy  is  powerful  and  adroit ;  and  even  whei 
he  is  defeated,  the  evil  he  has  loosed  will  tak 
much  patience  before  it  is  hunted  down  am 
exterminated.  As  we  find  our  way  througl 
this  forest  we  will  come  upon  scores  o 
unlooked-for  obstructions — dozens  of  pit 
falls.  But  if  we  know  what  we  want  an( 
our  approximate  destination,  and  if  we  kee| 
calm,  we'll  get  there. 

And  what  do  we  want,  and  what  is  out 
destination?  Peace,  decency  again,  an( 
honor  once  more  between  men  and  nations 

Panic  is  man's  mortal  enemy;  that,  :inr 
unnecessary  suspicion  and  worry.  The  ins 
is  death,  the  others  are  bogs  and  swamps  anc 
down  timber.  But  America  is  a  nation  o 
frontiersmen.  Many  of  us  still  actually  :in 
mountaineers  and  forest  men,  and  the  tr.uli 
tion  is  still  strong  with  all  of  us;  even  w  itl 
those  who  live  in  cities,  even  with  thost 
most  recently  come.  We  can  find  our  \saj 
through  the  forest,  and  we  will. 

And  That  Can  be  America. 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


4iOij&  moMif  -imjuA- 

do"  new  Ae/wevacmf? 


re' are  two  ways  to  buy  bacon — in  the  slice  and  in  the  slab — and 
Lt  a  lot  of  good-eating  ways  there  are  to  serve  it 

"bacon-and"  sandwiches — bacon  on  the  meat  loaf 
—bacon  in  the  bean  pot — and  bacon  always  in  the  breakfast. 

v's  the  time  to  brush  up  on  your  bacon  ideas.  Anci  keep  in  mind, 
e's  food  energy  in  bacon,  plus  the  protein  in  each  bit  of  lean.  All 
.t  has  the  right  kind  of  proteins,  for  growth,  for  maintaining  body 
les.  It  is  these  proteins  of  highest-quality  that  make  meat  "a 
istick  of  protein  foods." 

AMERICAN     MEAT    INSTITUTE 

Headquarters,  Chicago   •    Members   throughout  the  United   States 


Bacon  for  Breakfast— crhp-v/avi:d  .slices  flanking  the  cgg^.  Bacon  in  the  Lunch— one  of  the  favor- 
ites, an  open-faced  sandwich  of  bacon  and  tomato.  Bacon  in  the  Main  Dish  —  meat  patties 
wrapped  in  bacon.  Bacon  and  Greens — it  isn't  a  real  "me.ss  of  greens"  without  that  sweet-salt 
flavor  of  bacon. 

This  Seal  7iieatis  that  all  nutritional 
statements  matle  in  this  ativcrtise- 
mcnt  are  acceptable  to  the  Council 
on  Foods  and  Nutrition  of  the  Amer- 
ican Medical  Association. 


h  with    WlHiafn    Bendix    feofurecf   in   "The   Life   of  Riley" — every    Sunday    evening    on    the    Blue    Netv/ork  —  see    paper  for   local    time    and    station. 


.i^ 


JCII&fiMfiBAaifih 


124 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


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Mott  Co.,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 


removed  by 

MOSCO 


PULVEX 

FLEA  POWDER 


IT  WAS  WONDERFUL 

(Continued  from  Page  20) 

turned  I  could  get  a  look  at  him  close  enough 
to  see  his  eyes. 

I  guess  I  overdid  it,  because  suddenly  he 
turned  and  marched  straight  toward  me.  I 
stood  frozen  to  the  floor.  He  stopped  in  front 
of  me  and  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"Well,"  he  said  angrily,  "what?" 

"What?"  I  gasped  weakly.  "I  beg  your 
pardon " 

"Don't  pretend  you  haven't  been  follow- 
ing me.  Now  what  for?" 

I  moved  my  lips  futilely.  Not  a  word  came 
out.  He  stood  there  and  glared  down  at  me. 
His  eyes  were  a  very  definite  and  flashing 
green.  They  were  wonderful. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  after  a 
few  seconds  of  this,  and  his  voice  was  very 
sarcastic,  "I  really  think  I  have  a  right  to 
know  why  you  are  trailing  me  so  persistently. 
If  you  work  for  a  detective  agency — and  I 
have  heard  the  shortage  of  men  has  hit  them 
too — you  lack  experience.  I  spotted  you  on 
the  first  turn  around  the  station." 

I  gulped  and  shook  my  head.  "It's  all  be- 
cause of  a  magazine  article,"  I  finally  man- 
aged to  get  out.  "  It  said  if  you  went  to  a  big 
station  you  would  find  thousands  of  men 
who  all  walked  like  the  one  you  didn't  want 
to  think  about  any  longer  and  then  you 
would  find  out  how  run-of-the-mill  he  was 
and  dull  and — oh,  I  looked  and  looked  for 
hours  and  you  were  the  only  one.  I'm  so 
terribly  sorry,  but  I've  been  trying  to  find 
something  wrong  with  you."  I  stopped  then 
and  felt  the  blood  pour  into  my  face  at  the 
look  of  stunned  surprise  that  came  over  his. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  uncertain. 

"I  can't  possibly  explain  it  to  you,"  I 
wailed.  "I've  never  been  so  embarrassed, 
but  it  was  an  article  in  a  magazine  about 

how  to  fall  out  of  love "  My  voice  ran 

down  like  an  old-fashioned  phonograph. 

rJuT  he  was  beginning  to  regain  his  self- 
possession.  He  adjusted  his  hat  and  straight- 
ened his  tie,  and  the  look  he  finally  turned  on 
me  was  faintly  patronizing.  "Have  you  been 
at  this  for  many  weeks?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly  not,"  I  said  crisply.  "I'm  a 
secretary  in  the  American  Trust  Company 
on  Wall  Street  and  I  work  extremely  hard." 

His  head  snapped  up  at  that  and  he 
grabbed  my  arm.  "Secretary?"  he  almost 
hissed  at  me.  "Are  you  sure?" 

"Well,  of  course."  I  attempted  a  step 
backward,  but  he  held  me  too  tightly  to 
move.  I  couldn't  imagine  what  had  got  into 
him.  "I've  been  one  for  six  years,"  I  said. 
"It's  very  dull." 

"Listen,"  he  said,  and  started  to  walk, 
still  holding  my  arm.  "An  angel  from  heaven. 
I  need  you  terribly.  Can  you  take  shorthand 
and  type?" 

"Naturally.  I  work  for  a  vice-president. 
He's  mean.  He  doesn't  ever  allow  me  to 
erase.  So  I  don't  make  mistakes." 

"My,"  he  said,  "think  of  that!  My  good- 
ness!" He  was  walking  faster  and  faster, 
and  we  were  at  the  Lexington  Avenue  exit 
before  I  knew  it.  "I  have  to  go  to  Washing- 
ton," he  was  saying,  and  he  waved  at  a  taxi. 

"Now  wait  a  minute,"  I  said  and  planted 
my  feet  firmly. 

"We  can't  discuss  anything  here."  He 
pushed  me  into  the  taxi  and  yelled  some- 
thing at  the  driver  as  he  jumped  in  after  me. 

I  was  too  amazed  to  move.  I  thought 
about  kidnapings  and  all  kinds  of  horrible 
things.  He  stared  down  at  me  intently. 

"  I  need  a  secretary  in  the  worst  way,  and 
I'm  not  mean.  I  was  supposed  to  meet  one 
in  Grand  Central,  I  thought.  Mine  up  and 
got  married  yesterday,  the  way  they  do 
these  days.  She  had  arranged  for  her  sister 
to  come  down  from  Hartford  and  see  me 
through  this  week  end  and  until  I  could  get 
another  one."  He  stopped  and  took  a  deep 
breath.  "But  she  didn't  come  and  she 
doesn't  know  where  my  new  office  is.  I  have 
to  be  in  Washington  tomorrow  morning  for  a 
conference,  with  this  memorandum  all  pre- 
pared. There's  a  meeting  Monday."  He 
almost  looked  as  if  he  would  burst  into  tears. 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


125 


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Name 

Address 

Town State 


"Public  stenographers,"  I  said,  and  with- 
drew slightly  into  the  comer  of  the  cab. 
"This  is  Saturday  and  my  day  off,  and  I'm 
tired  anyhow." 

"Public  stenographers,"  he  practically 
shouted  at  me.  "What  do  you  know  about 
public  stenographers?  Have  you  tried  to 
get  one  lately?" 

"Well,  no,"  I  said. 

"Of  course  not;  you  can't.  And  if  you  do 
they're  about  seventeen  and  so  dumb  you 
want  to  break  things  over  their  heads.  I 
know  it's  Saturday,  but  I'll  pay  you " 

I  turned  away  from  the  pleading  look 
in  his  eyes.  "I'm  sorry,"  I  said,  "but 
really " 

He  interrupted  before  I  had  a  chance  to 
finish:  "I'll  pay  you  almost  anything." 

I  looked  out  the  window  and  tried  to 
figure  out  where  we  were.  "It  isn't  money." 
I  half  smiled,  because  if  he  was  like  Tony  he 
wasn't  the  kind  of  man  to  plead  with  a 
woman  for  anything. 

"No,  of  course  not.  I'm  sorry."  He  sat 
back  in  his  comer  of  the  taxi  and  made  an 
effort  to  relax.  "My  name  is  John  Sanford 
Ware,  Jr.,"  he  said.  "I'm  all  tied  up  with 
airplanes.  Have  been  since  before  the  war." 
He  named  a  company  I've  heard  a  lot  about 
and  went  on  to  explain  that  postwar  prob- 
lems had  become  very  important,  and  there 
was  a  meeting  on  Monday  in  Washington 
to  discuss  further  plans.  Each  company  had 
to  present  its  plans  in  writing. 

"Why  leave  such  important  business  until 
the  last  minute?  "  I  asked  as  the  cab  stopped 
for  a  red  light. 


NATURE'S  ERROR 

^  Why  fools  are  endowed  by  Nature 
^  with  voices  so  much  louder  than 
sensible  people  possess  is  a  mystery. 
It  is  a  fact  emphasized  throughout 
history.  _a.  e.  HERTZLER. 

Reason  often  makes  mistakes,  but 
conscience  never  does. 

—JOSH  BILUNGS:  Josh  Billings'  Old  Farmer's 
Alminax.   {G.  W.  Dillingham  Co.) 


He  pushed  his  hat  to  the  back  of  his  head 
and  I  saw  how  crisp  his  black  hair  was. 
There  was  almost  a  wave  in  it,  but  it  was  so 
thick  you  really  couldn't  tell.  Then  I  no- 
ticed how  his  chin  was  squared. 

"Lady,"  he  said,  "you  must  have  heard 
about  the  war.  I've  been  working  night  and 
day  for  months.  There  just  hasn't  been 
enough  time." 

"You  look  healthy,"  I  said  and  immedi- 
ately felt  ridiculous  for  making  such  a  stupid 
statement,  but  Tony  never  looked  too 
healthy.  He  was  kind  of  pale.  I  guess  he 
drank  too  much. 

The  taxi  stopped  then  and  I  couldn't  have 
told  you  where  we  were.  Mr.  Ware  jumped 
out  and  paid  the  driver.  I  stood  there  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  a  tall  building  and 
looked  around.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do. 
I  looked  at  John  Sanford  Ware,  Jr.,  as  he 
waited  for  change,  and  suddenly  I  was  seeing 
how  different  he  was  from  Tony.  Here  was  a 
man  who  wasn't  trading  on  his  attractive- 
ness. He  was  so  interested  in  what  he  was 
doing  that  nothing  else  mattered.  He  must 
really  need  someone  to  help  him  out,  or  he 
would  never  have  bothered  to  pick  up  a  girl  in 
the  station.  The  taxi  drove  off  and  he  turned 
to  me. 

"All  right,"  I  said  and  sighed.  "I'll  help 
you  out.  But  banking  and  airplanes  are 
rather  far  apart.  You'll  have  to  be  patient." 

He  caught  my  elbow  and  whirled  me 
around  toward  the  entrance  to  the  building. 
"You're  wonderful,"  he  said  and  smiled. 
With  the  smile  all  the  strain  and  sternness 
went  out  of  his  face.  His  eyes  crinkled  and 
his  mouth  went  up  at  the  corners.  It  made 
me  feel  very  special  because  he  was  smiling 
at  me,  and  for  the  first  time  that  day  I  was 
glad  I  had  on  my  new  suit. 

"My  name,"  I  said  a  little  primly  as  we 
went  toward  the  elevators, ' '  is  Margo  Scott, " 
and  I  mentally  pulled  myself  together.  Just 
because  a  man  smiles  at  a  secretary,  you 


Mighty   soft  for  Johnny 

When   his  chores  are  through; 
You'll  find   Northern  Tissue 

Mighty  soft  for  you  ! 


Mighty  Soft... 

/VORTHERN  TtSSUE 


Copr.  1945.  Northern  Paper  Mills.  Green  Bay.  Wis. 


^M^mMaM^maaSa^ 


126 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  194!: 


FAMILY  SECRET 

A  J{iss  for  a  ^JVCrs.  who  I{nows  how  to  shop! 
fVho'd  guess  that  smart  outfit  is  two  years  old? 


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iron  folds  of  a  sheet.  Always  choose  sheets  from 
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All  yesterdays  are  dreams  that 
slowly  pass; 
Today  is  life  with  April  in  the 
trees 
And  apple  blossoms  falling  to  the 
grass — 
Tomorrow  is  the  wind  that 
laughs  and  grieves. 
We  walk  today  beside  this 
wind-blue  stream 
And  laugh  to  April  wind  that 
laughs  to  us; 
We  climb  steep  bluffs  of  knee- 
deep  trillium 
Where  fingers  of  spruce  pines 
hang  tremulous. 


Another  year  before  an  April 
comes 
When  magic  music  of  the 
whippoorwills 
And  silver  rain's  tattooing  cliffs  like 
drums 
Will  break  the  silence  of  these 
mighty  hills. 
Why  does  this  mountain  April  have 
to  fade 
When  we  could  dream  where  tril- 
lium blooms  forever.' 
This  April  goes  before  our  dreams 
are  made. 
Swifter  than  music  of  a  mountain 
river. 


I^rom  Album  of  Destiny,  recently  published  by  E.  P. 
Dutton  &  Co-    Copyright,  1944.  E.  P.  Dutlon  &  Co. 


don't  have  to  think  he's  smiling  at  a  woman 
too.  There  is  nothing  more  marvelous  in  this 
world  than  the  perfect  stenographer. 

The  offices  Mr.  Ware  led  me  through  were 
nothing  short  of  phenomenal  to  my  bank- 
accustomed  eyes.  They  were  obviously  new 
and  very  modern.  His  office  was  painted  a 
cool  green.  The  desk  and  chairs  were  blond 
mahogany.  There  was  a  fireplace  with  green 
glass  andirons  and  some  deep  chairs  by  it 
done  in  a  brilliant-russet  tweedy  material. 
The  draperies  were  the  same  color  as  the 
walls,  and  the  thick  rug  was  a  deeper  rust 
than  the  chairs.  Mr.  Ware  pointed  to  a  small 
office  opening  from  his,  where  he  said  his 
secretary  sat.  "  When  I  have  one,"  he  smiled. 

By  the  time  I  found  a  notebook  and  a 
pencil  he  was  ready  to  start.  Notes  were 
strewn  all  over  his  desk  and  he  was  frowning, 
completely  engrossed  in  them.  I  sat  down 
and  opened  the  notebook  and  waited.  There 
is  something  fascinating  in  wailing  for  a 
strange  man  to  begin  dictating.  You  can  tell 
a  lot  about  a  man  from  the  way  he  does  it. 
Mr.  Ware  started  off  with  a  rush.  I  wasn't 
surprised,  because  I  already  knew  he  was 
an  impetuous  and  strong-willed  man. 

He  kept  up  a  steady  pace  for  what  seemed 
hours,  and  I  guess  I  finally  got  numb.  His 
voice  went  on  and  on  and  I  made  circles  and 
lines,  and  if  I  had  any  feeling  at  all  it  was  a 
fervent  hope  that  they  would  all  mean  the 
right  things  when  I  started  to  type  them. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  and  said  crisply, 
"That's  all.  We  made  excellent  time." 

I  started  to  stand  up,  but  my  knees  col- 
lapsed under  me.  I  sat  down  with  a  thud. 

"What's  wrong?"  He  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  bundling  up  his  notes  and  looked 
at  me  with  real  concern. 

"I  guess  my  feet  are  asleep,"  I  said. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Why,  it's  after 
six.  No  wonder.  I'm  terribly  sorry;  you 
must  be  exhausted."  He  piled  all  the  notes 
in  a  drawer.  "Here,  you  sit  in  this  chair  and 
relax  a  bit  before  you  start  to  type." 

I  settled  back  and  sighed  luxuriously. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "whatever  quirk  of  fate 
took  you  to  Grand  Central  this  afternoon?" 

I  smiled.  "A  whole  chain  of  quirks  of 
fate,"  I  said. 

He  sat  down  in  the  other  chair.  A  puzzled 
look  came  into  his  green  eyes.  "Let  me  see, 
what  was  that  fantastic  business  you  were 
occupied  with  there  at  Grand  Central?" 

"It  sounds  idiotic,  I  know,"  I  began,  and 
told  him  all  about  the  magazine  article  and 
Tony. 

"Why  did  you  pick  on  me?"  he  asked. 

"Well"— I  looked  up  to  meet  his  steady 
green  eyes — "you  see,  it  was  the  way  you 
walk.  Like  Tony  exactly.  I  hope  I  didn't 
embarrass  you  too  much." 

He  put  his  head  back  and  laughed.  "Em- 
barrass me-  lady,  you  had  me  scared.  No 
woman  ever  followed  me  like  that  before." 


I  asked  him  about  airplanes.  He  was  ter- 
ribly interested  in  his  work  and  it  was  excit- 
ing to  listen  to  him  talk. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "I  do  love  it.  I  eat 
with  it  and  sleep  with  it,  but  in  the  beginning 
I  was  sore.  I  wanted  to  fly  the  things,  but 
they  said  I  was  too  old.  I'm  thirty-nine. 

"Oh,"  I  said.  "That's  a  shame,  but  youi 
work  is  more  important  really." 

"I  know.  So  then  they  drafted  me.  I'm 
not  married — never  had  the  time — and  the 
company  got  me  permanently  deferred.  I 
was  mad  about  that  too." 

I  nodded  sympathetically,  because  I  could 
see  it  still  made  him  mad  that  he  had  never 
had  the  chance  to  fight.  Then  my  head  stuck 
in  the  middle  of  a  nod.  "Not  married,"  he'd 
said.  I  must  have  misunderstood  him 
Thirty-nine  and  as  attractive  as  he  was  and 
not  married. 

I  tried  to  pull  myself  together  enough  to 
get  his  mind  off  not  fighting  the  war  as  a 
private  in  the  front  lines.  I  had  my  mouth 
all  open  to  say  something  trite  and  dull  when 
I  saw  that  he  was  staring  at  me  intently. 

"You're  an  odd  girl,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes 
sent  little  shivers  scampering  up  and  down 
my  spine,  they  were  so  deep  and  green. 

"Not  odd,  crazy,"  I  said  and  stood  up 
abruptly.  "  I  get  myself  so  involved  with  my 
love  life  that  the  only  way  I  can  get  tem- 
porary relief  is  to  work  on  my  one  day  off, 
I'd  better  get  after  the  typing." 

He  grinned  at  me  and  I  could  feel  his  eye' 
on  me  as  I  walked  across  the  room  to  pick  up 
my  notebook.  I  hoped  my  stocking  seam^ 
were  straight.  I  had  the  feeling  that  h( 
wanted  to  talk  some  more,  but  I  didn't  dan 
look  at  him.  Because  I  wanted  to  know  mon 
about  him  myself. 

I  really  can  work  fast  when  I  settle  dowi 
to  it.  Mr.  Ware  read  each  page  as  I  finishec 
it,  and  I  noticed  once  that  he  was  staring  a 
me  with  that  "you're  some  typist"  look  ii 
his  eyes.  It  was  a  wonderful  feeling,  workin( 
with  him.    I  liked  it. 

By  nine  o'clock  we  were  finished. 

"Food,"  he  said,  as  he  shoved  the  com 
pleted  work  into  his  brief  case.  "I'll  taki 
you  to  dinner.  You  certainly  need  food,  ant 
I'm  famished." 

"Well "  I  said  doubtfully,  some  inne 

sense  warning  me  to  leave  well  enough  alone 

"Oh,  come  on.    My  train  is  at  midnight 
That  gives  me  three  hours  to  learn  mon 
about  you."  He  laughed. down  at  me  and 
laughed  back.   I  really  was  terribly  hungry 

We  went  to  a  place  called  Maxa's,  over  oi 
Third  Avenue.  It  was  in  an  old  house  am 
we  went  down  six  or  seven  steps  from  th 
street  and  along  a  dark  hall.  There  was  ; 
small  bar  off  the  hall,  but  it  was  so  quiet  tha 
our  footsteps  echoed.  The  dining  room  wa 
charming,  its  walls  paneled  in  dark  polish© 
oak.  The  only  light  came  from  candles  on  th 
(Coiilinued  on  Page  IZS) 


II 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


THROUGH       THE       LOOKING 


>ir  Gliristo^lier 

HIRD  DIMENSION  BEAUTY  IN  STERLING  BY 


GLASS  BEHOLD      SIR      CHRISTOPHER,       BEAUTIFUL      FROM      EVERY      ANGLE 


•DDU    OJ    W^ndtUr  ...in  the  lofty  beauty  of  a  mirror 


r-frame,  carved  by 

the  great  Grinhng  Gibbons,  master-carver  to  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  outstanding 
architect  of  all  time ...  in  the  sculptured  magnificence  of  a  silver  masterpiece.  Sir  Christopher, 
by  Wallace,  translates  the  heroic  tradition  of  Wren  and  Gibbons  into  sterling. 
The  hand-wrought  quality  of  this  pattern  is  Third  Dimension  Beauty,  exclusively  Wallace. 


In  the  brighter  days  to  come,  Wallace  Silver  will  again  be  available  in  larger  quantities  for  gracious  living.  ■5V  "iV  "i^  P'^n  now  for  that  time.  Send  10^  for  book, 
'Wallace  Beauty  floods  in  Silver,  and  read  the  fascinating  history  of  Wallace  sculptured  patterns -Sir  Christopher,  Stradivari,  Grande  Baroque,  Rose  Point  and  Grand  Colonial. 
^  a?  ^  WALLACE     SILVERSMITHS,      WALLINCFORD,     CONN.  -^  ^  -i^ 


jM^m^tiMi 


128 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


SENSATIONAL,  NON-DRYING 

An  excitingly  different  sponge-on  make-up 
to  keep  you  looking  fresh  as  a  flower,  hour  after  hour, 
without  drying  your  skin . . .  because  CAMPUS  is  a  superb 
fusion  of  cream  and  gossamer  powder,  pre-blended  to  im- 
part flawless  complexion  beauty. 

CAMPUS  MAKE-UP  comes  to  you  from 
Hollywood  .  .  .  where  breath-taking  beauty  is  created  with 
inspiring  perfection  ...  to  give  you  the  glowing  look  of 
campus-fresh  loveliness. 

You  can  rely  utterly  on  sensational,  non-drying 
CAMPUS  MAKE-UP,  for  that  tantalizing, 
star-ry  look.  Newest  fashion  shades. 
$1.00  plus  tax.  Lipstick  and 
sponge-on  rouge  to  match. 
Fine  Cosmetics  COLONIAL  DAMES,  INC. 
(Not  connected  mth  any  society)  HOLLYWOOD  27,  CALIFORNIA 


(Continued  from  Page  126) 
tables,  and  there  was  a  small  string  orchestra 
in  an  alcove.  The  headwaiter  seemed  to 
know  Mr.  Ware  very  well. 

We  ordered  steaks  and  tossed  green  salad. 
I  was  practically  drooling  at  the  thought  of 
steak,  as  I  seldom  see  one  in  this  meat- 
rationed  world.  We  talked  about  what  we 
liked  to  eat  and  discovered  we  both  loved 
pumpkin  pie  for  breakfast.  We  talked  about 
the  kind  of  house  we  liked  and  found  we  both 
preferred  to  live  in  the  country,  loved  the 
ballet  and  reading  in  bed.  We  ate  our  din- 
ner, but  I  only  half  tasted  it,  I  was  so  excited 
and  happy.   It  was  wonderful. 

Just  as  we  were  drinking  our  coffee  the 
orchestra  started  to  play  the  Emperor  Waltz. 
He  smiled  and  I  noticed  again  how  different 
a  smile  made  his  face.  It  erased  the  tired 
lines,  the  bitterness  that  comes  with  long, 
hard  hours  of  work. 

"Do  you  like  to  waltz?"  he  asked. 

"I  love  to." 

"Good."  A  few  couples  were  dancing  in 
the  broad  spaces  between  the  tables.  "Let's," 
he  said.  "It  stirs  up  your  circulation  and 
your  knees  won't  collapse  so  easily." 

For  a  minute  I  didn't  want  to.  I  love  to 
dance.  Tony  is  a  beautifully  smooth  dancer. 
Most  men  who  are  no  good  in  other  ways 
do  dance  well.  Mr.  Ware  probably  never 
had  time  to  dance  either.  In  fact,  he  might 
bounce.  That  would  be  terrible.  For  some 
reason  I  didn't  want  to  find  anything  in  him 
to  criticize. 

Iake  your  hat  off,"  he  was  saying  as  he 
stood  waiting  for  me  to  get  up.  "Not  that  it 
isn't  a  veritable  cream  puff  of  a  hat,  but  it 
will  get  in  your  way  and  tickle  my  nose;  and 
anyhow,  I  like  you  better  without  it." 

I  obediently  removed  it.  I  was  so  preoccu- 
pied with  the  hat  and  what  he  had  just  said 
that  we  were  dancing  before  I  realized  it. 
Dancing,  whirling,  sliding  over  the  polished 
floor.  It  was  as  though  we  were  flying.  I 
might  have  known.  A  man  who  walked  with 
such  easy  rhythm  would  be  able  to  dance. 
His  arms  were  strong  and  hard  and  it  was 
wonderful. 

The  orchestra  played  Strauss  waltzes  for 
almost  half  an  hour,  and  when  they  finally 
stopped  I  was  panting  for  breath.  We  stood 
in  the  shadowy  room  and  smiled  into  each 
other's  eyes  like  two  children.  Then  he  took 
my  elbow  and  we  went  back  to  our  table. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Ware,"  I  said.  "That 
was  marvelous." 

"I  should  think  you  might  call  me  John," 
he  said  a  little  gruffly.  "And  I'd  like  to  call 
you  Margo,  if  I  may.  I  never  knew  one  be- 
fore." 

"Of  course,"  I  smiled. 

He  smiled  back  at  me.  "It's  amazing  how 
healthy  you  look  with  your  circulation 
stirred  up,"  he  said. 

I  reached  for  my  compact  and  I  didn't 
look  healthy  to  me.  I  looked  like  a  danger- 
ous case  of  high  blood  pressure.  I  told  him 
so  a  little  tartly  and  he  threw  his  head  back 
and  roared. 

"It  isn't  that  you  don't  always  look 
healthy,"  he  said.  "Anyone  can  see  that  with 
your  black  hair  you  should  have  pale  skin. 
It  looks  like  magnolia  petals."  He  coughed 
then  and  when  I  looked  up  he  was  studying 
his  watch. 

"What  time  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"  It's  ten-forty,"  he  said.  "Look,  I  have  to 
call  up  Mr.  Van  Arsley.  He's  the  president 
of  the  company.  I'm  meeting  him  on  the 
train.  I  just  want  to  tell  him  everything  is 
all  right." 

"Then  I'll  powder  my  nose  while  you're 
phoning." 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "The  telephone  is  in 
the  little  bar  we  passed  on  the  way  in,  and 
the  ladies'  room  is  beyond  the  bar  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hall.  I'll  only  be  a  min- 
ute." 

We  separated  and  I  went  on  to  face  my- 
self in  the  long  mirror  in  the  powder  room. 
While  I  combed  my  hair  I  tried  to  give 
myself  a  good  pep  talk.  The  first  thing  I 
knew  I'd  have  two  men  to  forget. 

I  finally  snapped  my  purse  shut  and 
started  back  to  the  dining  room.  No  one 
was  in  the  long,  dark  corridor  and  my  heels 


•  Any  woman  who 
chooses  Tampons  can 
tell  at  a  glance  the 
tampon  that  is  bound 
to  be  easy  to  insert: 

It's  FIBS*,  of  course, 
with  the  smooth,  gently 
tapered  ends   ...   so 
very  different  from  any  other  leading  tampon 
you've  ever  tried  in  the  past. 

No  need  to  take  anybody's  word  for  it.  Your 
own  eyes  tell  you  it  MUST  be  so.  Your  first 
experience  with  FIBS  proves  it's  so ! 

FIBS  are  "quilted,"  too! 

For  gentler  comfort,  for  greater  safety  in  inter- 
nal protection.  Fibs  are  "quilted"  to  prevent 
any  danger  of  cotton  particles  clinging  to 
delicate  membranes. 

Besides,  Fibs  dont  fluff  up  to  uncomfort- 
able size,  which  might  cause  pressure,  irrita- 
tion, difficult  removal. 

Tfie  nexf  f/me  you  buy  tampons 
be  sure  to  ask  for  FIBS ! 


•T.  M.  Ree.  O.  S.  P»t.  Off. 


CRO^P^X 


LADIES'  UO.ME  JOURNAL 


129 


^ 


sounded  loud  on  the  bare  floor.  I  had  just 
gone  a  little  beyond  the  bar  when  I  heard 
John's  footsteps  behind  me.  coming  along 
the  hall.  I  turned  to  wait  tor  him.  Then  I 
gasped  and  backed  against  the  wall.  It  was 
Tony. 

He  saw  me  at  the  same  time.  "Why, 
Margo  darling,  what  are  you  doing  here? 
What  luck — I've  been  trying  to  get  you  all 
night.  You  look  positively  devastating." 

"Hello."  I  said  and  my  voice  quavered  a 
little.  He  was  just  the  same,  and  as  he 
stooped  to  kiss  me  the  same  e.Kcitement 
surged  through  me  in  spite  of  myself. 

"Come  on  back  and  I'll  buy  you  a  drink," 
he  said,  but  I  shook  my  head. 

"I  can't — I'm  having  dinner." 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  I'll  come  with  you 
and  wait  until  you're  finished  and  then  we 
can  go  on  someplace.  This  is  marvelous,  run- 
ning into  you  like  this — I've  been  traveling 
all  over  the  country  the  past  months  and  I 
haven't  had  a  minute  to  write  or  anything." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  I  said  and  headed  down 
the  hall  to  the  dining  roorfl  with  dragging 
feet.  Tony  was  behind  me  burbling  along 
about  his  work  and  how  he  had  come  to 
New  York  to  rest  up. 

"And  see  you,  darling.  Who  are  you  hav- 
ing dinner  with,  your  sister  and  brother-in- 
law?" 

"No,"  I  said  as  I  saw  John,  who  had  re- 
turned and  was  sitting  at  our  table.  "A  man." 

"Well,  then,  we  can 

leave   right — who?"       

He  caught  himself  in 
amazement. 

"John,"  I  said  as  we 
came  up  to  the  table, 
"this  is  Mr.  Forrester, 
Mr.  Ware." 

John  stood  up  to 
shake  hands,  but  he 
looked  very  puzzled. 
And  disappointed.  I 
wanted  to  sink  through 
the  floor.  If  only  Tony 
would  go  away  for  an 
hour  or  so  and  I  could 
meet  him  later  and  ex- 
plain the  whole  thing. 
There  was  something 
about  that  day  with 
John  that  I  wanted  to 
keep  perfect. 

We  made  polite  con- 
versation for  a  minute 
and  Tony  turngd  to  me. 

"Darling,  I  have  plans,       

wonderful  plans." 

"Plans?"  I  asked,  wondering  what  new 
venture  he  was  about  to  embark  on.  John 
was  sitting  stiffly  staring  at  his  cigarette. 

"Plans  for  us,  Margo,"  Tony  said  and  I 
jumped.  My  heart  was  pounding  so  I  could 
hardly  breathe.  After  all  these  years  was 
Tony  suddenly  going  to  settle  down  and 
marry  me?  "Yes,"  he  was  going  on.  "  Why, 
only  last  week  when  I  was  in  New  York  I  ran 
into  Bud  Welles— he  was  my  roommate  at 
Dartmouth— and  he's  getting  married.  He 
wants  me  to  be  best  man  and " 

My  heart  stopped  and  settled  back  into 
place  with  a  thud.  "Last  week?"  I  asked, 
ahd  I  was  staring  at  him,  seeing  him  for  the 
first  time  for  what  he  really  was.  While  I  sat 
home  and  bit  my  nails  and  cried  myself  to 
sleep  because  he  didn't  write,  didn't  tele- 
phone or  come  see  me,  all  the  while  suppos- 
ing he  was  too  busy  traveling  to  take  the 
time,  he  was  in  New  York,  where  it  takes 
only  a  second  to  make  a  phone  call.  "Last 
week,"  I  said  again,  and  something  in  my 
voice  penetrated  Tony's  enthusiasm. 

*'0h,"  he  said.  "Well,  yes,  I  made  a  flying 
business  trip.  dear.  I  tried  all  the  time  I  was 
here  to  get  a  second  to  call  you,  but  you 
know  how  it  is." 

I  shook  my  head  and  turned  away  from 
him.  How  many  times  had  I  swallowed  that 
sort  of  excuse  in  the  past  two  or  three  years? 
Somewhere  in  the  distance  I  heard  the  or- 
chestra start  to  play  another  waltz.  Tony's 
voice  was  going  confidently  on,  but  I  wasn't 
listening  any  longer.  I  was  looking  at  John 
and  he  was  staring  at  me.  Suddenly  he  got 
up  and  spoke  rather  sharply. 


R.I. P. 

X  sentimental  bricklayer  worked 
in  the  huilding  of  the  National 
Cathedral  at  )^'ashingtun.  When  his 
good  wife  died  the  authorities  were 
embarrassed  by  liis  request  that  she 
be  sealed  in  o«ie  of  the  crypts — along 
with  VI  oodrow  Wilson,  Admiral 
Dewey,  and  the  like.  Tactfully  they 
told  him  it  might  not  be.  But  he 
seemed  no  whit  offended  when  he 
returned  to  work  after  the  funeral 
and  cremation.  He  mixed  his  mor- 
tar an<l  laid  his  bricks  with  his  usual 
cheerfulness. 

On  his  way  home  from  work  a 
fellow  workman  tried  to  incite  him 
to  sentiment:  the  bricklayer's  wife 
had  a  right  to  be  buried  in  the  ca- 
thedral. 

The  bricklayer  responded  with  an 
enigmatic  smile.  "She's  there,  all 
right,"  he  said. 

— Adapted  from  Alexander  Woollcott. 


"I  have  to  go  in  a  minute,  Margo,"  he 
said.  "Will  you  dance  once  more  with  me?" 

"Yes,  John."  I  could  barely  get  the  words 
out.  I  wanted  to  cry,  but  his  strong  arms 
around  me  steadied  me  a  little.  We  moved 
out  onto  the  floor  and  I  looked  back  to  see 
Tony  sitting  there  in  amazement. 

John  held  me  away  from  him  and  looked 
down  at  me.  "Do  you  want  to  go  on  some- 
place with — Tony?"  he  asked. 

"No."  I  shook  my  head.  "I'm  going  to 
come  to  the  station  and  see  you  off." 

He  pulled  me  close  against  him  then  and 
held  me  so  tight  I  could  scarcely  breathe  as 
we  whirled  faster  and  faster. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  table  I  managed 
to  smile  quite  nicely  at  Tony.  We  were  late 
for  the  train,  and  while  John  called  the  waiter 
and  gathered  up  our  belongings  I  explained 
to  Tony  that  we  had  to  go. 

"It's  been  nice  seeing  you,  though,"  I 
said  politely.  "But  about  those  plans.  I 
don't  believe  I  can  manage  them." 

Tony  didn't  say  a  word.  He  stood  there 
staring  at  me  and  I  noticed  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  that  his  pale-blue  eyes  were  in- 
clined to  bulge. 

John  and  I  had  to  run  then.  We  made  a 
mad  dash  for  a  taxi  and  collapsed  breathless 
and  laughing  as  it  dro.ve  off. 

"If  I  only  didn't  have  to  go,"  John  said. 

"I'd  like  to  go  on  dancing  with  you  all  night. 

It's  always  that  way. 

Never  enough  time." 

"I'm  sorry  too."  I 
smiled  at  him.  "I  love 
dancing  with  you." 

He  sat  up  straight 
suddenly  and  caught 
my  shoulders.  "Margo, 
that  guy — am  I  wrong, 
or  did  I  see  all  that 
business  finish  there 
tonight?" 

"You're  not  wrong, 
John.  It's  finished  for 
good." 

His  hands  tightened 
on  my  shoulders.  "It's 
crazy,  you  know,"  he 
said,  "it's  idiotic  and 
insane  and  impossible, 
but  I  love  you." 

"Oh,  John,"  I  said 
weakly  and  he  pulled 
me  to  him  and  kissed 
me.    I  felt  as  though 

I    were    spinning    in 

space  and  I  finally 
pushed  him  away  a  little.  "You  make  me 
dizzy,"  I  said,  and  smiled  into  his  green  eyes. 
"Are  you  sure  you're  not  being  nice  to  me, 

trying  to  help  me  forget " 

"Nice  to  you,"  he  shouted.  "Was  there 
ever  such  a  woman?   I  love  you,  I  tell  you, 
love  you;  don't  you  understand  that?" 
"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  do  because  I  love  you, 

but  it's  so  improbable "   He  kissed  me 

before  I  could  finish  the  words. 

We  had  to  run  through  Pennsylvania  Sta- 
tion, and  got  to  the  gates  just  before  they 
closed.  John  pulled  me  to  him  and  kissed  me 
hard  while  the  guard  tapped  his  foot  and 

yelled  "All  abo — ard " 

"Listen,"  he  said,  "you  get  out  of  this 
station  as  fast  as  you  can.  You  might  run 
into  another  man  who  walks  the  same  way." 
I  laughed  at  him,  but  he  shook  me  and  his 
eyes  were  serious.  "I  mean  it,"  he  said. 
"You  go  home  and  start  thinking  about 
giving  your  boss  notice.  I  want  to  marry 
you  before  you  read  any  more  fancy  mag- 
azine articles." 

"All  right,"  I  gasped  and  he  was  gone, 
running  down  the  ramp  to  the  train. 

I  stood  there  and  watchad  him  go.  The 
station  echoed  with  the  steady  tramp  of  feet. 
People  surged  by  me,  but  I  didn't  see  them. 
I  turned  and  wandered  slowly  toward  the 
Seventh  Avenue  exit.  How  completely  dif- 
ferent John  was  from  Tony,  in  spite  of  their 
walks.  The  magazine  article  was  wrong,  after 
all.  Just  because  two  men  walked  the  same 
way  didn't  prove  a  thing.  It  was  what  was 
inside  of  a  man  that  was  important.  And 
John  was  fine.  And  he  loved  me.  It  was 
wonderful. 


Feijume,  $6.50;  $.3.50; 
$1.10  -  plus  tax. 


A  perfume  made  of  all  the  things  you  love 
. .  •  adventure,  mixed  with  mystery,  a  dash  of 
gayety  and  carefree  laughter.  Enchanting 
perfume  for  enchanted  hours! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


Copyright  l"/i5,  Liocm  &  Mvi.k>  Touaccu  Co. 


iiiiw  \)mm  urn 


MEET  l>lt.\>IATI«'  SOPKA.'N'O  LOIS  WHITE  E4°K.  OE  TEltllE  liAl  TE.  I.>  III  A.'NA. 
VkUO  TKIEW  T4»   «'0.>1HI.>E    FOI  H    «'HI  l.lll(E.>    WITH    A   «'0>«°EKT  «  AltEEII. 

ir       i(        BY   BOOTH  TAHKINGTOIV        ir       -k 

THE  story  of  any  American  family  appears  to  be  prevalently  the  story  of  the  mother.  Of 
course  it's  otherwise  if  one  of  the  children  is  beginning  to  be  a  genius  or  if  the  father  is  "^ 
becoming  celebrated  in  politics  or  financially;  but  ordinarily  "home"  means  "mother"; 
and  unquestionably  and  especially  when  the  mother  is  a  person  of  talent  or  is  or  has  been 
a  "career  woman,"  she  holds  the  center  of  the  family  stage. 

That's  the  way  it  seems  to  be  with  the  George  C.  Eck  family,  of  Terre  Haute,  Indiana,  be- 
cause Mrs.  Eck  had  a  professional  career  before  everything  changed  for  all  members  of  the 
Eck  family  and  they  came  to  be  what  they  are  now.  Life  might  have  been  more  spectacular 
and  less  satisfactory  for  the  six  Ecks  if  Mrs.  Eck's  ambition  hadn't  crashed  when  and  as  it  did. 

ia.7%  of  Amerloan  families  bave  incomes  of  9:tOOO  to  8  f  OOU  a  year. 


o*HC  one,  U^  t»  tc^At:  ^HHt, 


am  iM?;r-  \  mu 


"After  a  iifrvoiis  hn'ukdown,  I  gui'e  up 
my  glamorous  career.  George  bought 
a  shabby  eiglit-room  house  hi  Terre 
Haute  and  fouud  a  small  job  tvilh  the 
A&P.  I  became  plain  Mrs.  (George  Eck, 
housewife.  I  thought  niy  life  was  over." 


"I  am  often  asked  uhat  talents  my 
daughters  lutve.  I  don't  kin>u\  The 
career  I  am  educqititig  I  hem  for  is  mar- 
riage, pure  and  simple.  It's  the  only 
lasting  haj}piness  a  ivoinan  can  /i<ir**." 

She  began  the  career  early.  As  a  musical  ciiild,  little  Lois  White,  of 
Clinton,  near  Terre  Haute,  she  held  tiie  spotlight  brigiUly,  to  her  own  view 
and  that  of  her  parents.  Her  father  was  a  farmer  who  played  the  piano. 
(He  still  does.  Indiana  is  a  state  where  this  can  happen.)  At  fourteen,  Lois 
went  to  live  with  an  aunt  and  uncle  in  KansasCity  and  had  vocal  and  piano 
lessons  from  the  sisters  at  St.  Vincent's  Academy  there.  The  aunt  was 
sympathetic  musically,  had  faith  that  Lois  would  one  day  "sing  in  the 
Metropolitan,"  and  Lois,  aged  fifteen,  made  her  first  public  appearance 
at  the  Athenaeum  in  KansasCity  where,  in  the  same  week,  Marion  Talley 
had  her  debut.  Later,  this  coincidence  must  have  seemed  happily  significant 
to  Lois;  and  still  later,  perhaps  rather  bitterly  ironical. 

In  1926,  after  studying  music  in  Chicagt),  Lois  White  became  profes- 
sional as  a  soprano  on  the  Stuart-Warner  broadcasting  program  in  that  city, 
and  the  next  year  she  went  on  a  road  tour  with  Thavin's  Band  and  Opera 
Company.  Then  she  was  married  to  George  Eck,  of  Chicago,  (ieorge  was  a 
studious  boy  of  twenty-one ;  he'd  become  an  accountant  while  working  hard 
for  a  degree  at  Northwestern  University's  extension  school.  Lois  still  feels 
that  she  then  intended  to  give  up  her  eagerly  believed-in  great  career  and 
devote  herself  to  married  life.   She  didn't  do  it. 

Not  many  brides  with  imaginations  aglitter  as  was  hers  have  done  it. 
Lois  would  some  day  pour  forth  Aida  at  the  Metropolitan,  her  I\ansasCity 
aunt  had  told  her;  and  now  a  chest  of  treasure  appeared  to  be  merely  await- 
ing the  grasp  of  bold  and  talented  hands.  To  put  this  another  way,  she  had 
a  good,  hard-working  husband;  but  an  accountant  who  is  also  trying  for  a 
university  degree  doesn't  flash  like  a  meteor,  and  young  Lois  thought  that 
success  ought  to  be  meteoric.  Since  George's  career  naturally  wasn't  being 
that,  her  own  all  the  more  had  to  be;  so  they  moved  to  New  York,  where 
many  people  think  it's  right  for  meteors  to  live. 

George  and  she  didn't  know  how  young  they  were,  and  for  quite  a  while 
they  didn't  have  at  all  a  bad  time  in  New  York.  George  was  a  steady, 
responsible  young  man ;  he  got  a  job  and  went  to  night  school  at  New  York 
University,  still  after  that  degree.  Lois  had  a  start  at  the  old  Paramount 
Grill  and  was  in  some  pictures  at  the  Paramount  Astoria  studios.  The  Ecks 
had  an  apartment  in  Astoria.  Lois  didn't  try  for  an  audition  at  the  Metro- 
politan; she  was  doing  pretty  well,  gladly  singing  "blues"  in  supper  clubs. 
Money  came  rather  easily  and  she  widened  her  sphere — went  even  to 
Boston  to  sing  at  the  Cocoanut  Grove.  George  was  a  Catholic;  Lois  had 
become  one,  and  having  children  doesn't  seem  to  have  interfered  with  the 
career.  Neither,  at  first,  did  the  depression  and  the  harder  and  harder 
struggle  to  keep  going. 

The  Ecks  had  come  to  New  York  in  1929,  and  in  1930  they  became  the 
parents  of  a  daughter,  Cecelia.  In  1931  they  had  twins,  a  boy  and  a  girl. 
They  had  another  daughter,  Lucia,  in  1935,  when  the  twins  were  four  years 
old.  Worried  by  the  inferior  maids  she  hired,  Lois  looked  after  the  children 


^mi^-^-..^^ 


.,y.>sya«aSff^ 


wy  (AoUc  ^  could  mcUic  ^oa  monc 
did.  ^t  €U4H04t  mtecAed  m4f  t^e! 


% 


''My  only  regret  is,  I  can't  ntuke  ultoen!''  This  opera  singer  has 
learned  to  sew  all  her  own  clothes,  daughters'  too.  "I figure  that 
by  doing  all  the  cooking,  laundry,  cleaning,  etc.,  I  save  my  hus- 
band about  $28  a  week.    Do  many  workingwomen  make  more?" 


"Children  orv  a  s<ni  <>i  inu-<iu>  m -^u  iiiiiit'."  mh  s  ii/>.  I.ik  <>/  \<>ii/i^e.st 
daughter,  Lucia,  and  George,  Jr.  (above).  "When  they're  young,  the  bur- 
den seems  almost  too  much  to  bear,  but  as  time  goes  on,  the  dividends 
get  bigger  and  bigger.   Today   my  big  family  is  keeping  me  young." 


1 


in  the  daytime,  sang  at  night,  fought  the  depression;  then  the  combination 
was  too  much  for  her.  Her  voice  wouldn't  do  what  she  wished;  she  lost  it 
and  had  a  breakdown.  There,  in  collapse,  ended  this  mirage  part  of  the  Eck 
family's  history,  and  the  change  came.  The  long  depression  smashed  the  lives 
of  a  great  many  people;  but  blessings  sometimes  wear  the  mask  of  misfor- 
tune. The  New  York  collapse  of  the  Ecks  was  their  salvation. 

There's  something  about  Indiana;  people  go  back  there.  Wendell  Willkie 
came  home  to  Indiana  to  make  his  acceptance  speech  and  whenever  he 
could  he  turned,  for  congenial  rest,  to  his  Rushville  farms.  Lois  White  had 
been  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Wabash;  Terre  Haute  is  on  the  eastern  shore 
of  that  lovingly  sung  river;  and  something  very  like  instinct  returned  her 
with  her  husband  and  young  family  to  the  Hoosier  sycamores.  In  those 
last  days  in  Astoria,  Lois  saw  her  life  split  into  two  parts;  she  realized  that 
the  career  was  over  and  that  it  ought  to  be  so.  It  was  time  to  put  the  stress 
on  George's.  Henceforth,  her  calling  was  to  be  that  of  a  wife  and  a  mother. 

The  young  family's  financial  resources  had  reached  their  all-time  low; 
but  George  Eck  did  a  remarkable  thing.  Under  the  depression  the  Mid- 
western flatlands  lay  at  their  historical  flattest,  and  trusted,  well-skilled 
employees  were  everywhere  being  discharged,  not  taken  on;  but  George  Eck, 
tackling  the  impossible,  got  himself  a  job  with  the  A  &  P.  The  Eck  family 
began  all  over  again. 

George's  A  &  P  job  was  of  the  smallest;  but  he  bettered  it,  and  now,  not 
ten  years  later,  he's  the  head  cost  accountant.  Moreover,  he's  a  man  any- 
body'd  like  and  rely  upon.  He's  a  scoutmaster  and  takes  George,  Jr.,  the 
boy  of  the  twins,  with  him  to  the  scout  meetings  twice  a  week.  The  uni- 
versity degree  never  quite  faded  from  George  Eck's  quietly  persistent  mind. 
He  still  seeks  that  parchment  and  now,  warmly  encouraged  by  his  wife, 
plans  to  obtain  it  from  the  Indiana  State  Teachers  College.  The  character 
of  such  a  man  isn't  founded  upon  sand;  George  Eck  seems  to  be  built  upon 
the  old  dependable  rock  of  good  sense  and  solid  principle;  and  I  think  that 
when  the  Ecks  floundered  into  something  close  upon  despair  during  that 
breakdown  in  New  York,  they  weren't  in  such  dangerous  trouble  as  they 
thought.  George  was  there. 

Here's  something  that  might  be  encouraging  to  almost  anybody.  With 
the  return  to  Indiana,  Lois  Eck,  dramatic  soprano,  began  to  be  an  Indiana 
girl  again.  She'd  been  born  an  Indiana  girl,  but  hadn't  brought  herself  up 
to  be  one,  so  she  had  to  learn  the  crafts  her  career  had  cost  her.  She  had  to 
learn  to  cook,  to  sew,  to  wash  and  iron,  to  clean  house,  to  manage  children 


"The  sooner  a  woman  makes  a  real  home  for  a  man,  the  sooner  he  will  be- 
come successful  and  can  give  her  a  better  house,  servants,  lovely  clothes, 
and  so  on,"  discovered  this  former  concert  star.  "The  woman  who  insists 
upon  a  career  is  shortsighted.  She  is  only  giving  Iter  self  a  life  sentence." 


^«' 


K 


'lam  happier  than  I  have  ever  been ,  and  so  is  George.  Few  men  ever  amaiin  t  to  much 
when  their  irives  work.  IS'ou-  that  he  has  a  icife  behind  him  heart  and  soul,  his  career  is 
booming.   Through  his  Boy  Seoul  work,  he  has  become  a  leader  in  the  community.^ 


MUNKACSI 


excellently  and  to  be  her  husband's  resourceful  help- 
meet. She  had  to  learn  how  to  save  the  money  George 
earned;  she  had  to  learn  to  economize  scientifically 
so  that  the  children  could  go  to  school  with  college  in 
prospect.  Most  descendants  of  the  Hoosier  pioneers 
liad  a  prescription  well  dosed  into  them  in  their  youth: 
"What  counts  isn't  what  you  make,  it's  what  you 
save."  Mrs.  Eck  remembered  this,  saw  the  truth  of 
it,  and  now  calculates  she  saves  her  husband  $1100 
in  cash  a  year  out  of  the  family  income  of  about  $3000. 
She  does  all  the  washing  and  ironing  for  the  family 
of  six,  and  her  estimate  is  that  this  saves  "a  good  $5 
per  week,  $260  per  year."  By  careful  marketing, 
though  she  studies  to  provide  a  balanced  diet,  she 
feels  that  the  saving  is  at  least  $10  a  week,  or  $520  a 
year.  By  doing  a  lot  o^ dressmaking,  even  tailoring, 
for  the  children  and  herself,  she  saves  $150  yearly, 
according  to  her  figures,  and  her  canning  achieves  an 
annual  economy  of  $100.  What  she  saves  by  launder- 
ing curtains,  cleaning  wallpaper,  stepladder  work, 
painting  and  general  housekeeping  brings  up  her 
total  estimate  of  the  saving  to  $1100;  and  at  that  she 
doesn't  include  anything  for  not  hiring  a  cook.  When 
I  was  a  little  boy  and  visited  my  ancestors  in  Terre 
Haute,  my  grandmother  paid  her  cook  $2.50  a  w-eek. 
Cooks  come  higher  now;  but  even  if  they  didn't,  I 
doubt  that  Mrs.  George  Exk  w^ould  w-ant  one  around. 
She's  what  we  sometimes  call  a  dynamic  sort  of  woman 
and  doesn't  seem  to  care  to  rest  much. 

She  has  herself  a  big  t4me  being  an  industrious  wife, 
mother  and  housewife  in  Indiana,  and  the  Ecks  wisely 
go  on  living  in  their  nice  old  eight-room,  one-story 
Terre  Haute  house,  1110  North  8th  Street,  though 
now  they  could  probably  sell  it  for  quite  a  little  more 
than  the  $2500  they  paid  for  it  some  years  ago.  The 
neighborhood  isn't  fashionable,  but  it's  self-respecting, 
and  that's  what  Mr.  George  C.  Eck's  household  is. 
Life  in  Terre  Haute,  population  under  70,000,  seems  a 
far  cry  from  the  life  of  a  dramatic  soprano,  radio  singer, 
night-club  performer  and  the  old  ambition  for  the  Met- 
ropolitan; but  Lois  Eck  has  no  regrets  in  the  pleasant 
Midwestern  house  that  she  keeps  scrubbed  spotless. . 

Her  economies  don't  appear  to  stint  the  children. 
They  are  as  well  dressed  as  they  are  good-mannered. 
Any  adult  meeting  them  would  see  that  they  are  being 
well  brought  up.  Cecelia,  fifteen,  quiet,  neat  and 
good-looking,  is  in  her  first  year  at  high  school.  Janie, 


the  girl  of  the  twins,  who  are  thirteen  now,  is  the 
liveliest  of  the  four  children— at  least  in  the  presence 
of  adult  callers.  Her  sprightliness,  though,  is  of  the 
agreeably  amusing  kind  and  she  has  been  described 
as  "cherubic,  a  bit  on  the  plump  side";  but  it's  best 
not  to  mention  this  to  her.  She  doesn't  care  for  it. 
George,  Jr.,  nice-looking  even  though  adolescent,  nat- 
urally has  his  reticences.  He  knows  how  to  be  polite, 
all  right;  but,  when  his  father  is  not  at  home,  George 
is  the  only  male  in  a  household  of  four  women,  and  a 
person  has  to  be  pretty  much  on  guard  and  suspicious 
to  maintain  a  position  of  any  consequence  under  such 
circumstances.  Like  his  father's,  George's  head  goes 
after  figures  and  business,  and  now  he  has  a  paper 
route  that  took  him  what  seemed  a  long,  long  time  to 
obtain.  Lucia,  the  youngest,  nine,  has  still  to  be  com- 
pletely rid  of  the  effects  of  the  whooping  cough  she 
had  when  she  was  four  weeks  old.  Her  appetite  never 
got  started  properly  and  ghe  can't  seem  to  care,  even 
now,  for  adequate  nourishment;  she  just  doesn't  want 
any.  I  w'onder  in  how  many  thousands  of  American 
families  there's  one  child  that  won't  eat.  George  and 
Lois  Eck  are  good  parents;  they'll  get  Lucia  over  this. 

Some  people  would  call  the  Ecks'  house  "Victorian." 
It  isn't.  Terre  Haute  styles  in  architecture  during  the 
presidency  of  General  Grant,  when  the  house  was 
built,  weren't  affected  by  British  taste.  The  Indiana 
one-story  house  was  a  flowering  from  the  log-cabin 
period;  but  the  ceilings  were  high  because  the  Indiana 
summer  heat  is  something  only  the  hardy  Hoosiers 
can  bear  and  Terre  Haute  has  a  habit  of  outdoing  the 
other  hot  spots  of  the  state  in  that  specialty.  The 
Ecks'  old  house  has  the  General  Grant  and  Hayes- 
and-W'heeler  high  ceilings  and  is  well  built,  neatly 
furnished,  too;  but  the  Ecks  plan  to  enlarge  it  after 
the  war  by  widening  the  front  room  to  cross  the  whole 
front  of  the  house.  They  aren't  people  who  stand  still 
and  they  aren't  going  to  let  their  General  Grant  house 
stand  still  either;  they  like  it,  but  they're  going  to 
keep  tinkering  with  it.  Before  they  get  through  with 
it  even  General  Garfield  wouldn't  recognize  it ;  maybe 
President  McKinley  himself  wouldn't.  Progressive 
Middle  Western  Americans  do  these  things  to  their 
houses,  or  else  they  move. 

Well,  so  there's  this  American  family,  the  Exks, 
settled  down  in  Terre  Haute,  getting  along,  prosper- 
ing, cheerful,  industrious  and  friendly,  good  citizens. 


Would  that  be  enough  for  a  former  opera  singer.  New 
York  night-club  and  cafe  performer,  a  dramatic  so- 
prano who's  recovered  her  voice?  The  answer  is  that 
when  Lois  Eck's  professional  career  ended  and  he? 
life  broke  into  two  parts,  she  had  a  new  ambition  and 
as  a  wife  and  mother  she's  fulfilling  it.  That's  her 
career  now  and  anybody  can  see  she  puts  her  soul  into 
it;  but  this  doesn't  mean  that  she  doesn't  enter  into 
the  life  about  her  or  has  no  other  interests.  We've 
mentioned  that  Mrs.  Eck  is  dynamic.  I  don't  know 
how  many  women's  clubs  there  are  to  the  square  mile 
in  Indiana;  but  Mrs.  Eck  belongs  to  seven  of  them. 
She's  a  Daughter  of  the  American  Revolution,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  National  Council  of  Catholic  Women  and 
of  course  of  the  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  and  the 
Terre  Haute  Woman's  Department  Club.  She  acts  in 
the  Community  Theater,  sings  programs  of  grouped 
songs,  gives  musicales  in  her  own  home,  sings  in  the 
choir  of  the  Sacred  Heart  Church;  she  sings,  indeed, 
with  the  Terre  Haute  Symphony  Orchestra. 

One  of  the  organizations  to  which  Mrs.  Eck  belongs 
is  a  flower-arrangement  club  called  "Put  'Em  in  a 
Vase."  Her  friend,  Mrs.  Carolyn  Andrew,  has  a  gar- 
den, and  Mrs.  Eck  and  Mrs.  Andrew  have  been  work- 
ing up  a  serious  turn  for  the  Put  'Em  in  a  Vase  Club, 
called  "Flowers  Set  to  Music."  With  a  piano  accom- 
paniment and  wearing  formal  gowns,  Mrs.  Eck  sings 
flower  songs  and  nature  songs  and  Mrs.  Andrew  does 
flower  arranging  and  talks.  They  zestfully  contem- 
plate putting  on  this  act  for  women's  clubs  around 
the  state,  and  nobody  doubts  its  success. 

Besides  the  other  things  she  does,  Mrs.  Eck  finds 
time  to  teach  her  daughters  to  play  the  piano;  but 
she's  become  too  wise  to  try  to  force  their  talents  or  to 
mold  her  children  into  patterns.  For  instance,  she 
doesn't  try  to  make  them  dramatic  because  she's  had 
dramatic  gifts  herself;  if  any  of  them  displays  a 
talent,  she'll  help  but  not  force  it.  When,  in  New  York, 
suffering  great  agony  of  mind  and  body,  she  dropped 
her  earlier  ambitions  down  the  coalhole,  she  learned 
some  important  things  from  that  spiritual  trial;  and 
one  of  them  was  that  the  success  of  a  husband  and 
the  good  of  children  need  the  wife  and  mother  to  be 
not  a  cloud-compeller  but  a  helper. 

The  story  of  a  typical  American  family  may  usually 
be  the  story  of  the  mother;  but,  if  she  fills  to  the  full 
the  old-fashioned  but  still  good  definition  of  a  wife  as 
a  helpmeet,  the  husband  and  father  is  really  the  head 
of  the  house.  Moreover,  his  work  has  to  be  the  foun- 
dation; and,  when  Lois  Eck  came  to  understand  this, 
the  life  of  the  Ecks  as  a  successful  family  was  assured. 
She  devotes  herself  to  it  with  such  determination  and 
so  tireless  an  energy,  and  in  addition  is  so  busy  with 
her  supplementary  interests  in  Terre  Haute,  that  she 
sometimes  says  that  George  says  he's  the  only  man  in 
the  world  who'd  stay  married  to  her.  Perhaps  when 
George  says  this  he's  being  humorously  reminiscent 
and  thinking  of  the  past  when  his  wife  was  a  "career 
woman";  but  Lois  doesn't  mind  his  saying  it.  She's 
pleased.  In  fact,  she's  proud.  Who  wouldn't  be? 
Looked  at  correctly,  it's  a  pretty  big  compliment. 

The  George  Cecil  Ecks,  of  1110  North  8th  Street, 
Terre  Haute,  Indiana,  show  forth  as  a  good,  diligent 
and  happy  American  family.  Mrs.  George  Eck  often 
thinks  that  in  the  whole  world  there  isn't  a  happier 
woman  than  she  is — and  she  might  be  right. 


134 


HOW  THE  ECKS  SPEflID 
THEIR  NOMY 

Food $  884.00 

Utilities 172.00 

House  payments 360.00 

Insurance,  life 220.00 

(lothinp 240.00 

Church 75.00 

School  tuition 60.00 

Schoolbooks 50.00 

Doctor  and  dentist 50.00 

Fuel 90.00 

Taxes:  Income,  car,  personal 

property 150.00 

Car  upkeep 78.00 

Magazines  and  newspapers   .    .  25.00 

Entertainment 181.00 

Bonds 150.00 

House  improvements 200.00 

Savings 135.00 

$3120.(K) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


GAIN 


^ez^. 


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. . .  the  ''snowdrop^'  soap  that 
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IVORY  SNOW  IS  DIFFERENT  from  cake  soap,  or  flakes.  It 
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WONDERFUL  IVORY  SNOW  is  the  only  soap  that  com- 
bines Ivory-purity  with  this  granulated  "snowdrop" 
form.  It  carries  protection  a  step  farther  than  other 
soaps  not  Ivory-mild.  Try  it  for  your  stockings  .  .  .  see 
how  much  longer  you're  proud  of  their  looks.  (And 
please.  Uncle  Sam  says,  don't  waste  Ivory  Snow  — it  is 
made  of  materials  also  needed  for  war.) 


JUST  COMPARE!  For 

nice  things  only  with 
tested  directions  on  the 
whether  any  other  soap 
tiiese  wonders  . . . 

^Such  suds  — even  in 

cool  water! 
V  Such  qitick-dissolving 

"snowdrop"  granules! 
^So  kind  to  colors! 
f^Suds  that  go  so  jar! 


a  month,  wash  all  your 

Ivory    Snow,    following 

back  of  the  box.  Decide 

has  ever  given  you  all 

^Inexpensive  to  use  ! 
^So  quick-cleansing ! 
^So  easy-rinsing! 
'^Marvelous  for  tcools ! 
'^Gives  longer  life 

to  the  trim  fit  of 

stockings! 


only  s^  *  '^e 


co»~  IVORY  SNOW 

Longer  Life  for  JVice  Ji^skahles 


136 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


"They  are  called  Shoepacs..'.' 


"Uncle,  I  don't  remember  that  I  told  you  in  rny  letters 
about  our  new  footwear.  They  are  called  'Shoepacs' 
and  are  made  by  the  Hood  Rubber  Company  in  Watertown. 
They  are  great  emd  I  don't  have' to  worry  about  getting 
my   feet  wet«  I  surely  needed  them  over  here  as  the 
weather  is  as  bad  as  it  was  in  Italy.  Plenty  of  rain 
and  mud*««" 

Excerpt  of  a  letter  from  a  Sergeant*  now  serving  with  the  7th  Army 

We  never  heard  of  the  Sergeant  until  his  Uncle  sent  us  this  letter.  But  we're 
mighty  glad  to  know  that  the  things  we  make  are  giving  him,  and  men  like  him, 
adequate  foot  protection.  That's  the  purpose  of  rubber  footwear— not  only  for 
fighting  men  but  for  the  folks  at  home. 

Wear  rubber  footwear  when  it's  wet!  It  protects  rationed  shoes,  safeguards 
your  health  and  helps  to  keep  you  on  the  job.  And  remember,  when  you  see 
either  Hood  or  B.  F.  Goodrich  stamped  on  the  merchandise,  you  are  assured  of 
superior  materials  and  construction  .  .  .  resulting  in  complete  foot  protection  .  .  . 
comfort .  .  .  long,  economical  wear. 

*Name  omitted  because  of  military  regulations 


H«»dlabberCo. 


■A  DIVISION  or 


BE  Goodrich 


FOOTWEAR    FACTORY 
WATERTOWN,    MASS. 


PEACETIME    MANUFACTURERS    O  F  "P.  F."  RUB  BER-SO  LED    CANVAS    SHOES      *******l*r***^*********i*f 


I  Thottght  My  Life  Was  Over 


BY  LOIS  WHITE  ECK 


IS  THE  sun  was  setting  on  the  "gay 
M  nineties ' '  and  the  troublesome  twentieth 
/I  century  was  being  bom,  way  out  in 
il  Taylorville,  Illinois,  a  forerunner  of  the 
modem  career  woman  Wrote  an  article  for 
a  magazine  on  a  new  art,  domestic  science, 
and  a  stock-raising  farmer-pianist  over  in 
Clinton,  Indiana,  read  it.  He  thought  the 
article  so  outstanding  for  a  woman  to  have 
written  that  he  wrote  her  a  letter  of  con- 
gratulation. From  this  correspondence,  ro- 
mance grew,  blossoming  into  marriage  in 
1904.  My  parents.  They  went  to  live  at 
"Lee  Lands,"  the  White  homestead  on  the 
banks  of  the  Wabash,  where  I  was  bom 
May  15,  1906. 

My  mother  not  only  excelled  in  domes- 
tic science,  but  had  a  beautiful  voice  and 
was  a  talented  elocutionist  as  well.  My 
father  operated  a  large  stock  farm,  but  found 
time  to  play  the  piano  much  ^better  than 
most  people  in  the  community.  As  one  old 
family  friend  remarked,  he  was  the  first  per- 
son she  ever  heard  who  played  with  "in- 
spired fire."  When  I  was  born  my  parents 
were  not  young ;  and  as  is  often  the  case,  I 
inherited  many  of  their  strongest  qualities, 
music  and  determination  among  them.  It  was 
the  perfect  background  for  a  career  woman. 

My  beautiful  mother  died  when  I  was 
fourteen,  and  I  was  sent  out  to  Kansas  City, 
Missouri,  to  my  uncle  and  aunt,  the  Owen 
Barbres.  My  aunt  had  been  head  millinery 
designer  for  a  large  Kansas  City  store  for 
many  years.  She  loved  music,  and  was  de- 
termined that  I  would  one  day  sing  in  the 
Metropolitan.  Another  career  woman  in  the 
family  was  my  mother's  only  sister,  Anna 
Barbre  Colegrove,  who  was  the  first  woman 
county  superintendent  of  schools  in  Christian 
County,  Illinois. 

I  studied  vaice  and  piano  with  the  sisters 
at  St.  Vincent's  Academy,  and  made  my  first 
public  appearance  at  fifteen  at  the  Athe- 
naeum in  Kansas  City,  where  the  same  week 
another  fifteen-year-old  soprano,  who  was 
destined  for  the  Metropolitan,  Marion  Tal- 
Icy,  made  her  debut. 

Later  my  uncle  and  aunt  and  I  moved  to 
Alexandria,  Louisiana,  where  I  studied  voice 
with  a  former  member  of  the  old  St.  Charles 
Opera  of  New  Orleans.  There  I  was  heard  by 
Tito  Schipa,  of  the  Metropolitan,  when  he 
was  on  tour,  and  he  suggested  that  I  study 
with  Vittorio  Arimonde,  basso  of  the  Chi- 
cago Civic  Opera.  I  later  obtained  a  partial 
scholarship  at  Chicago  Musical  College, 
where  Arimonde  taught,  but  soon  found 
John  Dwight  Sample  to  be  the  finest  teacher 
a  dramatic  soprano  could  have,  and  changed 
to  his  classes. 

In  1926  I  began  my  professional  career 
when  I  broke  the  no-soprano  rule  on  the 
Stewart- Warner  Air  Theatre,  WBBM,  Chi- 
cago. In  1927  I  went  on  my  first  road  tour 
with  Thaviu's  Band  and  Opera  Company, 
singing  parts  in  Aida,  Samson  and  Delilah, 
and  Debussy's  Prodigal  Son.  I  had  taken 
the  tour  because  it  ended  in  Mississippi  and 
I  intended  to  go  to  Alexandria  to  visit  my 
uncle  and  aunt,  but  the  morning  I  was  to 
leave  I  received  a  wire  that  my  aunt  had 
died  suddenly.  I  finished  the  tour  and  went 
back  North  to  marry  George  Cecil  Eck,  of 
Chicago. 

I  had  met  George  when  he  came  to  call  on 
another  girl  at  school.  He  was  only  twenty- 
one,  already  an  accountant,  and  working  on 
his  degree  at  Northwestern  University's  ex- 
tension school.  He  had  a  fine  record  scholas- 
tically,  having  won  two  scholarships  to  high 
school  over  all  the  boys  in  parochial  schools 
in  Chicago.  I  really  intended  to  give  up  my 
career  to  devote  my  time  to  marriage,  but  it 
just  didn't  work  out  that  way.  Among  many 
other  annoyances,  I  grew  restless  at  the 
slowness  of  his  progress,  accustomed  as  I  was 


to  the  meteoric  tempo  of  the  theater.    In 

1929,  after  working  in  stock,  hotel  supper 
rooms  and  vaudeville  around  Chicago,  I  de- 
cided to  try  my  wings  in  New  York.  My  first 
engagement  was  quite  good  for  a  newcomer, 
being  at  the  old  Paramount  Grill.  Later  I 
made  pictures  at  the  Paramount  Astoria 
studios.   In  June  George  joined  me. 

For  three  or  four  years  success  was  easy 
for  us  both,  even  though  we  had  Cecelia  in 

1930,  and  the  twins,  Jane  and  George,  in 

1931,  Then  came  the  depression.  George 
was  working  for  the  New  York  Title  and 
Mortgage  Company  and  going  to  New  York 
University  at  night,  still  pursuing  his  degree. 
Now  my  career  was  a  must.  Before  it  had 
been  a  dream  I  hoped  to  fulfill.  The  year 
1935  brought  us  Lucia,  and  in  1936  old 
Mother  Nature  played  a  rather  scurvy  trick 
on  me,  I  thought.  I  lost  my  voice  and  had  a 
nervous  breakdown. 

Until  then,  my  career  had  been  the  para- 
mount issue.  I  was  determined  to  succeed. 
This  was  the  end  toward  which  my  whole  life 
had  been  directed.  George's  career  was  of 
secondary  importance  to  me,  for  I  knew  he 
could  never  make  as  much  money  in  his  pro- 
fession as  I  could  make  in  mine.  Now  I  was 
completely  incapacitated,  and  George  had 
to  take  over.  He  quit  his  job  with  the  State 
Mortgage  Commission  in  New  York  City 
and  took  us  back  to  my  father's  farm  in  In- 
diana, for  he  thought  New  York  City  no 
place  to  rear  children  and  cure  a  neurotic  wife. 
I  felt  as  though  my  life  was  ended  and  noth- 
ing much  mattered.  In  reality,  it  was  only 
the  beginning. 

George  went  to  work  in  Terre  Haute  for 
the  A.  &  P.  Tea  Company  at  their  Ann  Page 
food  plant,  at  the  bottom  in  the  accounting 
department,  and  is  now  in  charge  of  the  cost- 
accounting  department.  In  Terre  Haute, 
we  bought  a  shabby  seventy-five-year-old 
eight-room  "cottage."  I  shocked  everyone 
by  saying  that  it  was  the  nicest  house  I'd 
ever  had  because  it  had  eight  rooms !  I  was 
accustomed  to  renting  apartments  at  so 
much  per  room  in  New  York.  I'd  never  had 
over  five  before,  and  they  were  of  the  cigar- 
box  size.  Our  house  has  rooms  of  the  sixteen- 
by-sixteen-foot  variety,  with '  eleven-and-a- 
half-foot  ceilings.  I  had  never  done  much 
housework  in  New  York,  and  it  was  all  so 
new  and  strange  to  me,  but  it  had  to  be  done. 
Armed  with  all  the  women's  magazines  on 
the  market  and  the  advice  of  kind  neighbors, 
I  've  come  through  on  top.  I  've  cleaned  every 
inch  of  the  walls  many  times,  teetering  on  the 
top  of  a  six-foot  ladder,  where  my  five  feet 
six  inches  just  puts  my  head  on  the  ceiling. 
I  who  am  afraid  to  get  up  on  a  stool.  I've 
canned  five  and  six  hundred  quarts  of  food 
each  summer  and  I've  made  all  the  girls'  and 
my  own  clothes,  even  to  tailoring  suits  and 
coats.  I  do  all  the,washing  and  ironing  and 
quite  a  bit  of  flower  gardening. 

But  all  this  is  on  the  dreary  side  of  the 
ledger.  I  have  found  a  whole  bright  new 
social  world  that  I  never  before  dreamed 
existed.  I  belong  to  many  clubs.  I  am  active 
in  Community  Theater,  recently  playing  the 
opera  singer  Daruschka  in  Claudia.  I  do 
research  in  genealogy,  study  flower  arranging 
and  find  time  to  keep  up  my  music.  Of 
course  I  sing  many  programs,  including  an 
appearance  with  the  Terre  Haute  Symphony 
Orchestra  not  long  ago,  and  I  sing  in  my 
church  choir.  Sacred  Heart  Church.  I  also 
teach  my  daughters  piano. 

The  only  career  in  which  I  am  really  in- 
terested today  is  my  husband's.  We  haven't 
made  nearly  as  much  money  these  past  eight 
years,  but  we  have  actually  accomplished 
more  than  in  the  nine  preceding.  We  are 
buying  our  home  and  have  completely  fur- 
nished it  on  what  to  me  is  a  mere  pittance. 
When  the  war  is  over,  we  plan  to  remodel 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


137 


*■••••••••••••••••>«■••• 


it.  Also,  after  the  war  George  hopes  really  to 
"go"  places  in  his  profession.  He  is  a  scout- 
master and  is  going  back  to  college  at  In- 
diana State  Teachers  College  finally  to  get 
that  elusive  degree  in  extension  school.  The 
children  will  soon  be  in  college,  too;  and  due 
to  our  three  fine  institutions,  Indiana  State, 
St.  Mary's-of-the-Wood,  and  Rose  Poly- 
technical,  we  shall  be  able  to  see  them 
through  without  too  much  difficulty.  I  do 
hope  eventually  to  do  radio  work,  for  my 
voice  is  better  than  it  ever  was.  And  I  want 
to  really  write.  Educating  four  children  will 
take  a  lot  of  money,  and  being  a  career 
woman  in  the  first  place,  I  shall  no  doubt 
always  be  trying  to  put  my  shoulder  to  the 
wheel.  But  I  care  for  nothing  that  will  take 
me  either  far  or  long  from  my  family.  My 
children  are  the  most  fascinating  entertain- 
ment there  is. 

Celia  is  almost  fifteen  and  a  freshman  at 
Central  Catholic  High.  She  is  a  member  of 
the  Junior  Woman's  Department  Club,  goes 
dancing,  and  so  on.  In  short,  she's  growing 
up.  The  twins  aren't  far  behind  at  thirteen. 
They  are  in  the  eighth  grade,  and  nine-year- 
old  Lucia  is  in  the  fifth  grade  at  St.  Ann's. 
I  adore  adolescence,  and  have  more  sym- 
pathy for  it  than  most.  Probably  because 
I  had  so  little  of  it 
myself.  The  next  ten 
years  are  going  to  be 
the  most  exciting  in 
my  life,  and  I 
wouldn't  trade  my 
grand  husband  and 
nice  children  for  all 
the  swimming- 
pooled  mansions  in 
Hollywood. 

I  am  often  asked 
what  talents  my 
daughters  have  and 
if  they  have  inher- 
ited my  voice.  I  al- 
ways answer  that  I 
honestly  don't 
know,  for  I  haven't 
been  anxious  to  find 
out.  The  career  for 
which  I  am  educat- 
ing them  is  mar- 
riage, pure  and  sim- 
ple. Of  course  I 
want  them  to  know 
some  method  of 
earning  their  living 
if  it  is  necessary, 
but  I  want  them  to 
be   prepared  first 

to  be  good  wives  and  mothers.  That  is  the 
most  neglected  vocation  in  the  world  today. 

If  women  could  only  realize  that,  for  the 
greater  part,  they  are  worth  so  much  more  to 
their  husbands  in  their  own  homes  than  they 
are  to  anyone  else !  The  effect  on  their  hus- 
bands' success  can't  be  counted  in  money.  I 
was  reared  on  the  adage  that  it  isn't  what  one 
makes  that  counts,  but  what  one  saves,  and 
the  older  I  grow  the  more  I  find  it  is  true.  A 
woman  can  do  a  world  of  things  to  save 
money.  I  had  to  find  it  out  the  hard  way 
though.  Of  course  it  isn't  quite  so  pleasant 
work  or  so  exciting,  but  I  should  like  to  point 
out  the  actual  amount  of  money  in  dollars 
and  cents  that  I  save  my  husband  each  year. 

First  of  all,  there  is  the  washing  and  iron- 
ing. For  a  family  of  our  size,  that  would  cost 
a  good  $5  a  week,  $260  a  year.  Then  comes 
food.  By  careful  budgeting,  marketing  and 
cooking,  I  provide  six  people  with  a  fairly 
well-balanced  diet  for  about  $17  a  week. 
Several  years  ago  a  leading  women's  maga- 
zine stated  that  $25  a  week  was  the  average 
cost  for  food  for  a  family  of  four.  I  know  I 
save  at  least  $10  a  week,  or  $520  a  year,  on 
this  one  item  alone.  Consider  clothing.  I 
spend  around  $240  a  year,  out  of  which 
comes  a  suit  or  overcoat  for  father  at  $35, 
and  shoes — heavens,  the  shoes !  Two  pairs  a 
year  for  each  child  at  $6  a  pair  is  $48.  I  find 
it  unwise  to  buy  cheaper  shoes,  for  they  can't 
be  resoled.  Then  there  are  gym  shoes,  play 


Un  Your  Ti.!.  Want 
In  r.o  i«  Collpge? 

Thanks  to  United  States'  generos- 
ity toward  veterans,  ex-Corporal 
Gray  is  doing  it,  even  though  he 
has  a  wife  and  child,  with  another 
baby  on  the  way.  The  Grays  live 
just  off  the  University  of  California 
campus  in  a  two-bedroom  house 
with  eight  people  sharing  the  same 
kitchen,  stove  and  sink! 

C.  S.  Forester,  famed  for  his 
best  sellers.  The  Ship,  and  Captain 
Horatio  Hornblower,  brings  you 
the  saga  of  a  1945  college  freshman, 
with  a  wife,  baby  and  $109.25 
a  month. 


HOM' 


shoes,  and  so  on.  And  a  pair  or  two  for 
mother  and  dad,  making  the  shoe  bill  easily 
$75  a  year.  So  out  of  $240  for  the  yearly 
budget  must  come  $110,  leaving  only  $130  to 
clothe  six  people,  about  $22  each.  My 
method  for  stretching  is  simple:  I  just  make 
everything  we  wear  that  can  be  made  at 
home.  On  sewing  alone  I  save  more  than 
$150.  Lastly,  there  is  the  canning.  Judging 
it  by  its  equivalent  in  the  stores,  I  average 
over  $100-a-year  saving  here.  The  inci- 
dentals, such  as  laundering  curtains,  clean- 
ing wallpaper,  painting  and  general  house 
cleaning,  bring  the  total  up  to  $1100  in  cash 
that  I  save  my  husband  each  year.  We  used 
to  have  a  maid.  In  these  times  of  astronom- 
ical salaries  for  help,  I'd  hate  to  figure  what 
I  save  by  doing  the  housekeeping.  Certainly 
$400  a  year.  Do  many  women  make  more 
than  $1800  a  year?  I  doubt  it.  Then,  be- 
sides the  time  spent  thus,  I  still  attend  many 
afternoon  club  meetings  and  noon  luncheons. 
There  are  so  many  things  that  money 
can't  buy,  such  as  being  at  home  to  cheer 
your  husband  when  he  is  blue,  nursing  him 
and  the  children  when  they  are  ill.  Always 
being  on  hand  to  prepare  a  hot  meal.  Being 
your  husband's  eyes  and  ears  in  this  world 
of  intrigue,  making  social  contacts  and 
entertaining  his 
friends.  Few  men, 
excepting  the  rela- 
tively few  geniuses, 
ever  amount  to 
much  as  long  as 
their  wives  work. 
No  man  feels  happy 
and  secure  as  long 
as  his  wife  spends 
most  of  her  waking 
hours  in  the  com- 
pany of  men  more 
successful  than  him- 
self, and  who  dwarf 
him  in  comparison. 
A  woman,  by  mak- 
ing a  home  for  her 
husband,  is  really 
contributing  the 
greatest  amount  of 
her  energy  to  herself 
in  the  long  run,  for 
the  sooner  her  hus- 
band is  successful 
the  sooner  he  can 
provide  her  with  a 
better  home,  help 
to  run  it,  lovely 
clothes,  and  so  on. 
The  woman  who 
insists  on  a  career  for  herself  is  shortsighted. 
She  is  only  giving  herself  a  life  sentence. 

There  will  be  those,  of  course,  who  will 
not  admire  my  large  family,  and  I  can  sym- 
pathize with  them,  for  I  probably  wouldn't 
have  had  so  many  children,  either,  but  for 
my  religion.  Yet  today  I  realize  that  in  just 
that  one  respect  God  has  more  than  blessed 
me.  When  I  hear  childless  middle-aged 
couples  bemoan  their  lot  and  know  their  re- 
gret that  they  haven't  children,  I  realize  that 
children  are  a  sort  of  old-age  insurance.  They 
are  rathef  hard  to  pay  for  at  first,  and  age 
seems  a  long  way  off,  but  as  time  goes  on 
the  payments  seem  to  grow  lighter,  till  with 
the  approach  of  middle  age  one  realizes  one 
has  been  wise  beyond  one's  knowledge  to 
have  taken  on  this  burden,  though  it  once 
seemed  almost  more  than  one  could  bear. 

I  am  more  than  grateful  today  for' my  big 
family,  for  it  is  keeping  me  young.  I  am 
living  my  youth  over  again  with  my  children. 
And  in  ten  years  they  will  be  married  while 
I  am  still  young,  leaving  me  time  to  do  all 
the  useless  little  things  that  so  many  women 
spend  a  greater  part  of  their  lives  doing.  But 
best  of  all,  I  shall  have  someone  near  and 
dear  to  me  to  interest  me  and  keep  me  from 
loneliness  when  my  youth  is  gone  and  the 
world  has  lost  its  glitter.  There  is  more  than 
one  way  to  have  a  career,  and  old  Mother 
Nature  seems  to  have  forced  me  to  find  the 
better  way. 


A.^IERICA   LIVES 
MAY  JOURNAL 


•      ••**• 


HOW  AMEItiri  LIVES 


*••••• 


Trie  House  wul  please 
come  io  oroier  1" 


That's  the  stuff,  Son  .  .  .  this  is  your  time  to  give  orders 
and  make  'em  stick.  Later  on  it  won't  be  so  easy. 

And  here's  a  tip — while  you're  still  'head  man'.  See  that 
the  womenfolk  do  your  washing  with  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 

At  your  age  a  fellow  needs  a  large  wardrobe — designed 
for  comfort  more  than  style.  He  has  to  "change'  often 
and  on  short  notice. 

That  means  a  full-time  job  for  Mother — and  Fels-Naptha 
Soap,  Keeping  you  supplied  with  garments  that  are 
clean  and  sweet  and  snowy  white.  Keeping  the  house 
shipshape  and  the  rest  of  the  family  happy. 

So  remember  this:  It's  fairly  painless  to 
'do  your  duds' — with  the  gentle  soap 
that  makes  the  doing  easy  .  .  . 
That's  Fels-Naptha! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


;s.*«* 


There's  a 


in  your  future! 


■^  Here's  a  promise  to  be  fulfilled  only 
^y  when  Victory  is  accomplished.  Then 
a  smart,  new  peacetime  Ford  will  be  wait- 
ing to  make  those  trips  more  fun. 
.  .  .  For  your  coming  Ford  will  be  big 
and  roomy— youthful  in  action  and  in 
styling,  too.  Rich  looking— inside  and 
out— its  smart  lines  will  surely  rate  a 


"second  look"  on  street  and  highway. 
.  .  .  Naturally,  this  new  car  will  live  up 
to  the  famous  Ford  tradition  for  econ- 
omy and  reliability.  Into  it  will  go  all 
the  skill  and  experience  that  Ford  has 
gained  in  more  than  40  years. 
. .  .  When?  We're  going  to  start  produc- 
tion plans  as  soon  as  we  receive  the 


necessary  "  go  ahead."  Meanwhile,  the 
full  Ford  resources  will  continue  to  be 
engaged  in  helping  speed  the  Victory. 

FORD    MOTOR    COMPANY 


i^2fr^ 


"STARS  OF  THE  FUTURE."  Listen  to  the  new  Ford  musical  program  on  all  Blue  Network  stations.  Every  Friday  night— 8:00  E.W.T.  7:00  C.W.T.  9:30  M.W.T.  8:30  P.W.T. 


^^^-p-  rr-    ]^'s   Fair  roses 

^^«^^'  ?  in  an  old  metal  J^ 
arranged  '"^  ^^^^^^H 


BY    HEIVRIETTA    MURDOCK 

Interior  Decoration  Editor  of  the  Journal 

Even  the  tiniest  yard  has  room  for  a  few  choice  roses 
for  cutting.  Here  are  some  varieties  that  bloom 
through  a  long  season  and  will  thrive  in  most  locali- 
ties. LoisEck  and  her  friends  have  fun  arranging  their 
flowers  under  the  inspiring  slogan,  "Put  'em  in  a  vase." 


Good  ar^  

_^      '^"'^    roses    /„  ^  Sloriou 


*    Pi 


an 


"""PP^^  bou,t 


Real  floral  drama  showing  an 
old  Chinese  vase  with  two  Lady 
Mandeville  roses,  as  crisply  up- 
right as  they  grew  on  the  bush. 


Six  Gloaming  roses  so  arranged 
that  each  retains  its  individual- 
ity. Bottle  vases  hold  roses  grace- 
fully, show  stems  to  advantage. 


Again  Gloaming  roses,  but  no- 
tice how  this  arrangement  changes 
their  natural  slender  grace  to 
sophisticated,  styled  composition. 


The  tall  roses  are  Eclipse ;  Marie 
Curie  and  Mandalay  come  next, 
with  Gloaming  and  McGrady's 
Sunset  clustered  beneath   them. 


Exquisite  Holstein  Floribunda 
roses  in  a  modern  copper  bowl. 
The  tight  buds  and  foliage  are 
part    of   the  fine    composition. 


The  right  vase  and  a  perfect  ar- 
rangement for  showing  the  sculp- 
tured beauty  of  Mrs.  Miniver 
roses — new  and  especially  fine. 


Foliage  and  stems  play  an  im- 
portant part  in  this  exquisite 
arrangement  of  Fantasia  roses. 
Natural    grace    is    the    theme. 


A  few  Pinocchio  roses  are  used 
to  accent  a  permanent  founda- 
tion of  greens  gracefully  ar- 
ranged in  a  pottery  fruit  dish. 


TEEMfiE  REDUOIIG 


*    •   *    ^^nee-7iJcuf  'P%c^.cnCfitcoit   •    *   • 


»  Zi- — ^  •^'-•-'•lal 


Pretty,  thirteen-year-old  Jane  Eck  has 
only  one  beauty  problem:  her  weight. 
With  her  burnished-goM  hair  and  her 
peaehes-aiid-ereani  skin,  she  has  noth- 
ing to  worry  alM)Ul  except  those  extra 
poinids  which  so  often  vex  girls  during 
the  tetmS,  Now  she  is  going  to  do  battle 
with  those.  On  this  page  we  give  her  pre- 
scription for  streamlining,  simplified  for 
the,  benefit  of  all  pluni|>  teen-agers  who 
want    to   banish    unwelcome    cushioning. 


^ 


BY  LOUISE  PAIAIG  U\m\l 

Beauty  Editor  of  the  Journal 


•    • 


9 Check  with  your  doctor  before  dieting. 
0 Drink  two  glasses  of  milk  every  day.    No 
substitutions  on  this  important  item. 

#  Exercise  at  least  one  hour  daily  in  the 
fresh  air. 

9(^et  nine  honrs'  sleep.  Rest  is  especially 
important  wiicn  young  bodies  are  running  on 
lean  rations. 

#Foll<j\v  a  sound  diet.  No  faddy  experi- 
ments, please!  Here  is  a  sensible  menu  from 
a  physician: 


nilKAKFANT 

Fruit,  I'resli  ur  iiusweeteiied,  I  serviug. 

1  egg- 

1  slice  wholf-wheat  toast. 

1  put  l>utter. 

1  glass    milk    (or    coircc   or    tea;    no 

sugar). 

KI^NI'IIKXI.'M  OH  Kl  I>I*I<:k 

lyeaii  meat  or  cottage  cheese,  1  good 
serving. 

Vegetable,  1  serving. 

Salu<l  with  lemon  or  vinegar. 

1  slice  bread,  whole-wheat. 

I  pat  butter. 

Fru i t ,  fresh  or  u nsweetened,  1  serving. 

1  glass  milk  (or  can  be  saved  for  af- 
ternoon). 

lUlIWNEK 

Lean  meat,  fish  or  fowl,  1  good  serving. 

Potato,  1,  small,  boiled  or  baked  (eat 
skin). 

Vegetables,  2  servings. 

Fruit,  fresh  or  unsweetened.  (Occa- 
sionally a  simple  gelatin  or  cus- 
tard dessert  or  water  ice.) 


>W»  • 


•Try  to  fool  the  scale.  \  ou  are  only  cheating 
yourself.  Weigh  twice  a  week,  on  the  same 
scale  in  the  same  type  of  clothing,  at  the 
same  time  of  day — and  write  it  down  with  the 
date  in  a  permanent  record. 


#Take  "just  one  bite"  of  forbidden  foods. 
One  taste  leads  to  another,  and  the  harm  is 
done. 

#Believe  that  a  soda-fountain  drink  "doesn't 
count  because  it  doesn't  have  ice  cream  in 
it."  \X  hen  the  gang  orders  refreshments, 
stick  to  orange  juice  or,  better  yet,  tomato 
juice,  until  you  get  that  wonderful  new 
figure. 

•Tantalize  yourself  by  hanging  around 
candy  displays.  If  you  "simply  can't  live" 
without  candy,  eat  one  piece  on  Sunday — if 
you  have  been  good  enough  in  the  meantime 
to  earn  it — and  forget  about  it  between 
times. 

•Think  you  can  break  training  one  day  and 
then  make  up  for  it  by  exercise.  It  takes  two 
brisk  miles  to  walk  off  one  chocolate  eclair! 
Exercise  tightens  your  muscles  and  makes 
you  look  smoother,  but  it  doesn't  melt  fat. 

•Act  sorry  for  yourself,  or  your  friends  will 
shun  you  as  a  bore.  Show  them  you  mean 
business  in  this  dieting,  but  don't  talk  about 
it.  Just  wait  till  they  see  your  elegant  new 
contours.  Will  they  be  envious! 


Kimvna' 


immCiW 


•  • 


•Sugar  is  scarce.  Give  your  share  to  your 
family  and  win  their  hearts  while  you  are 
improving  your  figure. 

•Box  lunches  don't  have  to  be  sandwiches. 
Two  hard-cooked  eggs,  three  pieces  of  zwie- 
back, an  apple  and  a  bunch  of  celery,  all 
added  up  together,  don't  make  as  much 
weight  as  a  cheese  sandwich. ' 
•It  takes  almost  ten  cups  of  unbuttered 
popcorn  to  equal  the  calories  in  two  pieces  of 
chocolate  fudge!  So  if  you  will  settle  for  a 
couple  of  cups  of  plain  popcorn  when  you  feel 
you  nuist  go  on  a  binge,  you  will  be  smart. 

•If  you  peel  your  breakfast  orange  instead  of 
cutting  it,  and  eat  pulp  and  everything,  it  wdll 
fill  you  up  better  and  be  good  for  yo.u  too. 

•Eat  your  salad — or  a  couple  of  stalks  of 
celery — before  the  rest  of  your  meal.  It  will 
take  the  sharp  edge  off  your  appetite. 

•Weight  doesn't  drop  off  miraculously,  or 
evenly,  but  if  you  persist  and  play  fair  you 
are  bound  to  get  results. 


•    HOW  ilMEIllCniVES    • 


140 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


The  New^  Natural/  Delicious  way  to  give  a 

Helpiim  Hand 

WHEN   COLDS  AND   DANGEROUS   INFECTIONS  ARE   IN  THE  AIR! 


\N\na\  a  Juicy  Combination 
of  flavor  and  health! 


In  every  can  of  Florida 
Blended  Juice,  you  get  the 
luscious  sweetness  of  deli- 
cious Florida  oranges  . .  . 


PLUS... 


ORANGE   AND  GRAPEFRUIT  JUICES,  deliciously  blended, 
fortify  the  whole  family  v^ith  protective  VITAMIN  C 


The  worcJ  DELICIOUS  hardly  describes  it.  Imagine  the  juice  of 
orida  oranges  with  all  their  delicate  sweetness.  And  added  to 
is  juice  is  \h6  fruity  tang  of  tempting  grapefruit  juice.  Once  you 
3ve  tried  a  can  of  these  two  delectable  juices  expertly  blended 
)gether,  you'll  wont  them  every  single  day. 

Yes,  every  day  is  none  too  often  for  such  a  delicious  treat, 
nd  every  day  is  none  too  often  to  build  up  your  health  with  these 
ices.  For  these  are  the  juices  that  richly  supply  everybody  with 
e  VITAMIN  C  needed  daily  to  build  up  resistance— to  fight  in- 
jctions — to  fight  fatigue — and  COLDS! 

You  couldn't  form  a  smarter  habit  than  to  make  the  serving  of 
ended  Orange  and  Grapefruit  Juice  a  daily  breakfast  custom! 


CANNED  GRAPEFRUIT  JUICE 

—  with  all  the  fresh  fruity  tang  of  tree- 
ripened  Florida  grapefruit.  And  a  gold 
mine  of  vitamin  C  for  you! 

Florida  Canned  Orange  Juice 
Florida  Canned  GrapefruitSections 


the  appetizing  tang  of 
grapefruit  juice.  A  blend  of 
juices  that  are  Nature's  most 
abundant  sources  of  protec- 
tive VITAMIN  C. 


DELICIOUS 

, .  .  squeezed  and 
strained  and  ready 
to  serve.  Just  open 
the  can — and  pour! 


•  FLORIDA   CITRUS  COMMISSION    •    Lakeland,  Florida 


BLENDED    JUICE 


Sunday-afternoon  dress:  printed 
draivstring  bow  blouse,  skirt:  in 
cotton  or  crepe.  IUSO,  10  to  IS;  15c. 


\mm  FOR  J  DREitN  DRESS 


S*^  'DCU4MI  0tOWcU 


Your  first  formal  dress — W\e  dream  you've  been  dreaming  ever  since  HE  asked 
you  to  your  first  real  dance!  What  are  you  going  to  wear?  How  pretty  can  you 
look?  Will  you  dance  every  dance?  Cecelia  Eck,  demure,  blue-eyed,  fifteen, 
chose  romantic  organdy  for  an  off-the-shoulder  dress  her  mother  made  for  her. 
Because  Cecelia  knows  that  one  successful  dance  leads  to  another  and  still 
another,  she  and  her  mother  are  making  other  dress-up  additions  for  her  ward- 
robe. A  ruffled  plaid  in  her  most  becoming  colors  for  an  evening  at  the  Y;  a 
very  young  black  taffeta  trimmed  in  white  lace  for  an  afternoon  party.  Here 
are  six  Hollywood  Patterns;  select  your  favorite — the  one  that  will  do  the  most 
for  you — and  make  it  as  memorable  as  your  very  first  dance! 

For  back  views  and  sizes  see  page  178.  Buy  Hollywood  Patterns  at  the  store  which  sells 
them  in  your  city.  Or  order  them  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  from  Hollywood  Pattern  Service, 
Putnam  Avenue,  Greenwich,  Connecticut,  or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario,  Canada. 


•     UOW    AM  E  Kir  A   LIVES     • 


Black  taffeta  dress  with  lace,  or 
cotton  with  eyelet,  is  young  for 
sub-debs.      1566,    10    to    18;    25c. 


Tiny  velvet,  grosgrain  or  taffeta  rib- 
bon bows  on  the  bodice  of  a  crepe 
or  cotton  dress.    1590,  10  to  18;  25c. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


ft 


For    exquisite    daintiness      ^^'c'^'V     a    new    safeguard 


etmOw^  0/  Mc^zCc-Ui^^ 


It's  locked  in  ...  so  it  can't  shake  out 


Now  you  get  this  new  protection  for 
your  charm,  your  daintiness  —  at  no  extra 
cost  to  you. 

A  deodorant  is  locked  inside  each  Kotex 
sanitary  napkin  to  help  keep  you  fresh,  lovely, 
confident.  The  deodorant  can't  shake  out, 
because  it  is  processed  right  into  each  pad — 
not  merely  dusted  on! 

There  are  50  many  important  reasons  \A^hy 
you  should  always  insist  on  Kotex: 

(1)  The  ^aUntci,  jlat  ta]^crci  ends  of  Kotex 
mean  no  bulges,  no  revealmg  lines. 


(2)  You  get  lasting  comfort,  because  Kotex 
is  made  to  stay  soft  while  wearing. 

(3)  The  special  jour-ply  safety  center  gives 
you  extra  hours  of  protection,  presents  roping 
and  twisting. 

(4)  Only  Kotex  has  three  sizes  — Regular, 
Junior  and  Super  Kotex  —  for  different  women, 
different  days. 

(5)  And  now  this  extra  safeguard  —  the  new 
deodorant  in  every  Kotex  napkin. 

No  wonder  most  women  simply  won't  be 
satisfied  with  any  other  brand! 


More  women  choose  KOTEX* 

than  all  other  sanitary  napkins  put  together 


*T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


'^^m 

"'f^' 


^/^^ 


w 


Who  would,  guess  she  s 
heen  on  her  feet  all  da\ 

Subtract  Some  Candles  from  your  cake — to  match  th 

younger  way  you'll  feel  when  foot  fatigue  is   off  you 

schedule,  Selby  ARCH  PRESERVER  shoes  by  da 

make  this  new  woman  of  you  by  night!  These  thre 

famous  features  do  the  trick. 

•  Steel  arch  bridge  for  firm  support. 
•  Individually  placed  metatarsal  pad  for  comfort. 
•  Perfectly  flat  innersole  for  comfort-plus. 


SERVER 


\ 


Slightly  Higher  in  Western  States  ond  Canada 


!^^^S 


Selby  Shoes,  Fifth  Avenue  and  38th  St.,  New  York  City,  and  Your 
Leading  Shoe  and  Department  Store.  Atanufocfurw/  for  womm  fa/  THE 
SELBY  SHOE  COMPANY,  Porttmouth,  Ohio  ...  for  mm,  E.  T.  WRIGHT  A  CO., 
Rockland,  Mati.  .  ..foi  childrtn,  GREEN  SHOE  MFG.  CO.,  Boston,  Masi.  •  In 
Conodo,  Murray-S«lby,  Ltd.,  London,  Ont.  •  In  England,  Soiby  Sho«i, lid.,  London 
In  Auttralia,  Stiby  Sho*i  (Au»f.)  Ltd.,  Sydn»y  •  In  N*w  Zooland,  Swinton 
A  Oat*i,  Ltd.,  Auckland     •    In  Argentina,  Albarlo  GrimoJdl,  Bu*no>  Air*>. 

saar  shoes  the  world  ovbk-estabushed  i877... created  forpeace- 

TIMl  COMPORT- FRICEIESS  IN  WARTIMt  Cp»,  H45,  Tt>.  Mky  %>,»  e.mp«r 

RAWLINGS-VOCUE  STUDIOS,  CAPRI  ORIGINAL 


BY  JUDY  BARRY 

PERHAPS  you've  wondered,  you  young  wives  who 
have  fledghng  business  careers  born  of  wartime 
necessity,  what  you  ought  to  do  about  them  when 
Johnnie'  comes  home  again  and  you  can  really 
begin  to  live  your  marriage. 

In  many  cases  there  won't  be  the  smallest  question 
in  your  mind.  Most  of  the  young  Army  and  Navy 
wives  whom  I  know  wear  the  dream  of  being  at  last 
in  their  own  homes,  practicing  the  fine  art  of  home- 
making,  wrapped  around  them  like  a  cloak  these 
days — their  best  protection  against  the  cold  of  loneli- 
ness and  separation. 

But  those  of  you  who  feel  that  perhaps  you'd  be 
more  useful  if  you  were  bringing  home  a  piece  of  the 
family  bacon — better  listen  to  one  of  Lois  Eck's  pet 
theories.  It's  much  more  than  a  theory,  however,  for 
she  has  reaUy  given  both  kinds  of  carefer  a  long,  and  in 
each  case  successful,  whirl.  What's  more,  she  has  some 
mighty  interesting  figures  to  back  up  her  intense  con- 
viction that,  considered  from  a  strictly  cash-and-carry 
standpoint,  the  average  wife's  best-paying  career  is 
found  in  her  own  home ! 

Not  that  the  actual  worth  of  a  pretty,  agreeable 
wife,  a  serene,  thriftily  managed  home  to  the  morale 
of  a  young  husband  on  his  way  up  in  the  business 
world  really  could  be  measured  in  dollars  and  cents. 
But  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  and  because  she  has  a  canny 
head  for  figures,  Lois  sat  down  one  day  and  figured  out 
her  "pay  check"  for  a  year.  It's  itemized  there  at  the 
right.  P.S.  No  withholding  tax. 

Do  you  agree  with  her  estimates?  We've  checked 
them  here  in  the  Workshop,  and  we  think  she's  been 
fairly  conservative — in  fact,  we  think  she  might  even 
give  herself  a  small  merit  raise! 

Consider  one  of  Mrs.  Eck's  most  pithy  observations: 
"I  was  reared  on  the  adage  that  it  isn't  so  much  what 
one  makes  that  counts,  as  what  one  saves.  And  the 
older  I  grew,  the  more  I  realized  it  was  true." 

When  Mrs.  Eck  did  take  on  homemaking  as  a  full- 
time  job,  it  wasn't  easy.  She  was  completely  untu- 
tored— learned  how  from  maids  and  magazines.  "I 
had  to  find  out  the  hard  way,  alas,"  she  says,  "but  a 
woman  at  home  can  do  a  world  of  things  to  save 
money." 

It's  true  indeed  that  being  one's  own  pearl-in-the- 
kitchen  has  many  monetary  compensations  besides  all 
the  other  satisfying  rewards  that  one  can't  put  a  price 
tag  on.  Think  of  how  much  more  economical  it  is  to  be 
able  to  market  in  person,  for  example.  How  much 
more  fun,  too,  even  when  your  companion  is  a  ration 
book. 

'"To  wnarket,  to  market,   to  buy  a  tat  plat" 

Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful?  But  nevertheless,  if  you're 
right  there  to  talk  the  lack  of  a  pig  over  with  the 
butcher,  you  can  come  home  again  jiggety-jig  having 
captured  whatever  he  had  that  was  good,  plus  the 
benefit  of  his  suggestions.  You've  been  Mrs.  Johnnie- 
on-the-spot  to  take  advantage  of  specials — you've 
seen  the  richness  of  fruits  and  vegetables  spread  out  so 
you  know  what's  plentiful,  thus  cheaper,  and  can  plan 
your  menus  with  these  in  mind. 

Mrs.  Eck  markets  in  person,  on  a  grand  scale,  twice 
a  week.  The  children,  of  course,  run  incidental  er- 
rands. And  the  point  problem  isn't  cramping  her  menu 
style  too  much,  because 

She*»  very  melt  prenervedt  That  is,  her  Storage 
closet  is  full  of  home-canned,  delicious  de-lovelies. 
There's  another  satisfaction,  if  you're  your  own  cook- 
maid-housekeeper.  You'll  enjoy  preserving,  by  can- 
ning or  deep-freezing,  the  fruits  of  your  Victory 
Garden  labor.  (Continued  on  Page  170) 


Orchids  from  the  boss  is  soinelhing  you  can't  count  on  in  most  careers,  eren  ij  you  liaiv  been  a  ^ood  ^irt .' 
But  George  Ech  feels  Lois  deserves  them.  Here's  why — an  estimate  of  ivhat  she  "earns"  each  vein  at  the 
second  career  she's  ivooed  and  /<'«/j.   Lois  says  it's  the  most  worth-while  job,  mahing  and  curing  for  a  home! 


By  careful  marketing  and  cooking,  Lois  serves  six  people 
well-balanced  meals  for  about  $17  a  week.  Judging  by  gen- 
erally accepted  figures,  she  believes  she  saves  $10  a  week, 
$520  a  year  on  food.   Carining  at  home  saves  another  $100. 


She  allots  $240  a  year  for  clothing,  out  of  which  comes  a 
suit  or  overcoat  for  dad  at  about  $35.  Shoes  gobble  up 
$75.  ("Heavens,  the  shoes,"  groans  Lois.  "If  I  could  only 
make  them!")  Her  method  of  stretching  $130  to  clothe  six 
people  is — "Make  everything  possible!"  Her  sewing  alone, 
Mrs.  Eck  feels  sure,  "earns"  at  the  very  least  $150  a  year. 


"Outside"  laundry  for  a  family  their  size  would  cost  $5  a 
week  minimum.  Doing  her  own  washing  and  ironing  adds 
$260  a  year.  Then  $400  credit  for  the  maid  she  used  to  have. 
Incidentals,  cleaning,  laundering  curtains,  painting  and 
such  bring  the  total  of  her  earning-by-saving  up  to  $1500. 


"Do  many  average  women,"  asks  Lois,  "come  out  more 
than  $1500  ahead  of  the  game  in  business?    I  doubt  it!" 


Cleaning  twelve-feet -up  ceilings  brings 
Lois  to  the  top  of  her  career  ladder! 


^Ma  AmCfUMt,  ^ivCA 


146 


^      ^  supper  tha!^s\o0^c,\   J 


±LM 


BIRDS 


—     %, 


■  ■•>-■■    '* 


■"*!■ 


IpaK 


COLD    OR   HOT.  .  . 
SPAM    HITS   THE    SPOT! 

*"Spom"  is  o  registered  trademork.  It  identifies  a  meat  product  — 
pocked  only  in  I2ounce  tins  —  made  exclusively  by  Geo  A  Hormel 
&  Co.,  Austin,  Minn. 


rzS.  Tou1l  like  Hormtl  Chili  Cen  Corns ! 

Everybody  likei  chili  the  way  Hormel  mokes 
it,  because  Hormel  Chili  is  different.  You'll  like 
it,  too.  Dewbit  Your  Monty  Back  If  You  Don't ! 


HORMEL 

GOOD  FOODS 


PHOTOS  BY  STVA 


Striving  to  put  as  much  variety  and  zest  into  life  as  possible,  Loi 
Eck  stages  her  dinner  with  as  much  care  as  a  first-night  performana 


Producing  a  meal  that  is  a  humdinger  instead  of  a  humdru 
copy  of  the  day  before  or  last  week  will  give  added  meanii 
to  your  hfe.  \  ou'U  discover,  if  you  haven't  already,  that  th 
daily  performance  is  a  fascinating  business — well  w^orth  voi 
creative  and  artistic  efforts.  The  appreciative  and  genuir 
applause  from  your  daily  and  company  audiences  >vill  1 
enough  to  spur  you  on. 

Lois  Eck  feels  that  way  about  flowers  and  flavors.  T< 
gether  with  a  friend,  Carolyn  Andrew,  she  creates  centerpiet 
ideas.  The  cutout  photographs  on  this  and  the  next  page  ar 
their  handiwork.  They  used  "just  what  they  had  in  the  house. 

You  can  do  it  too — not  only  with  centerpieces,  but  wit' 
food  as  well.  Take  a  look  around  you — see  what  you  have  i 
the  house,  your  heart,  mind  and  hands. 

Your  table  is  your  stage.  Make  a  hit  show  out  of  it.  Choos 
your  characters  carefully  and  present  your  show  with  eleganc 
and  charm,  whether  your  scene  calls  for  inexpensive  potter 
or  your  best  china  and  glass. 


OXE-ACT  PLAY 


Pea  Soup 

X^  ith  Spinach  and  Curry 

Sliced  Toasted  Rolls 

Ham  Souffle 

Jellied  Mushrooms 

Salted  Water  Cress 

in  Cracked  Ice 

Rolls  and  Spread 

Coffee  and  Chocolates 


handsome,  step  down  the  rest  c 
the  fneal.  Give  more  attention  t 
the  star.  .  .  .  Canned  pea  sou 
plays  a  new  role  with  the  add 
tion  of  milk,  pureed  spinach  an 
a  little  curry  powder.  .  .  .  The 
bowl  of  water  cress  has  just 
bit  part,  but  it  will  make  you 
meal  sing.  .  .  .  Skip  dessert  an 
have  a  surprise  ending.  Pas 
chocolates  or  home-made  cand 
with  the  cofTee. 


r?W  /4*tt&Uc€t,  .^u/e^ 


e 


WHS " 


DERS  FROM  HEADQUARTERS 

Tfashington,  D.  C. 


-If  you  raise  your  own  chickens,  beef  or  pork,  you'll 
want  to  can  some  to  help  spread  the  supply  through 
the  year.  The  new  Government  canning  booklet.  Home 
Canning  of  Meats,  is  the  last  word  on  just  how  to  do 
it.  Order  by  number,  AWI-110.  from  Office  of  Informa- 
tion, USDA,  Washington  25,  D.  C.  Single  copies  free. 


RIT  PARTS 


ten  it's  the  little  touch  to  food — the 
:e  of  orange  on  the  lamb  chop  or  the 
se-geranium  leaf  in  the  teapot — that 
ds  drama  to  your  meal.  For  instance, 
,'ou're  going  to  have  frankfurters  and 
icaroni  and  cheese  for  supper,  make 
5  dish  speak  louder  by  splitting  or  slic- 
l  the  franks  and  baking  them  on  top. 
For  flavor  flair,  combine  fresh  fruit 
th  juices  of  canned  fruit.  Or  try  last 
ar's  strawberry  jam  instead  of  sugar 
strawberries. 

Some  night  when  you  feel  you've  pro- 
ced  a  very  special  meal,  write  your 


menu  in  large  letters  on  a  paper  place 
mat  with  the  children's  colored  crayon. 
Tack  it  up  in  the  kitchen  for  the  family 
to  see  and  anticipate. 

A  little  ice  cream  goes  a  long  way 
for  a  party.  Cupcakes  Alaska  are  the 
answer.  Hollow  out  cupcakes.  Fill  with 
spoonfuls  of  firm  ice  cream.  Frost  with 
meringue.  Brown  as  usual. 

It  will  soon  be  Easter  and  the  chil- 
dren's eyes  will  brighten  when  they  dis- 
cover you  have  added  a  little  coloring — 
take  your  choice — to  the  water  in  which 
you  soft-cooked  the  eggs  for  breakfast. 


EASTER-BREAKFAST   MATI]^EE 

Pitcher  of  Fruit  Juices 

Assorted  Cereals  With  Toppings 

Corn-Bread  Ring 

Creamed  Julienne  Ham  With  Mushrooms 

Coffee 

Change  the  scene.  Serve  breakfast  for  special 
occasions  from  your  buffet,  English  style.  Ar- 
range fruit-juice  pitcher  and  glasses  at  one  end. 
Heap  a  mixture  of  dry  cereals  in  your  salad 
bowl — have  fixings  grouped  together  on  a  small 
tray.  Bake  corn  bread  in  a  ring  mold.  Center 
it  with  the  hot  ham  and  mushrooms.  Rig  up  the 
coffee  maker  and  you're  ready  for  the  curtain 
to  go  up.   Don't  forget  a  flower  for  dad's  lapel. 


PROMPTII^OS  AIVD  ASIDES 


Dress  rehearsals  are  important  to  a 
od  show.  Visualize  your  company 
ials  when  you  plan  them.  Then  pre- 
;w  for  the  family  first.  It  helps  a  hit 
d  prevents  a  flop. 

As  often  as  you  think  it  wise,  dodge 
e  usual.  If  you've  had  the  same 
ests  quite  often  and  your  pet  menus, 
iwever  good,  have  had  a  long  run, 
/e  your  folks  what  they  least  expect, 
ley'll  sit  up  in  their  seats. 
Play  around  with  the  "props"  in 
lur  own  cupboard.  Have  no  com- 
mctions  about  using  the  flower  bowl 
r  salad,  the  salad  bowl  for  an>^hing 
at  would  look  dramatic  in  it.  Take  an 
ventory  of  your  lares  and  penates. 
)ssibilities  there  for  table  gadgets 
at  you  may  not  have  thought  of. 
If  your  china  looks  as  dull  and  seedy 
you  as  the  flowers  on  last  year's  hat, 
ake  a  few  colored  cloths  out  of  ma- 


terial by  the  yard.  The  right  cloth  is 
often  just  the  ticket  to  make  your  china 
take  the  lead  again. 

Room  for  two — group  foods  together. 
Use  a  tray  for  two  menu  items  instead 
of  one.  For  instance,  Lx)is  has  a  large 
round  tray.  She  often  serves  a  bowl 
salad  in  the  center,  hot  rolls  or  sand- 
wiches attractively  arranged  at  the  base. 

Make  this  a  rule :  No  chicken  patties 
allowed  if  you're  having  an  affair. 
They've  been  billed  so  often  folks  won't 
want  to  see  them  again. 

Don't  hesitate  to  bring  your  bread- 
board into  the  living  room  as  service  for 
your  very  best  canape  concoction.  And 
as  for  the  "very  best" — better  to  have 
one  really  good  one  rather  than  several  • 
that  never  come  out  of  the  wings. 

Before  dinner  put  on  your  favor- 
ite dress  and  powder  your  nose  so 
you'll  be  ready  for  your  curtain  call. 


PRIZE   PACKAGE 


Tiny  Beets 

Horse-Radish  Stuffing 

Little  Fish  in  Paper 

Lemon  Points 

Furecn  of  Spring  Vegetables 

2ucumber-and-Onion  Salad 

ot  Rolls     Water-Cress  Butter 

Fruit  Garland 

Sherbet  Coffee 

ood  things  come  in  small  pack- 

;es.  All  small  fish  are  better  for 

(oking  in  paper.  The  juices  stay 

the  bank.    Your   little-used 


tureen,  if  not  too  enormous, 
makes  a  wonderful  mouth-water- 
ing sight  filled  with  good  things 
other  than  soup.  Chop  water 
cress  and  cream  into  enough  but- 
ter or  margarine  for  the  meal. 
Chill  in  a  mold.  It's  not  just  for 
sandwiches!  Heap  store-bought 
sherbet  in  center  of  platter  or 
your  glass  cake  plate.  Arrange 
sectioned  and  cut  fruit  in  sepa- 
rate colorful  heaps  around  it — 
orange  sections,  drained  canned 
fruits.  Have  you  any  strawber- 
ries or  pineapple? 


147 


er^iSSf^'f^ 


2    LESS  DANGER  OF  BURNED  FOOD 
WITH  PYREX  WARE  BECAUSE: 

(A)  It's  fireproof  D 

(B)  You  can  watch  food  cook  through 
the  sides  and  bottom  to  just  the 
right  degree  of  brown  □ 

(C)  It  rings  a  bell  when  food  is  done  D 


^    YOU    SA^ 
J     WITH    P1 


YOU    SAVE    STEPS    AND   WORK 
>YREX    WARE    BECAUSE: 


(A)  You   bake,  serve,  and    store   in 
same  dish  Q 

(B)  It's  easy  to  carry  □ 

(C)  it  runs  around  by  Itself  Q 


y     PYREX  WARE  IS  EASIER  TO 
^   WASH  BECAUSE: 

(A)  It  makes  soap  sudsier  O 

(B)  It's  woterproof  n 

(C)  Sticky  foods  don't  cling  to  Its 
smooth  surface  G 


ANSivs^  eox/ 


OF  COURSE  you  know  the  right  answers 
but  here  they  are  anyway: 

1   (B);     2  (B);     3  (A);     4  (C);     5  (C). 

AND  BY  THE  WAY,  the  baking ,  dish 
shown  above  is  the  Pyrex  Double  Duty 
Casserole  .  .  .  really  two  dishes  in  one: 
Bottom  serves  as  open  baker. 
Cover  makes  pie  plate.  3  sizes. 
Quart  size only 


PRESSED   IN   GLASS 


5   LOOK  FOR  THIS  TRADE-MARK  WHEN 
YOU  BUY  GLASS  UTENSILS  BECAUSE: 

(A)  It's  so  good-looking  G 

(B)  It's  easy  to  find  G 

(C)  It's  the  mark  of  Pyrex  ware,  the 
original  heat-resistant  glass  cook- 
ing ware,  a  product  of  Corning 
Research  in  Glass  G 


50< 


IF  YOU  HAVEN'T  tried  Pyrex  ware 
here's  a  good  way  to  start.  The  Pyrex 
Deep  Pie  Dish  is  swell  for  cooking  and 
serving  individual  pies,  soup,  ^  t\M 
cereals,  custards,  apple  sauce.  IIIy 
8-ounce  size only      I U 


"PVREX"  IS  A  RECISTEREO  TRADE-MARK  OF  CORNING  CLASS  WORKS.  CORNING,  N.  Yi 


148 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


YOUR  FAVORITE  FOODS,  TOO,  deserve  a  bright  new 
dress  these  cheerful  spring  days.  See  how  easily  lemons  add 
a  dash  of  color  and  sparkling  flavor  to  any  spring  menu. 


APPETIZER- Tomato  Juice 

Any  appetizer  responds  to  the  wake-up  zip  of  fresh 
lemon.  Easy-to-squeeze  quarters  are  a  "must"  W-ith 
tomato  and  other  vegetable  juices. 

MAIN  DISH— Lamb  Shanks  with  Lemon* 

For  something  different  in  an  economy  dish  try  this 
tempting  lamb  recipe:  insert  slivers  of  garlicin4lamb 
shanks  .  . .  dust  with  flour,  salt,  pepper  and  paprilca. 
Brown  slowly  in  melted  fat  for  10-15  minutes.  Add  1 
bay  leaf,  V2  cup  fresh  lemon  juice,  2  tbs.  grated  lemon 
peel  and  siuuner  slowly  1V2  to  2  hours.  Add  water  if 
necessary.  There's  a  dish  the  whole  family  will  cheer. 
Lemons  do  wonders  for  many  niain  dish  stand-bys  . . . 
especially  fish  and  veal. 

VEGETABLE-Buttered  Carrots* 

Lots  of  vegetables  aren't  complete  without  the  tang  of 
lemon.  Carrots,  for  example,  are  wonderful  when  you 
thicken  the  cooking  liquid  with  flour,  add  a  dash- of 
lemon,  a  pat  of  butter  and  a  sprinkling  of  nutmeg. 
Drench  carrots  just  before  serving. 

SALAD— Mijced  Greens  Salad* 

For  extra  crispness  try  adding  a  bit  of  fresh  lemon  juice^ 
to  the  ice  water  when  freshening  up  salad  greens.  And 
for  the  dressing  use  straight  lemon  juice  with  a  little 
sugar  added  to  bring  out  hidden  flavors  in  the  firm, 
•  tender  greens  when  served. 

DESSERT-Lemon  Snow* 

Prepare  unflavored  gelatine  (according  to  directions) 
with  fresh  lemon  juice.  Just  before  it  sets  whip  vigor- 
ously. Serve  with  a  luscious  thin  custard  sauce.  Mmm! 
And  don't  overlook  lemon  as  a  favorite  flavoring  for 
pies,  cakes,  puddings  and  other  dessert  treats. 


So,  as  you  see,  lemons  can  be  your  most  helpful  food  in  planning  tastier  meals. 
But  there  is  another  reason  for  using  lemons  liberally —HEALTH.  Lemons  are 
a  rich  source  of  vitamins  C  and  P,  a  good  source  of  Bi .  They  aid  digestion  and 
alkalinize  the  system.  Sunkist's  famous  Lemon  Recipe  Book  has  over  100  in- 
teresting recipes.  It's  free.  Write  Sunkist,  Sec.  204,  Los  Angeles,  55,  California. 


r^' 


^- 


'^7 


L 


Sunkist  Lemons  in  trademarked  tissue 
wrappers  are  the  finest  and  juiciest  from 
14, 500  cooperating  Calif omiatind  Arizona 
citrus  growers. 

FOR  GOOD  HEALTH  AND  GOOD  FLAVOR 


un 


kist 


California  Lemons 


LET'S  FINISH  THE  JOB-BUY  WAR  BONDS 


APRIL  ON  A  SPREE 

(Continued  from  Page  43) 


yellow  part ,  known  informally  as  the  ' '  yelk ' ' 
or  "yolk,"  plastered  as  tight  as  adhesive 
plaster  on  the  ham.  And  that,  my  dears,  is 
"Country  Style."  I  don't  know  what  coun- 
try, but  I'm  sure  it'is  not  this  one. 

HAI^I  AIVD  EljiGS 

Just  the  way  I  can't  leave  mashed  pota- 
toes alone,  but  always  have  to  give  a  lot  of 
good  advice  about  them,  so  it  is  with  this 
superior  dish. 

First  gel  a  fine  center  sli<'e  of  ham,  about 
three  quarters  of  an  in<-h  tliirk.  Half  an 
inch  is  ^ood.  Thinner  than  that  is  deli- 
cious.— if  it's  l>roileil  Iwo  minutes  or  so  on 
each  side  and  iiol  all  <lricd  up. 

Having;  a  ni<-c  thick  slice  of  ham.  slash 
the  fat  aroiuid  I  lie  edfje  -with  a  sharp 
knife  so  it  «on"l  buckle  up  on  you.  Now 
either  fry  it  or  broil  it — broil  is  best,  / 
think.  Turn  it  a  fc«  times:  it  isn't  a 
steak,  you  know.  Vi  hen  it  is  lender  to  the 
fork  and  a  little  brown  an<l  the  fat  aroiuid 
the  edge  is  brown  and  crisp — for  heaven's 
sake  don't  cut  off  the  fat — you've  got  a  per- 
fect thing. 

IVow  f<»r  ihn  Etffis 

Take  a  small  spider  (or  frying  pan)  and 
set  it  to  heat  with  several  large  spoonfuls 
of  butter  or  margarine  or  bacon  fat,  if 
you've  got  it.  \\  hen  the  fat  is  hot  but  not 
si^.zling.  slip  one  egg  in  and  baste  it  every 
minute  it's  cooking,  linlil  it  has  cooked  to 
the  point  \ou  lik« — soft,  medium  or  hard. 
Do  one  «-gg  al  a  linn-.  Take  them  up  care- 
fully, that  they  <lon't  get  broken,  and  ar- 
range them  either  on  or  around  the  bam, 
just  to  suit  )ours«>lves.  Sail  and  pepper 
and  paprika  ea«-h  egg  lightly— and  there 
you've  got  ham  an«l  eggs.  That  other  busi- 
ness shouldn't  happen  to  a  <log,  as  they 
say. 

And  that  is  my  Easter  message  to  you.  If 
it  happens  to  be  practically  the  same  one 


each  year  you  don't  mind,  do  you?  Thanks 
a  lot,  I  thought  not.  * 

Ixt  urn  mee  what  ire  »«e.  We  come  now 
to  the  April  Spree  meal  you  probably  have 
noticed  in  a  pictorial  way.  Maybe  you  have 
been  wondering  if  I  was  going  to  ignore  the 
whole  thing  and  let  it  go  at  that.  Well,  I  am 
not.  Going  right  into  it  this  minute,  as  a 
matter  of  fact.  We  are  now  a  long  way  from 
ham  and  eggs.  In  fact,  we  are  at  the  fruit 
melange — better  known  as  fruit  cup — stage. 
Just  as  a  starter. 

FHIIIT  MEI.AIVGE 

Cut  up  as  many  kinds  of  fruit  as  you 
can  come  by.  Strawberries — those  first 
ones  you  can't  resist,  costly  though  the> 
be  as  a  diamond  clip — pineapple,  grapes, 
oranges — anything  goes.  Little  vthite 
grapes  add  a  lot,  and  canned  cherries  too. 
Chill  until  all  is  very  cold  and  dress  the 
fruit  with  honey  and  lemon  juice.  Makes 
a  real  nice  beginning  for  a  springtime 
meal. 

Oolna  On  from  here.  The  big  noise  in 
this  luncheon  or  dinner  (you  can  use  this 
menu  for  either)  is  simply  a  chicken  fric- 
assee in  a  rice  ring — and  I  can  tell  you  that, 
made  with  thought  and  care,  it  is  a  very  sat- 
isfactory dish  indeed.  Fricassee  is  an  old 
stand-by  for  Sunday  dinner  up  where  I 
hailed  from.  But  it  makes  a  difference  how 
it's  made.  This  is  how  I  do  it. 

FR10A!«SEE  OF  CHICKEIV 

If  you  choose  a  chicken  you  may  steam 
it;  and  if  it  is  a  fowl  you're  dealing  with, 
guess  you'll  have  to  boil  it.  I  get  chickens 
because  I  like  them  better,  but  that  is  a 
matter  of  taste. 

When  the  bird  is  very  tender,  take  it  out 
and  cool  it  aw  hile.  For  a  big  rice  ring  there 
must  be  two  chickens  or  one  large  fowl. 
Save  the  liquor  from  the  steaming  or  boil- 


Juice 
King 


/'^Heat'^ /fo 


Fresh  fruit  juices  help  keep  your  family 
fit  ...serve  them  often.  And  the  quick,  easy 
way  to  squeeze  fruit  juice  is  with  JUICE 
KING.  It's  simple  to  use. ..easy  to  clean 

...and  smartly  designed, 
li^lij^g^.  JUICE   KING   will   be   bock 

after  Victory.  Watch  for  if. 

-NATIONAL  DIE  CASTING  COMPANY 

lincolnwpod   45,   Illinois 


Early  New  England  colonists,  making  maple 
sugar. the  old-fashioned  way,  did  not  match  the 
flavor  achieved  by  modern  methods. 

Rich  in  true 
maple  sugar  flavor 

.  The  .Indians  taught  America's  early  settlers 
how  to  make  syrup  from  maple  sap.  But 
they  didn't  know  the  secret  of  keeping  the 
flavor  always  true,  rich  and  uniform. 

We  blend  maple  sugar  with  a  combination 
of  cane  sugar  and  other  sugars  which  gives 
you — in  every  bottle  of  Vermont  Maid  Syrup 
— the  same  true  maple  sugar  flavor.  This 
blend  enhances  the  maple  flavor — makes 
it  richer  .  .  .  more  delicious  ...  a  real 
New  England  delicacy  for  your  pancakes 
and  waffles!  Get  it  at  your 
grocer's. 

Penick  &  Ford,  Ltd.,  Inc. 
Burlington,  Vermont. 


Vermont 

Syrup 


aid 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


149 


ng,  cool  and  take  off  all  the  fat.  If  there 
sn't  enough  broth  (and  you  will  want 
>Ienty),  "extend"  it  with  a  jar  or  can  of 
chicken  broth.    Helps  a  lot. 

Cut  the  breasts  of  the  chicken — go  on, 
'm  going  to  say  chicken,  no  matter  what 
'Oil  choose — into  nice  slices,  no  thinner 
han  you  can  help.  Take  the  rest  of  the 
neat  from  the  hones,  but  don't  cut  it  up 
nto  dice.  Leave  the  pieces  sort  of  natural- 
ooking,  if  you  know  what  I  mean. 

Make  a  Gravy 

Put  all  the  broth  in  a  kettle 


Melt  about 
butter  or  margarine  (here's 
to     use     the 


'}    cup    of 
he    place 

hicken  fat  instead), 
idd  an  equal  quantity 
f  flour  to  make  a  smooth 
oux — I  mean  a  blended 
riixture  to  thicken  with, 
i'hen  the  broth  is  pretty 
i-arm  but  far  this  side  of 
'oiling,  stir  in  the  roux, 
lowly,  and  stir  all  the 
imeandlet  it  cook  while 
ou  stir.  Now,  when  it  is 
s  thick  as  heavy  cream 
nd  just  as  smooth,  sea- 
on  to  taste  with  salt  and 
'bite  pepper.  Add  a  lit- 
le  herb  mixture  meant 
>r  stews  and  cook  a  few 
linutes  more.  Pour  part 
f   this    gravy    over    the 

hicken  and  keep  the  rest        

side. 

The  Rice  Rinfi! 

Boil  2  cups  of  rice — this  depends  on  the 
ize  of  the  ring.  Put  it  on  in  boiling  salted 
ater  and  boil  hard  until  the  rice  is  done, 
nd,  if  you  don't  use  too  much  water, 
lost  of  it  w  ill  be  gone  by  the  time  the  rice 
I  done.  Drain  it  in  a  large  strainer  or 
ilander,  and  pour  2  or  3  quarts  of  hot  wa- 
;r  through  it  to  get  rid  of  the  starchy 
lok.  Put  it  back  in  the  dry  kettle,  cover  it 
ith  a  folded  towel  and  let  it  stand  for 
alf  an  hour  or  so.  Now  grease  the  mold 
ell — and  I  mean  really  grease  it,  and  not 
ist  carry  it  past  a  butter  ball.  Pack  the 
ce  in  it  firmly,  but  keep  from  pushing  it 


THE  TIE 
THAT  BIIVD)^ 


^  Fine  manners  are  a  stronger 
^  bond  than  a  beautiful  face. 
The  former  binds;  the  latter 
only  attracts. 

— LAMARTINE:  Quoted  in  The  Speaker's 
Desk  Book.    Edited  by  Martha  lupton 

(Maxwell  Droke,  Publisher). 

Many  married  couples  man- 
age to  patch  up  their  old 
quarrels  until  they  are  as  good 
as  new  ones. 

— ANON.    Esar's  Comic  Dictionary 
(Harvest  House). 


down  like  an  overstuffed  sofa  with  a  fat 
man  on  one  end. 

Set  the  mold  in  hot  water  and  put  it  in 
a  moderate  oven — 350°  F.  or  thereabouts — 
for  fifteen  minutes,  maybe  twenty.  Un- 
mold  on  a  hot  platter.  Fill  the  center  with 
the  chicken  and  gravy,  pouring  over  at  the 
last  the  gravy  you  saved  out.  Recall  it?  Be 
sure  you've  heated  the  chicken  and  the 
gravy  as  hot  as  hot  can  be.  And  put  the 
dark  meat  under  the  white,  for  looks'  sake 
only.  Personally,  I  like  dark  meat  best. 
So  save  me  the  drumsticks.  (And  this  goes 
for  turkey  too.)  When  you  serve  this  fine 
dish,  you  can  get  at  both  white  and  dark 
easily  enough.  And  if  you  have  too  much 
gravy,  put  it  in  a  gravy 
———^-^^^  tureen  andpassit.  Imean 
too  much  to  go  in  the 
ring.  There  won't  be  too 
much  any  other  way. 
Folks  love  it. 


This  is  a  nice  variation 
on  the  old  familiar  fricas- 
see with  biscuits  or  with 
dumplings.  But  those  are 
traditions.  Nothing  will 
ever  really  take  their 
places.  At  least  I  think 
not. 

A     nenuine    eiohteen- 

earat  treat.    That   re- 
fers to  asparagus,  fresh  or 

frozen.  It  hasn't  raised  its 

lovely  head  yet,  in  most 
gardens,  anyway.  Although  I  don't  have  to 
be  told  that  there  are  some  lucky  people  who 
gather  roses  and  asparagus  any  old  time. 
It's  the  climate. 

ASPARAGUS  ^VITH  CROIJTOIVS 

Cook  the  asparagus  as  usual,  tied  in 
bunches,  heads  above  the  water.  They  will 
cook  from  the  steam.  Drain  well.  Dress 
with  salt  and  pepper  and  butter  or — well, 
you  kno^v  as  well  as  I  do  and  it's  hard  to 
spell.  Begins  with  m.  Arrange  the  aspar- 
agus on  a  platter  with  croutons.  These 
are  very  small  cubes  of  bread  which  have 


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Name 

Address 

City State 


150 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1945 


^  Mu/  Gnm\k,%OiAii  dnenm- 

SERVE  THE   CEREAL  SO   MANY   FOOD   AUTHORITIES 
SERVE  IN  THEIR  OWN  HOMES! 

What  do  Food  Authorities  serve  their  own  families? 

More  than  460  Dietitians  and  Home  Economists,  all  of  them  mothers 
of  growing  children,  when  recently  questioned,  agreed  almost  unani- 
mously (96'i!)  that  the />o/ breakfast  cereal  is  best  for  growing  children 
and  active  adults. 

And  hot  oatmeal  vf&s  overwhelmingly  their  first  choice — chosen  for  use 
in  their  own  homes  5  to  1  over  all  other  hot  cereals  combined! 

These  experts  know  that  no  other  natural  cereal  provides  as  much  of 
3  great  Basic  Vitality-  Elements*  indispensable  for  normal  growth, 
stamina  and  energy.  They  want  these  important  advantages  for  them- 
selves and  for  their  own  growing  children. 

See  that  your  family  has  the  superiorities  of  delicious,  whole-grain 
Quaker  Oats.  Remember  to  get  a  big  economical  package  of  Quaker 
Oats  today.  In  everything  there's  Always  One  That's  Best. 
•Protein.  Food-Energy,  Vitamin  Bi 


ua 
Oats 


Quake 


Ovaker  OaH  and 
Mother's  Ooti 
Ar«  the  Some 


been  tossed  in  butter  and  fried  or  browned 
to  a  crisp  brownness  in  tbe  oven. 

SALAD  AS  rSVAL 

Cucumbers,  radishes,  cress,  lettuce,  to- 
matoes, hard-cooked  eggs,  all  sliced  or  cut 
up  and  tossed  in  a  bowl  with  French  dress- 
ing—  that's  a  salad.  Put  in  a  little  basil. 
Rub  the  bowl  with  garlic  or  don't  go  near 
a  clove  of  garlic.  Or  marinate  a  clove  of 
same  in  the  dressing.  Or  make  your 
dressing  with  garlic  vinegar — or  some  herb 
vinegar  or  good  tarragon  vinegar.  See? 
Vou  have  such  choice  as  only  a  man  mak- 
ing a  stainetl-glass  window  can  boast  of. 

If  you  marinate  the  olives  in  the  dress- 
ing and  drain  them  well,  you  have  no  idea 
how  much  better  they  are.  That  is  my  idea 
and  maybe  good  only  for  me.  But  try  it. 
try  it  once. 

Juat  90U  wuit.  \Miat  for?  And  haven't 
you  been  waiting  on  me  for  years  and  years, 
and  what  did  it  get  you  or  what  has  it  got 
you? 

It  has  got  you  what  you  are  going  to 
learn  about  now,  without  more  delay,  as  the 
announcers  say.  .^nd  that  something  is  a 
Meringue-Lemon  Tart.  Notice  I  didn't  say 
lemon-meringue  pie,  although  you  can  have 
it  either  way,  coming  or  going.  In  a  moment 
you'll  see  what  I  mean. 

.MERIXCit  E-LEMOX  T.\RT 

First  grease  a  glass  pie  plate  very  thor- 
oughly— even  on  the  rim — more  thor- 
oughly than  you  would  even  for  a  cake. 
Dust  with  flour  and  shake  off  the  excess 
flour.  Heat  ,3  egg  whiles  with  '8  teas|M>on 
of  salt,  luitil  stiff  hiil  not  dry.  Add  1  cup  of 
sugar  gradually — a  tablespoonful  at  a 
time — healing  well  after  each  addition  to 
dissolve  the  sugar  before  adding  the  next 
sptM>nfiil.  Flavor  with  "-j  teaspoon  of  va- 
nilla. Spread  this  meringue  in  the  pre- 
pared pie  plate,  setting  aside  about  4  ta- 
blcspt>ons  of  the  meringue.  (Tell  you  why 
pretty  soon.)  Do  not  build  the  edges  too 
high  or  it  «  ill  swell  over  the  edge  when  you 
bake  it  and  get  you  into  trouble  when 
>ou  cut  and  serve  it.  With  the  rest  of 
the  meringue  make  little  rounds  and 
put  them  on  a  greased  tin  cooky  sheet. 
Itake  the  pie  shell  in  a  slow  oven,  .300^  F., 
lor  twenty  minutes.  Reduce  the  heat  to 
-~y  F.  aiitl  hake  for  fifteen  minutes  more. 
The  little  meringues  will  bake  at  the  same 
time,  though  they  takeonly  about  twenty- 
fi\e  minutes  to  b<*C(une  crisp.  Leave  the 
sliell  in  the  pie  plate,  but  take  ofl"  the  little 
tCllas  and  cool  on  a  rack.  W  hen  cool  add 
lemon  filling  just  a  little  while  before  serv- 
ing and  have  the  filling  thoroughly  cool 
but  not  chilled.  Put  the  small  meringues 
on  top.  ("lit  it  carefully  and  lift  it  out 
gently. 

The  Flllimti:  Mix  6  tablespoons  of  corn- 
starch, 's  teas[>oon  of  salt  and  1'^  cups  of 
sugar  together  thoroughly.  Add  2  cups  of 
lM>iling  water  and  the  grated  rind  of  1 
lemon.  Stir  until  very  smooth.  Put  in  the 
top  of  a  double  boiler  and  cook  over  hot 
water,  stirring  constantly  until  thick  and 
light.  Co\er  and  cook  twenty  to  thirtv 
minutes  or  until  you  couldn't  taste  the 
cornstarch  if  you  ate  it  all  day.  Add  V*  cup 
of  butter  or  margarine.  Pour  the  hot  mix- 
ture over  3  egg  yolks  mixed  with  '^  cup  of 
lemon  juice.  Beat  until  smooth  as  an  al- 
derman's promises.  Return  to  the  double 
boiler  and  ci>ok  about  two  minutes  more. 
Cool  it  thoroughly  at  room  temperature. 
Do  not  chill.  (1  said  this  before,  and  I 
mean  it.)  Pour  into  the  pie  ."xnd  decorate 
with  the  small  meringues.  And  here  you 
have  a  lemon  pie  in  a  meringue  shell !  Dif- 
ferent, eh"?    Try  it. 

Ea»9  ao4>*  it.  So  it's  almost  time  to  pin 
up  tlae  Nines  again  and  set  out  the  iron 
benches  and  clean  out  the  brook,  at  least 
get  out  the  corsets,  old  overshoes  and  tin 
cans  the  brats  threw  in  last  fall.  And  as 
they  got  stuck  on  a  log  under  the  bridge,  we 
never  noticed  them  until  this  spring.  Pre- 
ser\-ed  as  in  water  glass  are  the  corsets.  The 
N-intage  is  apparently  of  the  era  of  Empress 
Eugenie. 

But.  as  I  always  say,  easy  does  it.  No 
need  to  lose  our  head.  The  brook  is  for- 
midable now,  rushing  along  like  a  wild 
horse — or  is  it  wild  horseman?  Take  it 
easy;  if  folks  think  those  things  belong  to 
nie,  they  are  crazy.  It  doesn't  worr>-  me,  not 
one  bit. 


"fc) 

Preferred  by 
Millions  of  Mothers 

When  you  find  the  Nazareth 
label  on  infants'  and  chil- 
dren's underwear  you  can 
buy  with  the  assurance  that 
sizes  are  correct — quality  is 
dependable  and  the  prices 
are  moderate. 

Nazareth  is  making  as 
many  garments  as  wartime 
conditions  permit,  and  is 
also  devoting  a  large  part  of 
its  facilities  to  the  manu- 
facture of  goods  for  out 
armed  forces. 

For  the  past  58  years  mil- 
lions of  mothers  have  pre- 
ferred Nazareth  underwear 
for  their  youngsters  because 
it  is  so  good. 

NAZARETH  VTAIST  CO. 

366  Broadwaj,  New  York 


INFANTS       <(1CHILDRENS 

UNDERWEAR 

AND        SLEEPERS 


NEEDS  GOOD  CARE 

You  want  your  child  to  have  lovely  hair 
now  and  later  in  life,  don't  you.'  "Well, 
that's  why  you  should  care  for  your 
child's  hair  with  Packer's  Tar  Soap. 

No  safer  soap  for  the  "tender  age." 
Thick,  quick  suds  cleanse  gently,  rinse 
easily  .  .  .  leave  the  hair  soft  and 
gleaming  .  .  .  the  scalp  clean  and  re- 
freshed. Children  find  the  rich  pine- 
cone  color  and  piney  odor  delightful. 

Remember,  too,  that  shampoos  with 
Packer's  average  about  one-fourth  the 
cost  of  bottled  shampoos. 
Another  reason  it's  been  a 
favorite  for  75  years.  Get 
a  large  2od  or  lOd  cake  of  i 
Packer's  Tar  Soap  today. 

C/na?nAt>cS  yfcx  tea  uian,  a  /veTtn/u. 


l;^i(Ml^ 


SANFORD'S 

LIBRARY 
CTZ::!  PASTE 


PASTE  IT   QUICKLY 
DO   IT    NEATLY 

Eosy  to  spread  ..  slicks 
permonenriy  in  eight  lec- 
ends.. -does  not  stoin.  Th« 
only  genuine  Ltbrory  Poste. 
10<  o  jor. 

5ANF0RD   INK   COMPANY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


151 


-the  name  that  enjoys  the 


of  America's  Mothers! 


jLO'(Xti  for  the  name 
KROLL  when  you  choose 
baby's  carriage  or  crib, 
and  you'll  find  many 
exclusive,  patented 
safety  and  comfort 
features  to  guard  your 
ba  by's  health.  America's 
babies  deserve  the  best. 
SoW  M  Leading  Stores 

FREE  FOLDER 

Write 

KROLL  BROS.  CO. 

Chicago  16 


JUVENILE     FURNITURE 
«W    BABY    CARRIAGES 


Vavfng  a 

Start  right  with  Hygeia    - —  Jt—- '^^^-r 

Nursing  Bottles.   Easy  to   — .^ 

clean — wide  mouth  and 
rounded  interior  corners  have  no  crevices  where 
germs  can  hide.  Red  measuring  scale  aids  in  cor- 
rect filling.  "Wide  base  prevents  tipping.  Tapered 
shape  helps  baby  get  last  drop  of  formula. 
Famous  breast-shaped  nipple  with  patented  air- 
vent  permits  steady  flow,  prevents  "windsucking.'* 
Cap  keeps  nipples  and  formula  germ-free  for  stor- 
ing or  out-of-home  feeding. 

NEW  COMPLETE  PACKAGE 

Ask  your  druggist  for 
Hygeia's  new  package 
containing  Bottle, Nipple, 
and  Cap.  No  extra  cost. 


■H-y(?e/a 


CONSULT  YOUR   DOCTOR  REGULARLY 


LIKE  STERLING  SILVER 


FINE  LETTER  PAPERS 


Stop  the  waste  of  "orphan"  sheets  and  envelopes.  Buy  Eaton 

[  papers  on  a  fillinas-needed  basis    .  .  matching  sheets  and 

envelopes  together  or  separately.  Wherever  fine  paper  is  sold. 


ARE  SOLD  IN  OPEN  STOCK 


MATERNITY  DRESSES//^ 

'  Smart,  youthful 'stylea  (or Morning,  Street,  or  /  Ir. 

I  Spring  I  Afternoon. AlsoMfttemityCorsets&Lingerie. 
*""°'   I  CEAWFOBD'S'  Dept.A-  1233B>lt.ATe.,K»nusCit7,Mo. 


WE  \VON*T  BEAT   PARIS 
ON  FASHIONS 

(Continued  from  Page  6) 

Frenchwomen's  fashions  are  designed  to  in- 
crease the  appreciation  of  men,  and  are  often 
designed  by  appreciative  men.  They  are  de- 
signed to  keep  women  interesting  to  men, 
hence  the  constant  changes  in  them.  "Age 
cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale  her  in- 
finite variety" — as  was  said  of  Cleopatra — 
is  an  object  to  be  achieved  through  wom- 
an's dress,  according  to  the  French.  Let  it 
be  whimsical,  bizarre  even,  girlish  here  and 
queenly  there,  but  let  it  be  differentiated,  in- 
dividual, fascinating,  changeful.  Let  the 
lady  who  wears  those  hats  and  gowns  be  as 
brilliant  as  Madame  Curie,  as  witty  as 
Colette;  let  her  be,  if  her  talents  so  decree, 
an  adviser  to  a  prime  minister,  a  writer  on 
mathematics,  a  director  of  an  industry;  but 
never  let  her  forget,  nor  anyone  else  forget, 
that  she  is  first,  last  and  all  the  time  a 
woman.  Let  her  dress  never  be  standardized. 
Let  her  sacrifice  the  practical  to  the  interest- 
ing. Maybe,  under  the  frivolous  hat,  is  as 
hard  a  head  as  ever  sat  on  a  captain  of  in- 
dustry. Let  her  use  the  head — but  by  all 
means  camouflage  it.  The  powerful  brain 
would  be  intolerable  with  a  masculinelike 
exterior  to  advertise  it.  Behind  an  alluring 
getup,  it  is  exciting. 

If  a  woman  is  too  buxom  for  the  prevail- 
ing fashion  and  goes  to  a  first-rate  American 
dressmaker,  she  will  be  urged  to  slim  her  fig- 
ure down,  and  excite  a  look  of  disdain.  If 
she  goes  to  a  first-rate  French  dressmaker, 
she  is  likely  to  be  told,  "Ah,  madame,  the 
gentlemen  do  not  always  prefer  the  skinny 


CHOOSE  ONE 

Marriage  is   terrifying,  but  so  is 
a  cold  and  forlorn  old  age. 

—  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON:  Quoted  in 

Modern  Marriage  and  How  to  Bear  It. 

Maud  Churton  Braby  (MItciiell  Kennerly). 


ones.  Madame  has  warm  eyes  and  a  most 
lovely  skin,  and  very  pretty  ankles,  and  we 
shall  bring  those  out." 

If  a  businesswoman  goes  to  an  Ameri- 
can tailor  to  order  a  "nicely  cut,  ap- 
propriate business  suit,"  she  will  get  it 
without  argument.  But  if  she  goes  to  a 
French  tailor  he  will  say,  "Madame  is  a 
businesswoman?  How  very  clever!  But 
should  you  advertise  it?  The  men  when 
they  look  at  you  should  not  think  of  the 
business,  but  of  the  pretty  woman  who  is  so 
competent  besides.  That  is  also,  madame, 
good  for  the  business.  So  not  the  tailored 
suit,  madame,  like  anyone  might  wear;  and 
not  brown  or  gray  or  navy  blue  like  the  men 
wear,  but — for  you,  madame — green,  like 
the  eyes  that  are  green  too."  And  if  you  say, 
"But  I  do  not  think  it  is  very  practical,"  he 
will  say,  "Ah,  madame,  it  is  most  impractical 
not  to  be  beautiful." 

And  what  woman  would  disagree  with 
that  dictum? 

For,  I  maintain,  this  is  first-rate  feminine 
psychology,  and  masculihe  too.  I  have 
known  many  distinguished  women,  but  I 
have  never  known  one  who  would  not  se- 
cretly sacrifice  some  few  atoms  at  least  of  her 
intellect  for  an  additional  shot  of  sheer 
physical  beauty,  or  fascination,  or  charm. 
What  is  wrong  with  that?  Isn't  it  a  trait  in 
women  which  keeps  the  human  race  going, 
and  makes  life  infinitely  more  attractive 
than  it  would  otherwise  be? 

So  I  say  that  as  long  as  French  civiliza- 
tion rates  femininity  so  very  high,  Paris  will 
be  the  center  of  women's  fashions,  and  the 
hat  or  the  frock  from  Paris  will  have  a  spe- 
cial magic  for  the  wife  of  an  American  busi- 
nessman, a  British  diplomat  or  a  Russian 
commissar. 

And  meanwhile  the  American  mass  pro- 
duction clothing  industry  will  work  up  Pari- 
sian designs  and  their  own  into  the  best 
clothes  for  the  money  worn  by  any  women 
in  the  world. 


u{He 


M^ill  rea^ 


Jo^  m€  iadifin^  mlna4 


Not  only  for  beauty  of  face,  but  of  character  . . . 

for  sublime  courage .  • .  sympathy . . .  warmth. 

These  enduring  values  I  wish  you,  my  daughter! 
AND  NOW,  WHILE  YOU  GROW,  we  will  build  Other  lasting  assets  . . . 

a  sound  set  of  teeth,  a  well-shaped  head,  a  fine, 
full  chest,  a  strong  back  and  straight  legs  . . . 


FOR  MORE-THAN-SURFACE  BEAUTY— Give  your  baby  the  critical 
element  she  needs  every  day  to  transform  tire  minerals  in  her 
food  into  a  sound,  strong  framework.  Critical  Vitamin  D  is 
supplied  by  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil.  Give  it  regularly  to  your 
baby.  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil — "baby's  beauty  bottle" — also 
supplies  her  with  essential  Vitamin  A. 


Will  your  baby  build  sound  teeth  ? 

Two  groups  of  children  —  5  to  15 
years  old  —  were  studied  recently. 
One  group  received  extra  Vitamin  D 
and  developed  only  half  as  many 
cavities  as  the  children  not  receiv- 
ing it  .  .  .  Suggestion:  For  sounder 
teeth,  continue  to  give  your  growing 
child  Squibb  Cod  Liver  Oil  daily. 


LIHle 
twice  a 


VitamI 
s  many 


nD- 

cavities 


Mor«Vitomln  D— 


oN^  -GT-w    a>» 


holf  as  many  cavities 


Squibb  cod /^^i/e^i^ 


a^  rtifm^  uacc  ca/n-  6'?fu^^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


How  a  clever  mother  learned  to  work 
real  magic  with  Singer  Sewing  Lessons. 


"■V  Tot  so  long  ago,  my  little  Betsy 
1>I  looked  more  like  an  orphan  child 
than  a  princess! 

"She'd  outgrown  everything  she  owned  —  hefore  the 
material  had  even  started  to  wear.  And  when  I  priced 
children's  clothes — whew! 

"I  was  nearly  desperate,  when  I  heard  about  Smger's 
Lessons  in  Make-Over  and  Alterations  .  .  .  lucky  day  for 
me! 

"I  took  my  problems  to  my  Singer  Sewing  Center* — 
and  those  wonderful  Singer  experts  showed  me  how  to 
fix  up  all  of  Betsy's  outgrown  clothes — from  party 
dresses  to  coats! 

"Do  you  know — Betsy's  clothes  look  smarter  and 
prettier  now  than  when  they  were  new!  Is  she  proud  of 
them— and  am  //" 


"I'm  Saving  Real  Money!  Singer 
lessons  are  so  low-priced — only 
31.50  for  2  hours  of  personal 
instruction — or  310  for  a  course 
of  8  lessons.  (And  when  you 
make  tilings  over,  it's  like  get- 
ting new  ones  free!)  Now  I'm 
planning  to  take  lessons  in  I  lome 
Dressmaking  and  Home  Deco- 
ration, too!" 


"I've  Learned  Tricks  with  Braid!  You'd  never 
guess  this  little  dress  was  pieced.  Isn't  the 
braid  pretty? — I  found  it  (surprise!)  at 
Singer's  own  Notion  Counter.  Every  Singer 
Sewing  Center  has  a  complete  one!" 


m  Dreaming  of  a  New  Singer  Sewing 
Machine!  I  discovered  some  new  ones  are 
still  available.  Of  course,  you  have  to  wait 
your  turn.  (And  Singer  Centers  are  the 
only  places  to  buy  reconditioned  Singers 
in  good  running  order.  Also  machines  can 
be  rented  by  the  month  for  home  use  or  by 
the  hour  at  Singer  Centers.)" 

*Singer  Sewing  Centers  are  listed  in  the  tele- 
phone directory  under  Singer  Sewing  Ma-  ^^ 
chine  Company  and  are  identified  by  ^|k^ 
the  Famous  Red  "S"  on  the  windows.        tffl^ 


"I'm  So  Pleased  With  Singer  Sev/ing  Services!  Singer  made  the  but- 
tonholes on  this  set-in  front  panel.  They  do  custom-made  belts  and 
buttons  .  .  .  picot .  .  .  hemstitch,  too!" 


SINGER 


SEWING  CENTERS  EVERYWHERE 

Singer  Sewing  Machine  Company 


Copyrlirht  U.S.A.]94r>.  by  Thu  Sintrflr  Mariufucturlnv  Co.   All  ritrht.s 


:••!  fur  nil  (Countries. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


153 


D-DAY  AGAINST  TB 

(Continued  from  Page  39) 


;cause  there  was  no  room.  New  York's 
jge  Sea  View,  for  instance,  once  had  1900 
itients  in  overcrowded  wards — and  9C0 
aiting  to  get  in.  With  prolonged  sanatorium 
?d  rest  and  exhaustive  observation  crucially 
iportant  in  modern  handling  of  TB,  length-, 
ling  most  patients'  stay  in  theory,  crowded 
ards  and  waiting  lists  are  heavy  handicaps 
r  conscientious  staff  doctors. 
Dr.  A.  N.  Aitken,  director  of  the  Niagara 
ounty  sanatorium  in  New  York  State, 
mous  for  its  rehabilitation  of  TB  sufferers, 
is  a  short  answer  for  the  question  of  how 
;  gets  such  results:  "This  place  was  built 
g  enough  for  the  community.  It  never  had 
waiting  list.  I  pray  heaven  it  never  will." 
lie  nation  at  large  probably  has  a  potential 
aiting  list  of  twice  as  many  as  it  has  in  bed. 
To  get  back  to  figures,  care  for  60,000 
;w  sanatorium  patients  might  cost  the  na- 
Dn  $240,000,000  a  year.  Important  money 
;ain,  but  not  for  long:  if  practically  all  open 
ses  were  in  sanatoriums,  the  number  of 
iw  cases  needing  beds  would  fall  off  rapidly, 
ine  tenths  of  such  facilities  would  probably 
;  empty  in  ten  years,  for  lack  of  new  TB 
ctims  to  fill  them.  We  could  burn  down 
ne  out  of  ten  sanatoriums  in  public  cele- 
ation  and  still  have  made  money,  because 
;  would  be  saving  the  bulk  of  that  annual 
:,000,000,000  that  TB  needlessly  costs, 
iblic-health  experts,, however,  are  quick  to 
)int  out  that  all  such'  newly  empty  hospital 
Hidings  will  be  invaluable  for  the  care  of 
ironic  disease — cancer,  heart  trouble,  ar- 
ritis  and  others — which  will  be  more  and 
ore  of  a  problem  as  our  population  grows 
der.  Compare  such  a  figure  with  the  mere 
0,000,000  which  the  United  States  Public 
ealth  Service  has  just  asked  for — and  not 
•X  been  voted  by  Congress  as  this  is  writ- 
n — as  appropriation  for  work  in  TB  pre- 
;ntion  and  control. 


Even  so,  that  sum  can  be  utterly  useful. 
lUuch  of  it  may  be  used  to  increase  case- 
finding  work.  Time  was  when  the  TB  world 
hoped  to  get  the  cost  of  an  X-ray  chest  ex- 
amination down  to  $5  a  head,  which  would 
have  been  an  excellent  investment.  Now 
streamlinednew  techniques  and  use  of  micro- 
film have  reduced  that  astoundingly,  with 
Canadian  authorities  reporting,  for  instance, 
that  they  check  large  groups  at  an  over-all 
cost  of  around  20  cents  a  chest.  Especially 
built  examining  trucks,  making  the  rounds 
of  war  plants  in  places  like  Philadelphia,  can 
put  factory  personnel  through  the  X-ray 
mill  at  a  rate  of  sixty  an  hour.  In  one  or 
another  degree  of  gravity,  TB  shows  up  in 
one  out  of  fifty  checked.  A  stunning  piece  of 
work — only  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
such  dragnet  campaigns  are  pointless  unless 
the  community  has  sanatorium  facilities  for 
all  such  patients  that  need  them. 

Since  smaller  films  are  not  so  hnely  de- 
tailed as  the  old-time  full-size  pictures,  the 
best  procedure  uses  microfilm  for  prelimi- 
nary screening  and  confirms  suspicions  with 
big  films.  That  can  start  saving  lives  right 
away.  But  sometimes  lack  of  previous 
checkup  leads  to  tragedy.  There  was  that 
Philadelphia  war  worker,  a  middle-aged  man 
who  swore  he  had  never  missed  a  day's  work 
in  his  life,  still  at  it  six  days  a  week,  in  whose 
right  lung  the  camera  showed  a  cavity  as 
big  as  his  own  burly  fist.  He's  dead  now.  A 
year  or  so  earlier,  X  ray  and  a  sanatorium 
might  have  saved  him. 

Until  that  hoped-for  anti-TB  drug  comes 
along — as  it  will  someday — conquering  the 
disease  in  the  individual  is  relatively  sim- 
ple— not  easy.  Put  him  in  bed.  Let  a  nour- 
ishing, high-resistance  diet  and  lack  of  drain 
on  energy  help  his  body  lick  the  bugs,  which 
it  usually  can  manage.  If  necessary,  collapse 
(Continued  on  Page  155) 


mm  OR  BEMT? 

WHATEVER  style  you  choose,  we  have  a 
pattern  for  it.  With  a  small  length  of  fab- 
ric, a  little  spare  time  and  a  Journal  pattern  you 
can  create  a  hat  that  will  delight  you  or  your 
daughter.  Order  one  of  the  patterns  described  be- 
low— or  write  for  our  complete  list  of  Journal 
hat  and  bag  patterns  which  we  send  free  on  request. 


OURXAL      REFERENCE      LIBRARY 

xause  of  the  uncertainties  of  wartime  transportation,  booklets  may  be  late  arriving  at  destination.    If  your  order 
es  not  reach  you  on  time,  please  do  not  write  complaining  of  delay.  The  delay  is  caused  by  conditions,  arising 
after  your  order  has  left  Philadelphia,  beyond  our  control. 


03.  Two-Tone  Beret.   Drawstring  style.   Make  of 

wool  jersey  in  two  colors.    Pattern  includes 

matching  blouse.    5c. 
02.  Classic   Calot.   A  teen-age  favorite;   can   be 

made  in  a  variety  of  fabrics.   Pattern  includes 

a  matching  vest.    Sc. 
01.  Stocking  Cap.   To  make  of  jersey.  A  jerkin 

with  a  drawstring  waistline  is  included  in  the 

pattern.    Sc. 
05.  Felt   Beret.   Trimmed  with  a  saucy  ribbon 

cockade.    Make  this  one  for  the  12-year-old 

miss.   5c. 

04.  Fringed    Headband.    A    half-hat,    simple    to 

make.  Pattern  includes  matching  ascot.  5c. 
97.  Figure-Eight  Hat.  Just  a  twisted  strip  of 
checked  gingham  or  white  or  pastel  pique. 
Easy  to  make  and  comfortable  to  wear.  5c. 
95.  Drawstring  Bonnet.  To  make  of  pique  and 
rickrack  braid.    5c. 

Dutch  Bonnet.  A  wing  hat  to  make  of  6-inch 
cotton  lace.    5c. 

Beach  Hat.  Simply  a  wide,  wide  brim  to  make 
of  bedticking  and  trim  with  felt.    5c. 

Popular  Beret.  This  has  a  headband'  and  a 
star  is  quilted  on  top.    5c. 

Quilted    Half-Hat.    With   crocheted   fishnet 
sections  front  and  back.    5c. 

Sally  Victor's  Half-Hats.  Includes  a  pat- 
tern for  a  basic  calot,  which  can  be  made  of 
white  pique  or  linen,  and  one  for  interchange- 
able headbands,  which  can  be  made  in  plain 
colors  or  gay  prints.  5c. 
12.  Shady-Brim  Hat.  Ideal  for  summer  cottons. 
Pattern  includes  a  cylindrical  drawstring 
bag.  5c. 
11.  Pretty-Girl'  Halo.  Sweet  in  eyelet  pique. 
Pattern  includes  a  four-gored  square-bottom 


94. 


29. 


27. 


bag.     Both  are  trimmed  with   pleated  edg- 
ing.  5c. 
2010.   Baker's  Cap.  Attractive  in  checked  gingham. 

Pattern  includes  a  petal-shaped  drawstring 

bag.   5c. 
1931.  Scotch  T.\m.  Another  small  beret.  This  one  is 

trimmed  with  a  fancy  feather.    5c. 
1925.  Flat  Mortarboard  Hat.   Felt,  flannel,  tweed 

or  pique  in  an  envelope  fold.    5c. 
1685.  Twisted  Turban.  A  popular  model  with  an 

open  crown.    5c. 

2031.  Crown-on-Svvatued-Turban.     Felt   crown 

worn  over  a  jersey  wound  turban.   5c, 

2032.  Forward-Tipped  Halo.    Designed  for  velvet, 

but  it  would  be  effective  in  summer  fabrics.  5c. 

2034.  Felt  Calot  With  Jewel  Trim.  A  way  to  use 
the  crown  of  an  old  felt  hat.   5c. 

1957.  Tall  Turban  With  Shirring.  Make  this  of 
white  pique  and  draw  cords  through  the  ver- 
tical shirring  to  match  your  blouses  or 
dresses.    5c. 

1921.   Newsboy  Turban.   With  a  bill.   5c. 

1924.  Chou  Turban.  Three  colors  of  velveteen  or 
satin  make  this  hat  with  a  chou. like  an  enor- 
mous flower.    5c.  ' 

1933.  Twisted  Tricorn.  Feminine  and  becoming. 
To  make  of  two  colors,  two  fabrics.    5c. 

2025.  Over-One-Eye  Beret.  Large,  soft  and  dasli- 
ing.   5c. 

2028.  Halo  Beret.  A  medium-sized  hat  with  sequin 
trim  on  underside.   5c. 

1660.  List  of  Journal  Hat  and  Bag  Patterns. 
New  revised  edition!  Turbans,  berets,  halos, 
pillboxes — for  summer  or  winter.  Make  tliem 
of  fabric,  knit  them,  crochet  them.  Patterns, 
ton,  for  a  variety  of  bags.  This  list  is  sent  free 
on  request. 


e  will  gladly  send  any  of  these  booklets  if  you'll  order  by  name  and  number.  They  will  be  mailed  anywhere  in  the 
nited  Stales  and  Canada  upon  receipt  of  stamps,  cash,  check  or  money  order.  Do  not  send  stamped,  addressed  en- 
fopes  or  War  Stamps.  Readers  in  all  foreign  countries  should  send  International  Reply  Coupons,  purchased  at 
tit  post  office.   Please  address  all  requests  to  the  Reference  Library.  Ladies'  Home  Journal.  Philadelphia  5.  Penna. 


o- 


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s\{\/e(  acreeo 

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iron  rich  BOSCO  makes  milk  taste  delicious 

Iron.r.ch  BOb  ^^..^.^is  supply  the  fullmim. 

Try  this  simple  way  to  ena     *.p  _  _..:__.nt    o 

milk-drinking  "strikes."  Just 
add  chocolate-flavored  Bosco 
and  hear  your  youngsters  ask 

for  extra  glasses  of  milk.  In 
addition  to  making  milk  taste 

delicious,  Bosco  is  so  rich  m 
Iron  and  Vitamin  D,  four  tea- 


mum    daily    requirement    of 
these  two  important  elements. 

*  Recause  oi  war  conditions,  your 

r Bto^l^o  P.rc.ase  .  ,.e 
lame  high  duality  product  that 
was  before   the  war. 


/  LOV£  MILK  WHBN 
you  ADD  CHOCOLATE- 

FLAVOiieD^Q^COl 


^^ 


'  "imousMcwiUf.mtt  fUvo»B>  '•""'  , 

».^?l'.:;-.SS"S."i^.-;','.r:"* 


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.  'oso 


'°  COMPANY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Those  old  magazines,  newspapers,  cartons,  paste- 
board boxes,  Christmas  Cards,  Valentines,  letters 
of  long  ago,  and  other  paper  you've  stored  away 
are  needed  right  now  for  front-line  duty. 

Such  waste  paper  is  being  converted  as  fast  as 
possible  into  containers  that  carry  ammunition, 
blood  plasma  and  food  to  all  of  our  fighting  men. 


So  urgently  is  waste  paper  needed  that  everybody' 
should  consider  it  a  "must"  to  search  their  attics, 
basements,  storerooms,  libraries,  desks,  closets  and 
shelves  for  this  vital  material. 

The  situation  is  so  acute  that  even  this  magazine 
should  be  turned  in  for  salvage  as  soon  as  you 
and  your  family  have  finished  reading  it. 


Cooperate  with  the  paper  salvage  drive  in  your  community.  Watch  your 
daily  paper  for  announcements  about  the  collection  of  scrap  paper. 


(Continued  from  Page  153) 
rtfected  lung  by  internal  pressure — this 
leumothorax — or  by  surgery,  with  the 
acoplasty  operation.  Keep  him  in  bed 
aprovement  develops,  for  this  is  a  long, 
process,  calling  for  great  precaution, 
his  eventual  getting  up  take  place  by 
1  gradations,  to  make  sure  he  doesn't 
iicap  his  body  in  the  closing  rounds  of 
battle.  Train  him  to  conserve  physical 
nervous  energy  the  rest  of  his  life,  to 
d  against  physical  running  down  that 
It  bring  about  recurrence, 
lat's  all.  It  works.  Since  such  a  regimen 
be  set  up  practically  anywhere  if  doc- 
nurses  and  beds  are  available,  climate 
jlatively  unimportant  these  days.  In 
I  of  many  new  victims'  wishful  insistence 
they  can  get  ample  and  untroubled  bed 
at  home,  sanatorium  care  is  thoroughly 
:ated,  because  so  few  households  have 
ir  the  room  or  the  rigidly  disciplined 
ts  essential  to  proper  treatment,  not  to 
tion  the  ever-present  risk  of  infecting 
[amily.  The  sanatorium  is  no  panacea, 
rated  from  other  anti-1  B  measures,  but 
Des  give  optimum  protection  to  both 
mt  and  public. 

le  difficulty,  of  course,  is  that  TB  vic- 
are  human  beings,  a  fact  that,  even 
:r  sanatorium  conditions,  makes  han- 
:  them  one  of  the  most  exacting  personal- 
ions  jobs  in  all  medicine.  Dragnet  case 
ng  and  an  ample  supply  of  beds  are  all 
well.  But,  unless 
nctim  can  be  kept 
ed — willingly  and 
peratively  —  his 
ces  of  recovery  are 
;limmer  than  they 
Id  be. 

)r  human  beings 
ill  subject  to  emc>- 
>,  and  TB  sufferers 
o exception.  "Just 
everybody  else," 
e  expert's  descrip- 
"only  having  to 
more  of  a  beat- 
'  Psychiatrists  take 
;  stock  nowadays 
eold  notions  that 
rculosis  stimulates 
;  of  the  more  per- 
1  emotions.  That 
igs  in  the  same 
as  the  idea  that 
bnsumptive  young 

en  have  hectic  red       

1  on  their  cheeks 

ire  fatally  fascinating.  But,  being  a  cross 
3n  of  normal  people,  those  coming  down 
TB  react  much  as  you  would  yourself 
,d  by  a  doctor,  however  tactfully,  that 
had  to  drop  everything  in  life — job, 
;,  marriage,  freedom  of  movement— and 
)  bed  and  stay  there  for  undetermined 
hs  or  years,  under  penalty  of  death, 
unded  by  strangers  in  a  similar  state 
Voluntarily  suspended  animation, 
sounds  like,  and  can  be,  a  nightmare, 
plucky  way  most  patients  take  it  is  a 
inding  credit  to  both  the  human  race 
the  canny  skill  with  which  doctors 
le  them. 

instance,  they  mustn't  worry.  But 
is  a  young  mother  who  had  to  leave 
id  a  husband  and  two  children.  Here 
oung  fellow  whose  job  used  to  support 
;lderly  mother  and  a  crippled  aunt, 
ig  them  not  to  worry  sounds  like,  and 
is,  a  very  bad  joke.  For  another  detail 
their  community  may  have  skipped  is 
ding  especially  intelligent  and  generous 
care  for  the  dependents  of  TB  victims, 
disease  hits  oftenest  and  hardest  below 
3000  income  mark;  and  even  in  com- 
ties  where  relief  is  readily  got  at,  it  is 
inadequate  in  amount.  The  family  of  a 
PB  case  need  more  than  the  bare  neces- 
They  have  been  "massively"  exposed 
;  the  case  was  diagnosed  and,  without 
nourishing  food  and  healthy  living 
ers,  the  chances  that  some  one  of  them 
Iso  develop  TB  are  cruelly  high.  Con- 
y,  real  assurance  that  the  home  folks 
1  right  is  the  best  possible  way  to  start 


WA^TKD  TIICCIFT 

1^  \t\  old  lady  of  my  acqiiainlanre 
^  was  reviewing  her  paisl  on  a  re- 
cent birthday  when  someone  a.sked 
her  if  sVie  would  make  any  changes 
in  her  life  if  she  had  it  to  live  over. 

"\es."  she  replied  emphali<-ally, 
"1  woidd.  Pd  he  a  little  foolish  now 
and  then  instead  of  so  very*  pra<'ti- 
cal."  Surprise  showeil  in  the  fa<-es 
of  those  ahoiil  her  an<l  she  hastened 
to  explain:  "All  my  life  l"\e  made  a 
point  of  being  prudent.  I've*  worn 
only  clothes  that  nerc  long-wearing 
and  wouldn't  show  the  dirt:  ha<l  no 
furniture  that  wasn't  solid  and  use- 
ful: cooked  nothing  but  plain,  nour- 
ishing meals.  And  I'm  not  one  hit 
better  off  today  than  if  I'd  had  the 
blue  velvet  dress  I  longed  for  and  the 
lamp  with  the  hard-to-dusl  prisms 
that  I  wanted." 

—  MARIETTA  BUELL:  Quoted  in  Your  Ufe. 


155 

a  new  patient  on  the  long,  exacting  road  to 
recovery. 

The  sanatorium's  worst  problem,  as  pa- 
tients improve  under  skillful  handling,  often 
is  to  keep  them  convinced  they  are  still  ill. 
Gaining  weight,  gnawed  at  by  lack  of  mental 
stimulus,  homesick  and  yet  full  of  a  treacher- 
ous feeling  of  energy,  they  plead  earnestly 
for  release. 

"Lemme  go  home,  doc,"  is  the  gist  of  it. 
"My  folks  can  take  care  of  me  same  as  you 
do  here  and  feed  me  up  and  all.  I'm  going 
nuts  in  this  place.  I  feel  O.K.,  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life.  Why  can't  I  get  out  of 
here?" 

liME  and  again,  patiently  and  at  length, 
the  doctor  explains  that  feelings  are  one 
thing.  X-ray  plates  and  properly  spaced 
sputum  and  gastric-lavage  tests  are  quite 
another;  that  his  experience  makes  it  criti- 
cally clear  that  months  must  still  elapse  be- 
fore his  professional  conscience  will  let  this 
eloquent  patient  go.  Time  and  again  it  fails 
to  work.  The  patient  leaves  regardless — 
"without  medical  consent"  is  the  phrase  in 
the  sanatorium  records — and  headshaking 
follows  him  out  the  door.  It  is  well  justiiied. 
The  chances  are  high  that  a  few  months 
will  see  him  back,  riddled  with  germs  again, 
three  times  as  badly  off  as  when  he  first 
entered,  all  because  this  treacherous  disease 
makes  a  sardonic  specialty  of  fooling  its 
victims,  and  there  is  no  psychologically  ad- 
visable way  of  keeping 
him  in  the  sanatorium 
against  his  will. 

Stories  about  big  pay 
for  war  work  have  done 
a  lot  of  damage  in 
tuberculosis.  It  takes 
a  lot  of  resolution  to 
stay  in  an  institution 
when  your  folks  are  on 
relief  and  you  feel  like 
a  fighting  cock  and  you 
know  that,  if  you  were 
home,  you  could  be 
making  $50  a  v.-eek 
take-home  pay.  Dam- 
age came  at  the  ad- 
missions end,  too,  with 
sanatorium  popula- 
tions falling  off  here 
and  there,  empty  beds 
actually  appearing  as 
admissions  slacked — 
because,  experts  think, 

people    who    should 

have  started  treatment 
for  TB  were  preferring  to  stay  out  of  bed 
and  earn  big  war  wages. 

This  problem  of  "get  them  under  treat- 
ment and  keep  them  there"  often  becomes 
so  acute  that  compulsion  is  tried.  It  sounds 
paradoxical  to  record  simultaneously  that 
the  nation  lacks  enough  sanatorium  beds 
and  that  occasionally  people  have  been 
forced  into  sanatoriums.  Actually,  it  makes 
sense;  certain  irresponsible  individuals  can 
be  too  dangerous.  Ordinarily,  only  per- 
suasion is  used  to  keep  patients  from  walk- 
ing out.  But,  in  the  past  few  years,  public- 
health  authorities  in  communities  like  Phila- 
delphia, Los  Angeles,  Milwaukee,  the  Dis- 
trict of  Columbia  have  experimented  with 
using  their  sweeping  police  powers  to  pro- 
tect the  public  against  TB  much  as  if  it  were 
smallpox.  The  courts  have  usually  co- 
operated in  flagrant  cases. 

In  Philadelphia,  for  instance,  a  vacant 
building  in  a  public  hospital  was  set  aside  as 
a  sanatorium  and,  with  a  police  guard  at 
the  door,  used  for  compulsory  hospitaliza- 
tion of  some  fifty  "open"  cases  who  had  re- 
fused to  behave.  Care  is  the  same  as  it 
would  be  in  a  regular  sanatorium.  The  out- 
standing case  was  a  man  with  a  record  of 
six  walkouts  from  different  sanatoriums 
who  was  found  in  a  rooming  house  habitually 
spitting  out  the  window  on  his  landlady's 
wash  hanging  in  the  back  yard. 

In  four  years,  however,  Philadelphia  has 
not  carried  matters  much  beyond  fifty  of  the 
most  irresponsible  patients  at  a  time,  and 
the  same  is  true  of  the  scale  of  the  idea  in 
other  places.  "The  human  equation,"  ex- 
plains one  doctor,  "is  just  too  tough  to 


NEW  DESSERT  IDEAS 

...for  now,  and  when  the  boys  come  home! 


You're  sure  to  want  the  recipes 
. . .  and  there's  the  coupon  below 


COFFEE-PECAN  RENNET-CUSTARD 

Your  whole  family  loves  milk  in  this 
sophisticated  dress  .  .  .  and  these  desserts 
are  easy  to  make:  no  eggs,  no  cooking! 
The  rennet  enzyme   makes   milk  easy  to 
digest,  too.     Serve    rennet- custards   often 
— you  can  always  buy  either 

"Junket^' 
RENNET  TABLETS  or  POWDER 


STRAWBERRY  MARASCHINO  ICE  CREAM 

Make   it  with   li'g/jt  cream   in  your   auto- 
'■  matic    refrigerator    or    hand    freezer  .   .   . 

it'll   be   smooth    as   velvet,    good   as    it    is 
beautiful.   No  su^^ar!   No    beating!  Till  the 
war's  over  you  may  not  get  all  you  want  of 

"Junket" 
FREEZING  MIX 


DANISH  DESSERT  PIE 

"Easy  as  pie"  to  make  this  beautiful  des- 
sert .  .  .  just  add  water  and  boil  one  min- 
ute!   Danish  dessert  is  a  favorite  dish  in  all 
Scandinavia,  flavored  with  real  fruit  juices 
and  flavors.    Scarcity   of  these   juices   may 
make    it   temporarily    hard    for   you    to   get 

"'Junket'' 
DANISH  DESSERT 


WALNUT  FUDGE 

Easiest-to-make    fudge  you  ever  made! 
Smooth,  creamy,  delicious — with  tio  beat- 
ing, only  4  minutes'  cooking!    Chocolate 
and  penuche  flavors.  Sorry  —for  the  dura- 
tion you  won't  be  able  to  buy 

"Junket" 
QUICK  FUDGE  MIX 


1 


SEND   COUPON   TODAY 

I       E^^ECI     These  racipef  and  many  more;  alto  Trial 

If  I^EE*  Pdckaga  o'  "Junket"  Rennet  Tablets— 
enough  to  treat  your  family  twice  to 
Coffee-Pecan  Rennet-Custards. 

.j:;^cct.=;-=^'  "The  'Junket'  Folks," 

C]hr.  Hansen's  Laboraiorv,  Inc. 

Dept. 24,  Little  Falls,  N.'Y.  (In  Canada.Toronlo.Ont.) 
y_^^^^_  Please   send  recipes  and  free  trial  package  of 

^^^^^^  "Junket"  Rennet  Tablets  to 

Name 

Address 

€^      City State 

"Jvnk4t"  i»  the  tradt  mark  of  Chr. 
_,     .,  Hanstii'm    Lahoratoru.    Inr.,  /or  its 

••"•yaii"       -  rennet  and  othrr  food  i^ruducU.  and 

, a,  *•►■''. o,  i*rfj,stf  td  ,nll.el'_S.    ^  -  d  (  \i  >,ada. 

r.NNET^COSTARP? 

**'^         -^-^       '  **L>*Vt^  Copr.  lM4.Chr.  Umneen'sL-l.oratory.Ioc. 


JUNKET  FOOD  PRODUCTS 


156 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1943 


5-months-old  Joel  is  a  mighty  lucky  little 
lady.  Both  her  morher  and  father  are  doc- 
tors!* So  you  can  be  sure  she's  being  watched 
over  with  expert  eyes!  The  result?  Look  at 
her  picture  and  see  how  she's  thriving! 


Joel  at  5  months 

Al  birth  she  weighrd  Ntnv  she  weighs 

6  pounds  2  ounces  16  pounds 

At  birth  her  height  was  Ninv  her  height  is 

20  inches  25  inches 


44^  cxjml  ^  CLAPp'SJ 


why  so  many  doctors  feed  their 
babies  Clapp's  Baby  Cereals 

—because  in  addition  to  fine  whole  grains, 
these  special  cereals  provide  extra  food 
elements  such  as  dry  skim  milk,  wheat 
germ,  and  brewers'  yeast, 
—because  every  spoonful  of  Clapp's  In- 
stant Cereal  gives  a  baby— 


3  times  as  much  Iron  as  unforti- 
fied home-cooked  cereals. 

2'/2  times  as  much  Vitamin  Bi  as 

unfortified  home-cooked  cereals. 


—because  every  ounce  of  Clapp's  Instant 
Cereal  provides: 

Vitamin  5i-100  U.S.P.  units 

Vitamin  C— 0. 18  mg. 

Iron— 6  mg. 

Calcium— 9G  mg. 
—because  the  te.xture  of  Clapp's  Baby 
Cereals  is  fine  but  definite, 
—and  because  preparation  is  so  simple. 


No  cooking  needed.  \bu  just  add  milk  or 
formula  right  in  the  serving  dish.  Try 
Clapp's  Instant  Cereal  or  Clapp's  Instant 
Oatmeal  today. 

•Names  on  file  at  CLAPP'S  BABY  FOOD  DIVISION, 
Amcricau  Home  Foods,  Inc. 


AaJ  f^owiVa^tS^/ 


handle  compulsorily  in  any  but  the  worst 
possible  situations."  True,  that  knowledge 
that  a  court  order  can  be  got  if  all  per- 
suasion fails  has  been  very  useful  in  last 
resort,  when  a  new-found  case  is  too  ignorant 
or  frightened  to  behave.  But  the  emotional 
angle  is  so  important,  the  idea  of  legal  con- 
finement for  an  undramatic  disease  so  shock- 
ing, that  Philadelphia  has  even  been  taking 
the  cop  away  from  the  door.  They  figure 
the  risk  of  a  getaway  is  less  than  the  damage 
done  by  that  blue-coated  reminder. 

Emotional  pressures  not  only  tempt  pa- 
tients out  of  the  sanatorium  sooner  than  is 
safe.  They  also  heavily  handicap  their  fight 
with  the  disease.  Any  good  doctor  knows 
that,  in  any  disease,  the  unwilling,  disturbed 
or  frightened  invalid  has  less  chance  of  re- 
covery ;  this  is  signally  true  in  TB. 

Years  ago  a  famous  French  doctor  proved 
that,  in  consequence  of  wondering  why  new 
drugs  intended  to  combat  TB  always  did 
unaccountably  well  in  early  trials  and  then 
fizzled  away  into  eventual  disappointment. 
Hie  announced  he  was  going  to  try  a  prom- 
ising new  drug  with  a  fancy  name  on  a  large 
group  of  his  patients  and  compare  the  re- 
sults with  those  among  untreated  patients — 
standard  experimental  procedure.  The  new 
drug  was  actually  plain  salt  water,  equiva- 
lent to  the  old-time  doctor's  bread  pill.  But 
it  worked  wonders.  Used  on  the  experi- 
mental group  with  much  ceremony,  it  pro- 
duced many  rapid  improvements,  whereas 
the  control  group  showed  no  unusual  changes. 

That  is  not  comic  in  the  slightest.  Those 
patients  were  merely  responding  with 
physical  improvement  to  a  sense  of  new 
hope  and  special  care;  for  in  this  war  of  body 
against  bacillus,  morale  is  as  important  a 
factor  as  in  any  other  war. 


MARRIACE 

^  Success  in  marriage  largely  de- 
^  pends  on  good  cooking;  out  uf 
the  kitchen  conies  the  tune. 

—IRISH  PROVERB. 

Children  are  natural  mimics. 
They  act  like  their  parents  in  spite 
of  every  effort  to  teach  them  good 
manners. 


While  lying  flat  on  his  back,  sleepless  be- 
cause it's  tough  sleeping  after  you  nap  so 
much  in  the  daytime,  the  TB  patient  has 
plenty  of  time  to  think.  Even  if  all  is  well 
at  home,  even  if  he  is  convinced  he  will 
eventually  recover,  he  badly  needs  re- 
assurance about  his  personal  future.  He 
probably  entered  the  sanatorium  jitterily 
aware  of  old  wives'  tales  about  how  "con- 
sumptives" are  forever  lost  to  life,  systemic 
cripples,  unable  to  earn  or  enjoy  themselves, 
burdens  ori  their  families  by  definition. 
That  slant  on  TB  has  done  just  as  much 
damage  as  the  old  idea  that  the  disease 
comes  of  a  "hereditary  taint." 

His  doctors  must  not  only  persuade  him 
of  the  wild  exaggeration  of  such  notions; 
they  must  do  it  for  his  emotions  as  well  as 
his  mind.  He  must  be  brought  to  feel  that, 
with  care,  he  can  live  a  real  life  after  they 
shake  his  hand  and  send  him  home  for  good. 
So,  along  with  training  in  precautions  he 
must  take  in  daily  life,  a  good  sanatorium 
also  tries  to  reintroduce  him  to  living  by 
way  of  a  "rehabilitation"  program.  Much 
of  that  is  standard ' '  occupational  therapy  "— 
handicrafts  like  bookbinding,  leatherwork, 
modeling,  anything  absorbing  that  will 
bring  back  a  sense  of  physical  activity  and 
purposive  action.  But  much  more  is  cleverly 
aimed  at  getting  him  back  on  the  track  of 
responsibility  and  earning,  helping  him  to 
dramatize  his  approaching  release. 

Maybe  his  old  job  as  a  telephone  lineman 
will  be  too  strenuous.  But  aptitude  tests 
show  he  has  a  good  head  for  figures  and  an 
instinct  for  neatness,  so  he  can  start  learning 
mechanical  drafting  or  bookkeeping  right 
there  in  the  sanatorium  while  his  cure  is 
finishing  up.  That  feels  wonderfully  like 
business.  As  he  learns,  he  is  gradually  let  do 


-.  5V  is*. J, 


t/%i  T  is  the  word  for  CHIX  gauze  dia- 
pers !  Easy  on  baby's  velvet  skin,  because 
the  bird's-eye  weave  is  so  unbelievably  soft. 
Easy  on  mother,  too,  for  CHIX  wash  in  a 
whizz  and  dry  in  a  jiffy! 

I^V#Cd  a  wonderful  job  of  helping  to 
keep  baby  drier,  because  the  special  CHIX 
weave  is  extra-absorbent  and  holds  mois- 
ture, so  "wet"  is  less  apt  to  spread  and 
soak  baby's  shirt  and  other  clothes. 

1 1  is  pure  economy  to  treat  your  baby  tc 
soft-and-light  CHIX,  for  one  size  is  all  yoi 
need  (fold  to  fit).  Chicopee  completei 
baby's  diaper  wardrobe  with  CHUX,  com: 
pletely  disposable  diaper,  and  DISPOSIES 
disposable  inserts  with  waterproof  holdeti 


Chix 

DOlVA/-lV£l^£  GAUZl 
DIAPERS 


TopU       D I  4k  P  E  R  S 


:|i;/^ri->iHpn 


Close-up  of  bird's-eye  wea 
that  makes  CHIX  Down-Wi 
so  different  — soft,  light,  { 
sorbent.  Made  of  the  sal 
fine  cotton  that  is  used  t 
surgical  sauze. 


Chicopee  Sales  Corp.,  40  Worth  St.,  N.Y.  13,  N.l 


L.\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


157 


ARM  &  HAMMER 

or  COW  BRAND 

BAKING  SODA 


^^ur  Baking  Soda, 
which  is  pure  Bicarbonate 
of  Soda,  is  an  effective 
dentifrice.  Used  regularly, 
it  not  only  cleans  teeth  well 
but  quickly  brightens  them 
to  their  natiiral  color.  It 
has  a  delightfully  refresh- 
ing after-taste  which  we 
believe  you'll  like  after  you 
have  used  it  for  just  a  short 
time.  Economize  by  making 
our  Baking  Soda  your  fam- 
ily dentifrice.  A  package, 
which  will  last  for  weeks, 
costs  just  a  few  cents. 


'm^ 


CHURCH  &  DWIGHT  CO.,  Inc. 
10  Cedar  Street,  New  York  5,  N.Y. 

Please  send  me  FREE  BOOK  describing 
uses  of  Baking  Soda,  also  a  set  of  Colored 
Bird  Cards.  /  Please  pan)  name  and  oddress  I 

E-84 


itnttl  A00«£5S 


more  and  more  until,  just  before  discharge, 
he  is  handling  a  fully  active  day's  work, 
even  skipping  the  afternoon  nap  that  be- 
comes a  compelling  habit  with  TB  patients. 
If  he  had  tried  a  full  day  right  after  walking 
out  on  his  own,  his  illusion  that  he  was  fit 
as  ever  would  probably  have  crashed  in  a 
breakdown.  As  it  is,  with  the  sanatorium 
staff  making  sure  he  never  quite  overdoes, 
chances  of  his  recovery's  sticking  are  im- 
mensely enhanced. 

No  one  institution  developed  this  ap- 
proach; it  grew  up  in  response  to  unmis- 
takable need  all  over.  The  famous  Altro 
shops  in  New  York's  Bronx,  for  instance, 
have  long  been  making  able-to-earn  gar- 
mentworkers  out  of  arrested  TB  cases  by 
skilled  attention  to  training,  working  con- 
ditions and  increasing  loads.  At  Niagara, 
the  place  that  never  had  a  waiting  list,  re- 
habilitation proves  up  marvelously.  Its 
cleverly  handled  all-over  program  com- 
bines occupational  therapy  with  an  adult 
education  setup  which  the  patients  them- 
selves started  twelve  years  ago,  aimed  at 
job  training  because  the  depression  had 
made  things  so  specially  tough  for  discharged 
TB  patients.  By  subtle  gradations  you  are 
worked  up  to  studying  most  standard  busi- 
ness subjects  or  photography  or  commercial 
art,  or  dietetics  and  sewing  if  you  are  a 
woman  with  household  responsibilities  com- 
ing up — all  at  a  pace  suiting  your  needs  and 
what  you  hope  to  do  when  discharged. 

The  sanatorium  itself  is  used  as  training 
ground,  with  patients  earning  pay  at  going 
rates  at  the  switchboard,  in  the  laboratory, 
the  X-ray  rooms,  at  nursing  and  mainte- 
nance chores,  in  dietetics  and  four  or  five 
other  activities.  From  the  girl  on  the  switch- 
board to  the  housewife  type  making  beds  on 
the  fifth  floor,  no  outsider  can  tell  which  are 
patients  and  which  are  on  the  staff.  It  helps 
pay  their  bills;  it  produces  "work  toler- 
ance"; but,  most  important  of  all,  it  feels 
like  living  again.  Niagara's  director  counts 
it  his  greatest  triumph  that  the  "loafer's 
slouch,"  the  discouraged  slump  character- 
istic of  the  emotionally  deflated  TB  sufferer, 
is  never  seen  in  his  institution. 

The  peculiar  beauty  of  it  is  that  such  pro- 
grams are  admirable  for  keeping  patients 
in  the  sanatorium.  This  emphasis  on  intelli- 
gently preparing  to  leave  makes  it  easier  to 
stay.  In  one  instance,  well-handled  rehabili- 
tation cut  the  proportion  of  patients  leaving 
without  medical  consent — walking  out,  no 
matter  what  the  doctor  said — from  25  per 
cent  to  10  per  cent  in  a  very  short  time.  It 
would  be  worth  while  for  that  reason  alone. 

Such  rehabilitation  isn't  a  guaranty  of 
clear  sailing  after  discharge,  of  course. 
State  job-training  agencies  have  been  known 
to  refuse  to  bother  with  discharged  TB 
patients  as  so  likely  to  break  down  that  they 
aren't  worth  spending  public  funds  on. 
Many  employers,  ignorantly  apprehensive, 
refuse  to  hire  anybody  who  was  ever  in  a 
sanatorium.  And  many  relatives  and  friends 
of  discharged  patients  make  exhibitions  of 
themselves  by  mutterings  about  "Do  we 
have  to  sterilize  the  dishes?"  There  are 
heartbreaking  tales  like  that  of  the  young 
fellow  on  the  verge  of  discharge,  planning  to 
visit  his  brother  and  family  on  his  way  home, 
only  to  get  a  letter  telling  him  to  do  no  such 
thing:  "We'd  like  to  see  you,  but,  after  all, 
we  have  to  protect  ourselves." 

Such  kicks  in  the  teeth  are  all  the  more 
sickening  because  unnecessary — in  no  such 
case  is  infection  risk  actually  present,  if  the 
former  patient  behaves  himself  as  he  has 
been  carefully  trained  to.  That  sort  of  thing 
is  another  good  reason  why  anti-TB  planners 
always  put  continued  public  education  first. 

They  are  unquestionably  right  to  do  so. 
The  war  has  decimated  sanatorium  staffs, 
handicapped  follow-ups  on  the  families  of 
known  cases,  and  kept  out  of  sanatoriums  a 
great  many  people  who  should  be  in  them. 
Once  the  shooting  is  over,  however,  the  big 
blow  can  be  struck.  If  the  public  knew 
vividly  what  enough  beds,  enough  case 
finding  and  enough  rehabilitation  could  do, 
the  TB  menace  would  now  be  in  the  same 
boat  that  the  Nazi  menace  was  in  when  the 
Allies  went  ashore  in  Normandy  on  D  day. 


e  solved  the 


r 


// 


'-Vs-s-t  read  fliis  inside  storv^- 

"I  used  to  think  baby  powders  were  all  alike,  but  look  at  these  differences  . . . 

•  Most  boby  specialists  all  over  the  country  say  that  Mennen  is 
the  best  baby  powder*  .  .  . 

•  Comparing  3  leading  baby  powders .  .  .  microscopic  tests  show 
that  Mennen  is  smoothest  of  all!  (No  wonder,  'cause  a  special 
Mennen  process  makes  this  powder  satin-smooth).  .  . 

•  3  out  of  4  doctors  say  baby  powder  should  be  untiieptic;  being 
antiseptic,  Mennen  powder  helps  fight  harmful  germs  .  . . 

"So,  Mom,  ple-e-eze  help  protect  my  delicate  skin  against  painful  chafing, 
prickly  heat,  scalded  buttocks  and  other  skin  troubles— with  the  best  baby 
powder,  and  I  do  mean  Mennen!  It  makes  me  smell  so  sweet,  too!' 


'J^m,  buq  me 
the 


"According  to  aurvtyt 


Mennen/ 


Also   ...   4  times  as   many  doctors   prefer  MENNEN 
ANTISEPTIC  BABY  OIL  as  any  other  baby  oil  or  lotion.* 


158 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL  April,  1945 

•      •••••••••••••••••••■A- 

The  Hygiene  of  Children's 
Imagination 


"  Let  Curtains  Hang ! '' 

says  Sad  Iron 

". . .  it's  my  iron  decision  that  curtains  are  silly! 
Their  slow  poke-y  frills  get  me  shivery,  chilly." 
But  Miss  Sunny  Monday  is  counting  on  Linit — 
The  slick,  handsome  starch  that  saves  many  a  minute. 


And  now 

"Meet  Master  Linit. 
He's  really  perfection 
To  iron — to  flatter 
a  curtain's  complexion! 


Here's  how  — 

'We  wash  our  curtains 
As  clean  as  a  breeze — 

Then  Linit  wiU  starch  them 
with  elegant  ease. 


Quick  mix  — 

"He  blends  half  cupfuls 
of  water  and  Linit — 
Then  adds  boiUng  water— 
It's  done  in  a  minute!" 


a,^ 


Clicks! 

Well,  do  look  at  Sad  Ii'on, 

gay  and  alive-y! 
With  Linit  his  work  is  so 

happy  and  jive-y! 


If  you  have  a  Sad  Iron 
balky  at  chores — 

Get  Linit  tomorrow 
at  all  grocery  stores. 

®  Corn  Preductt  Salti  Company 


j;3u«rclnT0H  lOOK  AHD  Fill  U«  UMM^ 

iniMrrinilii"lllHlii''lliTlr*^  "* '  ^  -^ 


ny   IIA.XAMI   A.    LAIRD,    Ph.D.,  «$e.D. 


"Slumhl   I  ilim-niiranf  mu  vhilti'H 

No.  Imagination  is  the  most  active  part 
of  the  child's  mental  life.  When  such  play  is 
discouraged,  imagination  will  seek  an  outlet 
in  other  channels.  Daydreaming  may  be- 
come excessive  when  the  imagination  cannot 
be  exercised  in  games  or  self-amusement. 

"Won  V  tnirti  Hinrit'H  »ir»'  n  fhiltl  a 
mnrhiil  imaninnlinny" 

Children's  stories  have  been  criticized 
usually  by  people  afraid  of  their  own  imagi- 
nations. Since  children  have  vivid  imagina- 
tions, these  stories  can  become  more  real  to 
them  than  real  life.  So  the  child  must  be 
guided  to  look  upon  such  stories  as  a  form 
of  make-believe.  In  reading  the  adventures 
of  Alice  in  Wonderland,  for  example,  say 
"Of  course  these  things  don't  really  happen, 
but  isn't  it  fun  to  pretend  they  might?" 

"Hut  i  fpfl  rvrlnin  Mnmv  «/  lln'Mf 
illvt'  inti  f'liilil  nifiht  Ifmtrit." 

Quite  possibh'.  Some  of  these  stories  fea- 
ture undesirably  cruel  or  fearsome  experi- 
ences. It  is  not  until  children  are  around 
five  years  old  that  they  can  distinguish  be- 
tween fact  and  imagination.  The  more  im- 
aginative stories  should  be  reserved  until 
they  are  of  school  age. 

"Inn  'I  it  iindt'Mirahlf  tit  rt'ail  thvm 
.I.Vl'  Mtnrit'H  at  hrtltiwiii-f" 

Rather  the  opposite.  Imagination  is  es- 
pecially active  in  the  drowsy  period  before 
sleep.  If  stories  are  told  them,  or  read  to 
them,  only  after  they  get  into  bed  it  makes 
going  to  bed  a  delight.  Don't  read  a  bed- 
time story  in  the  living  room.  Make  it  the 
unvarying  habit  to  have  the  story  after  they 
are  in  bed.  Read  in  a  soothing,  low  voice.  A 
make-believe  story  induces  the  imaginative 
frame  of  mind  that  is  the  first  stage  of  sleep 
itself. 

"Unt  don't  bftttinn>  utttrivH  Htlm- 
nlnli'  drfi§mint/?" 

The  child  will  dream  anyway.  He  starts 
dreaming  when  he  is  about  six  months  old, 
if  not  earlier.  But  he  may  have  a  different 
sort  of  dream  after  a  story  than  if  he  is 
simply  put  to  bed  and  left. 

''I  am  trorrlt'd  ahuut  Imaainarv 
ppupU'  wnn  t'hild  prt'tt'tidn  tn  plaii 
irith." 

Don't  worry.  Many  children  have  imagi- 
nary playmates.  Sometimes  they  imagine  an 
entire  family,  living  in  an  imaginary  house 
in  the  back  yard.  It  is  usually  the  more 
intelligent  children  who  pretend  about  im- 
aginary playmates.  The  sensible  parent  ac- 
cepts imaginary  playmates  as  a  natural 
thing. 

"Ih  it  all  rinlit,  tht'n,  t»  inin  in 
fhildrfn'M  imaainatiri'  ttlai/f" 

It  is  more  than  all  right — it  is  desirable. 
Children  are  born  dramatists,  but  many 
parents  are  matter-of-fact,  prosaic.  It  helps 
the  parent  to  understand  and  guide  the 
child  by  taking  part  in  imaginative  play. 

"in  it  riaht  to  UHf  thfir  iniaalna- 
tlon  to  dlnriplinv  t'hildrfn?" 

It  is,  if  it  is  used  properly.  Many  prob- 
lems of  discipline  can  be  solved  by  appealing 


to  the  child's  imagination.  Mothers  have 
told  me  they  find  their  young  children  more 
enjoyable  when  the  mother  herself  makes 
many  little  daily  problems  into  a  game  of, 
make-believe.  But  children  quickly  catch  on' 
if  the  mother  joins  in  their  play  only  to  get 
something  done— especially  the  child  with  a 
contrary  streak. 

"It  itPf>mH  to  nn>  that  aonif  of  thf 
lifH  Htildrfn  It'll  arv  just  imagination 
irorliina  ort'rtimf." 

Most  so-called  lies  of  young  children  are 
just  that.  Remember  that  it  is  not  until 
around  school  age  that  children  can  plainly 
tell  dreams  and  imaginations  from  fact. 
They  cannot  be  safely  disciplined  for  lying 
until  old  enough  to  understand  what  a  false- 
hood is. 

"n'lm  doi'H  mil  fhlld  say  that 
Sandav  m-hool  i«  bluf  and  the  moriva 
art'  ttinhy'' 

That  is  a  form  of  linked  imagination. 
Some  people  associate  colors  with  everyday 
things  which  are  lacking  in  color.  This  is 
known  technically  as  synesthesia,  and  is  per- 
fectly healthy  although  it  is  rare.  A  parent 
should  look  forward  to  some  unusual  accom- 
plishments by  a  child  who  has  this  form  of : 
imagination. 

*'##»#•»  malif-bfllort'  plau  shoir 
thf  ot-fupation  a  rhild  ithould 
folloM-?'' 

Many  parents  believe  so.  But  no  safe 
vocational  guidance  can  be  given  in  child- 
hood, e.xcept  for  those  rare  exceptions  who 
are  prodigies.  Make-believe  is  very  different 
from  actual  ability.  In  addition,  the  make- 
believe  interests  change  many  times  as  the 
child  becomes  older. 

**.>#«  4'hild  bffom*>m  mo  abmorbfd 
in  daudrvamM  hi'  dofM  not  hear  an 
rail  him  to  mi'alH."' 

Daydreaming  is  imagination  turned  in- 
ward. Make-believe  play  is  imagination  put 
to  work.  Unhappiness  may  turn  the  imag-^ 
ination  from  active  playing  into  passive 
daydreaming.  Children  can't  stop  day-, 
dreaming  by  merely  being  told  to;  the  reason 
that  lies  behind  the  inward  turning  of  their 
imagination  must  be  found.  This  is  a  job  for 
a  specialist. 

"ltoe»    make-bellere  plan    deter^ 
mine  a  ehild'i*  rhararterf'' 

It  does  not  determine  its  character  so 
often  as  it  indicates  trends  in  the  child's 
character.  Making  believe  that  imaginary 
playmates  or  dolls  are  being  punished,  or 
that  they  have  caught  diseases,  for  example, 
may  indicate  a  hostile  attitude  toward  the 
parents.  Make-believe  does  not  cause  this 
attitude,  but  merely  reflects  it.  An  expert 
can  learn  a  great  deal  about  a  child's  real 
nature  by  watching  his  make-believe  play. 


"Whv  doeH  mu  rhild  nan  he  ran 
mee  people  in  the  rloud*-?  ** 

Because  he  has  a  vivid  imagination.  Chil 
dren  see  many  more  things  of  this  sort  thar 
their  parents  do,  or  than  the  parents  realize 
their  children  do.  To  understand  a  chile 
we  must  understand  his  ever-active  imag- 
ination which  makes  a  sand  pile  a  fairyland, 
a  tattered  toy  his  closest  friend. 


•  •••••••••••••••••••Vk 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


(Sing  to  the  tune  of  The  Man  on  the  Flying  Trapeze) 

They  float  through  the  air — and  kersplash  in  a  tub 
Where  Swan  gives  'em  all  a  delightful,  pure  scrub. 

The  babies  adore  it — can't  wait  for  their  rub! 
Gentle  Swan  is  the  soap  of  their  dreams! 

The  doctors  and  mamas  with  praises  are  wild. 

Swan's  pure  as  castiles!  Oh,  so  sudsy  and  mild! 
It  helps  keep  you  rosy  and  fresh  as  a  child! 

Gentle  Swan  is  the  soap  of  your  dreams! 

So  float  through  your  day  with  the  greatest  of  ease, 
Swan  dishes  or  duds  or  whatever  you  please!. 

Swan's  gentle  and  mild — with  your  skin  it  agrees! 
Buy  pure  Swan — it's  the  soap  of  your  dreams! 


SEMD  fDR  NEW 
SWAN 


il7i/'miUjvr  tverijttiing^QnnN kpure 3S Hie  C^sfiles^^ 


I  > 
\ 

Y 


An  adorable  color  print  of  (he  Merry-go- 
round  Swan  babies  above  is  yours  for  only 
\0t  (to  cover  cost  of  mailing  and  handling). 


Just  fill  in  coupon,  enclose  10c  in  coin,  mail  now!   Swan  will  send 

you  a  beautiful  reproduction  of  the  Merry-go-round  Swan  babies, 

above.  On  fine  art  paper.   Ready  to  frame!   No  advertising  on  it. 

Size  12"  X  15".  Offer  expires  June  30,  1945. 

SWAN,  Box  7,  New  York  8,  N.  Y. 

I  enclose  lOf  in  coin  for  latest  Swan  baby  picture. 

Name. 


Address^ 
City 


.State- 


160 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


He  Needs  Your  Wisest  Love 
in  a  War 'Changed  World  ! 


TODAY  you  must  love  your  baby  not  only 
with  all  your  heart  .  .  .  but  with  all  your 
wisdom.  Now,  when  medical  care  is  so  often 
hard  to  get,  he  depends  more  than  ever  on 
your  watchful,  intelligent  care  to  keep  him 
safe  and  strong. 

His  greatest  danger— the  "other  fellow's  cold" 

One  danger  only  you  can  guard  your  baby 
against  is  the  "other  fellow's  cold."  An  ordinary 
cold,  carelessly  passed  on,  can  be  the  start  of  a 
dread  illness  for  your  tiny  baby;  in  fact,  no 
other  illness  causes  so  many  fatalities  among 
infants  as  respiratory  infections  and  their  fright- 
ening complications. 

The  best  possible  way  to  protect  your  baby 
from  the  "other  fellow's  cold"  is  to  see  that  he 
never  comes  in  contact  with  it.  But  suppose  a 
member  of  your  family  gets  a  cold — or  you 
yourself? 

Guard  him  with  a  protective  mask 

The  next  best  thing  to  keeping  your  baby  com- 
pletely isolated  from  every  person  with  a  cold 
is  to  reduce  the  risk  of  contagion  with  a  pro- 
tective mask.  Wear  one  yourself,  if  you  have 
a  cold,  whenever  you  are  near  him  and  when 
you  prepare  his  food.  .  .  and  make  no  exception 
to  this  rule  for  any  other  person. 

Tissue  mask  quick  and  easy  to  make 

If  you  do  not  have  a  supply  of  standard  hos- 
pital masks  on  hand,  you  can  easily  make  an 
emergency  mask  of  tissue.  Just  take  two  thick- 
nesses of  ScotTissue, cover  your  nose  and  mouth, 
and  pin  or  tie  at  the  back  of  your  head.  Clinical 
tests  prove  that  two  thicknesses  of  ScotTissue 
effectively  trap  germs,  and  greatly  reduce  the 
danger  of  contagion. 

Never  before  has  it  been  so  vitally  important 
to  keep  your  baby  strong  and  well  ...  to  take 
these  wise  protective  measures  against  the  seri- 
ous danger  of  respiratory  infection. 


Tiny  hands,  reaching  out  so  trustingly  ...  a  symbol  of  how  much  your  baby  needs  your  strength  and  uisdom 
...  a  need  that  is  greater  than  ever  today  when  the  world  is  faced  with  a  serious  medical  shortage. 


THE   CORRECT   CHOICE   OF   A   BATHROOM  TISSUE 
IS   IMPORTANT   FOR   COMFORT   AND   CLEANSING 

The  correct  choice  of  a  toilet  tissue  for  your  child  is  important,  too.  It  should 
be  soft  enough  for  comfort  yet  strong  enough  for  thorough  cleansing. 
ScotTissue  has  both  these  qualities.  You  will  find  it  is  soft  and  "nice"  to  use 
even  against  the  face.  And  with  1000  sheets  to  every  roll,  it  is  also  an  eco- 
nomical tissue  for  the  whole  family.  Trademark  ■•ScctTUsuc- Ben.  U.S.Pat.Ojr. 


Mil/ions  are  Grateful Jor  its  Luxurif  Texture 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


161 


MARY  LoriSE  BARRETT 


The  best  weapon  against  tuberculosis  is  tvatchfubicss, 

IS  eilUlBODl'S  JOB 


BY  DR.  UEKMAN  N.  Br:V»E«>»E.>^ 

President,  Chicago  Bttard  of  Health 


rUBERCULOSIS  increases  in  wartime. 
This  doesn't  mean  that  medical  science 
has  failed.  Actually,  the  person  with 
tuberculosis  has  a  better  chance  of  re- 
(very  today  than  ever  before.  But,  during 
ar,  it  is  difficult  to  relieve  or  control  such 
•nditions  as  crowded  living  quarters,  in- 
lequate  rest  and  improper  diet.  These  con- 
tions  help  spread  tuberculosis. 
Checking  tuberculosis  is  everybody's  job. 
[others,  especially,  have  these  responsibili- 
ss:  Guard  against  fatigue.    Give  children 


IjR.ATEFLL  voiing  mothers 
from  Maine  to  California  tell 
us  that  Doctor  Bundesens 
babv  booklets  have  been  of 
the  greatest  help  to  them  in 
caring  for  their  own  babies. 
The  first  eight  booklets  cover 
your  babvs  first  eight  months. 
They  sell  for  50  cents.  The 
second  series  of  booklets  cov- 
ers the  baby's  health  from 
nine  months  to  two  years — 
seven  booklets  for  50  cents. 
The  booklets  will  be  sent 
monthly;  be  sure  to  tell  us 
when  you  want  the  first  book- 
let. A  complete  lM)ok  on  the 
care  of  the  babv.  a  nervH- 
»ary  aupplempiit  to  the 
monthly  booklets,  Oi  K  Ba- 
bies, No.  L345.  is  25  cents.  A 
booklet  on  breast  feeding,  A 
Doctor's  First  Dlty  to  the 
Mother,  No.  1346,  sells  for 
6  cents.  Address  all  requests 
to  the  Reference  Library, 
Ladies'  Home  Journal,  Phil- 
adelphia 5,  Pennsylvania. 


the  right  foods.  Make  sure  no  one  in  the 
family  has  tuberculosis. 

Tuberculosis  is  not  inheritable,  but  tiny 
babies  may  catch  it  easily  from  others  in  the 
household.  Babies  have  little  resistance  to 
tuberculosis  and  often  die  quickly  if  the  dis- 
ease gains  a  foothold.  Usually,  however, 
the  tubercle  bacillus  works  slowly — insidi- 
ously. Most  often  it  attacks  the  lungs,  where 
darkness,  warmth  and  moisture  provide  lush 
surroundings  for  its  growth. 

Nature  furnishes  our  best  weapon  for 
fighting  this  deadly  germ.  As  yet,  no  drug 
has  been  found  which  will  kill  or  suppress  it. 
Where  sulphas  and  even  wonder-working 
penicillin  fail,  the  body's  own  defenses,  how- 
ever, often  succeed.  Tough,  fibrous  tissue 
is  built  up  around  the  infected  area.  Unless 
tuberculosis  germs  get  a  head  start,  this 
tissue  wall  hardens  and  traps  them  inside. 
Often  they  never  escape;  then  the  infected 
person  does  not  become  ill  with  tuberculosis. 
Sometimes  the  germs  remain  trapped  and  in- 
active for  a  long  period,  but  break  out  finally 
and  produce  the  symptoms  of  active  tubercu- 
losis. 

In  most  cases,  the  disease  gives  some  notice 
of  its  presence  while  it  is  still  curable.  Here 
are  symptoms  the  mother  should  look  for: 
loss  of  appetite,  loss  of  weight,  undue  fa- 
tigue, persistent  cough,  fever.  Any  of  these 
should  be  reason  for  an  examination  by  the 
doctor. 

But  the  fact  that  tuberculosis  can  gain 
headway  without  producing  these  or  any 
other  signs  is  a  powerful  argument  for 
medical  examinations  every  year — especially 
for  children.  By  listening  with  instruments 
and  tapping  the  chest  with  his  fingers,  the 
doctor  may  find  questionable  areas;  then 
he  will  make  further  tests  to  see  whether  or 
not  tuberculosis  has  invaded  the  body. 

In  one  test,  a  substance  called  tuberculin 
is  used.  If  an  inflammation,  or  "reaction," 
appears,    the    person    is    known    to    have 


7n/mb 


BABY:  Remember  now 
what  it's  like  to  be  a 
baby,  Mom! 

MOM:  Whew— what  a 
life  babies  do  lead !  People  doing 
this  to  you — that  to  you — and  so 
many  things  to  make  your  skin 
scratchy  and  irritated! 

BABY:  My  complaint  exactly,  Mom. 
Guess  now  you're  in  the  mood  to 
listen  —  when  I  yell  for  Johnson's 
Baby  Oil  and  Johnson's  Baby 
Powder! 

MOM:  You  bet  I  am — just  ask  me! 


BABY:  Please  may  I  have  some  nice, 
pure  Johnson's  Baby  Oil,  to 
smooth  all  over  me  and  help  pre- 
vent what  my  doc  calls  "urine  irri- 
tation"? And,  please,  some  soft, 
smooth  Johnson's  Powder,  for 
times  when  chafes  and  prickles 
bother  me? 

MOM:  Lamb — from  now 
on,  I'll  do  right  by  you! 

BABY:  You  and  Johnson's, 
Mom!  Just  wait  till  you 
see  how  those  smoother- 
uppers  agree  with  my 
pink  pelt! 


Johnson's  Baby  Oil 
Johnson's  Baby  Powder 


162 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  19tS 


^  **.  r^W 


Is  your  youngster  a  "dessert 
hound"?  Perhaps  he  refuses  to 
eat  much  of  anything  but  sweets.  Well, 
try  templing  him  with  delicious,  nour- 
ishing Chef  Boy-Ar-Dee  Spaghetti  Din- 
ner— all  children  love  it.  Then  watch 
his  appetite  perk  up! 


v/^  Does  she  veto  those  vegeto- 
^m^r  bles?  Maybe  she  turns  away 
from  foods  that  supply  needed  vita- 
mins and  minerals.  That  appetite- 
tempting  sauce  in  Chef  Boy-Ar-Dee 
Spaghetti  Dinner  is  a  blend  of  rich, 
hearty  vegetables. 


r  child  a  "delayed- 
eater?  Nothing  is  any 
more  annoying  than  a  child  who  toys 
with  his  regular  meal,  then  says  he's 
hungry  two  hours  later.  He'll  eat 
his  fill  at  mealtime  when  you  serve 
Chef  Boy-Ar-Dee  Spaghetti   Dinner. 


4^. 


■aj!^ 


HECTOR  BOIARDI 


* 


A  12-minute  triumph! 

The  handy  Chef  Boy-Ar-Dee  Spa- 
ghetti Dinner  carton  contains: 
1  pkg.  exira-flne  durum  wheal  spogheiti 
1  large  jar  of  the  one  and  only  Chef 

Boy-Ar-Dee  Spaghetti  Sauce 
1  conister  specially  blended  Parmesan 

style  grated  cheese 

Drop  spaghetti  in  salted  boiling  water. 
While  it  cooks,  heat  the  sauce  over  a 
low  flame.  In  12  minutes,  drain  the 
spaghetti  and  spread  the  sauce  over  it. 
Then  sprinkle  on  the  cheese  for  the 
crowning  touch.  Lady,  you've  a  meal 
your  family  will  rave  over!  Children 
love  it.  Serves  3  or  more  generously 
for  a  few  pennies  a  portion. 

'Pronounced  BOY-AR-DEE 


>r  does  she  demand  special 
Jishes?  It's  no  fun,  having  to 
fix  extra  dishes  to  coax  a  finicky  child's 
tastes.  She'll  join  with  the  whole  fam- 
ily in  enjoying  a  Chef  Boy-Ar-Dee 
Spaghetti  Dinner-  and  your  meal-get- 
ting will  be  far  easier! 


',*<'-^  '      ^--41  ^ 


BOYARo^ 


•wwas 


Chef BpY^ARDEE    «„ 


Mf 


^^baane^  O^mte^^ 


tubercle  bacilli  in  his  body.  But  this  doesn't 
mean  that  he  has,  or  ever  will  have,  tubercu- 
losis. Nearly  half  of  all  people  react  to 
tuberculin,  yet  only  a  small  fraction — about 
one  in  a  thousand — ever  become  actively  ill. 

The  best  way  for  the  doctor  to  tell  whether 
or  not  a  person  has  tuberculosis  is  to  make 
an  X-ray  examination  of  the  chest.  Areas  of 
the  lung  affected  by  disease  cast  a  darker 
shadow  on  the  X-ray  film  than  normal  lung 
tissue  does;  thus  the  trained  observer  can 
tell  exactly  how  far  the  disease  has  pro- 
gressed. Whenever  symptoms  indicating  the 
possibility  of  tuberculosis  appear,  the  doctor 
will  want  to  see  chest  X  rays.  When  a  person 
is  found  to  have  the  disease  in  active  form, 
all  others  in  the  household  should  be  ex- 
amined at  once.  This  is  the  only  way  children 
can  be  protected  from  exposure. 

Tubercle  bacilli  are  not  passed  from  per- 
son to  person  in  casual  or  occasional  con- 
tacts. But  the  close,  continued  contact 
which  occurs  among  members  of  the  same 
household  is  likely  to  result  in  transmittal 
of  the  disease.  In  fact,  25  per  cent  of  all  per- 
sons who  are  intimately  exposed  to  tubercu- 
losis ultimately  succumb.  In  children,  active 
symptoms  may  come  comparatively  soon 
after  the  initial  infection,  but  in  adults  four 
or  five  or  even  ten  years  or  longer  may  pass 
before  tuberculosis  becomes  active. 

Tubercle  bacilli  are  transmitted  directly 
when  droplets  of  moisture  or  mucus  are 
breathed  or  coughed  out  by  someone  who  is 
actively  infected.  Infection  also  passes  in- 
directly when  food,  eating  utensils,  bed- 
clothes or  other  objects  are  contaminated. 
The  germs  may  survive  for  long  periods  in 
darkness  and  moisture,  but  they  die  quickly 
when  exposed  to  dry  air  and  bright  light. 
Thus  the  clothing  and  utensils  used  by  a  per- 
son with  tuberculosis  need  not  be  destroyed. 
A  thorough  airing  in  bright  sunlight  will  re- 
move the  threat  of  surviving  germs. 

Ireatment  of  tuberculosis  has  this  aim: 
to  implement  and  assist  the  body's  natural 
resistance.  Chiefly,  this  is  accomplished 
through  rest.  The  lungs  are  least  active  when 
the  body  is  at  rest;  this  favors  speedy  com- 
pletion of  Nature's  encircling  wall  of  fibrous 
tissue.  For  best  results,  sanatorium  care  is 
usually  recommended,  because  it  offers  two 
overwhelming  advantages:  first,  rest  is 
closely  supervised  in  the  sanatorium — the 
best-intentioned  program  of  rest  at  home  is 
haphazard  by  comparison;  second,  only  by 
removing  the  tuberculosis  patient  to  the 
sanatorium  can  the  risk  of  exposing  others 
in  the  family  be  eliminated  entirely.  Climate 
is  no  longer  considered  important  by  most 
physicians  in  the  treatment  of  tuberculosis. 
Sometimes — especially  if  an  early  diagnosis 
has  been  made — cures  are  completed  in  a 
few  months  of  sanatorium  care.  When  dam- 
age to  the  lungs  is  extensive,  years  may  be 
required. 

Today,  doctors  have  two  ways  of  resting 
the  diseased  lung  without  putting  the  patient 
to  bed.  In  one  of  these,  called  pneumo- 
thorax, air  is  introduced  into  the  space 
surrounding  the  lung,  which  is  thus  wholly  or 
partially  collapsed  and  rested.  Among  the 
other  methods  is  an  operation  to  pinch  or 
crush  the  phrenic  nerve,  which  controls  the 
muscles  of  the  diaphragm.  This  relaxes  the 
diaphragm  and  collapses  part  of  the  lung. 
Another  operation  used  is  called  thoraco- 
plasty. In  this  operation,  parts  of  several 
ribs  may  be  removed,  which  also  leads  to 
collapse  of  lung  tissue.  When  the  diagnosis 
of  tuberculosis  has  been  made  early  and 
treatment  is  undertaken  before  the  lungs  are 
seriously  affected,  these  measures  may  per- 
mit the  patient  to  go  to  school  or  work  while 
he  is  being  cured. 

Tuberculosis  research  is  directed  con- 
stantly toward  finding  a  drug  which  will  kill 
or  stop  the  growth  of  the  germ  itself.  Many 
agents  are  being  tried,  and  some  give  prom- 
ise for  the  future.  But  until  the  time  comes 
when  doctors  all  agree  that  such  a  specific 
cure  is  at  hand,  the  best  weapon  against 
tuberculosis  is  watchfulness.  If  early  dis- 
covery and  proper  management  give  it  a 
chance,  the  body,  if  well  nourished  and  in 
good  health,  fights  back  successfully  when 
tuberculosis  attacks. 


Brer  Rabbit 

GOLD  lABEL  MolaSSSS 

Light  colored,  sweet  and  mild— 
has  the  flavor  children  go  for 

You  won't  need  Commando 
tactics  to  get  your  youngsters 
to  drink  milk.  Add  delicious, 
iron-rich  Brer  Rabbit  Molas- 
ses! Children  love  its  flavor. 

Gold  Label  Brer  Rabbit 
Molasses  is  the  highest  qual- 
ity, fancy,  light  colored  New 
Orleans  molasses  —  sweet  and 
mild.  Full  of  the  luscious  flavor 
of  Louisiana  sugar  cane.  A  de- 
licious table  treat — on  pan- 
cakes, waffles,  French  toast, 
bread  and  cereal. 

If  you  prefer  a  dark  molas- 
ses, get  Green  Label 
'Brer  Rabbit,  recom- 
mended  for  cooking 
Jl/),,    and  for  a 
iV     full  flavor- 
ed, iron- 
rich  milk 
shake. 


Brer  Rabbit's  "Modern  Recipes 
for  Modern  Living.'*  Gives  116 
recipes.  Tells  all  about  New 
Orleans  molasses  for  table  use  and  cooking. 
Also  leaflet  of  sugar-saving  recipes.  Mail 
this  coupon  today  to:  Penick  &  Ford,  Ltd., 
Inc.,  New  Orleans,  La.  Dept.  J4-5 


Natnt- 


Y      AJJress- 


163 


CRICKET 

(Continued  from  Page  25) 


le  only  honest  way  to  tell  time  is  to 

the  changes,"  Cricket  said  when  he 
1  old  man.  "You  look  round  you  and 
hing  is  thisaway — and  then  in  a 
e  you  look  round  and  everything  is 
ray.  That's  what  I'd  call  time." 
k  there,  before  time  moved,  though, 
was  above  him  a  thick  bush  of  tupelo 
s  leaning  and  their  sour,  green  berries 
w  if  he  wanted  a  sour,  green  taste  in 
)uth.  Here  all  along  the  bank  before 
^as  the  blinding  sand  bar  of  washed, 

sand,  reaching  an  arm  into  the  water, 
lere  was  the  width  of  river  shining  like 
in  the  sun,  though  it  was  black  as  tar. 
irrent  coiled  and  eddied  for  half  a  mile 

it  went  out  of  sight  around  a  bluff. 
;ket  watched  the  ripples  blowing  along 
leer's  face.  It  was  always  cool  here, 
es  swirled  and  boiled  and  dipped, 
d  by  the  ripples.  Near  Cricket's  feet 
on  of  the  bubbles  had  joined  company 
lere  was  a  bank  of  foam  quivering 
t  a  greasy  log,   blowing  like  white 

blossoms  in  the  moonless  night,  free, 
re  from  the  river's  current — or  jailed 
from  the  current,  whichever  way  you 
I  at  it.  Cricket  stuck  his  finger  through 
windows  in  the  shaking  foam,  little 
size  shutters  and  inch-long  halls,  with 
doors   to    them.    The    whole    thing 

crumble,  likely  as  not,  iwhenever  you 
k1  it. 

re  were  many  good  things,  even  back 
but  nothing  so  good  as  the  river.    It 

take  a  chicken  dinner  to  beat  that. 
ig  to  hitch  up  the  span  of  chestnuts 
iving  them  around  to  the  front  of  the 
ouse  was  good.  The  brass  ring  in  the 
mouth  on  the  hitching  post  was  good, 
'ere  just  about  dusk,  somebody  might 
iting  the  lamps  and  dragging  the  red 
i  shut,  and  if  you  were  lucky   you 


could  hear  the  supper  gong  sound  in  the 
thick  (lusk:  bong  .  .  .  bong  .  .  .  bong. 
When  the  mistress  played  the  pianoforte  you 
could  peep  over  the  ledge  of  the  window  and 
see  the  ruffled  lace  of  her  petticoat  hanging 
out  beside  the  pedal  of  the  pianoforte,  and 
you  could  hear  the  crystal  notes  of  the  music. 
The  master  had  a  dull  red  satin  cravat.  The 
butler  handed  about  little  linen  doilies  and 
little  liquor  glasses  on  a  silver  waiter.  In  the 
comer  of  the  parlor  the  biggest  clock  you 
ever  saw  swung  its  bright  pendulum  through 
the  slow  moments,  wearing  itself  away  going 
nowhere.  The  sound  of  the  supper  gong 
going  in  the  dusk  was  like  gold  money 
falling  through  the  air,  or  like  slow,  fat  birds 
flying  away  home. 

There  were  a  lot  of  good  things. 

At  noon  if  the  overseer  sent  Cricket  up  to 
the  kitchen  he'd  scuff  his  feet  along  through 
the  hot  sand  and  wish  Maria  would  slip  him 
a  pone  of  corn  bread  or  a  block  of  warm 
gingerbread  or  sometimes  even  a  wedge  of 
sugar  cake,  and  sometimes  she  did — when 
she  could.  Cricket  wouldn't  trade  the  river 
for  going  to  get  the  overseer's  dinner  pail. 

He  pulled  his  feet  from  the  tobacco- 
colored  water;  out  yonder  where  it  was  deep, 
the  water  was  black  as  a  starved  night. 
Cricket  dipped  the  water  bucket  full  and 
started  back  to  the  new  ground  before  the 
overseer  could  miss  him.  The  best  way  to 
stay  in  with  an  overseer — or  anybody  else, 
maybe — is  to  do  everything  he  says  right  on 
the  mark  and  to  the  letter.  Even  then  you 
catch  it,  sometimes. 

Cricket  got  back  up  to  the  new  ground. 
Everybody  was  perished  for  water.  He  got 
down  to  work,  his  shirt  plastered  to  his  back 
with  sweat.  Young  mockingbirds  were  tilted 
in  crab-apple  trees  along  the  fence  rows, 
learning  to  sing.  Their  throats  sounded  like 
rusty  well  chains  going.  In  the  clearing  the 


TWiS  IS 
BED-JU 


THI9  \^  A 
/JAT^HBIRO 
VATCH1N6  A 
^ED  -JUMPER 


THIS  IS  A  WATC«eiRP 
WATCHING   you 


By  3iunro  l^at 


lins  crazy -looking  thing  that  just  landed  with  a  thud 
on  the  end  of  its  nose  is  a  Bed-Jumper.  It  jumped  and 
leaped  on  the  bed  until,  bang,  down  came  the  bed,  out 
broke  the  springs  and  the  bed  was  ruined;  and  this  foolish 
Bed-Jumper  will  be  lucky  if  it  isn't  ruined,  too,  with  a 
broken  neck  or  a  cracked  head. 


WERE  YOU  A   6ED-JUMPFRr//;s  MONT^  ? 


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Name.. 


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WfWS  WOW!       -^   (/A/ 


164 

black   boys,    scrawny   and   pinch- waisted, 
were  grubbing  and  piling  and  burning  roots. 

The  overseer  went  down  to  the  river  for 
something  or  other.  You  could  loaf  along 
while  he  was  gone,  talk  loud  and  cuss  and 
tussle.  That's  how  the  fight  started.  The 
boys  were  playing  around,  tussling  and 
carrying  on,  and  that  other  boy  got  mad  and 
told  Cricket  to  leave  him  be  now.  But 
Cricket  grabbed  the  boy's  arms  from  behind, 
just  playing,  you  understand,  and  laid  the 
boy  flat.  ("Ise  just  ashowin'  him  Ise  the 
best  man,"  Cricket  said.  "You  got  to  have 
something  you're  better  than — whether  hit's 
a  boy  or  a  dog  or  a  snake.") 

First  thing  Cricket  knew  the  boy  was  all 
but  stronger  than  he  was,  and  then  it  got 
harder  to  throw  him.  The  boy  was  biting 
mad  now,  and  sank  his  teeth  into  Cricket's 
shoulder,  and  Cricket  had  a  time  knocking 
him  loose.  The  boy  backed  off  and  came  on 
again  and  was  twice  as  strong  as  he  was  be- 
fore. ("  If  a  man  gets  mad  enough  finally,  he 
kin  whup  you  world  without  end,"  Cricket 
said.) 

The  boy  jerked  out  a  knife  and  he  was  cry- 
ing while  he  tore  the  knife  open. 

You  can't  fight  a  knife  with  your  fists.  It's 
worse  than  a  gun;  it's  more  certain  and 
leaner,  it  goes  deeper  and  stays  in.  Cricket 
caught  up  a  root,  a  big  hard  root  of  a 
palmetto,  and  when  the  boy  came  on  again 
Cricket  let  the  boy  have  it  on  the  head. 
The  knife  flew  out  of  the  boy's  hand  and 
he  leaned  sidewise  and  dropped  down  slowly, 
and  lay  still  there  on 
the  hot,  bright 
ground. 

"You'd  better  git!" 
another  boy  said,  and 
Cricket  got. 

The  crab-apple 
thicket  where  the 
young  mockers  were 
practicing  was  a  hun- 
dred yards  off  on  the 
side  away  from  the 
river.  Cricket  darted 
in   under   the   crab- 


*•••••* 


*    •    •    * 


/ 


By  Jebanne  de  Mare 

Why  should  it  be  April 
Out  of  all  the  year, 

Gentle  as  the  mist  fall, 
Hesitant  as  fear — 


apple  trees  and  on 
among  old  palmetto 
clumps  and  myrtle 
bushes.  Once  he 
looked  back  to  see 
whether  the  overseer 
had  come  up  from  the 
river,  but  he  hadn't. 
The  other  boys  were 
trying  to  lift  the  bul- 
letheaded  boy. 

Cricket  worked  his 
way  along,  quickly  as 
the  thickets  would  al- 
low, up  past  the  corner  of  the  near  cotton 
field.  "The  cotton  and  com  ran  no  telling  how 
far;  he'd  have  to  circle  away  up  around  the 
low  cotton  and  find  the  tall  corn.  He  could 
get  through  the  com  to  the  highroad. 

It  w.\s  cold  at  nfght,  even  in  hot  summer. 
The  ground  is  always  cold.  ("Reckon  no 
grave  ever  would  be  warm,"  Cricket  said.) 
There  were  wild  plums  just  about  ripe,  and 
rain  water  in  the  road  ditches;  that  took  care 
of  Cricket's  eating  and  drinking. 

He  ran  as  hard  as  he  could  down  the 
grassy  shoulders  of  the  road.  He  had  to  keep 
his  eyes  peeled  for  anybody  else  on  the  high- 
road. When  his  lights  were  fit  to  bust  and 
his  mouth  as  dry  as  a  hulled  nut  he  would  roll 
off  into  the  bushes  and  rest.  Then  he  would 
get  into  the  road  again  and  run  until  his 
tongue  was  big  and  full  and  blood  was 
washing  high  in  his  head. 

The  worst  part  of  the  nmning  in  the  open 
was  being  afraid  to  look  back,  and  having  to 
look  back.  When  his  feet  were  flying  down 
alongside  the  road  tracks,  he  swore  he  could 
hear  heavy  feet  running  behind  him,  gaining 
on  him  no  matter  how  hard  he  ran.  Then  he'd 
look  back,  and  he  had  heard  only  the  sound 
of  his  own  feet  pounding  along  after  himself. 
("  I  learned  more  than  I  knowed  I  was  learn- 
ing," Cricket  said.  "Never  was  nobody  to 
be  afraid  of,  unless  it's  yo'self.") 

A  hundred  times  he  thought  he  heard  the 
overseer  call  out  "Stop ! "  and  he  kept  think- 
ing :  By  now  the  bloodhounds  will  be  called  out 


Apri) 

and  set  on  my  track.  He  could  wad 
ditches  and  lose  his  scent,  but  he  coi 
make  any  time  in  the  ditch  and  there  « 
but  one  direction  to  go  anyhow.  He  h 
find  a  house  and  somebody  to  hide  hiit 
had  to  follow  the  highroad?  ("You  \ 
get  off  in  the  bushes  and  not  git  1 
Cricket  said.)  His  legs  thought  for  hin 
kept  on  pumping  him  away. 

Cricket  didn't  know  how  far  he  got ; 
the  highroad,  so  I  don't  know.  The 
passed  over  two  or  three  creeks  on  sla 
plank  bridges.  There  were  crawfish  ii 
shallows  of  the  creeks  and  Cricket  ate 
and  they  tasted  better  than  warm,  frie( 
and  hush  puppies  would  taste  any  i 
time.  He  slept  under  the  bridges  and  ii 
good  sleep;  the  dusty  roof  was  low  am 
earth  was  slimed  and  cool  and  the 
whispered  along  among  the  pond  lilies 
past  the  steep  banks  of  bulrushes. 

XAE  didn't  know  how  long  he  was  oi 
highroad,  so  I  don't  know,  because  he 
sometimes  when  the  sun  was  high  an 
ran  on  the  road  sometimes  when  the  r 
came  up.  There  were  reaches  of  wire  j 
along  the  road,  and  broom  sedge  stirrinj 
a  waste  of  pale  water,  and  swampy  l 
where  bays  were  blooming,  and  then  1 
was  higher  ground.  Away  off  yonder  he 
corn  leaning  a  little  this  way  and  that 
shaking  her  tossels  in  a  low  west  wind.  C 
Cricket  slipped  in  among  the  tall  corn 
sat  on  the  pale,  hot  ground.  The  air  felt 
afternoon.  The  bl 
of  com  worked 
stir  of  wind 
knocked  gei 
against  one  an* 
and  clashed  like 
sticks,  and  all  ar( 
you  could  hear 
tussling  and  pla 
of  the  corn,  like 
low  boys  with  rag 
tosseled  heads, 
good  smell  of  the 
gathered  ab 
Cricket  and  c 
down  over  him 
settled  about  hii 
tie  old  black  h 
He  lifted  the  so. 
his  right  foot  ags 
his  breeches  leg 
wTopped  his  foe 
the  warm  cloth; 
he  soothed  his 
foot  the  same  ' 
The  com  soothed 
all  over  the  same' 
like  warm,  soft  cl 
He  worked  his  way  on  down  alongsid« 
highroad  toward  where  a  house  ought  t( 
Sure  enough,  there  was  a  big  white  h( 
sitting  still  in  the  late-afternoon  sunsi 
Between  the  cornfield  and  the  house  t 
was  a  whitewashed  rail  fence. 

At  the  back  of  the  house  there  were 
oaks  shading  a  well  sweep.  At  the  w 
black  woman  was  letting  down  the  old 
sweep  into  the  cold  well.    If  that  h 
woman  would  hide  him  in  a  crib  or  a 
stack,  he'd  Jje  all  right.   He'd  have  to 
till  dark  to  ask  her.  Here  in  the  corn  t 
wasn't  anything  to  eat  but  grasshoppers 
katydids,  and  them  hard  to  catch,  if  yc 
tired.  If  the  black  woman  turned  him  u 
the  white  folks  he  just  wouldn't  tell  wh 
was;  he'd  act  like  he  didn't  know  not! 
He'd  act  crazy,  but  not  too  crazy. 

His  throat  was  parched.  He  was  aperis 
for  water.  He  could  hardly  bear  it  when 
black  woman  pulled  up  the  wooden  bu 
and  the  white  water  wasted  away  off  its  s 
into  the  deep  well.  He  ran  out  of  the  i 
and  stumbled  up  against  the  rail  fenc 
behind  the  crape  myrtles  bunched  aga 
the  fence.  He  leaned  on  the  fence  and  cl 
his  eyes.  He  was  pretty  tired.  (Time 
senseless  marking  on  school-bred  ra 
clocks  and  calendars.  The  only  real  tin 
beaten  out  by  men's  feet  on  the  earth.) 
Cricket  had  not  seen  that  woman  for 
or  three  years,  yet  he  knew  she  was 
mother.  He  lay  down  behind  the  rail  U 
and  watched  her  a  minute,  and  then 


ir         Why  should  only  April,  • 

.  Filigreed  and  fine,  .^^ 

Only  April  taste  as  sweet 

As  the  ripened  wine.' 

•  * 
^^         Why  should  only  April,  * 

Singing  underground,  . 

Remember  all  the  loveliness 

•  In  her  silver  sound? 

•  • 

•  ••••••••••• 


ON[  OF  9  CUSTOM-MADC  IttVlON  UtikoS 


L.\DIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


165 


tied  to  her  the  way  you  whistle  to  a 
id  you've  raised  from  a  puppy  and  now 
an  old  dog. 

lere  was  something  awful  strange,  he 
in  the  way  she  took  down  her  hands 
the  glistering  water  bucket  and  turned 
ace  his  way.  He  was  clutching  the  sec- 
rail  cf  the  fence.   Her  eyes  didn't  seek 
jgh  all  the  rails;  her  eyes  went  straight 
m.   It  was  awful  strange,  he  said.  She 
^  around  once,  toward  the  house.  Then 
ame  over  to  the  fence.  She  was  wiping 
vet  hands  on  her  caught-up  apron.  She 
him  against  her.  his  little  old  black  head 
the  sweat  running  down  his  face, 
e  remembered  his  name,  too;  not  his 
name,  but  the  one  he  always  went  by 
he  was  bom.  because  he  grew  stunted 
«as  sort  of  quick  and  wasp-waisted  and 
eyed.  She  said  his  name  as  though  she 
it  to  herself. 

fes.  mammy."  he  said,  and  that  was 
le  talk  there  was  then. 
e  held  his  head  against  her  big.  loose 
3ts;  she  brought  him  a  gourdful  of  water 
tie  lay  down  and  kept  still  till  dark.  She 
d  him  in  the  hot  singing  dark.  Little 
i  had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  crape  m%Ttles. 
n  mammy  stirred  the  bushes,  the  birds 
id  their  wings  stealthily  and  were  afraid. 

le  folks  didn't  want  a  cook  with  a  family 
ied.  Those  were  hard  times.  At  first 
imy  hid  Cricket  in  an  old  stock  bam 
wasn't  used  any  more.  She  toted  pine 
V  by  armfuls  and  piled  it  on  old  rotten 
lis  and  brought  a  quilt  from  her  cabin 
made  Cricket  a  bed.  She  lived  in  a 
ty  in  the  back  yard  of  the  Big  House  and 
itimes  he  slept  there  when  she  dared  to 
it,  but  mostly  till  cold  winter  he  stayed 
le  stock  barn  where  nobody  ever  came. 
rery  night  when  she  came  in  after  dark 
)rought  fire  coals  in  the  scoop  of  an  old 
el  and  built  a  fire  in  the  floorless  bam. 
Drought  Cricket's  supper  out  from  some- 
e  under  her  draggling  skirts:  half- 
red  chicken  bones  and  cold  biscuits,  raw 


potatoes  taken  one  or  two  at  a  time  from  the 
potato  hole  in  the  kitchen. 

They  would  roast  a  potato  apiece  in  the 
hot  ashes  and  eat  them  with  stolen  hog  grease 
melting  down  their  chins.  \\'hen  there  was 
company  at  the  Big  House,  mammy  would 
be  late  and  Cricket  would  be  long  asleep. 
One  such  time  she  waked  him  and  told  him 
to  build  up  the  fire  while  she  went  down  into 
the  stock  pasture  and  brought  a  bucket  of 
water  and  scalded  the  young  chicken  she 
brought  from  under  her  skirts.  It  was 
hmber-necked  because  she  had  choked  it  to 
death  when  she  grabbed  it  off  the  roost. 
They  cleaned  and  fried  and  ate  the  whole 
chicken,  just  the  two  of  them  together. 

Mammy  would  talk  about  a  strange  coun- 
try- some  nights,  stories  she  had  from  her 
mother.  There  by  a  tired  fire  she  told  stories 
of  The  People,  of  houses  made  of  sticks 
bound  about  with  trunks  of  \'ines  and  set 
safely  high  over  water,  their  floors  smelling 
of  mats  of  new  rushes;  she  told  about  poison 
brew  and  thickets  of  green  Kaffir  com. 
There  you  traded  for  a  wife:  if  she  was 
flabby-breasted  and  despoiled,  you  gave  her 
father  as  many  goats  as  you  had  fingers  on 
your  hands;  but  if  she  was  high-breasted  and 
flat-bellied  and  young  and  restless  from  the 
fever  of  love,  you  paid  her  father  as  many 
goats  as  you  had  fingers  and  toes.  You  heard 
long  halloos  around  a  marriage  hut  in  hot, 
rank  darkness  and  the  drums  went  rfoom  .  .  . 
doom   .   .   .  doom. 

Till  he  was  a  yearling-sized  boy  Cricket 
hid  with  his  mother  and  nobody  ever  knew. 
\\'hen  she  was  an  old  woman  he  kept  her  in 
his  o'svn  home  and  she  had  the  best  there  was 
in  the  house.  He  had  a  good  place  in  a 
turpentine  camp  then.  \Mien  he  was  an  old 
man  she  was  gone  and  everybody  was  gone 
but  him.  he  said. 

No,  he  hadn't  noticed  the  time  much,  he 
said.  A  whUe  he  was  walking  along  in  the 
clod=  and  dust  behind  a  plow  handle;  and 
before  he  knew  it  there  he  was,  all  but 
bedfast  beside  an  old  fire  in  an  old  house. 
"The  only  time  they  is  is  change,"  he  said. 


lie  $KO[S  that  Point 


In  black— (B  white 

lor  day  or  niglit. 
Glamorous 
versatile  shoes 

designed  to  lit  your  every  mood. 
Round-lhe-cloclicomlort 
pairing  beauty  and  duly- 
winging  your  leet 

through  daytime  and  night  time  hours. 
Truly  leminine  shoes 
to  live  in— to  work  in— to  play  in! 
Write  lor  name  ol  your  nearest  dealer. 


riced from 


FOOT  REST 


*^'»'T1^.B'''^ 


c/yyvp  SUPPORTS 

are  standard  for  exacting 
anatomical  needs 


•  Acmal  photograph  of  woman  of  average  build  with 
skeleton  indrawn  to  help  illustrate  the  steadying  of 
the  pelvis  ...  a  basic  principle  of  Camp  Supports. 


E    KRIPPENDORF-DITTMANN     CO.,    CINCINNATI    2,    OHIO 


Jbor  over  thirty  years  an  increasing 
number  of  physicians  and  surgeons 
throughout  the  world  have  recognized 
the  fundamental  accomplishments  in 
the  design  and  construaion  of  Camp 
Supports. 

They  are  recommended  and  pre- 
scribed for  Prenatal,  Postnatal,  Post- 
operative, Visceroptosis,  Pendulous 
Abdomen,  Orthopedic  and  other  con- 
ditions. 

No  curative  claims  are  ever  made  for 
Camp  Supports.  Their  unique  design 


Look  for  the  Aucborized  Camp 
Service  symbol  when  you  shop  ac 
leading  Department  Stores.  Spe- 
cialty Shops  and  Surgical  Supply 
Dealers.  It  means  a  specially 
trained  Camp  Fitter  is  in  attend- 
ance, one  who  will  fit  you  carefully. 


and  construaion  afford  maximum  help 
in  providing  adequate  support  of  the 
abdomen  without  compression;  ability 
to  secure  varying  degrees  of  firmness 
about  the  pelvis;  ample  support  of  the 
spinal  column  without  pressure  upon 
any  portion,  and  suppon  of  the  gluteal 
region. 

It  is  for  these  rensons  that  Camp 
Supports  prove  a  scientific  aid  to  the 
achievement  of  anatomical  require- 
ments which  contribute  to  improvement 
of  posture  and  physical  fitness. 


S.  H.  CAMP  &  COMPANY,  Jackson,  Michigan 

World's  Largest  Manufacturers  of  Scientific  Supports 
Offices    in     New    York;    Chicago;    Windsor,   Ontario;    London,    England 


With  grading  and  drainage 
done  beforehand,  all  pipes 
for  heat  and  plumbing  put  in 
place  and  concrete  floor  laid, 
the  base  is  all  set  in  one  morn- 
ing to  begin  panel  construction 
of  the  house^s  superstructure. 


Here  in  these  two  pictures  you  get  a  glimpse  of  how  one  kind  of  modern  house  assembly  operates. 
Other  systems  of  house  parts  and  construction  will  vary  as  to  details  of  design  and  erection.  But 
the  same  principle  of  highly  simplified,  factorv -finished  sections  and  units  in  volume  production 
wilt  provide  the  ansivcr  to  the  loiv-rost  (/ikiHIy  for  which  we  all  are  looking  in  our  postwar  homes. 


HOUSE    MODEL    BY    DEVON    DENNETT;    SETTING    AND    PHOTOGRAPHS  B' 


# 


TWO  of  the  most  beautiful  and  practical  creations 
this  country  has  ever  produced  were  the  carriage 
and  the  original  Cape  Cod  cottage.  They  are  both 
still  beautiful,  but  their  practicality— and  their 
beauty,  too — must  now  be  measured  by  a  new  set  of 
standards.  The  carriage  as  a  conveyance  has  been 
superseded  by  the  modern  automobile;  and  from  now  on 
the  Cape  Cod  cottage,  even  in  its  most  up-to-date  versions, 
will  have  to  match  its  value  as  a  dwelling  after  the  war 
with  an  absolutely  brand-new  type  of  living  place.  The 
new  twentieth-century  house  which  is  on  its  way  will  bear 
almost  the  same  relationship  to  the  familiar  eighteenth- 
century-styled  residence  as  the  modern  motorcar  bears  to 
the  carriage  of  the  1880's.  Like  the  automobile  and  the 
airplane,  the  new  house  will  be  the  natural  expression  of 
this  marvelous  mechanical  and  mass-production  age  in 
which  we're  living. 

And  now,  as  we  look  at  this  new  house  example  designed 
especially  for  the  Journal  by  Plan-Tech  Associates,  let 
us  also  look  a  few  facts  in  the  face.  Right  away,  we 
may  as  well  admit  that  currently  houses  cost  too  much 
for  what  we  get;  that  average  families  on  average  incomes 
simply  can't  afford  a  house  that  comes  anywhere  near 
their  reasonable  requirements  of  comfort,  convenience, 
welfare  and  long-term  security.  Yet  houses  that  do  meas- 
ure up  to  those  requirements  can  be  made.  And  here  is  how: 
To  begin  with,  there  must  be  a  terrific  reduction  in 
the  number  of  parts  and  pieces  which  go  into  a  house. 


i  Mli 


BY    RICHARD  PRATT 

Arrhitf'vlural  Ktlitttr  itf  llif  Jtmrnat 

Up  to  now,  the  ordinary  house  has  been  made  up  of  as 
many  as  fifty  thousand  separate  items,  whereas  the  new 
type  of  house  illustrated  above  could  contain  less  than 
five  hundred.  And  why  is  this  important?  It's  important 
primarily  because  it  cuts  the  cost.  It  makes  it  possible 
to  turn  out  fully  finished  panels,  sections  and  units  by  the 
most  efficient  and  economical  mass-production  methods; 
to  put  these  simplified  parts  together  in  a  matter  of  hours 
instead  of  days  and  weeks.  Result:  enormous  savings  in 
manpower,  time  and  material. 

But  in  order  to  get  better  homes  for  less  money,  you, 
the  home-buying  and  home-renting  public,  must  encour- 
age a  progressive  home-building  industry  to  produce 
them.  Homes  that  are  really  new,  more  livable  and  much 
less  expensive  can  be  made  only  if  they  can  be  sold — and 
sold  by  the  millions;  just  those  millions  of  new  homes 
that  we  so  desperately  need.  But  the  methods  by  which 
we  can  make  these  millions  of  new  homes  most  efficiently 
are  methods  which  are  decidedly  different  from  those  we 
used  before.  And  naturally,  if  those  new  methods  are 
going  to  be  honestly  applied,  to  get  the  most  house  pos- 
sible for  the  money,  then  houses  are  going  to  be  decidedly 
different  too — not  only  in  the  way  they  work,  but  also  in 
the  Nvay  they  look. 

When  it  comes  to  the  way  they  look,  if  that  causes 
you  any  concern,  keep  in  mind  that  a  house  is  a  long- 
time affair.  This  house  here,  as  well  as  the  other  houses 
we  are  previewing  every  month  in  these  pages,  may  look 

166 


different  to  you  now,  but  as  time  goes  on  it  may  vei 
well  happen  that  the  old  houses  will  be  the  ones  to  loc 
different.  Appearance,  however,  in  my  opinion,  is  far  le 
important  than  cost  and  livability;  and  I  believe  th.i 
new  and  improved  equipment,  together  with  new  desig) 
ing,  new  methods  of  manufacture  and  assembly ,  will  great 
lower  the  cost  as  they  greatjy  increase  the  livability. 

For  instance,  I  believe  that  a  house  designed  with  a 
eye  on  the  future,  precision-made  for  permanence,  ar 
put  up  in  a  properly  planned  community,  will  warrant 
forty-year-payment  arrangement  at  a  reduced  intere 
rate,  thus  practically  cutting  its  monthly  cost  in  ha! 
What  can  further  cut  the  cost  of  ownership  is  the  fa' 
that  it  can  be  bought  fully  equipped,  with  all  major  appl 
ances  pre-installed  at  factory  prices,  to  be  paid  for  wit 
the  house.  Upkeep  costs  can  be  cut  by  the  more  efficiei 
heating  systems  we  know  we  can  have,  with  the  full  pn 
tection  of  really  scientific  insulation,  plus  the  savinj 
from  free  solar  heat  in  winter  through  window  walls. 

In  other  words,  the  new  true  twentieth-century  hou 
is  no  mere  dream  of  streamlining  and  gadgetry.  Tho 
are  trifles  and  mostly  meaningless.  What  it  can  be,  if  yc 
will  only  encourage  its  coming,  is  such  a  triumph  of  d 
signing  skill,  engineering  research  and  industrial  ingenuit 
that  millions  of  families  will  have  a  chance  to  live  as  th{ 
have  never  lived  before.  And  we  shall  continue  to  sho 
you  here,  month  by  month,  just  what  this  means- 
many  ways— and  how  you  can  help  it  all  to  come  abou 


I 


lere  is  no  more  reason  for  the  new  twentieth- 
itury  house  to  look  like  a  cottage  than  there  is 
'  the  modern  automobile  to  look  like  a  carriage. 


►r  anyone  who  wants  to  be  wise  about 
lecting  a  new  home,  the  first  consitlera- 
>n  will  be  the  floor  plan.  Principally  on  the 
an  depends  all  your  future  comfort  and 
nvenience;  yovir  long-term  happiness 
th  your  home.  You  can't  examine  a  plan 
o  carefully.  So — notice  here  first  that  the 
om  arrangement  is  custom-planned  for 
ople,  and  not  for  outward  appearance, 
ery  window,  doorway,  wall  is  where  it  is 
cause  of  the  way  people  want  to  live.  No 
im  style  from  the  past,  for  the  sake  of 
chitectural  symmetry,  tries  to  put  a  pic- 
re  of  tomorrow's  living  into  yesterday's 
ime.  Study  the  plan  and  you  will  see  how 
elusion  and  quiet  designed  the  bedroom 
ction;  how  Ught,  view,  space  and  varied 
efulness  made  the  whole  Uving  area  a 
despread  multipurpose  room  where  fam- 
groups  can  get  along  pleasantly  together; 
id  how  consideratiorf  of  the  housewife's 
ne  and  effort  laid  out  the  kitchen-laundry, 
•ok  at  the  way  the  house  is  put  together, 
id  you  will  see  that  out  of  the  various 
nels  and  units,  houses  of  many  sizes, 
apes  and  room  arrangements  can  be  made, 
lis  is  flexible  planning,  uncontrolled  by  any 
riod  pattern;  just  the  reverse  of  that  en- 
untered  in  the  conventional  dwelling.  In- 
ead  of  your  being  poured  into  an  antique 
old,  here  is  the  mold  you  make  yourself. 


Designed  by  PLAN-TECH  ASSOCIATES 


X^wnO.  nCikid  thl  Uoti  "plo^ 


L./\Ult,3     llUlVir,   JUUIll>/VL, 


April,  1>M 


Your  new  home  will  be  brighter 

rfyouu..  MORE  GLASS 


DID  YOU  KNOW  tliat  mirrors  can  match 
color  stlicMRs  tlicsc  days?  Picture  liow 
lovely  your  new  living  room  would  look 
with  a  mirror  of  blue,  green,  or  flesh  tinted 
Pittsburgh  Polished  Plate  Cilass,  built-in 
above  desk,  mantel  or  sofa!  Take  your 
choice  of  silver,  gunmetal  or  gold  mirror- 
backing, too.  AtuI  in</w)' decorativrscheme, 
mirrors  of  regular,  clear  Plate  Glass  arc 
always  in  good  taste. 

OF  COURSE  YOU  NEED  full  length  door 
mirrors  (o  give  you  an  honest  check-up 
on  your  appearance.  But  these  mirrors  of 
Pittsburgh  Polished  Plate  Glass  are  deco- 
rative as  well  as  useful.  They  make  rooms 
seem  bigger  and  brighter,  far'  more  fash- 
ionable and  up-to-date.  Better  plan  for  at 
least  one  in  every  bedroom. 


•  Are  you  planning  to  build  a  new  home?  Or  buy  one? 
Or  modernize  your  present  one?  In  any  case,  you'll  be 
sure  of  a  better,  brighter  home  if  you  build  for  beauty 
with  GLASS.  Nothing  else  can  add  so  much  charm  for 
so  little  money.  Consult  your  architect  about  the  fas- 
cinating things  you  can  do  with  mirrors,  structural  glass, 
"picture"  windows,  glass  blocks. 


PITTSBURGH    PLATE    GLASS    COMPANY 

euy     WAR     BONDS     TODAV     fOR     A     BETTER     HOME     TOMORROW 


■~l 


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2096-5  Grant  BIdg.,  Pittsburgh  19,  Pa. 

Please  send  me,  without  obligation,  your 
free  booklet  on  Home  Building  □;  on  Home 
Decorating  Q  (check). 

Name 


Address, 


City_ 


_State_ 


"PinSBUR6H''stkHa&^2ua/c^  (y^  O^^Po^^hT 


(^iatil  St'iisalitm  (Jttsnios  hlooins  in  rrimsuii,  pink,  ivliite;  stands  six  J'eet  high 

The  Bigger  the  Better 

U\  THE  CiAIIDENER'S  ASSISTANT 


BEFORE  the  war,  the  gardener  kind  of 
frowned  upon  the  idea  of  filling  up  a  lot 
of  space  with  fast,  enormous  annuals. 
It  was  a  quick  and  easy  way  to  make 
an  effect,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  jur.t  be- 
cause it  wasn't  difficult  was  hardly  enough 
reason  for  her  to  condemn  it.  Well,  anyway, 
she  doesn't  condemn  it  any  more;  for  as  mat- 
ters stand  at  present,  she  has  little  time  and 
effort  left  to  spend  on  the  scrupulous  care 
and  constant  attention  she  used  to  give  her 
[lowers  from  seed  to  bloom.  So  what  has  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  one  of  the  most  efficient 
kinds  of  gardening  has  now  become  custom- 
ary with  us,  and  might  be  something  for 
peacetime,  too,  in  case  you  want  to  con- 
sider it. 

There  are,  of  course,  plenty  of  annuals  you 
can  plant  in  the  spring  which  will  become 
pretty  terrific  before  they're  finished  in  the 
fall.  As  far  as  plant  size  is  concerned,  the  list 
is  very  long,  but  for  size  and  beauty  both 
the  choice  is  limited.  To  begin  with  the  big- 
gest and  in  many  ways  the  most  spectacular, 
you  can  hardly  hope  to  grow  anything  much 
larger  than  castor  bean,  especially  if  you 
raise  Ricinus  Zanzibar ensis,  which  from  May- 
sown  seeds  reaches  a  height  of  twelve  feet  by 
late  summer,  and  the  plants  will  be  just 
about  as  wide  as  they  are  high.  The  effect  is 
decidedly  tropical,  and  colorful  too — the 
large  dented  leaves  running  from  green  to 
reddish  bronze,  and  the  seed-pod  clusters 
bright  red.  Another  variety,  R.  sanguineus, 
is  even  showier,  with  blood-red  stalks  and 
brilliant  fruit;  but  it  is  somewhat  smaller, 
growing  a  mere  six  to  eight  feet  high.  Nat- 
urally, castor  beans  take  up  considerable 
garden  room;  but  if  you're  looking  for  an 
easy  way  to  fill  some  empty  space,  you  can't 
do  better.  If  you  want  your  plants  to  put  on 
a  show,  give  them  good  rich  loam,  neither 
sandy  nor  clayey,  dug  deep,  with  three  or 
four  seeds  to  a  little  round  bed  the  diameter 
of  a  barrel.  You  won't  have  to  worry  about 
weeding,  but  don't  believe  anyone  like  the 
person  who  told  the  gardener  that  castor 
beans  would  keep  away  moles.  I  soon  found 
out  that  one  wasn't  true.  It  isn't  a  fact, 
either,  that  they  prevent  malaria,  as  rumored. 

Next  to  castor  bean,  the  biggest  annual  I 
ever  grew,  to  the  gardener's  disgust,  was  the 
Russian  Mammoth  sunflower,  which  went 


I 


just  as  high  in  the  air  for  me  as  castor  bean 
but  made  a  narrow  row  in  single  file  alon| 
the  fence,  therefore  taking  up  comparativelj 
little  room.    It  completely  threw  the  gar 
dener's  other  flowers  out  of  scale,  which  \va  »' 
why  she  didn't  like  it;  but  as  a  backgrount 
for  the  vegetables  where  the  flowers  wen 
before  the  war,  she  has  no  objections  lu  i: 
now.  One  of  her  neighborhood  friends,  whtr' 
grows  corn  in  her  garden,  which  we  don't  i 
happen  to  do,  gives  the  gardener  occasiona 
corn  in  exchange  for  sunflower  seeds  that  th( .: 
neighbor  feeds  to  her  chickens  and  canuri- 

Actually,  this  biggest  member  of  the 
flower  family,  so  familiar  to  almost  every 
one,  is  not  so  beautiful  as  it  is  grotesque  anc|, 
useful.   But  the  whole  group  of  annual  sun- 
flowers, ordinarily  listed  in  the  catalogues  aijn 
the  variety  New  Red,  is  really  good  decora 
tion.   Even  though  a  trifle  ungainly  in  thi 
garden,  these  so-called  reds  are  wonderfUj^ 
when  cut  for  the  house,  where  they  make  i' ' 
fine  Van  Gogh  effect.  Some  are  an  altogethe  i' 
rich  dark  red,  some  are  lighter,  and  some  an 
tipped  with  yellow.    It's  a  good  thing  t( 
plant  them  so  they  can  be  viewed  from  th 
sunny  side  in  the  garden,  as  that's  the  v^ai 
they  face ;  and  a  good  companion  with  w ! 
to  front  them  and  mask  their  lower  stcii. 
and  foliage  is  the  giant  dahlia-flowered  zin 
nia — not  a  giapt  in  the  sense  of  the  sun 
flower  and  the  castor  bean,  but  just  as  eas] 
to  grow  and  even  more  rewarding  when  il 
comes  to  cutting. 

The  third  immense  annual  in  my  list  o 
three  is  the  single  late-flowering  cosmoi 
and  the  giant  single  Sensation — the  most 
delicate-looking  of  all,  but  decidedly  robust 
These  are  not  to  be  confused  with  thi 
summer-flowering  varieties  in  orange  anc 
yellow,  which  have  become  so  popular,  foi 
they  are  plants  of  comparatively  modesi 
size.  The  giant  single  Sensation  will  comi 
into  flower  ten  weeks  after  sowing,  and  wili 
stand  six  feet  high,  covered  with  blooms  \i 
crimson,  pink  and  white.  The  same  colon: 
occur  in  the  single  late-flowering  varieties 
which  don't  come  into  bloom  until  fall,  but 
make  up  in  splendor  for  the  waiting.  For  bj 
that  time  the  lacy-leaved  plants  are  well  ovei 
six  feet  high  and  just  as  broad,  and  are  i 
mass  of  flowers,  as  the  picture  at  the  top  ol 
this  page  proves. 


i\ 


PLAN     THAT 


''LIVE-IN"  ROOM    NOW 


ODAY  KROEHLER'S   NEW 


OiTTn^p^^o^ C'tm^^^cc^ 


IS    BETTER   THAN    EVER 

3ur  pride  in  your  home  .  .  .  your  good  taste  .  .  .  your 
ve  of  beauty  ...  nowhere  are  they  more  truly  re- 
acted than  in  your  living  room.    Make  it  really 
Lviting  and  livable.    No  need  to  wait.  You  can 
ive  new,  spring -filled  Kroehler  furniture  now. 
is,  in  fact,  postwar  quality  furniture !  It  gives 
>u  greater  sit-down  comfort, 
;t-up  ease,  stretch-out  re- 
xation — plus  all  other  advan- 
iges  of  new,  5- Star  Comfort 
anstruction  features.    So, 
an  that  living  room  now 
ith  the  help  of  your  Author- 
ed Kroehler  Dealer  and  be 
isured  of  a  sound 
ivestment. 


hat  You  Get  with  Kroehler 
Star  "Comfort  Construction" 

idy-conforming  springs  that  do 
t  lose  their  shape.  Cushions 
th  no  humps  or  bumps.  Under- 
nstruction  that  will  not  sag. 
irdwood  frames  that  will  not 
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d -expert  workmanship  inside 
d  out! 


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■k  Precision  craftsmanship 
and  clean  new  materials 


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■k  Sturdy  hordwood 
frames 


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170 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  1943 


C^ 


i^^  ^  (w  ^^^'^ 


BY  MARGARET  MALLABY 

Ask  any  woman  how  much  time  she  spends  in  her 
kitchen  and  she'll  probably  say  "Too  much!"  The 
exact  time — according  to  the  men  with  stop-watches — 
runs  about  four  hours  a  day. . .  during  which  time  you 
prepare  about  1,000  meals  a  year. 


Well,  the  Gas  industry  figures  anyone  who's  doing  a  job 
of  such  dimensions  rates  the  best  equipment  modern 
science  can  devise.  That's  why  they're  interested  in 
cooking  up  for  you  one  of  the  most  thoroughly  coordi- 
nated jobs  of  kitchen  planning  that's  been  done  since 
Adam  and  Eve  sdt  up  light  housekeeping. 


These  "New  Freedom  Gas  Kitchens"  are  coming  your  way  just  as  soon  as 
p«ace  lets  us  put  the  emphasis  back  on  living.  In  the  meantime,  you  un- 
doubtedly have  all  sorts  of  pet  ideas  you'd  like  to  see  planned  right  into  these 
kitchens.  Send  them  along  to  me  —  with  your  permis- 
sion to  use  them — and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do. 

r  instance,  one  woman  I  know  says  she's  always  felt 

that  running  a  home  is  a  top  flight  executive's  job 

—  and  did  you  ever  see  an  executive  without  a 

desk?  That's  just  one  of  the  things  she  wants  in 

er  kitchen  of  the  future. 

Frankly,  I'd  settle  for  one  of  the  new  Gas  ranges.  After  all,  cooking  is  the 
Number  1  Kitchen  Job.  That's  why  the  laboratories  of  the  Gas  industry  have 
worked  years — spent  millions  of  dollars  to  perfect  a  range  that  will  include 
every  new  discovery  to  make  cooking  easier,  faster,  better. 

If  your  range  is  more  than  six  years  old — no  matter  how  good  it  was  when  you 
bought  it — it  simply  can't  match  these  modern  miracles.  Think  of  heating  con- 
trols so  accurate  it's  virtually  impossible  to  have  a  baking  failure  .  .  .  smokeless 
broilers  .  .  .  top-of-the-stove  cooking  so  fast  and  flexible  you  save  hours  of 
work  and  watching!  To  get  this  "last  word"  in  quality  ranges,  look  for  the  CP 
seal  before  you   buy. 

*r  *  * 

This  may  be  a  little  far-fetched  .  .  .  but  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  the  marvelous  things  decorators  are  doing 
today  with  lovely,  sunny,  modern-looking  fabrics 
aren't  an  outgrowth  of  the  modern  Gas  heating  units! 
Gas  is  such  a  clean  fuel  it  actually  encourages  you  to 
use  light,  bright  colors! 

Of  course,  what  I  love— is  the  fact  that  it's  so  automatic  you  never  need 
uxjrry  about  it.  And  think  about  after  the  war — when  your  Gas  air-condition- 
ing unit  will  cool  your  house  as  well  as  heat  it.  .  .  .  Ah-h-h-h! 

/^      American  Gas  Association  reporter 


CAREER   WOMAK  — 
HOME   STYLE 

(Continued  from  Page  145) 

as  well  as  good  things  to  be  found  in  the 
markets  at  the  height  of  toothsomeness,  the 
low  point  of  cost.  Then,  come  winter,  you 
may  bask  in  your  family's  praise  as  they 
keep  plump  and  healthy  by  means  of  these 
same  fruits  and  vegetables;  feel  pardonably 
smug  when  you  survey  your  color-laden 
shelves. 

You'll  have  a  right  to  feel  proud,  too,  for 
you  will  have  helped  ease  the  country's  eco- 
nomic burden  by  taking  care  of  much  of 
your  own  family's  food  supply. 

Being  a  good  oook  ia  its  oirn  remard. 

After  all,  you  get  to  eat  your  own  cooking 
too!  But  not  only  that,  it's  good  business. 
Who  but  you,  the  boss,  will  plan  so  economi- 
cally for  the  using  up  of  leftovers?  Who  but 
you  will  be  so  imaginative  about  it,  explor- 
ing magazines  and  cookbooks  to  cull  new 
ideas  about  this  lively  art?  Who  else  will 
care  so  vitally  about  individual  quirks  and 
foibles,  remembering  that  dad  is  subject  to 
butterflies  in  the  stomach,  that  adolescent 
daughters  probably  ought  to  shun  starches 
and  gooey s? 

As  for  the  aftermath  of  cooking,  doing 
dishes — who  but  yourself  will  be  so  tender 
with  your  precious  Royal  Doulton?  Unless, 
of  course,  you  borrow  another  leaf  from  Mrs. 
Eck's  smart  book  and  teach  your  daughters, 
as  they  come  along,  to  be  intelligent,  appre- 
ciative homemakers  too. 

Already  Jane  and  Cecelia  are  mighty 
capable,  for  Mrs.  Eck  is  frankly  training 
them  for  the  career  of  marriage.  Jane  says, 
"Cele  makes  the  very  best  beds,  as  good  as 
mother  does."  And  Cecelia  quickly  chimes 
in  to  report  that  Jane  is  an  efficient  and 
speedy  dishwasher. 

(Chalk  that  up  as  a  special  bonus  for 
mother  on  her  yearly  pay  check — the  girls 
are  not  only  capable  but  heartwarmingly 
fond  of  one  another,  remarkably  sweet  and 
courteous  to  one  another.  It  is  easier  for  a 
mother-on-the-job  twenty-four  hours  a  day 
to  achieve  that.) 

Besides  taking  care  of  their  own  room 
daily,  Jane  and  Cele,  and  younger  sister  Lucia, 
too,  help  with  general  cleaning  on  Saturday 
mornings,  and  brother  Bud  pays  them  each  a 
quarter  for  doing  his  room.  He  earns  the 
right  to  this  lordly  luxury  by  having  a  paper 
route. 

"He  has  to  hang  up  his  own  clothes, 
though,  and  put  things  away  in  drawers. 
Mother  won't  let  us  do  that  for  him,"  says 
Jane,  looking  a  tiny  bit  concerned  about 
this,  and  obviously  willing  to  spoil  her  hand- 
some twin. 

But  what  a  bonanza  Bud's  going  to  be  for 
some  home-style  career  girl  of  the  1960's  or 
so,  when  she  marries  him  and  finds  him  al- 
ready somewhat  housebroken.  Think  of  how 
she  will  bless  Mrs.  Eck  for  this  wise  firmness 
in  '45. 

Of  course,  in  order  to  bring  your  "salary" 
up  to  the  level  of  Mrs.  Eck's,  you  must  do 
your  own  washing.  For  if  you  do,  it  will 
cost  you  about  three  cents  a  pound,  as 
against  ten  cents  a  pound  for  having  it  done 
rough-dry  at  a  commercial  laundry.  Here 
again  you'll  find  an  extra  dividend  in  the 
pleasing  knowledge  that  linens  and  clothes 
are  likely  to  live  a  less  exhausting  life. 

There  have  been  too  many  feeble  jokes 
about  lagging  laundry  for  us  to  dream  of 
adding  another.  (The  laundries  have  had 
such  a  struggle,  and  they  have  done  remark- 
ably well  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  with  which 
they  have  had  to  contend.)  But  we  just  must 
say  that  it  is  a  point  right  now.  If  your  laun- 
dry, like  Bob  Hope,  never  left  home,  you'd 
never  have  to  sit  in  a  barrel  waiting  for  it 
to  come  back — while  you  could,  perhaps,  do 
with  fewer  clothes. 

Speaking  of  clothes — as  what  woman 
doesn't,  often  and  longingly? — brings  up 
the  best  budget  stretcher  of  all: 

A  knaric  u>Uh  a  nwiie.  If  fairy  god- 
mothers were  really  on  their  jobs,  I  think 
they'd  see  to  it  that  every  girl  child  became 


Make  a  room  look  new 
in  a  minute  or  tvi^o 

"  '0D6X 

READY-PASTED  BORDERS 


^ 


i^j 


Just  Dip  in  Witer 
...and  Apply! 


"^. 


V 


34:  Colorful  Patterns 
Washable,  Fadeproof 
This  is  Pattern 

No.  S202 

"Du  Barry". 


Gives  plain  rooms 
new  charm. 


Adds  a.  bright 
Touch  When.  Used 
Around  Doors, 
Mirrors, 
Cabinets,  Too! 


Guaranteed 

to  Stick,  or 

money  back .' 


■for  a 

Decorative 

V.dge  on  PJain 

or  Painted  Walls 

.Top  and  Bottom 


Costs  as  little  as25^perl2£tRoll 

AT  HARDWARE,  CHAIN,   DRUG,  DEPT. 
&    WALLPAPER   STORES   EVERYWHERE 


Another  Product  of 

UNITED   WALLPAPER,  INC. 

Chicago  54,  lllinoii 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


171 


o  .  o 

mimgms^ed 
seri/ice.,.  m 
ifourkome  ^ 


The  name  PULLMAN  on 
your  new  sofa  or  chair  m  cans 
'""  more  than  charm  of  design, 

fabric,  exquisite  wood  carving-  It 
:s  cradled  comfort  through  Pullman 
on  springing.  Most  of  all,  it  pledges 
rcover"  strength  and  endurance  for  the 
ahead.   Look  for  the  Pullman  emblem. 

LLMAN   Couch   Company 

o  9  New  York  16  Newton  Falls.  O. 


nous  Pullman 
■  hallmark  of 
:  furniture 


MODERN  MADE  BY 

PULLMAN 

Creators  of  Fme 

Living  Room 

Vurniture 


endowed  at  birth  with  the  ability  to  sew  a 
fine  seam.  Or  at  least  to  mend.  But  since 
they  slip  up  so  often,  it's  fortunate  there 
are  many  places  where  one  may  acquire  this 
skill  practically  painlessly.  And  it's  so  well 
worth  while,  for  once  you  know  how,  think 
of  what  this  can  mean  to  you !  Custom-made 
clothes,  just  exactly  the  styles  and  colors 
you  choose.  The  certain  knowledge  that  you 
have  colorfast,  preshrunk  fabric — for,  of 
course  that's  what  you'll  buy — seams  that 
won't  rip  when  you  breathe  deeply.  If  you 
do  buy  inexpensive  ready-made  dresses,  you 
can  fit  them  to  your  own  figure's  vagaries, 
replace  machine  details  with  hand-made 
touches.  Nowhere  will  you  save  more  than 
on  children's  clothes — by  making  over,  "cut- 
ting down,"  as  well  as  starting  from  scratch. 
You  can  whip  up  colorful  draperies  and  slip 
covers  at  a  fraction  of  what  they'd  cost  to 
buy,  and  acquire  a  reputation  for  chic  by 
keeping  your  wardrobe  always  in  perfect  re- 
pair and  in  tune  with  the  times! 

Mrs.  Eck  says  laughingly  that  on  the  days 
she  sews,  dad  and  the  children  throw  their 
hats  in  the  door  first  to  see  if  they  dare  fol- 
low! For  she's  intense  about  that,  too,  as 
she  is  about  everything,  and  her  aged  sewing 
machine  is  capricious.  But  in  spite  of  that, 
she  makes  it  sing  for  its  supper  of  constant 
oiling  and  good  care,  by  turning  out  charm- 
ing dresses,  even  suits  and  coats.  She's 
teaching  the  girls  to  sew  too — they've  al- 
ready reached  the  pinafores  and  summer- 
cottons  stage. 


VIEWPOINTS 

^  The  child's  point  of  view  was 
^  aptly  expressed  in  a  recent  essay 
hy  a  boy.  "The  world,"  he  wrote, 
"is  full  of  people  who  keep  on  say- 
ing 'I  was  a  boy  myself  once,'  but 
who  never  show  any  signs  of  it." 

—JOHN  A.  F.  WATSON:  In  the  Spectator. 

Life  can  only  be  understood  back- 
ward;   but    it     must    be    lived    for- 
ward. — SOREN  KIERKEGAARD: 
Quoted  in  Put  on  Your  Thinking  Cap. 
T.  Sharper  Knowlson.  (Thorsons,  Ltd.) 

The  best  reformers  the  world  has 
ever  seen  are  those  who  commence 
on  themselves. 

—GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW. 


Busy?  Of  course  she  is,  but  vibrantly  in- 
terested and  alive — a  colorful  personality. 

l'<f  like  to  try  to  bury  a  bogy,  with 
Mrs.  Eck's  help,  that  often  seems  to  frighten 
women  who  are  considering  leaving  exciting 
careers  in  the  business  world.  It's  the  fear 
of  "stagnating" — overworked  word — of  be- 
coming one  of  those  mouse-brown  "home- 
bodies" who  look  bewildered  when  world 
affairs  are  mentioned,  whose  conversation 
consists  wholly  of  cake  recipes. 

Actually,  I  don't  think  anybody  has  ever 
met  an  intelligent  homemaker  who  even  re- 
motely resembled  that  dreary  picture  (un- 
less, of  course,  she  was  mouse-brown  to  be- 
gin with,  in  which  case  you  can't  really 
blame  it  on  the  homemaking,  now  can  you?) . 

Successfully  meeting  the  challenge  of  do- 
ing such  an  important  job  well  ought  to  perk 
up  anybody's  spirits,  in  the  first  place ! 

In  the  second  place,  you're  free,  after  the 
family's  packed  off  to  work  and  school,  to  sit 
down  for  half  an  hour  with  the  second  cup  of 
coffee  and  read  more  than  just  the  headlines. 
Or,  if  you're  weary,  to  rest  for  a  bit,  after 
lunch,  and  get  your  pink  cheeks  back !  All  of 
which  are  a  little  difficult  for  Miss  or  Mrs. 
Nine-to-Five  to  manage. 

You're  free  to  enjoy,  in  more  than  twi- 
light snatches,  one  of  the  nicest  things  in  the 
world  to  do — dig  in  good  brown  earth,  and 
make  all  the  flowers  you  love  bloom  for  you. 
To  say  nothing  of  having  a  chance  to  plant 
a  crisp  salad  garden  for  your  beauty  diet, 
and  get  lots  of  sun,  breeze  and  exercise  to 
keep  your  waistline  willowy! 

Yes,  ma'am,  it's  very  nice  work  if  you  can 
get  it— being  a  career  woman,  home  style. 


Ti 


ips  on  postwar 


Kirscli  is  cooking  up  great  things  for  postwar  window 
treatments.  As  you  plan  and  scheme,  save  a  big  place  for 
windows  that  do  wonders  .  .  . 

ItVindows  %vitii  glass  curtains  on  smooth-working 
Kirsch  traverse  (draw-cord)  rods  to  control  light .  .  .  with 
draperies  hung  from  a  faultless  Kirsch  traverse  equipment 
to  regulate  ventilation  .  .  .  and  with  easy  draw-cord  action 
overlapping  draperies  to  insure  snug  privacy. 

Tiiere's  now  boant.v  coming  your  way  some  day  when 
you  can  once  again  go  shopping  for  Kirsch  window 
treatments. 

KIRSCH 

DRAPERY   HARDWARE  AND   VENETIAN   BLINDS 
STURGIS,    MICHIGAN 

SOLD  IN  PEACETIME  BY  30.000  STORES  COAST  TO  COAST 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April, 


Tibbcr  M*Cce  soys : 


Your  whole  home  gleams  with  beauty  when  you  use 
the  wax  method  of  housekeeping !  The  shining  waxed 
surfaces  reflect  hght  and  color  .  .  .  point  up  your 
whole  decorative  scheme!  Johnson's  Wax  makes 
floors  more  beautiful  with  each  application. 


Housekeeping  with  wax  is  protective  housekeeping! 
Johnson's  Wax  armors  window  sills  against  weather. 
Parchment  lamp  shades,  decorative  accessories, 
leather  goods,  and  many,  many  other  things  keep 
their  beauty  far  longer  when  they  are  wax-protected! 


Fine  furniture  and  gleaming  woodwork  deserve  reg- 
ular care  with  Johnson's  Wax!  The  shining  shield  of 
wax  guards  surfaces  from  wear  and  dirt . . .  makes  them 
so  easy  to  care  for,  you'll  save  time  that  can  be  spent 
helping  win  the  War.  Buy  another  War  Bond  today'. 


Johnsons  Wax 

cov(szs  in  3  forms- 
()^ste,  licjuid  ax\A  crean) ! 


WAX 


Gopyriffht  8.  C,  Jolinson  &  Son.  Inc.,  Racine,  Wi!>cuiisiil 


_  ^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Their  sweet,  large-eyed  angel  faces  belie  the  tvork  that 
made  our  cocker  puppies  sit  quietly  for   the  camera. 


Diary  of  Domesticity 


"  LAST  the  storm  windows  are  off.  I 
usually  begin  thinking  about  talking 
them  off  the  first  nice  warm  day  in  Feb- 
ruary. But  the  more  sane  members  of 
family  point  out  that  in  New  England 
e  are  blizzards  even  in  March,  and  the 
jlass  in  the  little-paned  windows  may  be 
itiful  but  doesn't  keep  out  the  wind 
'  well. 

ast  fall,  when  the  windows  went  on,  they 
been  freshly  painted,  and  all  the  identi- 
g  numbers  painted  right  over.  Every 
low  in  the  house  is  a  different  size,  but 
different  enough  for  the  naked  eye  to 
sure.  So,  on  a  day  when  it  was  below 
,  one  of  those  sudden  drops  to  remind  us 
inter.  Bob — my  husband — and  George — 
farm  neighbor — and  I  ran  round  and 
id  the  house  with  windows,  none  of 
;h  ever  fitted  anywhere.  It  was  like  one 
lose  maddening  puzzles  enlarged  to  life- 
I  dare  say  most  families  don't  have 
zulties  like  this.  Further,  the  windows 
<;  inside  as  well  as  out,  and  all  the  inner 
cs  are  at  differing  levels.  This  involves 
eone's  darting  in  and  out  of  the  house 
rabbiting  around  and  back,  and  hooking 
unhooking  again. 

ut  now  it's  spring  again,  and  the  storm 
lows  are  a  problem  of  the  past.  I  must 
ember  this  year  to  have  them  all  num- 
d.  They  should  be  stored  resting  up- 
t,  on  boards  or  runners  so  the  sash  has 
:irculation  around  it.  They  should  never 
umped  in  a  damp  cellar  with  the  sill  on 
floor.  Storm  windows  rot  and  warp,  no 
ter  how  sturdy  they  may  look, 
igger  and  Esme  hate  to  see  the  screens 
in.  They  like  best  to  go  in  and  out  through 
bedroom  windows;  and  when  the  storm 
low  is  on  and  half  open,  they  have  their 

entrance  at  night.  When  the  screens  are 
they  must  go  in  the  door  like  ordinary 
)le.  Cats  are  the  most  individual,  I 
stimes  think,  of  any  of  our  friends.  Esme 
lys  drinks  water  from  a  flower  bowl, 
[1  she  has  a  perfectly  good  dish  of  water 
le  floor.  She  buries  her  little  wedge  face 
le  flowers  after  I  have  them  all  arranged 
rding  to  my  best  ideas,  and  laps  daintily. 

flowers  are  rearranged  by  courtesy  of 
Siamese. 

ster  Jill  has  been  taking  pictures  of 
Ddy  and  Hildegarde  and  Silver  Wings. 


Lively  cocker  youngsters  present  great  diffi- 
culty in  photography.  Jill  has  her  own 
technique  very  well  in  mind.  She  uses  a 
plain  background.  You  must  avoid  strongly 
patterned  wallpaper  or  a  position  in  which  a 
chair  leg  or  light  cord  will  show.  Light  back- 
ground is  best  for  a  dark  pet  and  dark  for  a 
blond  one.  Most  animals  will  remain  quieter 
if  they  are  placed  on  a  table,  and  this  also 
gives  a  good  camera  angle.  The  hours  we 
spend  at  Stillmeadow,  moving  furniture, 
taking  down  pictures  and  tacking  up  sheets 
or  old  spreads ! 

Then  there  is  the  lighting,  which  involves 
pulling  out  all  the  lamps  we  have  and  put- 
ting in  different  ones  and  changing  all  the 
bulbs.  The  simplest  lighting  (for  the  pic- 
tures) is  directly  from  the  front.  Two  lights, 
one  either  side  of  the  camera,  are  better  than 
one.  The  lights  should  be  held  (by  me, 
usually)  at  about  the  level  of  the  animal's 
head  to  avoid  deep  shadow  under  the  chin. 
Use  as  much  light  as  possible  to  shorten  ex- 
posure time.  The  fastest  film  available  is 
none  too  fast  for  a  cocker,  and  a  wide-open 
lens  is  best. 

And  then,  when  the  puppies  are  all  looking 
like  angels  and  the  lights  are  right  and  the 
camera  ready.  Melody  decides  to  chew 
Hildegarde's  ear  or  Silver  leaps  blithely  from 
the  table  to  the  sofa.  Or  if  they  sit  looking 
large-eyed  and  still,  the  flash  bulb  turns  out 
to  be  a  dud  and  the  thing  doesn't  go  off.  Or 
one  of  the  cats  pulls  out  the  base  plug  and 
cuts  off  all  the  lights. 

Photography  is  not  a  simple  hobby.  The 
only  really  perfect  pictures  are  those  that 
never  even  develop  because  the  camera  shut- 
ter jammed  at  the  last  instant.  And  cockers 
are  the  most  difficult  subjects  because  their 
natural  tendency,  if  mamma  is  holding  up 
the  little  black  box,  is  to  rush  to  her  and 
jump  with  joy  and  want  to  play  fetch  with 
the  thing. 

Honey  is  our  one  good  subject.  She  likes 
to  have  her  picture  taken.  She  gets  the  same 
widely  innocent  look  in  her  eyes  that  I  have 
seen  in  some  beautiful  girls'  faces  when  there 
is  a  camera  around.  And  no  matter  whose 
picture  is  being  taken,  she  has  to  be  posed 
too.  Or  her  feelings  are  hurt. 

We  never  take  pictures  of  our  animals  in 
baby  clothes  or  sunbonnets  or  top  hats.  I 
believe  all  animals  have  an  innate  dignity 


Young  cleaners  .  .  .  Old  cleaners 

HOOVER  SERVICE 


keeps  them  on  the  job   - 

•  How  old  is  your  Hoover?  ...  ^; 

Even  if  it's  as  old  as  fwenfy-five  'a 

years— you  can  still  get  genu-  ^ 

ine  replacement  parts  for  it  from 
k.  Hoover.  Today  Hoover  Clean- 
ers are  giving  their  owners 
service  far  beyond  anything 
ever  asked  or  expected  of  them 
— thanks  to  the  quality  built 
into  them  and  service  by  Hoover. 
Authorized  Hoover  service  is  J 

available  at  minimum  cost  to  i 

920        Hoover  owners  all  over  the  | 

United  States  and  Canada. 

\  The  Hoover  Company,  North  Canton,  , 

^  *  Ohio;  Hamilton,  Ont.,  Canada  ^ 


M 


'«2*i 


fj^  (] 


|%«^ 


/ 


f-'*  n 


Latest  Model 


LOOK  HOW  LITTLE  GENUINE  HOOVER  SERVICE  COSTS! 


fOTAl' 


ONl-'f 


Take   no   chances!     Give   your   cleaner   genuine 
Hoover  service  and  genuine  replacement  parts! 
Cost  is  low — for  example: 
MOTOR  cleaned,  lubricated,  new  carbon  brushes 

installed 
AGITATOR  or  BRUSH  ROLL  cleaned  and  lubricated 
BELT  replaced 
BAG  completely  renovated 

CORD,  SWITCH,  all  electrical  connections  checked 
APPEARANCE  improved 
CLEANING  EFFICIENCY  restored 
You  can  get  Genuine  Hoover  Service  only  at  Hoover  Factory  Branch  Service 
Stations,  Authorized  Hoover  Dealers  and  Authorized  Hoover  Service  Agencies. 
(Consult  classified  phone  directory  under  "Vacuum  Cleaners.")  If  there  is  no 
Hoover  listing,  write  us.  When  the  serviceman  calls,  insist  that  he  show  you 
his  Hoover  credentials. 


{2S  centi  higher  in  some  areas) 

All  work   jriiaranteed. 
Prompt  service. 


The 


HOOVER 


IT  BEATS...AS  IT  SWEEPS...  AS  IT  CLEANS 


The  Army- Navy  "E"  award 
received  four  times  for  high 
achievement  in  the  production 
of  essential  war  equipment. 


Boy:  Where  does  all  this  stuff  go,  Mrs.  Johnson? 
Mrs.  J :   On  the  tahle,  Jimmy;  I'll  put  it  away. 
Mrs.  B:  Where?  Do  you  have  two  xefrigerators? 


Mrs.  J :   Not  exactly!  Look!  Opening  the  Crosley  Shelvador*  is  like 
opening  the  doors  of  two  ordinary  refrigerators. 

Mrs.  B:   Marvelous!  —    all  that  extra  shelf  space  built  right  in  the 
door;  I've  never  seen  anything  so  convenient! 


»«?*«;>»»:* 


Mrs.  J: 
.  be 

Mrs.  B. 
I'll 
aC 


There  can't 


You're  right  —    there  isiit  anything  like 
—  it's  patented  and  exclusive  with  Crosley. 

:  Shclvador*!  Crosley!  I'm  going  to  tell  Marry  ahout  this, 
make  up  his  mind  ahout  our  new  refrigerator  —  it  will  be 
rosley  Shclvador*  —  as  soon  as  we  can  get  one. 


YOU  CAN  PLAN  on  owning  YOUR  Crosley  Refrigerator 
with  the  Shelvador*  just  as  soon  as  materials  are 
released.  You'll  be  glad  you  did.  Because  the  Crosley 
is  the  only  refrigerator  of 
its  kind  —  the  only  one 
with  the  patented,  exclu- 
sive Shelvador*  that 
brings  Twice-as-Much 
Food  to  the  Front,  With- 
in Easy  Reach. 


0»D/NA»y 
BLANK  DOOR 

T 


COMPlETf/ 
THE  SHELVADOR* 


TWICE  AS  MUCH 

FOOD  TO    THE  FRONT 

WITHIN  EASY  REACH 


IT  BRINGS  you   every 

major  improvement  and 

development  in  home  refrigeration  plus  the  patented 

Shelvador*.  No  other  refrigerator  has  this  important 

PLUS  —  none  is  really  complete  without  it ! 

•  Re&.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 
THK  CROSI.EY  CORPORATION,  CINCINNATI,  OHIO 

Radios  :  Radio-Phonographs  :  FM  :  Television  :  Short  Wave  :  Electronics  :  Radar  : 
Refripcrntors  :  Hnu^rhnld  Appliances  :  The  Croslry  Car  :  J^nme  of  WLW,  "The  Nation's  Sliilinn" 


174 

that  their  humans  should  respect.  We  take 
them  as  they  are,  only  with  their  faces  clean 
and  shining  and  their  hair  well  brushed. 

The  shelves  in  the  fruit  cellar  are  getting 
cleared  out.  On  a  sunny  April  day,  I  like  to 
sort  the  empty  jars  and  pack  them  in  car- 
tons, discarding  any  poor  ones.  Unsys- 
tematic as  I  am  by  nature,  I  have  learned 
how  it  feels  to  have  the  peaches  simmering 
in  their  sirup  and  then  find  half  the  jars 
have  no  tops!  I  also  know  enough  now, 
after  all  these  moons  of  canning,  to  keep  one 
season's  pack  together.  It  is  just  as  easy  to 
grab  the  newest  every  time  and  let  the  oldest 
sit  through  a  couple  of  years. 

The  cellar  at  Stillmeadow  is  very  romantic 
and  pleasing,  and  entirely  impractical.  But 
I  like  to  look  at  the  heavy  hand-hewn  beams 
and  the  great  stones  of  the  fourteen-foot- 
square  chimney  and  the  old  rough  wall 
stones  as  I  work,  even  if  I  sometimes  wish  I 
had  enough  shelves  and  cupboard  space  to 
keep  the  place  neat  and  tidy.  We  spray  the 
stone  with  casein  paint  in  the  spring,  if  we 
get  time,  and  that  helps. 

And  maybe  our  cellar  would  never  be 
much  to  look  at.  We  do  so  many  things. 
Right  now  it  is  full  of  Jill's  mushroom  bed, 
Bob's  latest  stenciling  job — chest  and  draw- 
ers— three  window  boxes  with  pails  of  earth 
and  sand  and  fertilizer  around  them,  and 
fishing  boots  and  the  plumber's  overalls  and 
a  couple  of  Navy  caps  the  dogs  brought  in, 
we  know  not  from  where. 

One  thing  I  will  say  about  home  canning. 
We  never  do  come  out  even  with  the  various 
things.  There  is  always  one  vegetable  or 
fruit  that  we  have  so  much  more  of!  This 
year  it  was  beets.  I  have  taken  to  singing, 
as  I  mount  the  stairs  with  armloads  of  jars, 
"Beets,  beets,  beets  again,"  like  Kipling's 
Boots,  but  my  own  version. 

Raising  mushrooms  is  not  too  difficult 
when  you  give  in  to  it.  Jill  uses  a  large 
square  wooden  packing  case  which  we  had 
for  our  books  when  we  were  in  college.  The 
former  house  for  William  James  and  Kant 
and  Twelve  Centuries  of  English  Literature 


April,  1<| 


is  now  the  happy  home  of  mushrooms,  an( 
think  it  does  very  well.  ; 

To  grow  mushrooms,  you  must  fill  yc 
bed  with  horse  manure,  the  straw  beddi 
included.  A  thermometer  is  necessary, 
you  turn  the  bed  every  two  weeks  until  t 
temperature  is  55-60°  F.  Thisi  takes  abc 
six  weeks.  Then  you  plant  the  spawn.  Wb 
it  begins  to  "run" — white  threads  appeaii 
you  "case"  the  bed  with  loam  to  the  dep] 
of  two  inches.  You  keep  the  bed  damp  Ij 
not  wet.  The  first  time  we  had  ours  too  wi 
The  mushrooms  appear  in  six  to  eight  wed 
and  last  eight  to  ten  weeks,  and  then  you  li 
gin  over  again.  The  spawn  comes  in  liqij 
or  brick  form.  There  is  really  a  wonderi 
satisfaction  in  running  down  cellar  and  pii| 
ing  half  a  pound  of  fresh  mushrooms,  silvil 
white  and  perfect;  and  like  everything  e| 
in  the  food  world,  fresh  ones  are  simij 
elegant. 

You  have  to  think  of  that  while  the  eel 
smells  like  a  stable.  This  odorous  state  di 
not  last  long,  however. 

We  try,  in  April,  to  do  the  inside  work 
the  rainy  days,  so  we  can  rake  the  yard  a 
clear  the  garden  on  those  wine-gold  sum 
sweet  days  that  only  April  has.  Cookinj 
speeded  up  too.  It  is  still  cold  enough  in  ■ 
back  kitchen  for  the  range.  I  try  to 
dinner  for  the  next  day  assembled  befor 
go  to  bed  the  night  before.  The  tough  cut! 
war  meat  demand  it,  and  it  saves  the  gok 
daylight  hours  for  a  trip  up  the  pasture 
see  if  the  dogtooth  violets  are  out. 

I  marinate  bony,  indifferent  cuts  of  \ 
or  lamb  in  half  red-wine  vinegar  and  1 
salad  oil  and  herbs  and  salt  and  pepper  o\ 
night,  and  bake  them  in  the  range  all  mc 
ing  in  their  own  marinade.  Red-wine  vi 
gar  and  olive  oil,  if  you  have  it,  make ' 
epicure  marinade.  For  the  herbs,  I  use 
own  mixed  garden  herbs,  but  it  is  possibli 
buy  excellent  herb  blends  for  roasts  or  ste 
I  put  in  a  little  dry  mustard  too. 

I  have  a  friend  who  has  never  kept  hoi 
and  expects  to  as  soon  as  her  captain  { 
home  from  the  war.  When  she  visited 


KYANIZE 

ii-tkc 

LIFE 

ofiluSwifacA 


I  PUT  SOME  LIFE  ON  TH'  SURFACE.  BUT  THE  KIND 
POP  WANTED  IS  SPELLED  -KYANIZE  " 


Kt|afii 


Paints  •Vdrni/4he/>  •  Enamel/J 

Your  rooms  are  pictures  indeed  when  walls  are  painted  with 
KyanJze  self -smoothing  Ciingcote  enamel.  Sensational  colors; 
sensational  results  .  .  .  even  over  calcimine  and  wall  paper. 
A  washable  oil-base  enamel  that  dries  over  night. 


BOSTON  VARNISH  COMPANY 

Everett  49,  Mass. 


I 


i  said.  "You  must  teach  me  to  cook.  All  I 
ow  so  far,  from  watching  you.  is  that  you 
ist  spread  everything  with  mustard  be- 
e  you  cook  it!" 

A  cooking  friend — and  what  is  closer  than 
;  sisterhood  of  those  who  wish  to  feed 
iir  families  pleasantly? — writes  that  she 
ts  a  clean  folded  bath  towel  over  the  lid  of 
;  ■pot  when  she  has  her  dumplings  dropped 

The  towel  takes  up  the  excess  steam  and 
ves  the  dumplings  feather-hght.  Mrs. 
Jler  says  she  folds  the  comers  up  over  the 
)  of  the  kettle.  Dumplings  improve  any 
ip  or  stew,  I  think.  Mrs.  Miller  has  also 
covered  something  I  am  glad  to  know.  If 
J  invert  a  glass  over  salt  shakers,  the  salt 
1  never  stop  up  and  cake  in  the  shaker. 

sure  the  glass  touches  the  shelf  or  table 
the  way  round. 

\pnl  means  the  first  rosy  tips  of  the  rhu- 
■b,  and  we  are  so  hungry  for  it  we  almost 
1  the  plants  out  of  the  ground  to  get 
im.  Also  dandelion  greens,  which,  cooked 
h  salt  pork,  are  a  spring  tonic  supreme, 
ioney  and  I  always  go  up  to  see  the  dog- 
'th  \nolets  and  the  delicate  spring  beau- 
>.  I  love  the  violets  best.  The  tawny  gold 
;he  flower  and  the  delicate  striping  on  the 
g  narrow  leaves  and  the  cool  slender  little 
m  are  all  so  e.xquisite  and  so  beautiful.  I 
k  the  violets  and  feel  their  coolness  and 

their  carved  pointed  leaves,  and  I  know 

over  again  that  the  tramp  of  mailed 
>ts  on  the  good  earth  is  going  to  stop, 
"aith  is  a  curious  thing.  It  must  be  re- 
red,  it  has  its  own  spring.  The  dogtooth 
lets  have  a  brief  span.  They  will  soon  be 
le  and  the  hillside  carpeted  with  summer 
en.  But  here  they  are  now,  and  next 
ing  they  will  come  again,  and  there  is  a 
aning  in  this  for  all  sick  and  wear>^  folk. 

had  a  strange  wish  yesterday.  I  wish  the 
n  who  are  going  to  form  the  peace  for  the 
-Id  would  all  have  to  come  to  this  spot, 
i  jump  across  the  free-running  brook 
sre  the  sand  lies  golden  under  the  amber 
;er,  and  climb  this  little  obscure  country 

and  just  stand  awhile  on  the  violet- 


LADJLES'  H 

covered  slope.  I  would  ask  them  not  to  sa 
any  fine  brave  words  about  peace  and  th, 
new  world,   nor  to  make  those  ghtteri 
promises  I  hear  over  the  radio  from  them  a 
that  have  no  real  bones  under  the  orator 

None  of  them,  for  a  little  time,  would 
politicians  or  dictators  or  world  rulers. 
would  ask  them  to  smell  the  quiet  air 
listen  to  the  tranquil  country  sounds: 
dog  after  a  rabbit,  the  first  birds  prick 
the  stillness  with  sweet  voices,  the  thuni 
of  a  horse  in  his  stall  at  the  next  farm, 
bark  of  a  fox  toward  KettletowTi. 

I  would  ask  them  to  remember  when  t 
were  children  and  beheved  in  life.    Po' 
and  expansion  and  new  territories  and 
tional  glory  would  mean  nothing  at 
They  would  be  just  a  group  of  middle-a| 
men. 

Maybe  they  would  pick  a  few  golden 
lets  themselves  and  see  the  wonder  of 
God  makes,  just  sort  of  casually  and 
nothing ! 

Then  they  might  walk  down  the  hil] 
the  April  dusk  and  begin  their  world 
chinery  by  saying  to  one  another,  " 
shall  we  save  the  world  for  simple  peoj 
How  shall  we  make  sure  that  all  men 
have  their  hearths,  and  their  children 
flowers  in  springtime?" 

This  suffering  that  we  have  endu 
brims  the  cup  of  the  world.  Somehow 
must  be  justified.  It  might  be,  if  the  wo 
rulers  will  think  first  of  love  for  men  a 
afterward  of  all  the  technical  problems. 

I  have  been  rereading  Kahlil  Gibran,  sir 
the  new  book  about  him  came  out.    I  1 
what  he  said:  "How  shall  my  heart  be  u 
sealed  unless  it  be  broken?" 

In  the  dusk,  coming  across  the  fields  w 
Honey,  carrying  the  yellow  violets,  I 
the  words  aloud  to  myself,  and  felt  hope  fi 
a  better  world. 

"How  shall  my  heart  be  unsealed  unle 
it  be  broken?" 

ESPECIALLY  SPASIELS.  Gladys  Taber's  bo 
on  the  care  and  feeding  of  dogs,  will  be  published  so 
by  Macrae  Smith. 


HOME  JOURNAL 


sellings  and  accessories 
by  Lord  A  Taylor 


Pictured:  North  Star  "Nortiirne," 
Ruse  Uiist.  From  budget  quality  to  ut- 
most luxury.  North  Stars  are  supreme 
values.  At  fine  stores  everywhere.  North 
Star  Woolen  Mill  Co.,  Minneapolis  1, 
Minn. 

"North  Star"  is  also  your  guide  to  fine 
baby  blankets  . ,  .  superb  all-uool  fabrics 
. . .  hand-woven  "Means  ff^eave"  throws. 


•3f  fST'Ti 


Boy:   Where  does  all  this  stuff  go,  Mrs.  Johnson? 
Mrs.  J:   On  the  table,  Jimmy;  I'll  put  it  away. 
Mrs.  B:  Where?  Do  you  have  two  refrigerators? 


Mrs.  J:   Not  exactly!  Look!  Opening  the  Croslcy  Shelvarlor*  is  like 
opening  the  doors  of  two  ordinary  refrigerators. 

Mrs.  B:   Marvelous!  —    all  that  extra  shelf  space  built  right  in  the 
door;  I've  never  seen  anything  so  convenient! 


mmmmmmm*"^ 


Mrs.  J :  You're  ri;;Iil  —    there  isn't  anything  like  it.  There  can't 

be  —  it's  patented  and  exclusive  with  Crosley. 
Mrs.  B:  Shdvador*!  Croslcy!  I'm  going  to  tell  Harry  about  this. 

I'll  make  up  his  mind  about  our  new  refrigerator  —  it  will  be 

a  Croslcy  Shdvador*  —  as  soon  as  we  can  get  one. 

YOU  CAN  PLAN  on  owning  YOUR  Crosley  Refrigerator 
with  the  Sheh  ador*  jnst  as  soon  as  materials  are 
released.  You'll  he  glad  you  did.  Because  the  Crosley 
is  the  only  refrigerator  of         okdinaky 


•■/"• 


its  kind  —  the  only  one 
with  the  patented,  exclu- 
sive Shelvador*  that 
hrings  Twice-as-Much 
Food  to  the  Front,  With- 
in Easy  Reach. 


COMPLEJei 
THE  SHELVADOR* 


JOURNAL 


April,  19 


TWICE  AS  MUCH 

FOOD  TO    THE  FRONT 

WITHIN  EASY  REACH 


IT   BRINGS  you   every 

major  improvement  and 

development  in  home  refrigeration  PLUS  the  patented 

Stielvador*.  No  other  refrigerator  has  this  important 

PLUS  -—  none  is  really  complete  without  it! 

•  Reg.  U.  S.  Pal.  Off. 
THE  CROSI.ICY  COHI'OR ATION,  CINCINNATI,  OniO 

Radios  :  Radio-Phonographs  :  FM  :  Television  :  Short  Wave  :  Elertronirs  :  Radar  : 
Refripcrators  :  Hoiisrhnld  Appliances  :  The  Crosley  Car  :  UnmeofWLW,  "The  Nation's  .'Elation" 


cL 


OUR  MARY  WRITES   FROM   LO^DO^ 

(Continued  froyn  Page  4) 


gg'Oks  in  our  childhood,  called  Big  and  Little 
j(-;ople  of  Many  Lands.  None  of  us  was  well 
^fformed,  but  we  were  all  thrilled  about  the 
hf'cap  and  the  fiord  and  the  fact  that  the 
ij^ather  permits  very  few  planes  to  get  in 
haJ  we  were  going  to  be  very,  very  lucky.  I 
afjn't  attempt  to  describe  it  except  that  this 
ggglly  did  look  like  a  snowy,  sparkling  para- 
gj-^  and  Toni  Frissell  wanted  to  make  a  great 
sj(_  ng  resort  of  it  after  the  war — Greenland's 
-jmountains  would  make  nice  going. 


a  c 

we 


keei 

gjQjhe  Hotel  d'Gink  in  Iceland  was  in  a 
ggj  nsett  hut — very  de  luxe — furnished 
^ughout  by  R.  H.  Macy,  complete  with 
mu'S  candlesticks  and  candles  on  the 
j^jreaus;  obviously  inhabited  entirely  by 
BqH-  Their  need  for  the  homey  touches  was 
gj-g/  reassuring.  To  get  back  to  the  housing 
aj^(:hese  outposts,  I'd  better  explain  what 
(^gy)nsett  and  Nissen  huts  are,  because  I 
the  war  couldn't  be  fought  without 
m.  They  look  like  a  dachshund  version 
an  Eskimo  igloo— rounded  but  elongated. 
Y\fey  give  a  very  strange  impression  when 
jj^u  see  them  crouching  in  great  numbers  all 
fj.^'r  the  landscape.  The  interiors  are  amaz- 
y(ily  roomy  and  comfortable. 
2j\Ve  were  scheduled  to  arrive  in  Prestwick, 
"  otiand,  that  night,  spend  the  night  and 
gnic  on  to  Ix)ndon. 

All  this  has  been  coming  rather  skittishly 

^^f  the  top  of  the  mind  as  a  prelude  to  the 

g^in  event,  which  was  England,  of  course. 

f,he  only  bad  weather  we  ran  into  was  in 

f,()tland.    Prestwick  had  been  closed  in  by 

gg  and  Cornwall  was  finally  decided  upon. 

was  about  midnight  when  we  set  foot  on 

iglish  soil,  and  very  happy   to  have   the 

ot  encased  in  sheepskin-lined  boot — as  the 

gilt  had  a  ix'iictrating,  dank  chill.  The  for- 

;i!it  icsof  |)assports  were  waived  until  morn- 

i;    \\c  were  all  loaded  into  a  U.  S.  Army 

uk     the   kind   with    benches  along    the 

ic     and  jogged  into  the  town  thirty  miles 

.;iy.  The  truck  was  jjitch  dark,  the  roads 

lib  flark,  ,so  we  saw  little  of  England. 

The  hotel  had  been  taken  over  by  the  U.  S. 

my  and  was  used  to  billet  U.  S.  Army  ofTi- 

I  s.  When  IJcatricc  and  I  finally  climbed  to 

r    room,    wc    were   very   cold   and    very 

ankful  for  the  chemical-heat  pads  we  had 

ought  along.    It  was  about  '.\  A.M.,  but  we 

cidcd    we    would    sleep    much    better    if 

iiiix-d  by  sonic  hot  broth,    I  must  confess 

r  iiirio'^ity  to  exiicriment  with  heat  tabs 

fl  fkh\dralcd  beef  soup  stimulated  us.  So 

\liipped  out  my  aluminum  saucepan,  beef 

'let  and  heat  tal),  only  to  discover  to  my 

niny  that  wc  had  no  matches.  We  con- 

\\'(\  on   this  i-risis,   but  decided   not   to 

indon  the  project.   We  knew  two  male 

nibcrs  of  our  party  were  next  door  and 

iild  have  matches.    So  I  rapped  on  the 

)r,  never  dreaming  they  would  both  al- 

dy  be  in  bed.    Instead  of  telling  me  to  go 

ay,  my  knocking  had  the  effect  of  an  air- 

i  siren.  They  apparently  both  leaped  out 

oed  at  once,  forgot  .they  were  sleeping  in 

g  woolen  underwear  with  sweaters  on  top. 


d,  to  my  great  confusion,  opened  the  door 

d  looked  at  me  rather  wild-eyed.  I  grabbed 

^me  matches  and  ffed,  not  even  inviting  the 

lor  dears  to  join  us  in  some  hot  soup.  Our 


heating    gadget    worked    beautifully,    ai| 
Beatrice  and  I  went  cozily  to  sftep  about 

It  seemed  only  fifteen  minutes  later  wh( 
we  heard  a  loud  and  hortatory  voice  a 
nouncing  that  we  had  just  fifteen  minutes 
get  to  breakfast.  A  loud-speaker  system 
piped  into  every  room  to  convey  such  cor 
mands.  As  it  was  nine  o'clock,  Beatrice  ai 
I  rolled  out  of  bed  in  great  haste,  pulled  ( 
our  slacks  and  shirts,  and  I  didn't  discov 
until  I  arrived  in  the  dining  room  that  I 
forgotten  to  put  on  my  shoes,  but  was  wea 
ing  jeweled  felt  slippers  with  my  G.I.  slack 

The  run  up  to  London  was  only  a  couple 
hours.  We  were  told  that  we  are  V.  I.  P 
(Very  Important  People)  because  we  we 
brought  in  only  twenty  miles 
from  London.  We  were  met  and 
photographed  by  the  Army,  all 
of  us  hung  from  head  to  foot 
with  musette  bags,  flashlights, 
extra  coats  and  all  our  parapher- 
nalia. An  Army  truck  brought 
us  into  London.  I  was  really 
very  excited. 

This  was  my  first  trip  to  Eng- 
land, and  my  nose  was  pressed 
to  the  window  all  the  way  in.  One  of 
first  things  that  strikes  you  is  the  way  thii 
are  tidied  up  around  demolished  buildings 
areas.  The  first  night  we  spent  in  Londo 
eleven  V-2  rockets  landed  in  the  city.  U 
less  they  are  close,  the  sound  is  like  a  cla 
of  thunder  and  a  long  rumble.  It  isn 
frightening  unless  the  windows  rattle  and  tl 
building  shakes.  Every  day  Since  we  ha\ 
been  here  some  V-2's  have  come  over,  bi 
everybody  says  what  we're  getting  is  notl 
ing  compared  with  what  the  city  wei 
through  from  June  to  September. 

It  seems  as  if  you  can't  go  a  block  withoi 
seeing  a  gaping  hole  where  a  building  h 
been  wiped  out.    Many  of  the  walls  1( 
standing  have  patterns  showing  where  tl 
stair  went  up  to  a  third  story,  patches  ( 


pink  or  red  or  figured  wallpaper,  the  outlin 
of  a  fireplace.  The  effect  is  rather  weird — lik 
old-fashioned  theatrical  scenery. 

The  spunkiness  and  defiance  of  the  peopl 
are  simply  marvelous.  If  they  can  go  o 
living  in  their  homes  they  do,  even  if  all  th 
windows  have  been  blown  out  and  there  at 


^e*it  reduced  t»*U*tc  i^cilcH^. 

holes  in  the  ceilings.  Usually  the  goverll 
ment  tries  to  replace  the  windows  in  one  c 
two  rooms,  but  sometimes  even  that  muc 
repair  takes  months.  Families  continue  t 
pay  rent  after  they  are  bombed.  On 
woman's  rent  was  reduced  from  thirtee 
shillings  to  nine  shillings  after  the  usabl 
rooms  in  her  house  had  been  cut  down  fror 
six  to  two.  But  I  didn't  hear  one  persali 
utter  a  word  of  self-pity.  The  attitude  was 
"  We  didn't  get  hit  so  bad — there  was  lots  o 
others  got  it  worse'n  us." 

The  day  we  were  visiting  the  bomba 
East  End  families  I  was  amazed  to  se 
oranges  and  lemons  in  every  house.  I  hai 
been  led  to  believe  that  no  one  in  England  wa 
able  to  get  citrus  fruits.  Seems  that  the  firs 
allotment  in  six  months  had  come  in,  aw 
each  family  was  allowed  four  oranges  am 
four  lemons.  That  evening  I  had  tea  at  thi 
fashionable  home  of  one  .of  the  "uppe 
classes"  and  saw  four  oranges  and  fou^i 
lemons  proudly  displayed.  They  were  shar- 
ing and  sharing  alike. 

(Conlinitfil  un  Page  17A') 


i 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


oday  she  caught  the  bride's  bouquet.  Tonight  she  dreams  on  wedding 
ke.  Tomorrow  it  will  be  her  turn  to  plan  her  wedding  day.  And  when  she's 
(king  fragrant  linens,  fluffy  blankets  away  in  her  hope  chest .  .  .  there's  nothing 
e'll  be  happier  to  welcome  than  a  pair  of  Nocturnes  .  .  .  lovely,  light-weight 
)rth  Star  blankets,  soft  and  gentle  as  sleep  itself. 

Brides  treasure  Nocturnes  because  they're  so  versatile  .  .  .  they're  on  the  bed 
varying  numbers  the  whole  year  round !  And  like  all  North  Stars,  they're  fine 
ce  wool  to  the  last  flufi". 

Know  a  girl  who's  about  to  be  married?  Why  not  gladden  her  heart  right  now 
h  a  pair  of  feathery-light,  love-for-life  Nocturnes?  Every  North  Star  sweetens 
ip  .  .  .  and 


Pictiirfd:  Norlli  Star  "Noriiiriie," 
Rose  Dust.  From  biulpet  quality  to  ut- 
most luxury,  Norlli  Stars  are  supreme 
values.  Atfiuesloreseverywhere.  North 
Star  Woolen  Mill  Co.,  Minneapolis  1, 
Minn. 

"North  Star"  is  also  your  guide  to  fine 
baby  blankets  .  .  .  superb  all-wool  fabrics 
. . .  hand-woven  "Means  Weave"  throws. 


178 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


April,  194S 


Be^  I W  (Lat  ^irl  / 


Sure  yon  do,  Junie  .  .  .  even  though  you  never  see  her. 
She's  the  telephone  operator  .  .  .  the  weaver  of  speech 
who  links  people  across  the  miles. 

It's  nice  to  hear  the  "Voice  with  a  Smile" 

I'm  glad  you  think  so,  too.  Everyhody  appreciates  a 
friendly  manner,  1  know.  They  like  the  way  she 
handles  things  .  .  .  calmly,  capably  .  .  .  even  when 
switchboards  are  crowded  with  war  calls. 

Courtesy  means  a  lot  these  days! 

Indeed  it  does.  And  it's  especially  praiseworthy  now 
that  things  are  so  often  in  a  rush. 


BELL      TELEPHONE      SYSTEM      R 


(Continued  from  Page  176) 
So  far  as  I  can  see,  the  food  situation  is 
being  handled  beautifully.  The  children  get 
priority,  and  the  school  lunches,  at  a  cost  of 
6d  for  hot  soup,  meat,  potatoes,  vegetables 
and  a  sweet,  put  ours  to  shame.  Each  child 
gets  a  glass  of  milk  at  school  for  three  far- 
things. The  food  is  distributed  fairly  and 
seems  to  be  pretty  sustaining.  It  is  monoto- 
nous. I  have  never  eaten  so  many  Brussels 
sprouts  in  my  life.  The  women  look  better 
dressed  than  I  had  expected,  but  very  drab. 
You  see  so  little  color.  Everything  is  either 
brown  or  black.  Their  hats  are  particularly 
dull.  Many  of  them  simply  twist  scarfs 
around  their  heads  like  turbans. 

I  am  amazed  at  how  uninhibited  and 
chatty  the  English  are.  I  have  yet  to  ride  on 
a  railroad  or  a  bus  without  being  drawn  into 
a  most  animated  discussion.  Our  American 
boys  are  supposed  to  have  softened  them  up ! 
I  think  the  English  "babes"  have  softened 
up  our  American  boys,  if  you  ask  me,  at  the 
rate  they're  marrying  them. 

The  town  does  seem  to  be  seething  with 
American  uniforms.  The  ofificers'  mess,  better 
known  as  Willow  Run,  feeds  3000  hunks  of 
American  male  per  day.  Of  course,  it's  the 
best  food  in  London.  For  one  shilling  and 
sixpence  we  had  hamburgers,  asparagus, 
potatoes,  apple-and-raisin  salad,  apple  pie, 
a  glass  of  milk,  cheese  and  bread  and  butter. 
At  Claridge's  you  simply  couldn't  order 
anything  on  that  menu  except  the  pota- 
toes and  bread  and  butter.  You  could  get 
pheasant,  pigeon,  kidneys,  lamb  and  an  as- 
sortment of  ragouts  and  creamed  things. 


most  dramatic  evidence  of  the  devastation 
of  war  was  in  Dover,  where  we  will  do  a 
family.  The  most  enchanting  countryside  I 
found  in  Kent  and  Hampshire,  where  the 
thatched-roofed  cottages  made  every  turn  in 
the  snowy  roads  look  like  a  Christmas  card. 
I  had  the  thrill  of  being  in  the  House  of 
Commons  the  day  Eden  and  Churchill  were 
there  and  a  vote  of  confidence  was  called  for 
on  the  Greek  situation.  Eden  had  said  there 
had  been  no  issue  since  the  war  that  had 
aroused  such  bitterness  and  on  which  the 
public  was  more  misguided.  Neither  he  nor 
Churchill  was  too  convincing  in  defense  of 
their  policy,  but  I  was  glad  they  had  such 
an  overwhelming  vote  of  confidence  at  this 


I        / 


/^ 


h-'^ 


^^  (  I 


\  \  >. 


/4  ^Aniatmeu  ea^ 

I  have  seen  a  good  bit  of  Englan«i  within  a 
radius  of  a  hundred  miles  of  London  in  my 
search  for  How  England  Lives  families.  The 


time.  What  a  dogfight  those  parliamentar- 
ians put  on  when  they  have  a  debate !  They 
call  one  another  names  and  heckle  in  a  most ; 
rowdy  manner. 

This  is  our  last  week  in  London.  We're  qHH 
to  Paris  one  week  from  today.  I  don't  ex- 
pect to  write  a  Paris  letter  as  long  as  my 
London  letter,  because  I  don't  expect  to  be 
laid  up  in  bed  with  a  cold  for  twenty-four 
hours,  as  I  am  now.  We  expect  to  go  to  tht 
front,  and  to  explore  many  towns  in  France 
for  a  How  France  Lives  family.  (If  Berlin 
falls  before  then  I'm  promoting  our  riding 
in  with  the  conquering  armies.  Russo- 
American  relations  could  be  well  served,  no?) 
You  can  imagine  how  keen  our  anticipation 
is  for  that  assignment. 

Best  love  to  you  all, 

MARY  COOKMAN. 


OUR  HEADER^i  WRITE  US 

(Continued  from  Page  13) 


two  ounces  meat  or  fish  or  one  egg,  one 
cup  vegetables  or  fruit,  one  or  more  slices 
of  enriched  bread,  two  teaspoons  butter 
or  fortified  oleomargarine.  Although  the 
price  charged  the  children  was  only  ten 
cents,  the  Federal  subsidy  of  nine  cents  per 
lunch  made  the  program  self-sustaining. 
T%vo  hundred  students  patronized  the 
hot  lunch  at  first,  and  the  average  soon 
rose  to  306 — half  the  enrollment  of  the 
building.  Silverware  was  a  real  problem. 
"  Do  you  have  a  spare  fork  or  spoon  you 
would  be  willing  to  give  the  school  lunch 


program  / 


This    appeal    went    to    the 


homes  of  our  elementary  children  and  a 
tide  of  silverware  flowed  back. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  the  period  of 
rest  and  quiet  following  the  lunch  con- 
tributed to  the  results  attained.  In  addi- 
tion, the  data  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
school-lunch  program  can  be  made  more 
than  just  a  stomach-filling  device,  that  it 
can  and  should  become  an  integral  part  of 
the  curriculum.  Sincerely  yours. 

RUSSELL  B.  SMITH, 

Superintendent. 


Ba<'k  ViowM,  Kizes  and  Prices  of  Hollywood  Patterns  on  Page  142 


1541.  On<--|>i<>i'<>  <lrrH8.    10  to  18;  28  to  36.    25c. 
1291.    KvrniiiK  l)re»».     U)  to  18;  28  to  36.    25c. 
1530.    BlouHC  unci  Skirl.    "Sew-Siiiiple*^  design. 
lU  to    18;  28  lo  .16.     Ific. 


J  566  1483  1590 

1566.   One-piece  dress.     10  to  18;  28  to  36.  25 

1483.  One-piece  dress.     12  to  18;  30  to  36.  25 

1390.   One-piece  dress.    "Sew-Simple**  desigl 

10  lo  18;  28  to  36.    25c. 


\Uiy  ll<)ily\\()<)(l  Patterns  at  the  store  wliicli  sells  tlicin  in  your  city.   Or  order  by  inai 

postage  prepaid,  from  Mollywood  Pattern  Service,  Putnam  Avenue,  Greenwich,  Conn 

or  2  Duke  Street,  Toronto,  Ontario,  Canada. 


Printed  in  U.  S. 


I 


/z/TV^  .JVmne 


yM€-  '_yriAfafr'iirjH^  //x>//'/'/*  ^^J/eM^yi^  ^/n'  ^   t.ytvM/ii,  /./■-v.y    »«    /  ,^   v^n^j 


Nik  (j(i/iJGCll(lufc 


M^-^ 


^^iiin^ 


ELIZABETH  >IATIIKU  VOITMG, 

author  of  She's  the  Boss,  writes,  "I 
first  broke  into  print  at  the  mature 
age  of  ten,  when  I  wrote  a  gripping 
mystery  story  concerning  a  jade 
Buddha.  The  Chicago  Evening  Post 
pubHshed  this  in  their  children's  sec- 
tion, and  the  effect  must  have  taken 
more  out  of  me  than  I  realized,  for  I 
didn't  'appear'  again  until  years  later, 
after  I  had  graduated  from  Bryn 
Mawr  College,  married  a  medical  stu- 
dent and  was  clerking  in  a  depart- 
ment store.  I  wrote  articles  about 
How  to  Hold  a  Husband,  and  llovt-  to 
Keep  House  KfTiciently — and  all  the 
time  I  was  living  in  a  one-room  apart- 
ment and  eating  meals  out  of  cans." 


EKNEST  BtlCKLEn,  author  of 
A  Surt  of  Sign,  writes,  "I  was  one  of 
those  precocious  brats,  who  go  about 
confounding  their  elders  with  the 
quantum  theory.  Our  old  horse, 
Pedro,  stood  it  as  lon;^  as  he  could 
and  then  he  kicked  me  in  the  head. 
He  saved  njc  in  the  nick  of  time  from 
the  slow  death  of  actuarial  science.  I 
work  a  small  farm  at  Bridgetown, 
Nova  Scotia,  and  find  it  hard  to  think 
of  myself  as  an  author.  And  you  can 
see  that  I  don't  look  like  an  author. 
We're  stern  folk  here.  When  you  have 
your  picture  taken  in  my  neck  of  the 
woods  you  put  on  your  double- 
breasted  blue  serge  and  look  straight 
at  the  birdie  and   no  darn   foofin'." 


ELIZABETH      lIVXiKII*      WYE, 

author  of  The  Cingerhreail  Man,  says, 
"I've  found  that  lionicmaking  and 
writing  are  the  perfc<'t  combination. 
When  the  dishes  don'l  get  washecl,  I 
'blame  it  on  the  writing.  When  ideas 
fail  to  flower,  I  blame  it  on  the  dishes. 
I  always  have  an  excuse,  too,  in  the 
poltergeists  who  haunt  our  house  in 
Westfield,  New  Jersey.  IVlanifcsla- 
tions  include  disappearing  manu- 
scripts, unfurled  typewriter  ribbons, 
jammed  typewriter  keys,  ami  kittens 
in  my  files.  Our  sons,  aged  four  and 
two,  and  our  Siamest;  <'at  tlisclaim 
any  responsibility  —  so  naturally  I 
am  helpless  to  combat  the  situation." 


M^Y,  iSIf) 


VOL.  LXII,  No.  5 
NOVEL  COMPLETE  IN  THIS  ISSIJE  pace 

THE  farmer's  daughter Nelia  Gardner  White       17 

FICTION 

she's  THE  BOSS Elizatieth  Mather  Young  20 

THE  GINGERBREAD  MAN Elizabeth  Inskip  Wye  24 

PASSING  THE  LOVE  OF  WOMEN Dorothy  Black  28 

FATHERS  MAKE  BETTER  SOLDIERS Williama  Forrest  30 

A  SORT  OF  SIGN Ernest  Buckler  36 

THE  WHITE  DRESS    (Fourth  part  of  five)    ....      Mignon  C.  Eberhart  39 

SPECIAL  FEATURES 

IF  YOU  WANT  TO  LIVE Hubhard  Hoover  4 

TELL  THE  MEN Struthera  Burt  6 

OBITUARY  FOR  GERMANY Dorothy  Thompson  6 

ROMANTIC  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA:  THE  PICNIC     George  Wesley  Belloivs  22 

WHAT  FLOWER  ARE  YOU  LIKE? Marguerite  Barze  23 

WHAT  MAKES  YOU  SICK? Gretta  Palmer  26 

IF  YOU  ASK  ME Eleanor  Hoosevelt  38 

WHAT  WOULD  YOU   NAME  IT? Clifford  R.  Adams  128 

HOW  AMERICA  lives:  MEET  A  STUDENT  VETERAN       .      .     C.  S.  Forester  137 

WHICH  VETERANS  SHOULD  GO  TO  COLLEGE Willard  Waller  142 

TO  SOOTHE  THE  SAVAGE  BREAST Dorothy  Ashby  Pouinall  171 

GENERAL  FEATURES 

LADIES  ARE  LOVELY  (The  Sub-Deb) Elizabeth  Wetodward  8 

OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 10 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL 15 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 15 

ASK  ANY  WOMAN Marcelene  Cox  72 

RINGWORM  OF  THE  SCALP Dr.  Herman  IS.  Bundesen  124 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 131 

THIS  IS  A  BED-SNEAKER Munro  Leaf  134 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  Taber  166 

FASHIONS   AND   REAITTV 

IN  LOVE  AGAIN    .    .    .    WITFi  SUMMER  CLOTHES    .      .      Wilhela  Cushman  32 

I  KNOW  A  GIRL  WHO «ut/i  Mary  Packard  34 

THE  FAIREST  OF  THEM  ALL Daivn  Croujell  121 

YOUR  FOOD  AND  YOUR  FACE Louise  Paine  Benjamin  145 

GARDEN.  INTERIOR   DECORATION,  ARCHITECTURE 

A  HOME  FOR  THE  VETERAN Richard  Pratt  146 

BRIGHT  FUTURE  FOR  LIVING  ROOMS Henrietta  Murdoch  149 

MY  OWN  GARDEN Richard  Pratt  165 

YOUTH-AND-OLD-AGE The  Gardener's  Assistant  174 

FOOD  AND   HOMEMAKING 

CALL  ME  EARLY Ann  Batchelder  40 

LINE  A  DAY Ann  Batchelder  42 

"l  HAVE  $10  TO  spend" Louella  G.  Shouer  150 

THE  FOUR-IN-HAND  KITCHEN Judy  Barry  152 

IRONING  BOARDS  TAILORED  TO  FIT Mildred  Arnold  161 

WINS  ORDERS   FROM   HEADOUARTERS  150,172 

POETRY 

IF  PROTEUS Mary  Poole  50 

I  SMOOTH  A  BLANKET May  Carleton  Lord  60 

WE  FOLLOW  RAINBOWS Jesse  Stuart  65 

LEAVE-TAKING 4     ■      ■    *'•'»«'  Rarnett  deyito  84 

THE  CLAD  child's  SONG Mark  Ian  Doren  98 

COUNTEROFFENSIVE Caroline  Henry  106 

THE  LILACS  NOD  AGAIN                              Warren  Bassett  119 

Cover  Desitfn  by  Wilbt>la  CuNhman 

LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL  (The  Home  Journal)  i3  to  change  without  notice.  All  subscriptions  must  be 

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but  DUZ 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


2t  of  freshly  washed  things  with  Quick 
iifference  it  makes  in  your  starching  and 
Ismo-o-th  hot  starch — all  cooked  and 
[nds.  (Follow  directions  here.)  2.  Each 
Ir  cottons,  curtains,  dresses,  shirts  .  .  . 
[resh-smelling  body  and  finish.  3.  Spe- 

\  mixed  in  powdered  Quick  Elastic  end 

;  your  iron  fairly  glide  along. 

kind  any  longer?  For  smo-o-th  iron- 
-join  the  thousands  changing  to  this 
are.  Get  Quick  Elastic— f/iaf  quick 
the  yellow  box.  Instantly  prepared 
.  .  .  wonderful  for  ironing.  Get  your 


SIS, 


/fW(/  WANTW  LIVB 


^i^- 


I  I 


BY  HUBBARD  HOOVER 

In  time  of  war  it  is  natural  to  think  of  survival  simply  as  avoiding  extinction,  escap- 
ing from  an  untimely  death.  But  in  times  of  peace — and  for  civilians  even  durin<: 
■war — survival  has  a  larger  meaning.  It  means  surviving  as  a  v»hole  person.  It  means 
triumphing  over  circumstances  which  tend  to  restrict  your  activities  and  to  prevent 
a  satisfying  expression  of  your  complete  personality.  Many  a  good  man  has  died  by 
inches  because,  under  changing  conditions,  he  was  not  able  to  make  a  decent  living. 
Intelligence  undoubtedly  plays  an  important  part  in  survivability — but  only  a 
part.  There  are  other  important  parts  that  we  are  just  beginning  to  recognize  and 
evaluate.  So  far  the  savants  have  not  worked  out  tests  for  measuring  your  "S.Q.," 
or  your  survival  quotient,  but  if  you  are  curious  about  where  you  stand,  you  can  get 
a  rough  idea  by  asking  yourself  some  searching  questions  and  giving  honest  answers. 


<t 


^<Q2im^k 


\^/4%e  tfMi  it^etUouA  and  %e4accice- 
Jul  CH  ^i*uUK^  <z  cMUf  out  o^  eUiKfc^? 


Danger,  unexpected  and  unfamiliar,  calls 
for  quick  thinking,  and  there  are  no  rules  to 
guide  you.  You  need  the  sort  of  mind  that  is 
capable  in  a  crisis  of  improvising  an  escape. 
When  Jay  Allen,  distinguished  foreign  cor- 
respondent, was  picked  up  by  the  German 
military  police  while  he  was  attempting  to 
pass  from  unoccupied  to  occupied  France, 
he  thought  at  once  of  an  incriminating  note- 
book in  his  inside  pocket.  While  things  were 
still  on  a  polite  basis  and  searching  had  not 
yet  begun,  he  asked  to  go  to  the  lavatory. 
When  he  returned,  the  incriminating  notes 
were  down  the  drain.  A  mind  that  snaps  into 
focus,  sees  the  danger  clearly  and  impro- 
vises an  escape  is  a  mind  that  contributes 
much  to  its  owner's  survival. 


'T'^ 


_-;r^  of  the  bridge  player  who  always  plays 
L^i>-^  "second  hand  low"  looks  pretty  bleak. 
Disaster  awaits  the  businessman  or  states- 
man who  can't  imagine  a  good  world  except 
under  conditions  that  prevailed  a  decade 
or  two  ago.  The  fatal  weakness  here  is 
rigidity,  inability  to  sway.  Hardening  of  the 
mental  habits  is  probably  a  good  deal  more 
dangerous  than  hardening  of  the  arteries. 


^ 


re  Cfou  CH  da^^^ 

a^  ocie%4foecc<ztc^^iUcaH? 


fl 


KIND  ANY  LONGER? 


'tf  ^a«  utcan.  <fowi4€(^  out 

Some  people  give  attention  to  everything. 
They  don't  mind  their  own  business  because 
they  don't  know  what  their  own  business  is. 
Other  people  know  at  once  that  what  you  are 
saying  doesn't  concern  them  and  they  tune 
you  out ;  they  go  on  smiling  and  nodding,  but 
they  have  stopped  listening.  These  people 
are  not  more  selfish  than  others.  They  are 
quite  capable  of  sacrificing  their  personal  in- 
terest for  a  larger  social  good,  but  when  they 
do,  they  always  know  that  they  are  doing 
it.  They  are  blessed  with  mental  antennae 
which  are  highly  sensitive  and   selective. 


One  thing  that  makes  for  rigidity  is  our 
modern  tendency  to  overspecialization.  On 
second  thought,  this  tendency  is  not  very 
modern,  nor  is  it  especially  ours.  A  good 
many  years  ago  the  Irish  deer  began  to 
specialize  on  his  antlers.  After  a  while  he 
developed  an  elaborate  set  that  weighed  as 
much  as  sixty  pounds,  but  the  bodily 
nutrition  which  such  antlers  required  was 
out  of  proportion  to  their  usefulness.  To- 
day the  Irish  deer  survives  only  as  a  mass 
of  bones  buried  deep  in  the  peat  bogs. 

This  matter  of  specializing  without  over- 
doing it  is  one  of  the  toughest  problems  that 
ambitious  men  and  women  have  to  solve. 
In  order  to  make  a  good  living  you  must  be- 
come expert  at  something.  To  become  expert 
takes  all  your  time;  there  is  none  left  for  the 
allied  subjects,  let  alone  your  general  cul- 
ture— or  so  it  seems.  But  without  these 
allied  subjects  your  one  specialty  suffers. 
The  life-insurance  agent  who  knows  nothing 
about  corpxjration  finiyice  or  commercial  law 
is  not  a  first-rate  life-insurance  agent. 

And  without  these  auxiliary  subjects  and  a 
sustaining  general  culture,  you  are  in  bad 
shape  when  economic  change  or  old  age 
puts  an  end  to  your  one  exjjertness.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  you  are  helpless  and  in  danger 
of  perishing.  Was  it  Mark  Twain  who 
said  that  chastity  is  an  excellent  thing  if  not 
pushed  too  far?  Specialization  is  like  that. 


^ 


One  biologist  says  that  animals  with  "adapt- 
ability or  capacity  for  favorable  change  of 
habit  or  structure  will  tend  to  survive." 
Another  says  quite  fiatly  that  "a  fixed  or 
nonadaptable  type  means  extinction."  If 
these  learned  gentlemen  are  right,  the  future 


Cute  o^  eie^eK4c? 

When  Thomas    Hardy    was    fifty-five  he 
wrote  a  novel  that  outraged  his  public,  but 


s  was  able  to  emerge  almost  at  once  as  a 
oet  and  to  make  of  poetry  a  sustaining 
:tivity.  Richard  Garrison,  brilliant  young 
biotographer  now  an  officer  of  the  N.A.T.S. 

1  the  South  Pacific,  began  his  New  York 
ireer  as  an  architect.  After  the  great  de- 
ression,  when  architecture  went  into  an 
:lipse,  many  of  his  more  highly  specialized 
xhitectural  friends  went  into  eclipse  too. 
uite  a  few  moved  in  with  Garrison  because 

2  had  a  pleasant  avocation— photography— 
hich  he  was  able  to  turn  into  a  vocation 
lat  paid  the  rent. 

Everyone  needs  a  good  second  line  of  de- 
nse. For  you  the  answer  may  be  a  few 
rtile  acres  that  you  know  how  to  farm, 
■  Belgian  hares,  or  dietetics,  or  needle- 
ork.  In  picking  out  your  hobbies,  there 
in  be  no  harm  in  asking  yourself  whether 
ley  have  a  potential  cash  value  for  finan- 
al  emergencies. 


^out  U,  eme  <fau  aMc  ta  xet^ix? 

an  you  rest  and  refresh  yourself  at  the  end 
'  the  day's  work?  If  the  time  has  passed 
hen  you  can  really  do  something  about  it, 
le  time  has  come  to  lay  it  aside.  Some 
iople  find  it  hard  to  do  this.  All  through  din- 
IX,  all  through  the  evening  their  minds  chew 
vay  on  the  old  sour  cud — resenting  this, 
igretting  that.  They  go  to  bed  seething  with 
tterness,  anxiety  and  self-pity.  Such  peo- 
e  will  not  be  good  animals  when  tomor- 
iw  comes. 


drives  some  men  on  to  surmount  the  insur- 
mountable when  every  rule  of  reason  says 
they  must  fail  and  perish. 

Sigmund  Freud,  in  one  of  his  most  bril- 
liant essays,  suggests  that  right  alongside  of 
the  will-to-survive  there  is  a  will-to-die,  a 
wish  to  stop  struggling  and  to  be  at  rest,  a 
compelling  desire  to  return  to  the  inert 
matter  from  which  we  sprang.  Two  men  are 
wrecked  three  miles  from  shore.  Both  are 
equally  strong;  both  are  equally  expert  at 
swimming.  Halfway  to  shore,  one  says  to 
himself,  "Well,  that  is  that."  and  sinks.  The 
will-to-die  has  w-on.  The  other  says,  "  I  have 
one  last  kick  in  me,"  and  keeps  on  swimming. 
The  will-to-survive  has  won. 

One  thing  that  makes  the  difference  is 
combativeness,  or  the  "old  fighting  spirit." 
Some  people  are  aroused  to  superhuman 
efforts  by  interference,  opposition  or  danger. 
It  was  that  way  with  little  Mary  Sarmiento — 
height  five  feet,  weight  ninety  pounds.  A 
thug  put  his  knee  in  her  back  and  wrenched 
her  handbag  from  her.  This  rude  attack 
transformed  a  usually  timid  girl  into  a 
whirlwind  of  flailing  fists  and  feet.  When 
the  police  captured  her  husky  assailant,  his 
first  words  as  he  rubbed  his  bruises  were 
"Don't  let  her  near  me." 

The  classic  example  of  combativeness  is, 
of  course,  Babe  Ruth  in  a  World  Series  game 
at  Chicago.  With  two  strikes  on  the  great 
man,  the  fans  were  jeering  and  the  Cubs 
were  sneering.  But  the  jeers  and  the  sneers, 
which  might  have  ruined  a  lesser  man,  stung 
the  Babe  into  top  form.  He  pointed  to  the 
precise  spot  where  he  intended  to  place  a 
home  run,  and  then  placed  it  there. 


\0\Ob\  O'^Q^S 

re  you  a  housewife  who  agonizes  over  the 
sorderly  ways  of  her  family?  Are  you  the 
nglish  teacher  who  storms  at  her  pupils 
id  tells  them  that  sentences  ending  with  a 
reposition  are  something  that  she  "up  with 
in  no  longer  put"?  Are  you  the  man  in 
ublic  life  who  is  stricken  and  incapaci- 
ited  because  the  world  will  not  listen  but 
isists  on  going  in  a  direction  that  you  know 
leans  needless  misery  and  needless  deaths? 
'  you  are  any  of  these,  you  have  much  to 
arn  from  Montaigne,  who  told  his  fellow 
tizens  when  they  made  him  mayor,  "I  am 
illing  to  take  your  affairs  in  hand,  but  not 
ito  my  liver  and  lungs."  Anyone  who 
aves  anything  a  little  better  than  he  found 

has  done  a  great  deal. 

Some  people  overcome  their  tense  perfec- 
onism  by  prayer  or  its  equivalent.  Some 
y  a  brisk  walk,  or  soaking  the  feet  in  hot 
ater,  or  a  cold  pack  on  the  back  of  the 
eck.  Everybody  must  find  some  way  that 
orks  for  him.  Survival  may  depend  upon  it. 


¥^'' 


i/'illiam  H.  Stoneman,  foreign  correspondent 
'ith  the  U.  S.  Fifth  Army,  attributes  the  sur- 
ival  of  many  American  wounded  to  "a  good 
hysique  and  overwhelming  determination 
3  live."  He  gives  many  examples;  among 
tem  an  American  Negro  "who  had  spent 
ix  whole  days  behind  the  enemy  lines  with 
wound  in  his  groin,  unattended  by  a  doctor 
nd  with  nothing  to  eat  or  drink."  There 
eems  to  be  over  and  above  the  survival 
raits  a  mysterious   will-to-survive   which 


Another  thing  that  enters  into  the  will-to- 
survive  is  unfinished  business,  especially 
unfinished  business  with  a  high  happiness 
potential.  Men  who  have  laid  out  large 
plans  for  themselves,  plans  which  they  are 
eagerly  looking  forward  to  carrying  through, 
are  men  who  are  acutely  aware  of  many 
valid  reasons  why  they  should  go  on  living. 
When  danger  comes,  there  is  a  tremendous 
inner  compulsion  to  put  forth  that  last 
agonizing  effort. 

The  instinct  which  leads  men  to  get  them- 
selves a  wife  or  a  sweetheart  before  going 
overseas  is  a  sound  survival  instinct.  Hav- 
ing something  worth  coming  back  to  in- 
creases the  chances  of  coming  back.  Many  a 
Minnesota  farm  boy  will  keep  afloat  in  the 
North  Sea  for  a  few  more  hours  because  of 
the  happiness  he  has  planned  with  his  MoUie. 

According  to  Nietzsche,  "Men  do  not 
aspire  to  happiness;  only  Englishmen  do 
that."  If  there  is  any  truth  in  this  gibe,  that 
truth  may  have  something  to  do  with  the 
amazing  durability  of  the  English.  It  may 
be  that  the  English — and  their  spiritual  de- 
scendants— are  a  people  who  always  have 
unfinished  business,  much  of  it  With  a  high 
happiness  potential. 

You  have  now  completed  your  examina- 
tion. If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  your 
grade,  there  are  two  encouraging  thoughts 
that  you  are  entitled  to  take  into  your 
mind.  One  is  that  understanding  survival 
traits  better  tends  automatically  to  improve 
survivability.  The  other  is  that  man  is  just 
about  the  only  animal  that  is  able  to  change 
his  environment  if  it  doesn't  suit  him.  All 
the  other  animals  have  to  adapt  themselves 
or  perish.  But  you,  because  of  your  superior 
cerebral  cortex,  are  able  to  shift  a'  thermo- 
stat or  get  out  a  vitamin  bottle  and  thus 
make  your  environment  adapt  itself  to 
your  well-being  and  pleasure.  A  few  small 
changes  in  environment,  all  within  your 
power,  may  make  your  present  stock  of  sur- 
vival traits  all  you  need  for  getting  your 
full  quota  of  the  vigorous,  happy  years. 


Tom  sure  gets  his 
work  clothes  dirty 


but  DUZ 
does  *em 


easy 


••'     2os  Of  1'''^'" 


C/lNTB£ArOUZ    I 
FOR  6£7r/A/6       \ 
OI^/MILS  j 

Re/iuy  CL£ANf    J 


J)UZcfoes/l/IORBl 


What's  in  your  wash  these  days? 
Plenty  of  everything?  Then  better  get 
to  know  DUZ — Procter  Ss  Gamble's 
new  kind  of  soap  that  can't  be  beat  for 
getting  clothes  clean  and  white. 

But  DUZ  does  more!  It's  safer  for 
colors  than  any  other  leading  washday 
soap — safer  even  for  rayon  undies.  Put 
DUZ  to  work  for  you  today.  DUZ 
does  everything! 


A  little  DUZ  a  lot.  Don't 
waste  it — DUZ  contains 
vital  war  materials. 


(ET 


yep/  DUZ  Does 
£V£RyTHfN&.  /rs 

SAF£R  FOR  R/iycW 
UNDf£S,  too/ 


S. 


tAl»ie*»'  ««^'' 


^^"     Icw.p  K.Hue«  .  ^OH.  scon  ^^^^^^ 

'*^^  AH'J  BATCHELDEF        •  EUZABHH  WOODWARD 

^^-^  ""'''   ,U  ETTA  /.0.C.OCK     .     lOOEUA  G.  ^^^r^.^OMAtD 

PRATT     .     HENRIETTA  ^^   _,,onE  JOHU.ON-«0«'"  f  "'7,°  ,  „^H,.AH 


rr 


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2*^  'Darot^  ^^<Mi^i4/X4t 


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^<^  StnuCAtn4^  ^€ott 


HERE  is  a  recent  story  out  of  the  Pacific  which  tias 
to  do  with  a  ourKT,  another  one  of  our  "  Fighting 
Ladies,"  and  the  captain  of  the  carrier,  and  four  of 
thie  crew  down  in  the  bowels  of  the  ship.  And  it  seems 
to  me  one  of  thie  most  memorable  stories  I  have  ever 
heard,  and  one  tliat  should  be  repeated  everywhere. 
Not  for  its  heroism,  although  that  is  su/Ticient,  but  for 
its  far  wider  implications. 

The  more  you  think  a^xjut  them,  the  wider  they  be- 
came, spreading  out  like  dissolving  clouds  on  the 
horizfjn  until  you  see  into  the  clear  blue  hxyond.  And 
the  clear  blue  beyond  is  tlie  ultimate  reasf^n  for  de- 
mocracy, and  why,  admitting  all  the  difficulty  of  exact 
definition,  sfj  many  men  and  women  know  passion- 
ately, and  to  the  very  tottom  of  their  souls,  that  de- 
mocracy is  man's  greatest  disa.»very.  His  surest  hold 
on  individual  dignity.  His  straightest  road  to  an 
eventual  something  Ix'tter.  His  finest  retort  to  the 
stupid  pessimism  which  would  question  his  value. 

This  is  the  story: 

There  was  a  mofjnlit  night,  immensely  large  and 
clear  as  moonlit  nights  are  in  the  Pacific,  and  overhead 
were  some  fifty  Jajjanese  dive  txjmbers,  this  particular 
"Fighting  I^dy"  warding  them  off.  But  one  had  got 
through  with  an  aerial  torixdo  which  had  struck  the 
ship  in  such  a  way  tliat  her  rudder  had  been  twisted, 
leaving  the  stricken  carrier  unable  to  do  anything  but 
steer  slowly  in  circles,  her  ack-ack  guns  blazing,  until 
her  auxiliary  apparatus,  also  damagc-d,  had  been  fixed. 
I>jwn  in  the  auxiliary-apparatus  steering  compart- 
ment four  men  were  at  work,  water  coming  in  and  the 
air  foul  with  the  gases  of  explosions.  For  three  hours 
they  worked,  and  then  they  sent  word  to  the  bridg'.. 
they  could  stand  it  no  longer.  The  captain  jumped 
to  the  speaking  tube.  "Tell  them,"  he  said,  "that  if 
they  are  pf.>sitive  they  can't  stand  it,  to  leave.  But 
before  they  leave,  ask  them  to  inform  me." 

The  emphasis  is  on  the  word  "fX)sitive."  The  im- 
portant phrase  is  "if  they  are  positive."  The  ultimate 
decision,  therefore,  rested  with  the  men.  The  result 
was,  the  four  men  remained.  They  remained  four 
hours  longer,  and  they  fixed  the  auxiliary  steering  ap- 
paratus, and  this  particular  "Flighting  Lady"  got  un- 
der way  again  at  better  than  twenty-three  knots. 
Meanwhile,  the  four  judges  of  their  own  fate  had  be- 
come so  weak  they  were  unable  to  leave  the  compart- 
ment by  themselves,  let  alone  open  the  heavy  doors. 
Other  men  had  U)  blast  through  to  them. 

This  story  could  not  happen  save  in  the  armed 
services  of  a  democracy;  the  exact  wording  of  the 
command,  the  exact  response.  Both  take  for  granted 
a  high  degree  of  personal  respf.»nsibility,  a  subtle 
knowledge  of  what  you  are  doing,  and  why.  Democ- 
racy is  steel,  and  malleable,  and  can  bend,  but  it  does 
rwA  break.  Tyranny  is  a  base  dull  metal  like  unn-fmed 
iron.  (Continued  on  Fane  1Z7) 


'^JiJ.,N  the  President  went  to  Yalta  and 
,S<-vastoj>«jl  he  saA',  for  the  first  time, 
what  war  in  the  twentieth  century  is. 
If  evervone  in  the  worl<i  could  .see  it, 
and  the  sight  Ix*  Iransmittcil  through  the 
wx'ial  lueuiory  as  part  of  inheritable  ( :j;i- 
sciousness,  this  wuuld  he  the  last  war. 

Indi\'i(jual.s  and  orgaiii/,ati<jns  who  are  coii- 
cerii<-<i  with  the  postwar  jiunishnieiit  of  <jur 
enemies  woul<J,  wer'  they  persons  (jf  more 
imagination,  realize  tliat  the  decision  of  Ger- 
many's leaders  not  to  surrender  them.selves 
or  their  nation  is  a  punishment  l>eyond  any- 
thing that  the  spirit  of  revenge  <-ould  devise 
in  the  most  hate-haunted  dreams,  (jermany, 
by  unleashing  total  war  in  the  century  of 
wierice  and  technology,  wrote  her  own  .s<'n- 
tence  if  (he  terrible  gamble  faile<i.  'J"he  war 
that  Hitler  took  progressively  to  i'oland, 
Norway,  H(.>lland.  Belgium,  France,  the  Bal- 
kans, England  and  J{ussia,  «-omes  ba<-k  whole- 
sale, in  geometric  progression,  converging 
from  all  tlie  world  upon  the  wellspring  of  its 
origin,  'i'he  agony  wjwn  to  the  wind  returns 
with  the  whirlwind.  'J'lie  final  cyclonic  fury 
of  total  war,  breaking  over  an  area  the  size 
of  Germany,  is  a  sentence  of  death  for  a  na- 
tion, a  civilization  and  a  culture. 

"Germany"  is  finished. 

The  ijr<x-ess  of  the  destruction  of  a  nation 
began  before  the  war.  Cierniany  under  Hitler 
cracked  through  the  inhibitions  whose  shal- 
low crust  is  all  there  is  of  civilization  and 
culture  anywhere.  The  spirit  of  destruction, 
who.se  name  is  Lust  for  Power,  began  break- 
ing down  the  institutions  of  civilization  while 
heir  walls  were  still  intact.  Churches,  ded- 
icate<i  to  the  God  of  lyove;  courts  devote<i  to 
impartial  Justice;  univ<'rsities,  liousing  the 
human  spirit  in  its  noble  search  for  truth; 
medicine,  with  its  Hippix-ratic  oath  of  min- 
istration to  all;  industry,  with  its  infinite  ca- 
pacities for  promoting  human  well-being  and 
progress,  were  all  invaded- by  the  anticiviliza- 
tion  lust  for  power.  As  they  entere<J  its  serv- 
ice, they  surrendered  to  doom.  Now  doom 
comes,  in  forms  as  terrible  as  the  visions  of 
the  .■\jKK-alypse. 

The  end  of  a  high  civilization  is  a  siKt-tacle 
of  the  most  solemn  awe.  That  jagged  cliff, 
horrid  as  a  de<;aye<]  t<x)th,  once  .sang  a  .soaring 
hymn  of  Gothic  faith.  That  death's-head 
face,  with  gaping  holes  for  eyes,  once  smiled 
a  welcome  to  the  needy  sick;  that  grotesque 
ruin  house*]  the  rule  of  law;  those  shamblcHl 
caves  were  swept  and  polished  homes. 

There  once  st<xxl — only  yesterday — a  great 
civilization  and  culture.  We  shall  not  learn  its 
le8.son  well  by  holding  it  posthumously  in 
contempt.  Its  cities  were  green  with  linden, 
plane  and  elm;  its  hou.ses  twinkle<l  bright 
eyes  above  n<*eklaces  of  geranium  and  petu- 


nia. There  stoo<]  gra\'  cathedrals  with  jeweled 
windows,  lacy  with  .s<-ulpture,  and  ro.sy  guild 
halls,  in  whose  vaulte<J  rooms  generations  of 
burghers  had  conducted  their  honest  mun- 
dane affairs.  There  stood  galleries  from  whose 
walls  gazed  the  faces  of  men,  civilized  three 
hiindn-d  years  ago.  There  was  displayed,  from 
the  hands  of  the  princes  of  art,  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  High  Middle  Ages,  the  Renais- 
sance, the  Baroque,  the  Il<x'oco,  the  Bour- 
geiiis,  the  M(K]ern. 

There  stoo<l  temples  of  music — the  elegant 
<JIH-ras:  the  carefully  a<-ousticke<i  halls,  where 
at  Easter  throngs  ass<'mbled,  li.stening  with 
inspinni  hearts  to  the  great  i>assions  of  Bach 
and  the  massi's  of  B<'ethoven. 

There  were  sprea<i  the  homesteads  of  the 
countryside:  deep-roofed  hcjuses,  with  carved 
balconies,  and  paintx-d  over  their  doorways 
[primitive  U-staments  to  God.  There  were  the 
he<lges  of  braide<J  bee<'h  or  swaying  poplar, 
the  gray  fences  cunningly  shai>e<]  to  stand 
against  the  wind,  the  rotate<l  fields  turning 
the  landscape  into  the  parti-colored  pattern 
of  careful  husbandry.  There  were  the  forests, 
straight,  clean  and  tall,  policed  by  watchful 
rangers,  holding  the  land  against  erosion  for 
all  the  generations  yet  unborn. 

There  were  the  industries  with  their  gleam- 
ing machinery,  their  walls  of  glass,  their  neat 
and  skillful  workers,  turning  but  prcnJucts 
tliat  went  on  swift  ships  to  the  markets  of  the 
world :  cameras,  none  better  made  anj'where; 
plastics;  beautiful  porcelains;  Die.sel  engines; 
ingenious  machines;  famous  drugs. 

There  it  was— a  millenial  treasure  of  storetl 
and  transmitted  industry  and  art,  an  often- 
interrupted  but  never-broken  tradition  and 
inheritance,  all  taken  for  granted. 

Taken  for  granted  that  even  the  humble 
hou.sewife,  thriftily  budgeting  her  husband's 
wage,  shouKl  .s<'t  the  stewmiiig  supper  on  a 
clean  cloth,  draw  down  the  lamp  over  the 
children  at  their  books,  or  seat  the  daughter 
at  the  piano  while  the  son  took  up  hj-s  fiddle. 
Taken  for  granted  that  the  clean  white  sheets 
would  be  stretched  smoothly  and  slt^p  fall 
ujjon  the  family  in  snug  .se<-urity. 

There  had  been  wars,  disasters  all,  but 
when  they  were  over  civilization  was  still 
th«Te:  the  cathedrals,  the  monuments,  the 
galleries,  the  s<-liools,  the  record,  reminder 
and  inheritance  of  the  centuries. 

But  no  longer  in  Germany  after  this  war. 

Now  the  jx'ople  crouch  in  caves  and  the 
caves  fall  in  \x\nn\  them.  They  for  whom 
cleanliness  and  domestic  order  were  rated 
next  to  God  are  too  weary  and  hofx'less  to 
wash  if  there  were  water,  to  .scrub  if  there 
were  .soap.  The  pasty,  bloating  food  is  eaten 
amid  dirty  dishes;  the  children  squat  on 
gray  haunches,  (Continued  on  Page  127) 


KI'Y  .MOIIK  \%.\ll   HO. MIS 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Nly  grandmother's  silverware 
had  these    ^  g-^  ^^!J'-     too  !  " 


<>  o 


"How  well  I  remember  my  grandmocher's  silver- 
ware. I  have  a  few  spoons  and  forks  today.  They 
were  Sterling  Inlaid  by  Holmes  &  Edwards  and 
have  stayed  bright  and  beautiful  through  the  years. 
"Now,  I  will  have  my  ...., 

.,  ^       ,   ...  HERE         ,,->a;CjK.    HERE 

own  silverware.  And  like        /''~*V     '    '\ 

grandma's,  it  will  be  Ster-      ^ 

IT'S    STERLING    INLAID 

ling  Inlaid  at  the  backs  of 

bowls  and  handles  of  the  most  used  spoons  and 
forks  with  two  blocks  of  sterling  silver.  Just  as 
soon  as  it  comes  back  on  sale,  I'm  choosing  the 
Danish  Princess  pattern,  to  me  the  loveliest,  most 
charming  design  I've  ever  seen. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  funny  if  some  day  my  own 
granddaughter  stood  here  saying  these  very  same 
words?" 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 

STERLING  INLAID^ 
SILVERPLATE 


'''^"'SH   PRINCtSS 


HERE  AND  HERE 
It's  Sterling  Inlaid 


Copynghi  I9<45,  Iniemotional  Silver  Co.,   Holmes  &  Edwards  Oivisior>. 
Meriden,  Conn.  In  Conado  :  The  T.  Eoion  Co.,  lid.  ORefl   U  S  Pal.  Off. 


It's  all  know-how.  Knowin;;  when  to  do  what,  and  how.  Knowing  what  to  say,  and 
how  miK-h.  There's  no  reason  why  yon  shoniil  be  stnmped  hv  a  stickler  when  the 
answers  are  all  there  for  the  reading  in  the  Snb-Deb  booklets.  Just  send  a  card, 
asking  for  List  No.  1695,  to  the  Reference  Library,  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  Phila- 
delphia .'J,  Pennsylvania.  Sub-Ueb  booklets,  filled  with  know-how,  on  every  subject 
from  dates  to  new  hair-do's,  manners  to  parties.    The  list  is  yours  for  the  asking! 


I^IROOKED  pinUics,  courtly  bows  from  the  waist, 
I  '  dropped  cards  and  "Sir,  may  I  have  your  pcr- 
I  J  mission  to  call  ui)on  your  dauKliter?"  arc  lovely 
\J  legends  which  have  little  to  do  with  our  case.  We 
are  concerned  with  manners,  to  be  sure,  but  not  as 
decoration.  More  as  a  pleasant,  smooth,  poised  way 
of  behaving.  We  learned  early  not  to  sneeze  in  any- 
one's face,  or  slam  doors,  or  pull  away  the  chair  from 
somebody's  sit  down.  That's  plain  common  decency. 
What  we're  concerned  with  is  the  polishing  of  the 
rough  stone.  For  we're  convinced  that  ladies  are 
lovely.  And  we  want  to  be  ladies. 

ApwUmti  is  mid  rtmtfftrt.  It's  easier  to  avoid  the 
sharp  crack,  the  bit  of  malicious  gossip,  the  wounding 
of  feelings,  than  to  make  amends.  There's  nothing 
lovely  about  a  girl  who  willfully  tries  to  hurt.  Un- 
intentional blights  can  be  forgiven.  But  only  when 
you  ask  for  same.  If  you  must  apologize,  be  gracious 
about  it,  sincerely  interested  in  making  things  right. 
Don't  wait.   Make  it  brief — go  the  whole  way. 

W'or«#«  dm  hurt.  Censor  the  things  you  say  in 
public.  Personal  remarks  will  turn  strange  heads  your 
way — not  in  approval.  Your  companion  may  cringe  at 
being  seen  in  your  all-too-audible  company.  Gossip  in 
public  may  find  your  victim  in  the  audience — and  you 
breaking  out  into  a  rash  of  swallowed  words.  Even  in 
private,  say  only  nice  things  about  people.  Keep  your 
criticism  and  caustic  comments  to  yourself — then 
you'll  never  hear  "Oh,  what  you  said!" 

Dnn't  hoa  timvUaht.  Don't  try  to  impress  every- 
body all  the  time.  Relinquish  center  stage  in  others' 
•  favor.  Let  Mary's  story  stand  without  trying  to  top  it 
with  a  better  one  of  yours.  Keep  your  voice  down  in- 
stead of  dominating  the  chorus  by  sheer  weight  of 
volume.  A  lady  doesn't  turn  somersaults  on  the  high- 
way, play  leapfrog  in  a  bus  or  teasing  tricks  at  the  table. 
She  behaves  in  public.  She's  among  those  present. 
Not  The  One  decked  out  in  giddy  neon  lights. 

FranhitfsH  i»  futilf.  Nobody  wants  to  hear  your 
frank  opinion.  It's  bound  to  be  brutal.  Even  when 
asked,  temper  it  with  all  the  tact  you  can  muster. 
Sue's  dress?  It's  smooth,  of  course.  If  it  doesn't  suit 
your  taste,  why  give  her  a  complex  about  her  own? 


Jean's  beau?  Find  something  nice  to  say  if  you  have 
to  make  it  up.  He's  not  your  property,  to  be  knifed 
till  his  siiwdust  runs  out.  Besides,  your  opinion  is  only 
your  opinion.  Tact  is  a  lubricant  that  makes  getting 
along  with  people  easy  and  frictionless.  Bludgeon 
your  way  along  ruthlessly,  and  you're  no  lady! 

i.t-nd  a  irilUna  far.  Conversation  isn't  all  talking. 
It  takes  a  little  silence  on  your  part  too.  And  a  lot  of 
eager  listening.  Constant  interruptions  show  your  im- 
patience and  a  wagging  tongue  straining  at  the  leash. 
Sit  on  the  edge  of  your  chair,  waiting  to  pounce  with 
your  bit.  Talk  to  your  lap  or  the  feather  on  her  hat. 
Let  your  eyes  wander  around  the  room  and  snap  back 
with  frequent  "What  were  you  saying?"  Spout  facts 
and  conclusions,  make  'statements,  give  answers — 
leave  no  strings  hanging  to  tie  up  other  words,  toss  no 
questions  into  the  ring,  be  curious  about  nothing. 
That  is  no  conversation.  It's  talking  into  a  telephone 
with  cut  wires. 

Twit'  no  ehipH.  You  can  carry  a  basket  of  chips  on 
your  shoulder  and  fourteen  people  will  knock  them 
off— because  you're  asking  for  it.  Flaunt  your  peeves 
and  your  temper,  your  grouches  and  your  sulks,  your 
hurt  feelings  and  your  envies,  get  furious  mad.  You 
haven't  a  secret  in  the  world.  You're  displaying  your 
inner  emotions  for  all  to  see.  Which  is  not  quite 
modest ! 

A  deal's  a  ileal.  You'd  be  there  at  five  sharp,  you 
said.  So  be  there.  And  be  considerate  enough  to  give 
advance  warning  if  you're  going  to  be  late,  or  find  you 
can't  make  it  at  all.  Who  are  you  to  upset  another's 
applecart  by  blithely  skipping  out  of  your  obliga- 
tions? Don't  stand  up  dates  without  sound  reason. 
Don't  ditch  the  girls  for  a  boy  and  expect  them  ever 
to  count  on  you.  Don't  accept  favors,  or  gifts,  or 
hospitality  without  fitting  and  enthusiastic  thanks. 
Don't  stand  with  outstretched  hands  for  compli- 
ments without  bestowing  a  few  yourself.  Be  unreli- 
able and  unappreciative — lady,  that's  being  a  light- 
weight. 

JVo  u>olf  in  »he  eloiheg.  A  special  deck  of  manners 
for  the  boys,  eh?  Entirely  different  from  manners 
with  the  girls?  Too  often  the  entry  of  one  lad  on  the 

8 


scene  changes  the  girls  into  clawing  animals.  How  one 
man  can  make  such  nasty  magic !  Such  scratching  at 
one  another's  eyes,  such  vying  for  his  attention,  such 
stepping  on  toes  in  the  niad  scramble.  Where  went  the 
ladies? 

Oivf  trhat's  aiihvd.  Jo-Ellen  wants  sympathy  and 
appreciative  duckings  from  you.  Tina  is  atwit  with 
excitement  and  wants  you  excited  too.  Jim  is  being 
quietly  proud  and  would  love  you  for  an  audible  pat 
on  the  head.  Come  through  with  the  mood  that's 
asked  of  you,  instead  of  throwing  cold  water  just  to 
be  contrary. 

finger »  ar  forks?  Table  manners  have  been 
solved  for  you.  Everything's  designed  to  make  the 
transfer  of  food  from  your"  plate  to  your  mouth  easy 
and  foolproof.  The  tools  are  there;  use  them  deftly. 
As  with  any  other  tools,  careless,  slipshod  use  defeats 
their  purpose.  Take  your  time,  hold  them  firmly,  and 
guide  your  selection  by  your  hostess.  Keep  your  mind 
on  your  work  and  the  food  will  stay  out  of  your  lap ! 

ThiM  i»  the  beainnina.  Here's  a  stranger  being 
presented  to  you.  Memorize  a  set  of  rules  for  what  to 
say  first,  then  next  and  then  after,  and  you'll  bog 
down.  'Cause  you  can't  count  on  what  he'll  say. 
"How  do  you  do?"  covers  a  lot  of  ground  and  leaves 
the  way  open  for  a  batch  of  interested  questions  and 
answers  aimed  at  bringing  him  a  bit  closer  into  your 
life.  He'll  be  doing  more  of  same,  so  relax  and  play 
along.  If  you're  doing  the  introducing,  give  as  many 
clues  as  possible  that  will  make  it  easy  for  your  two 
strangers  to  get  together.  An  introduction  is  not  a  bar- 
rier— it's  a  gateway.  A  poised  lady  lifts  the  latch  and 
sails  right  through. 

The  reeipe.  Tired  jeans,  a  calico  shirt,  bare  legs 
and  scuffed  moccasins  are  rough-and-tumble  stuff. 
They  may  not  look  the  lady.  But  they  are  only  dec- 
oration. Beautiful  clothes,  money  in  the  bank  and 
ancestors  dating  back  to  Charlemagne  may  give  you 
a  lift — or  make  you  a  snob.  It  takes  something  more, 
deep  in  the  heart  of  you.  The  real  thing  is  a  deep- 
rooted  courtesy,  a  consideration  that  avoids  offense, 
and  majors  in  things  that  please.  With  this  recipe 
you'll  be  a  lady — and  lovely! 


THE  SIB-DEB     *****     BY  ELIZilBETII  WOODWiBD 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


The  "bottle  bacillus",  known 
to  science  as  Pityrosponim 
ovale,  is  held  to  be  a  causative 
agent  of  infectious  dandruff  by 
many  noted  dermatologists. 


Don't  let  Infectious  Dandruff 
spoil  your 


// 


Crov^ning  Glory 


// 


As  a  precaution,  as  a  treatment, 
use  Listerine  Antiseptic  systemat- 
ically. Don't  disregard  such  symp- 
toms as  excess  flakes  and  scales, 
itching  and  irritation.  They  can 
mean  that  you  have  infectious  dan- 
druff" which  can  and  does  often  play 
hob  with  your  scalp. 

It's  Delightful,  Easy 

At  the  first  symptom  of  trouble 
get  started  with  Listerine  Antisep- 
I  tic  and  massage.  This  is  the  delight- 
ful, easy,  inexpensive  home  treat- 
njent  that  has  helped  so  many  .  .  . 
and  it  may  help  you.  Early  and  fre- 
quent applications  may  arrest  a  case 
of  infectious  dandruff  before  it  can 
get  started,  and  even  if  the  infec- 
tion has  gotten  a  head  start,  this 
simple  treatment  may  overcome  it. 

As  a  precaution  against  this 
troublesome  condition  make 
Listerine  Antiseptic  and  massage  a 
part  of  your  usual  hair-i^ashing. 
And,  if  you've  been  troubled  for 
some  time,  apply  Listerine  Antisep- 
tic once  a  day.  If  you  do  not  note 
rapid  improvement  repeat  the 
treatment  morning  and  night. 


You  simply  douse  full  strength 
Listerine  Antiseptic  on  the  scalp  and 
follow  with  vigorous,  rotary,  finger- 
tip massage.  That's  all  there  is  to  it! 

Kills  "Bottle  Bacillus" 

Listerine  Antiseptic  instantly 
kills  millions  of  germs,  including 
tJie  stubborn  "bottle  bacillus", 
(Pityrosporum  ovale),  regarded  by 
many  a  noted  dermatologist,  as  a 
causative  agent  of  infectious  dan- 
druff. As  Listerine  Antiseptic  goes 
to  work  those  annoying  flakes  and 
scales  begin  to  disappear.  Itching, 
too,  is  alleviated.  Your  scalp  tingles 
and  glows,  and  your  hair  feels  won- 
derfully fresh. 

If  infectious  dandruff"  has  already 
started,  repeat  the  Listerine  Anti- 
septic treatment  twice  a  day.  This 
is  the  method  that  in  tests  brought 
improvement,  or  complete  relief,  to 
76%  of  dandruff"  suff"erers  in  thirty 
days.  Remember,  Listerine  Antisep- 
tic is  the  same  antiseptic  that  has 
been  famous  for  more  than  60 
years  in  the  field  of  oral  hygiene. 

Lambert  Phahmacal  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


*  Listerine  Antiseptic  the  Tested  rreatmem 


10 


LAUIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 1: 


F        THERE'S 


I   N 


(ryyiMyyuXy 


THE 


OFFING 


Crystal  for  the  bride  should  be  chosen 
with  care.  It  being  something  she  will 
have  for  years,  ageless  beauty  is  one 
requisite.  Long  continued  availability 
is  another,  so  she  can  match  and  add 
wherever  she  may  be.  Both  are  as- 
sured when  you  choose  lovely  Fostoria 
handmade  crystal.  You  will  find  Fos- 
toria at  the  better  stores  everywhere. 


flnr  Readers  Write  Us 


FOSTORIA      GLAS^      (^  r  M  P  A  N  Y 


►  To  report  to  Journal  readers  how 
people  in  England,  PVance,  Italy  are 
surviving  the  war  as  families,  Mrs. 
Gould  and  Mary  Cookman  flew  over- 
seas, members  of  a  group  of  writers 
with  the  Army  Air  Forces  as  hosts. 
Stories  of  how  they  found  life  in  these 
war-torn  countries  will  appear  in  later 
issues.    ED. 

Likes  the  French 

Paris. 

Dear  Bruce:  It  is  amazing  to  see  a  town 
like  this — a  networlt  of  Army  occupation 
imposed  upon  the  life  of  a  city.  Curiously 
enough,  I  like  Paris  and  France  and  the 
French  people  now  better  than  I  ever  did 
before.  Better  because  I  feel  sympathy 
with  them  —  they  are  so  cold  and  hungry, 
yet  civil  and  courteous  and  quite  gay.  But 
how  much  a  bar  of  chocolate,  a  little  cof- 
fee, a  few  cigarettes  mean  to  them.  But 
also  because  I  have  talked  more  to  them.  I 
have  been  into  a  number  of  homes,  talked 
with  people  who  joined  resistance — some 
out  of  pride  and  intellectual  idea,  others 
simply  because  they  didn't  want  to  be 
pushed  around  by  the  Germans.  In  their 
homes  they  have  great  courtesy  and  ut- 
terly no  heat.  The  working  people  are 
extremely  intelligent  and  one  understands 
why  France  has  prided  it.sclf  on  its  intel- 
lect when  one  talks  to  them. 

Living  conditions,  of  course,  are  very 
bad.  A  meal  is  potato  soup  and  potatoes. 
For  breakfast,  farina  and  bread.  No  cof- 
fee, no  butter,  no  jam.  For  lunch,  pota- 
toes. For  supper,  if  they  arc  lucky,  veg- 
etable soup  and  plenty  of  bread.  Once  a 
week,  half  a  pound  of  meat,  often  unavail- 
able even  with  points.  Occasionally  an 
apple.  One  liter  of  wine  a  week  for  a 
laniiiy.  I  dined  at  the  house  of  a  chaiii- 
[)agne  manulacturer  in  Reims.  It  was  a 
l)eautiful  and  dignified  house,  the  meal 
served  with  formality  and  elegance  and 
written  menus  on  the  table.  We  had  (each 
item  a  separate  course)  jiotato.soup,  farina 
crcxiuettes  with  tomato  sauce,  mashed 
jxitatoes,  bei't  .salad,  cheese  and  apple- 
sauce, good  coffee. 

Of  course,  tho.se  who  can  afford  it  buy 
on  black  market.  There  you  can  pay  S8  for 
a  pound  of  butter.  It  creates,  of  cour.se, 
a  great  cleavage  between  the  poor  and 
rich,  and  great  bitterness.  It  is  curious 
that  in  Kngland  war  has  actually  drawn 
the  classes  together,  but  parted  them  here. 
.Sonia  Taniara  says  you  lose  all  real  .sense 
of  money.  Voii  pay  S«  a  pound  for  butter 
and  then  .SO  cents  for  an  excellent  dinner 
in  your  own  Army  me.ss.  It  is  true.  I  in- 
(luired  today  the  jirice  of  a  pretty  liand- 
blDikcd,  yellow  .scarf  for  Sesaly.  It  was 
,«)()()  francs— S6().  It  might  have  been  ^S12 
at  home — at  the  most. 

Madame  Plevin,  wife  of  the  finance  min- 
ister, called  me  today  and  asked  me  to 
lunch — said,  "Do  you  want  to  see  what 
real  French  people  eat  ?  It  will  be  potatoes 
and  apples."  (I  think  this  was  a  little 
stres.sed — pour  I'opinion  pnhliquc  amer- 
Uainc — but,  even  so,  veracious.) 

Wgetables  are  at  a  premium.  Even  at 
llic  Ritz  nii'ss,  where  food  is  excellent,  an 
admirable  blend  of  American  rations  and 
French  skill,  we  had  for  lunch  today  po- 
tato soup,  hash,  potatoes  and  bread-and- 
butter  pudding! 

These  few  days  since  we  have  been  here, 
the  weather  has  been  much  better.  Dur- 
ing the  extremely  cold  spell,  many  babies 
and  old  peo])le  died  of  cold. 

The  Ritz  is  fairly  well  heated  and, 
thanks  to  Harlan's  advice,  we  brought 
with  us  two  small  electric  heaters,  which 
make  life  more  bearable. 

There  is  so  much  to  tell.  I  have  so  little 
time.  It  is  late  at  night.  But  did  I  tell 
\ou  about  the  last  days  in  England  ?  We 
went  to  a  recent  incident — very  recent — 
and  watched  people  digging  about  for 
their  belongings  and  saying,  "Yes,  I  lived 
there  for  thirty-three  years.  This  was  my 
home."  I  saw  a  father-in-law  before  a 
shattered  house  where  a  woman  and  three 
children  were  killed  —  the  husband  a  sol- 
dier in  Italy. 

1  am  glad  I  didn't  see  it  until  just  before  I 
left.  It  made  each  explosion  harder  to  bear. 

We  were  constantly  amazed  at  the 
jieople's  spunk  and  cheerfulness,  and  Lady 
Reading,  who  took  us.  told  us  this  story: 


She  was  talking  to  a  group  of  cockney 
women  who  had  just  lost  their  homes,  and 
to  divert  them  she  was  telling  them  about 
a  recent  trip  to  India.  There  she  had  seen 


Mrs.  Gould  and  Mrs.  Cookman  with 
LMdy  Reading  at  an^'incident"  short  ly 
after  a  1-2  bomb  fell  in  London.  De- 
spile  the  general  destruction,  the  oltl 
lady  is  dusting  off  her  rescued  chairs. 
How  can  such  people  ever  be  beaten? 

some  boys  who  were  able  to  get  eggs  for 
the  first  time. 

"And  imagine,"  she  told  them,  "one 
boy  ate  thirty-four  eggs." 

"Eggs,"  said  one  of  the  old  cockney 
women,  screwing  up  her  face.  "  I  think 
eggs  is  old-fa.shioned."  Love, 

BEATRICE. 

Florence,  Ilaly. 

Dear  Bruce:  Mary  and  I  returned  to 
Florence  on  Tuesday  to  do  our  story.  Toni 
is  taking  the  photographs  and  Herbert 
Matthews  is  writing  the  story.  We  have 
taken  a  teacher  with  six  beautiful  little 
boys.  The  father  had  to  join  the  Fascist 
Party  to  keep  his  teaching  job  and  is  now 
suspended  while  being  investigated  for 
having  been  a  Fascist.  However,  since  98 
per  cent  of  Italians  were  members  of  the 
Fascist  Party,  he  will  probably  get  his  job 
back  again,  as  98  per  cent  of  the  people 
can  hardh-  be  permanently  unemploj-ed. 

Florence  is  an  incredibly  fa.scinating 
medie\a!  city.  Each  narrow  street  offers 
glimpses  of  Scotch  hats,  South  African 
black  berets  (South  African  men  are 
cocky),  jeep  caravans  and  barefoot  chil- 
dren. 

The  AMG  is  installed  in  the  Palazzo 
\'ecchio.  built  in  1298,  once  occupied  b\- 
the  Medici,  each  office  a  gem,  statues  b\- 
Michelangelo,  murals  by  Vasari.  This  is  a 
jewel  of  a  city. 

We  have  met  all  kinds  of  people  — 
an  English  marchesa  who  spent  nine 
months  in  prison  for  helping  Allied  fliers 
escape,  and  of  course  lots  of  wonderful 
American  boys.  Fliers  on  leave;  boys  just 
going  back  to  the  front. 

We  have  run  into  Captain  Butcher. 
"Chris"  Butcher's  husband.  Last  night 
he  took  us  to  dinner  and  then  on  dancing 
to  a  place  called  "The  Fountain  of  Bea- 
trice"— a  cellar — and  then  we  ended  at  a 
dance  given  by  the  Twelfth  Air  Force. 
\^'e  think  Keen  Butcher  is  one  of  the  nicest 
men  we  have  met  anywhere — "Chris"  is 
very  lucky. 

There  is  a  ten-o'clock  curfew,  so  all 
places  close  early.  There  has  been  some 
trouble  between  Italians  and  Americans 
(the  Italians  don't  like  the  Americans 
going  out  with  their  girls),  so  all  soldiers 
must  be  off  the  streets  early. 

Herbert  Matthews  has  just  spent  the 
day  with  the  family  we  ha\e  chcsen  to 
show  how  the  Italians  survived  the  war  as 
families.  He  thinks  we  have  used  great 
judgment  and  are  still  very  lucky  to  find 
one  so  typical. 

I  hope  we  shall  come  back  to  Florence 
someday  when  the  statues  aren't  bricked 
(Cottlinued  on  Page  13} 


OU  made  our  choice.  Out  of  all  Gorhat 


famous  sterling  designs,  these  are  the  patterns  of 


many  of  America's  distinguished  hostesses.  These 


are  the  designs  that  are  availabh 


limited  items  while  we  major  in  war  production. 


-rr 


Choose  yours.  Order  now.  Place-settings 


comprise  luncheon  knife  and  fork,  cream  soup 


spoon,  teaspoon,  butter  spreader,  salad  fork. 


Average  cost,  including  Federal  Tax,  about  $23. 


Send  lO  cents  for  booklet 


Entertaining  the  Sterling  Way." 


PROVtDENCE  7,  RHODE  ISLAND 


12 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194 


i^^^^^ititi^^^^i^^^^^^^^^i^ 


The  Purple  Heart  Medal 

-au^rded  to  Army  personnel 

mounded  in  action 


The  wounded 

are  waiting 

for  your  answer! 


l/rffent/more  ni/rses  /teec/ec/ novz-M mme/?  ca/?Ae/pi 


/ 


Must  the  wounded  stiver  more?  As 
the  casualty  lists  mount — as  the  call 
of  ^'nurse^'  is  heard  more  often — 
can  you  ignore  that  call? 

The  wounded  are  waiting  for  your 
answer ! 

Shall  brave  men  lack  for  any  want? 
When  the  touch  of  a  woman^s  hand 
may  mean  the  difference  between 
life  and  death — can  you  say  you're 
too  busy? 

The  wounded  are  m  ailing  for  your 

answer ! 

•     •     • 

• 

This  is  it!  Here  is  the  chance  you've  wanted — 
the  opportunity  to  <k  something  to  help  the  war 
effort. 

For  behind  the  glad  announcements  of  our 
armies'  triumphs,  there  is  sickness  and  suffering. 
Row  on  row  the  hospital  cots  are  filled.  Brave 
men  —  tens  of  thousands  more  each  month  — 
£u:e  in  need  of  care,  attention  and  devotion. 


ALL  women  can  help.  Young  and  old — trained 
and  untrained — there  is  a  place  for  each  of  them. 
What  can  you  do?   How  can  you  help? 


If  you  are  a  registered  nurse  join  the 
Army  Nurse  Corps.  10,000  more  nurses  are 
needed  now — at  onco.  Our  wounded  overseas 
can  have  adequate  nursing  only  if  you  help  re- 
lease experienced  Army  Nurses  by  taking  their 
place  in  Military  Hospitals  in  this  country.  Your 
minimum  pay  as  an  Army  Nurse  will  be  the 
equivalent  of  $216  per  month — counting  food 
and  quarters.  You  will  be  eligible  for  all  Veter- 
ans' benefits. 

Contact  your  local  Red  Cross  Chapter.  Or 
wire  for  information,  Government  rate  collect: 
The  Surgeon  General,  U.  S.  Army,  Washington, 

D.  C. 

•     •     • 

If  you  are  not  a  registered  nurse — 

but  are  between  the  ages  of  20  and  49 — join  a 
Wac  Hospital  Unit.  Previous  technical  experi- 
ence helps — but  is  not  essential.  You  will  be 


given  valuable  technical  and  on-the-job  training.. 
Upon  successful  completion  of  training,  you  will 
become  a  Technician  Fifth  Grade.  You  vnjl  be 
eligible  for  further  promotions  and  entitled  to  aU 
Veterans'  benefits. 

Wacs  for  Army  General  Hospitals  must  be 
U.  S.  citizens,  in  good  health,  with  no  dependents 
under  14,  and  have  had  at  least  two  years  of  high 
school  (or  equivalent  schooling) . 

If  you  are  eligible,  apply  at  once  at  any  U.  S. 
Army  Recruiting  Office.  Or  write  to  the  Adju- 
tant General,  Munitions  Building,  Washington, 

D-C.  ^     ,     ^ 

If  you  are  untrained — and  want  to  help 
on  a  part-time  basis — volunteer  as  a  Nurse's 
Aide  in  your  local  hospital.  More  nurses  are 
leaving  for  service  in  Army  Hospitals  every  day. 
You  can  help.  Enroll  in  A  Nurse's  Aide  course. 
Your  local  Red  Cross  Chapter  or  Hospital  will  be 
glad  to  give  you  full  information. 


Will  you  help?  The  wounded  are  waiting  for 
your  answer! 


THIS  MESSAGE  IS  PUBLISHED  IN  THE  PUBLIC  INTEREST  BY 

Ford  Motor  Company 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


(Continued  from  Page  10) 
up,  and  there  is  light  in  the  town,  and  life 
is  lovely  again.  Love, 

BEATRICE. 

How  Italy  Lives 

Somewhere  in  Italy. 

Miei  Cari :  If  anybody  had  told  me  that 
the  most  fascinating  chapter  of  our  grand 
tour  would  be  Italy,  I  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved it.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  the  nar- 
row, twisting  streets  of  a  medieval  city 
thronged  with  the  soldiers'  uniforms  of  a 
dozen  different  countries  and  choked  with 
the  Frankenstein  monsters  of  modern 
war — convoys  of  munitions  trucks,  com- 
mand cars,  jeeps  and  armored  tanks. 
Imagine  a  river  hardly  wider  than  a  canal, 
lined  along  its  banks  by  palaces  and 
churches  of  varying  shades  of  pink,  blue 
and  terra  cotta,  with  every  ancient  bridge 
crossing  blown  to  smithereens  and  a  good 
many  houses  reduced  to  chalky,  dusty 
rubble.  This,  in  a  few  inadequate  words,  is 
the  symbol  of  art  and  beauty  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  1945.  And  what  a  commen- 
tary on  what  we  are  pleased  to  call  a 
civilization.  Curiously,  one  is  hardly  con- 
scious of  the  civilians  at  first.  The  intoxi- 
cating beauty  of  the  city  and  the  gro- 
tesque contrast  of  the  Army  engulf  you. 
The  poor  people  are  so  poor  that  they 
seem  to  live  in  the  cracks  of  the  ruins  and 
antiquities.  The  not-so-poor  and  better- 
off  are  extraordinarily  good-looking. 

The  town  is  a  seething  black  market. 
No  goods — lots  of  money  brought  in  by 
the  G.I.'s.  Anything  can  be  sold  at  ten 
times  its  value.  The  cost  of  living  has  gone 
up  1000  per  cent.  Beautiful  handmade 
pure  silk  underwear  can  be  bought — but 
at  prices  that  exceed  the  most  expensive 
shops  on  Fifth  Avenue.  For  a  simple  slip 
the  lowest  price  is  equivalent  to  $35; 
for  a  lace-trimmed,  hand-embroidered 
nightgown,  S75.  The  "new  poor" — former 
,  aristocrats  and  upper  middle  classes — are 
selling  their  personal  possessions,  furni- 
ture, silver,  paintings,  jewelry,  at  fan- 
tastic prices  to  support  themselves. 

We  have  been  to  Naples,  Pisa,  Rome. 
The  weather  has  been  sublime;  and  every- 
where, in  the  midst  of  the  human  sordid- 
ness  and  poverty  and  devastation  of  war, 
the  monuments  of  man's  creative  genius 
and  love  of  beauty  rise  above  the  cata- 
clysm to  defy  the  evil  will  to  destroy. 

As  Beatrice  and  I  lingered  beneath  the 
great  dome  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome  and 
viewed  for  the  first  time  the  stupendous 
achievement  of  centuries  of  dedicated 
men,  we  became  pretty  philosophical.  The 
modern  world  has  had  little  time  or  place 
for  the  Italian  genius.  Their  civilization 
represents  a  worship  of  beauty  that  has 
found  expression  even  in  the  most  humble 
aspects  of  living.  Since  the  world  has 
found  so  little  time  to  cultivate  and  sup- 
port this  way  of  life,  the  Italians  have 
been  floundering  and  unhappy,  trying  to 
compete  with  the  rest  of  the  world  indus- 
trially and  politically,  and  have  got  them- 
selves into  this  sorry  mess.  I  wish  that  we 
could  help  Italy  to  be  satisfied  to  be  the 
artistic  treasure  house  of  the  world,  con- 
tinuing to  create  and  to  give  inspiration 
to  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  need  to  return 
to  those  values  so  desperately. 

Of  course,  this  is  daydreaming.  Our 
own  Army  men  and  the  British  army  men 
with  whom  I  have  talked  do  not  share  my 
views.  They  have  little  patience  with  what 
to  them  is  lack  of  moral  standards  and 
convictions,  laziness,  treachery  and  ineffi- 
ciency. I  don't  suppose  you  can  expect 
them  to  love  the  men  they  have  been  fight- 
ing against.  But  somehow  I  can't  bring  my- 
self to  feel  that  the  Italian  people  had  any 
stomach  for  it — that  they  were  anything 
but  driven  cattle  in  the  whole  enterprise. 

We  spent  two  days  at  the  front  with  the 
Fifth  Army.  I'm  afraid  the  true  story  of 
the  job  the  infantry  has  been  doing  on  this 
front  has  been  overshadowed  by  the  more 
sensational  news  from  the  western  front. 
It  seems  to  be  conceded  by  military  men 
that  this  is  the  toughest  and  most  rugged 
terrain  of  the  war  theater  on  this  side  of 
the  ocean.  We  followed  the  route  of  the 
German  retreat  by  open  jeep,  and  the  only 
thing  I  can  compare  it  to  is  trying  to  scale 
the  Rockies  on  a  motor  scooter.  I  still 
don't  know  how  our  men  did  the  job. 

On  our  way  from  Marseille  to  Naples  we 
flew  over  Anzio,  and  the  pattern  of  battle  is 
written  for  miles  over  that  battleground  in 
the  shape  of  foxholes  and  tank  dugouts.  We 
also  had  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Cassino,  and 
I  can  understand  now  why  the  Germans 
thought  that  we  couldn't  get  any  farther. 


Recent  weeks  have  had  their  lighter  mo- 
ments too.  We  have  been  lavishly  enter- 
tained by  generals,  both  American  and 
British.  It  is  the  fashion  for  generals  to 
take  over  villas  for  entertaining,  and  so 
on,  but  to  live  in  auto  trailers  in  the  yard 
where  they  can  enjoy  the  creature  com- 
forts that  the  more  Spartan  Italian  noble- 
men spumed,  such  as  electric  heaters,  hot 
water,  inner-spring  mattresses  and  rug- 
covered  floors.  "Blood  and  guts"  Patton 
started  the  fashion.  Incidentally,  he  is  the 
most  admired  and  popular  general  among 
the  soldiers  at  all  fronts. 

I  don't  know  whether  you  will  approve 
of  our  unconventional  attitudes  about 
pickups  when  we  get  home.  Introductions 
aren't  necessary  over  here,  just  our  com- 
mon language — English.  We're  reasonably 
discreet,  you  understand,  and  we  don't  do 
too  much  walking  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio  by 
moonlight  with  strange  officers.  Now  and 
then  we  get  scribbled  notes  carried  over 
by  waiters  or  left  in  our  bo.x.  We  are  usu- 
ally called  upon  to  pass  judgment  on  pres- 
ents— soldiers  occupy  90  per  cent  of  their 
time  off  shopping — and  we  always  say  the 
presents  are  wonderful,  knowing  the  boys 
could  send  home  a  saw-tooth  dagger  and 
their  women  would  love  it. 

We're  going  to  take  a  run  over  to  Athens 
for  a  couple  of  days  before  we  head  for 
Casablanca  and  home.  This  flight  is  being 
laid  on  by  a  British  chief  air  marshal  who 
decided  we  American  journalists  needed 
some  briefing  on  the  situation.  You  will 
have  to  get  used  to  the  term  "laid  on,"  as 
we've  adopted  it  as  a  part  of  our  working 
vocabulary.  One  doesn't  hire  a  person, 
one  "lays  on  a  body,"  or  "several  bodies," 
as  the  case  may  be.  The  term  originated 
with  the  English,  who  refer  to  the  modern 
plumbing  as  "water  laid  on" — don't  ask 
me  why  the  term  has  acquired  such  ex- 
tensions.  It  just  has,  and  we  love  it. 

So  with  saluli  affeiuosi.  I  conclude  with 
most  fervent  Latin  love  and  kisses. 

MARY. 

Canada  Has  Batter  Trouble  Too 

Vancotiver,  B.  C.  Canada. 

Dear  Editors:  In  If  You  Ask  Me,  by 
Eleanor  Roosevelt,  in  the  March  Journ.^l, 
there  is  a  misleading  statement  which  was 
only  half  corrected  in  the  answer. 

The  question  states  that  U.  S.  Lend- 
Lease  butter  is  being  sold  in  Canada  at  38 
cents  a  pound,  all  you  want  and  no  points. 
Mrs.  Roosevelt  did  not  say  that  butter  is 
rationed  in  Canada,  and  we  are  allowed 
only  six  ounces  per  week  per  person.  In 
Vancouver  the  price  is  40  cents  a  pound. 
If  anyone  is  buying  all  they  want  at  38 
cents  a  pound,  as  mentioned,  then  they 
must  be  in  the  black  market. 

Yours  very  truly, 

I.  R.  A. 

After  Death,  Wbat? 

Scranton,  Iowa. 
Dear  Editors:  My  husband  was  killed 
in  an  accident  last  April,  our  first  child 
born  in  August.  Thousands  of  lives  are 
being  lost  in  the  war — yet  so  little  is  said 
about  what  takes  place  after  life  is  gone. 
An  idea  ever  present  with  me  is  that  some- 
day I  shall  be  with  my  husband  when  this 
life  is  over.  I  should  like  to  read  what 
others  think.  Truly  yours, 

(Name  withheld  by  request.) 

Dorothy  Goes  to  Newcastle 

The  Duke's  Cottage, 
Rudgwick,  England. 

Dear  Bruce:  Now  all  the  balloons  are 
down  and  the  sky  looks  awfully  empty. 
They  say  people  got  very  attached  to 
their  balloons  and  gave  them  pet  names, 
and  are  now  desolate.  I  still  can't  quite 
believe  we  have  got  to  the  end  of  some  of 
the  wartime  restrictions. 

Do  send  grateful  thanks  to  all  the  kind 
people  who  sent  me  sour-cream  recipes. 
Not  only  sauces,  but  many  other  engag- 
ing things.  It  looks  as  if  I  might  have 
lots  of  sour  cream  to  work  on  before 
long:  my  refrigerator  bust  with  a  colossal 
wham,  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  No  one 
took  any  notice.  We  just  thought  it  was  a 
bomb  I 

You  can't  possibly  realize  the  sinister 
meaning  of  that  word  "bust."  There  is 
no  one  to  mend  anything.  The  service 
people  say  they  will  get  around  "when 
they  can."  After  anything  up  to  six 
months,  they  come,  look,  murmur  some- 
thing and  go  again.  Then  they  remove  the 
engine.  After  that  anything  can  happen. 
(Continued  on  Page  122) 


^^^^^^ 


lou'RE  NEVKR  short  of  decorative  ideas 
so  long  as  there's  a  discarded  picture  frame 
in  the  house.  Look  ! 

Where  could  you  find  prettier  bedsteads 
than  this  smartly  upholstered  pair?  An  old, 
baroque  picture  frame,  sawed  in  half,  and 
striped  sateen  are  the  secret. 

A  family  bulletin  board  can  be  just  as  deco- 
rative as  it  is  handy.  Paint  the  frame  to  match 
the  woodwork  of  the  room.  Pin  up  maps, 
clippings  and  other  items  of  family  interest. 

Coffee  tables,  too,  by  the  picture  frame 
method.  This  one  was  antiqued  white  with 
some  of  the  design  picked  out  in  dull  gold — a 
mirrored  surface  was  fitted  to  it  and  stretcher 
legs  attached.  Smart?  Very! 

And  a  wonderful  addition  to  your  coffee 
table  (or  to  any  other  table)  is  a  Whitman's 
Sampler.  Pleasant  conversation  becomes  even 
pleasanter  with  these  luscious  chocolates  to 
nibble  on.  The  chocolate  is  so  rich  and  so 
creamy  smooth — the  centers  so  tempting.  And 
everyone's  favorites  are  here — crunchynuts, 
satiny  caramels,  tempting  fruits  and  cooling 
mints.  But  taste  them  for  yourself  and  see ! 


Copr.  1945.  Stephen  ^ 


n.  Inc..  PhilQdelDhu 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


USE    WHICHEVER    KINDS    YOU    CAN    GET    .> 

wa^\omus  ^ 

family  Pinner 


^  !•_ 


i^iffi  Prenyl. 


WASTE  NOT,  WANT  NOT.  .  .  Never  a  bite  wasted  with  Swift's  Premium  Table-Ready 
— they're  that  delicious!  And  any  extra  or  leftover  slices  can  be  used  like  this — 


IN  SANDWICHES.  Cold  meut  sand- 
w  idles liclp  provide  (.'ood  nutrition 
for  the  lun<-hbo\.  Get  Shift's 
Table-Ueadx  Meats  ^\hene\<■r 
\ou  can  for  their  fine  qualitv  and 
delicious  flavor.  They're  eco- 
nomical, too! 


FOR  MEAT  SHORTCAKE. 

bits    of    Tahl.-- Heady 

creamy    white   sauce 

(piality   protem,  exciting  fla\or 

to  a  man-size  main  dish.  Any  of 

the   Swift's    I'remiiim    cold    cuts 

are  extra  good  serivtl  hoi. 


.'..„.  rl        ''^'"  •■»  aw  ,""""" 

*^^*«  produced 


/ 

/ 
/ 
/ 


Your  first  duty 

to  your  country: 

UY  WAR  BONDS 


Fifty  Years  Ago 
in  the  ^fournat 


THE  sensations  of  May,  1895, 
were  the  Oscar  Wilde  trial  in 
London,  and  the  Supreme  Court's 
decision  thatthe  new  income-tax  law 
was  entirely  null  and  void.  Stephen 
Crane's  The  Red  Badge  of  Courage 
and  Kipling's  Second  Jungle  Book 
appeared,  and  at  a  time  when  Holly- 
wood was  a  fig-and-citrus  ranch 
near  Los  Angeles,  the  first  projected 
motion  picture  was  shown  in  Amer- 
ica, the  Griffo-Barnett  prize  fight. 

"I  never  expect  to  see  the  teaching 
force  of  a  male  college  made  up  of 
women,"  says  the  Rev.  Charles 
Parkhurst  in  the  May,  1893,  JOUR- 
NAL. "Why,  then,  is  so  much  of 
the  instruction  of  female  colleges 
in  the  hands  of  men?  Is  it  not 
pretty  clear  that  a  thoroughly  " 
womanly  woman  can  do  more  to- 
ward helping  a  college  girl  become 
a  woman  than  a  thoroughly  manly 
man  can?" 

"Doubtful:  If  you  love  the  girl  as 
you  say  you  do,  it  would  he  all 
right  to  ask  her  to  be  your  ivife, 
even  if  you  are  only  two  months 
her  senior." 

"Helvetia:  Try  bathing  your  hands 
in  very  hot  water  to  draw  the  red- 
ness from  them." 

"I  have  told  my  girls  very  plainly," 
writes  Ruth  Ashmore  crisply, 
"that  I  do  not  approve  of  a  young 
^voman  giving  her  picture  to  any 
man  except  the  one  she  expects  to 
marry." 

"Juliet:  An  upright  piano  is  con- 
sidered a  more  ornamental  piece 
of  furniture  than  a  grand." 

"Turquoises  of  great  beauty  are  be- 
coming rarer  and  rarer,"  says  Aletha 
Lowbar  Craig.  "It  is  believed  that 
this  stone  turns  pale  if  the  owner 
falls  ill;  and  it  loses  its  splendor 
altogether  if  worn  by  a  lady  with  a 
cloudy  complexion." 

"In  appearance  Mrs.  Thomas 
Hardy  is  striking;  she  is  dignified 
and  very  graceful  and  looks  as 
though  she  might  he  the  wife  of 
some  ecclesiastical  dignitary." 

"What  quality  in  a  man  does  a 
woman  dislike  the  most?"  a  tvor- 
ried  male  reader  asks  Editor  Ed- 
ward Bok,  who  replies  in  one  tvord: 
"Cowardice." 

"Gertrude:  No  matter  what  may  be 
the  language  of  flowers,  I  do  not 
think  you  were  quite  wise  in  refus- 
ing those  offered  you  by  the  gentle- 
man. He  may  have  been  ignorant 
as  to  their  meaning." 


•^Gossip  about  people  you 
lenoiFf  editors  you  like  ami 
irhat  goes  on  in  IVew  York* 


TO  anyone  here  in  the  Workshop, 
on  top  of  the  building  that  has 
the  Radio  City  Music  Hall  down  be- 
low— the  biggest  movie  in  the  world  — 
the  long  lines  of  people  all  over  town 
waiting  to  buy  cigarettes  don't  seem 
very  long.  For  we  see  double  lines  of 
hopeful  movie  patrons  down  here 
that  run  right  around  the  block,  in 
rain,  snow  or  blistering  sun — the  tail 
end  often  touching  the  head  of  the 
line  at  the  box  office.  Whereas  the 
longest  cigarette  line  we've  seen  has 
hardly  been  more  than  a  block  in 
length,  and  we  remember  coffee  lines 
as  long  as  that,  when  coffee  was  hard 
to  get.  As  to  how  long  the  bread  lines 
were  back  in  1930,  we've  tried  our  best 
to  forget. 

Speaking  of  queues  calls  to  miiid  a  new 
kind  of  shop  that  opened  recently, 
across  on  Madison  Avenue,  called  Q's — 
for  men  only.  But  the  catch,  according 
to  Wilhela  Cunhman,  who  was  able 
to  get  in  as  fashion  editor,  is  that  the 

MTTPOPOI  ITAN  PHOTO 


Here  men  shop  unembarrassed. 

merchandise  is  all  for  women.  The  shop 
is    run    by  Antoinette    Quillerct — 

"Q's";  get  it? — who  got  the  idea  after 
hearing  so  many  men  describe  their 
embarrassment  at  having  to  buy  negli- 
gees, or  what  used  to  be  called  unmen- 
tionables, for  their  wives  and  girls  at 
the  regular  places.  Here  no  chance  of 
running  into  women  who  make  them 
feel  foolish,  only  understanding  clerks, 
and  Q  herself — who  can  outride  and 
outgolf  most  men,  and  was  tennis  cham- 
pion of  Morocco,  where  she  used  to 
manufacture  marmalade. 

On  May  10,  1933,  the  Nazis  burned  the 
books,  an<l  in  ju<lgmeiil  upon  them 
Religious  Book  Week  will  be  observed 
in  this  cc»unlry  May  6-13.  .  .  .  Reli- 
gious reading  is  «lefiiiilely  "up,"  THE 
ROItK  having  been  an  uutslatuliiig 
bcsl  seller  for  two  years,  and  7,000.000 
Bibles  sent  to  our  armed  forces  in  the 


The  magic  iiords,  ^'Cigarettes  on  sale,"'  causf  block-long  (jueues  lojorin. 


past  four  years.  .  .  .  Among  the  non- 
religious  books  this  month  are  AMER- 
ICAN Guerilla,  by  Mra  H^^olfert, 
the  true  story  of  an  American  naval 
lieutenant  who,  after  his  ship  went 
down,  joined  the  Philippine  guerrilla 
army  on  Leyte — a  Haphazard,  heroic 
Robinson  Crusoe-type  army  which 
helped  greatly  toward  smoothing  the 
path  for  General  MacArl bur's  return; 
and  THEY  CHANGE  THEIR  SKIES,  by 
lAttitin  Preston  Osborne,  a  Gran<l 
Hotel  in  miniature,  taking  place  in  a 
pension  in  Honduras. 

If  you  ivant  a  little  behind-the-scenes 
on  this  monf/i's  cover,  the  girl  in 
Sallif  YU'tor's  original  flower  hat  is 
Uvt t ina  Itoleaard,  who  has  probably 
worn  more  hats  from  world-fanuuis 
milliners  than  any  other  model  we 
can  think  of — lilernlly  thousands; 
and  when  lH'ilhela  t'ushnian  was  in 
Hollywood  recently,  after  fining  the 
caver,  the  first  pt-rson  she  saw  was 
Joan  Fontaine— with  the  very  same 
hat  on  her  head. 

Budding  authors  should  hear  the  story 
of  Letitia  M'reston  Osborne.  Among 
the  40,000  manuscripts  a  year  which 
come  in  from  authors  unknown  to  us 
(the  known  ones  comprise  another  cate- 
gory), came  Mrs.  O.'s  ms.  of  her  first 
novel.  They  Change  Their  Skies. 
Read  by  JVoel  ttnteher,  who  thought 
it  good,  though  not  a  serial,  she  passed 
it  on  to  fiction  editor  lluah  Kahler, 
who  liked  it  so  much  he  showed  it  to 
several  book  publishers,  resulting  in  its 
being  grabbed  by  Lippincotts  for  publi- 
cation in  May  and  becoming  the  Ca- 
nadian book  of  the  month  for  May. 

One  of  the  promptest  editors  on  the  staff, 
the  same  Mr.  K.  came  in  a  little  late  the 
other  day,  to  everyone's  surprise — but 
with  the  first  excuse  of  its  kind.  Seems  his 
train  ran  down  a  deer,  and  the  crew  held 
things  up  until  they'd  loaded  all  that  im- 
rationed  venison  onto  the  baggage  car. 


After  telling  you  last  month  aliout 
launchings,  we  had  a  letter  from 
Eleanor  Kunitz,  chief  of  the  ship- 
-laming  section  in  the  LJ.  S.  Maritime 
Commission — which  is  something  of 
a  Job,  having  had  to  name  well  over 
4000  ships  since  January,  1942.  We"<l 
asked  her  if  they  always  used  cham- 
pagne, and  she  said  almost  always — 
even  when  llie  ships  w«'rc  iiamol  for 
famous  drys,  like  Killti  Sundaii 
anil  Franees  K.  W'illard.  (It 
splashes  so  wonderfully.)  But  the 
i.ouis  Pasteur  was  christened 
with  a  bottle  of  pasteurized  milk;  and 
small  bottles  of  water  were  used  a 
while  back  when  live  lilciitical  vessels 
at  Superior,  Wisconsin,  were  launche<i 
simultaneously,  and  christened  si- 
multaneously, by  five  identical  young 
ladies  named  Dionnc. 

Birthdays  this  month  are:  Orson  1^'elles 

{whose  first  name  is  George)  on  the  6th ; 
llarrii  Kmerson  Fosdlek  on  the  24th  ; 
iU'atrIre  IMIie  (who  probably  holds 
the  record  for  war  entertaining),  the  29th, 
and  Uennu  HtHHlnian,  the  30lh. 


Morale-builder  Lillic, 


"'7^  c<uttiHuattce  €i*uC  a^^ufuutcc  <9^<9  U(dK^freeicc  *tteu€. 

—FRANKLIN  D.  ROOSEVELT. 


15 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Big  sister  said:    OKlo. 


K^,  *.*    *•* 


r-    •  *•'% 


v\ 


^Jpr'  I  said:  CJ&jett5A/  (^ 


f 


i     tfcit  5-u<nu>  (£oofe!" 


t 


she  did  -and  He  said  : 
Oiflyn-YTVYniu. .  ADAflltu.  Sm>ootny . . . 

cyjznjz^  *ftx>v>  uouA/  s^AAx  e<vrb  "&€/  So^diA^,  ^A£ttCflA^,'Ceo ! 

Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  that  Ivory  Look  ...  to  see 
your  skin  become  clearer,  smoother,  lovelier?  All  you  have 
to  do  is  stop  being  careless  about  your  complexion.  Follow 
baby's  Ivory  Soap  routine! 

Change  to  regular,  gentle  cleansing  with  that  pure,  mild 
cake  of  Ivory.  You  can't  buy  a  purer  soap  no  matter 
how  much  you  pay. 


.OATS/ 


Ivory  contains  no  coloring,  medication 
or  strong  perfume  that  might  irritate. 
More  doctors  advise  it  than  all  other 
brands  put  together !994y^oo%  Pure 


a\>&WL THAN  ALL 

OTHER  BRANDS  PUT  TOGETHER 


p.  S.  TO  PATRIOTS:  You  help  save  vital  war  materials  when  you  make  Ivory  go  as  far  as  possible.  Avoid  soap  waste,  and  prevent  war  waste. 


Oh,  ril  marry  sometime,''''  she  said.  "I'm  not  in  any  hurry. 

T^OMAS  PELLETIER  sat  at  his  desk  in  the  office  on  the  second 
floor  at  the  Academy.  The  high  school  in  West  Ulster  was  still 
called  the  Academy,  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  Pelletier's 
grandfather.  There  had  often  been  talk  of  erecting  a  new  building. 
Why  not,  with  all  these  grants  and  the  trend  toward  centralized 
schooling?  But  somehow  the  Academy  remained,  a  tall,  three-storied 
building  with  narrow  stairs  whose  treads  were  worn  in  the  middle,  high, 
not-too-well-lighted  classrooms,  and  over  all  the  faint  haze  of  chalk  and 
dust.  The  building  was  on  a  hill,  as  so  often  schoolhouses  used  to  be 
in  the  old  days,  whether  from  some  instinct  that  said  learning  should 
stand  above  the  routine  comings  and  goings  of  town  life,  or  from  some 
other  instinct  that  said  it  did  youngsters  good  to  have  to  climb  a  hill 
for  their  education.  The  town  never  grew  in  that  direction,  though 
there  was  a  straggling  row  of  houses  that  climbed  the  hill  of  School 
Street,  and  halfway  up  the  hill  was  St.  Paul's  and  the  rectory.  It  was 
quiet  in  the  office.  It  was  four-thirty  of  an  October  afternoon  and  the 
children  were  gone,  and  most  of  the  teachers. 

Miss  Scott  was  still  in  her  room.  She  taught  algebra  and  geometry, 
was  sixty-four  years  old  and  something  of  an  institution  in  West  Ulster. 
She  had  a  tongue  like  a  razor  and  yet  was  respected  and  even  liked. 
She  seemed  never  to  have  heard  that  everything  one  learned  should 
have  some  practical  application  to  life.  She  probably  knew  that  her 
pupils  would  not  go  through  life  working  out  their  destinies  in  terms  of 
X  and  y,  but  she  taught  with  a  vigor  and  discipline  that  would  seem  to 
imply  that  she  expected  just  that.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  considered 

TH€  JOURNAL'S  COMPLBTE-IN-OMe-lSSUe  NOVEL 


17 


Xl\(nta4t  "1m  'w^  "M^ti  ;t^  id! 


i  0M--  M,  d  tmid,M  W~)m  / 


'& 


new  ways  foolish  and  was  convinced  that  the  only  thing  that 
mattered  was  to  see  that  her  students  worked,  and  worked  hard. 
It  didn't  matter  at  what.  She  offered  nothing  on  a  silver  platter 
and  made  no  attempt  to  have  mathematics  interesting  or  pleas- 
ant. She  should  have  been,  by  tenure  and  experience,  the  princi- 
pal of  the  Academy,  and  she  knew  it,  but  she  bore  no  resentment 
that  Thomas  Pelletier  had  the  job  instead.  By  custom,  a  man 
was  always  the  principal. 

There  was  a  pile  of  essays  on  the  desk  in  front  of  Pelletier,  but 
he  seemed  unaware  of  them.  It  was  his  custom  to  take  papers 
home  and  mark  them  at  the  dining-room  table,  within  sight  of 
his  mother's  door.  The  position  of  principal  at  West  Ulster  was 
not  an  administrative  job  entirely,  or  even  for  the  most  part. 
Pelletier  taught  third  and  fourth  year  English  and  ancient  his- 
tory. It  would  seem  that  mathematics  should  have  been  his  sub- 
ject, but  he  was  quite  content  to  leave  equations  and  tangents  to 
Miss  Scott.  He  sat  now,  looking,  not  at  the  papers,  but  beyond 
to  the  hills  across  the  valley.  They  were  startlingly  golden  and 
red  now  in  the  clear  late  afternoon.  The  sky  was  a  brilliant  blue, 
and  closer  at  hand  leaves  fell  without  effort,  slowly,  steadily;  the 
small  yellow  leaf  of  the  beeches  in  the  schoolyard,  the  crimson- 
and-gold  leaf  of  the  maples  by  the  old  well,  no  longer  used.  Pel- 
letier's  eyes  behind  their  glasses  were  bleak  and  still,  as  if  they 
did  not  see  the  familiar  hills,  the  loved  colors. 

Miss  Scott  came  to  the  doorway,  hesitated.  She  wore  a  plain 
gray  suit,  her  usual  uniform  for  teaching.  Her  gray  hair  was 
curly  and  there  was  a  little  friz  of  curls  above  her  forehead,  but 
in  the  back  it  was  pulled  up  without  compromise  to  a  knob  on 
the  top  of  her  head.  She  wore  her  watch  pinned  to  her  lapel  with 
a  big  fleur-de-lis-shaped  gold  pin.  The  watch  and  the  hair-do 
gave  her  an  odd  effect  of  dignity  and  style,  though  she  had  worn 
them  the  same  way  for  twenty-five  years  and  more  and  there  had 
been  times  when  they  seemed  old-fashioned  and  ridiculous. 

"You  shouldn't  have  tried  to  come  back  this  week,  Mr.  Pel- 
letier," she  said,  and  her  sharp  voice  had  a  touch  of  kindness  and 
anxiety. 

His  glance  left  the  window  and  came  slowly  to  Miss  Scott,  but 
as  if  it  were  still  concerned  elsewhere  and  couldn't  quite  take  her 
in.  "Oh,  I'd  rather  be  at  work,"  he  said  dully.  He  was  a  slight, 
studious-looking  man,  with  a  fair  mustache  and  thick  glasses. 
He  was  forty-one  years  old,  but  he  still  retained  a  look  of  boyish- 
ness that  was  very  appealing.  At  the  moment  he  did  not  look 
boyish  at  all,  however,  but  old  and  very  tired. 

"Death  is  always  more  of  a  shock  than  we  anticipate,"  Miss 
Scott  said  somewhat  bluntly.  "You've  looked  after  your  mother 
for  a  long  time,  and  you  ought  to  have  a  rest." 

"Rest?"  Pelletier  said  vaguely. 

"Why  don't  you  go  away  somewhere  for  a  week?  We'd  get 
along.  Things  always  go  on  just  the  same,  you  know,  whether 
we  think  we're  indispensable  or  not." 

He  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  plain  it  was  an  effort.  "  I've  never 
thought  I  was  indispensable.  Miss  Scott,"  he  said.  "But  I  don't 
want  to  go  away." 

Miss  Scott  looked  as  troubled  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  look. 
"Well,  you  ought  to!"  she  said  briskly. i  "And  don't  tell  me  you 
aren't  tired,  because  I  know  different.  Maybe  you're  wound  up 
and  can't  stop,  but  you're  tired.  I  looked  after  my  father  for  ten 
years  after  he  had  his  first  stroke,  and  I  know  all  about  it.  The 
only  difference  was  that  I  didn't  have  much,  if  any,  affection  for 
my  father.  He  was  pretty  much  of  a  tyrant,  as  all  West  Ulster 
knows.  But  when  it  was  all  over  I  was  so  used  to  it  that  I 
couldn't  seem  to  stop.  Well,  I  know  now  I  should  have.  And  so 
should  you.  You  need  to  slop."  Miss  Scott  believed  in  minding 
her  own  business,  and  it  was  plainly  an  effort  for  her  to  be  saying 
this,  and  also  plainly  a  mark  of  her  liking  for  her  principal  and 
her  real  concern  for  him. 

"I'd  rather  be  at  work,"  he  said  in  that  same  dull  voice,  but 
with  a  certain  finality  now.  Then  he  took  off  his  thick  glasses  ab- 
sently and  swung  them  by  the  bow,  and  Miss  Scott  saw  with  a 
kind  of  shock  that  his  eyes  were  a  deep,  clear,  penetrating  blue. 


She  had  never,  in  all  these  years  under  him,  seen  him  without 
those  thick  glasses.  He  was  suddenly  a  person  she  had  never 
known  at  all,  and  she  could  not  go  on  in  her  usual  brisk  way,  re- 
spectfully but  a  little  browbeatingly  as  well. 

"But  you  ought  to,"  she  said,  but  with  bewilderment  this 
time.  She  turned  and  went  out.  She  was  a  past  mistress  of 
finality  in  speech  herself,  and  knew  when  she  had  met  it  in  an- 
other. But  she  went  away  more  troubled  than  she  had  come. 

After  her  sensible,  firm  steps  had  faded  down  the  steep  stair- 
way, Pelletier  sat  on  there  for  a  long  time.  The  Academy  was 
very  still  now.  He  was  alone  in  the  building.  Once  he  drew  a 
paper  toward  him  from  the  pile  of  essays,  sat  looking  down  at  it 
as  if  he  were  about  to  correct  it.  In  round  childish  writing  the 
essay  began,  "It  is  very  important  to  understand  the  British 

right  now.    In  Burke's  Speech  on  Conciliation "   He  saw 

the  words,  but  it  was  clear  that  only  his  eyes  saw  them,  not  his 
mind. 

Presently  he  put  the  essay  back  with  the  others,  lifted  the 
pile  and  put  them  in  an  old  brief  case  that  lay  on  a  radiator  close 
by.  He  took  his  hat  from  a  hook  by  the  door,  put  it  on,  walked 
out  of  the  room  and  toward  the  stairs.  Halfway  down  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  not  brought  the  brief  case,  but  he  did  not 
go  after  it.  He  went  on  down  the  two  flights  and  out  the  old 
front  door,  not  locking  it  behind  him.  Old  Jonas,  who  had  been 
janitor  for  longer  than  Pelletier  had  been  principal,  would  take 
care  of  that. 

Jonas  was  raking  leaves,  slowly,  deliberately.  Leaves  in  a 
high  pile  were  burning  near  the  roadway,  their  smoke  going 
straight  up  toward  the  clear  sky  in  a  thin  line.  Unfailingly,  as 
Pelletier  left  the  schoolhouse,  he  said,  "Good  night,  Jonas." 
Tonight  he  walked  past  the  old  man  without  looking  at  him. 

Jonas  paused  an  instant,  his  gnarled  hands  drawing  the  rake 
upright  and  clinging  to  it.  Et  up  with  grief,  he  excused  him  after 
a  moment.  Well,  she  was  a  wonderful  woman,  profs  mother  was. 
But  he  was  a  little  hurt,  because  Prof  Pelletier  had  always 
seemed  to  confide  in  him.  Once  he'd  said  to  him,  "You  know, 
Jonas,  it's  really  you  and  Miss  Scott  who  run  the  Academy." 
Quite  a  few  times  when  he'd  been  detained  at  the  school  for 
something  or  other  he'd  sent  Jonas  down  to  the  house  to  see  if 
his  mother  was  all  right.  Jonas  went  on  raking  now,  but  he  still 
felt  hurt,  as  if  something  had  changed  in  the  good  routine  of  his 
life. 

Thomas  Pelletier  walked  down  the  hill.  He  had  a  graceful  if 
somewhat  slouching  way  of  walking,  with  coat  unbuttoned, 
hands  thrust  in  his  pockets  like  a  college  boy.  Halfway  down, 
just  outside  the  rectory,  he  met  the  Reverend  Doctor  Deem,  the 
rector. 

No  one  could  have  looked  less  like  a  rector.  Deem  was  almost 
grossly  fat  and  had  a  small  head  with  small  eyes.  He  seemed  to 
have  almost  no  neck  for  the  ministerial  collar  to  embrace,  and 
his  face  was  as  red  as  if  he  were  a  drinking  man.  But  his  appear- 
ance belied  him,  for  he  was  one  of  the  kindest  and  wisest  of  men, 
and  his  small  eyes  were  enormously  shrewd  and  intelligent. 
Though  it  was  clear  enough  that  Pelletier  was  going  by  with 
only  a  nod.  Deem  blocked  his  way  and  said: 

"Glad  I  met  you,  Pelletier.  My  wife  told  me  to  go  up  and 
bring  you  down  to  supper,  but  I  was  evading  it  because  I  haven't 
the  figure  for  climbing  hills  any  longer,  but  come  in,  come  in — 
my  wife's  made  angel  food  in  your  honor." 

"Thanks,"  Thomas  Pelletier  said.  "Some  other  time,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"But  I  do.  I  do  mind!  .  .  .  Look  here,  my  boy,  I  know  you 
want  to  crawl  into  a  hole  somewhere,  but  it  doesn't  do,  you 
know.  Kindness  is  often  an  intrusion  and  a  bore,  but  I  assure 
you  we  won't  talk  about  what  a  good  son  you  were  or  anything 
of  the  kind.  I  want  to  have  a  strictly  academic  discussion  with 
someone,  on  literature  as  affected  by  war.  You're  the  only  man 
in  town  I  can  have  it  with — don't  let  me  down." 

"Some  other  time,"  Pelletier  said  again  without  rudeness,  just 
with  finality.  He  went  on  down  the  hill.       (Continued  on  Page  74) 


18 


t  LIU  STR  A  IF.1>   BIT   PBUETT   C&KTEB 


Ut^e  4€  Mm^  <fe  ctKM  <(nM*tUHf.  l^itH  it  ^  Ut  l<utd  uMKi&t  A^A  eAceA  eutd  44Xi»  ie^  ^<ue  ok  (Ae  fU^Uei^.  atitt  iutd  tfoiot^  £*t  <xUefi. 


""v*])^!^ 


) 


"You  can  dissipate  your  talents  ri^ 
here,  W  illiam,"  said  Liz.  "Tve  be 
hoivling  for  an  assistant  for  weeks. 


HE  had  known  her  since  the  days  when  girls 
wore  nylons,  young  men  planned  careers  and 
steaks  were  two  inches  thick.  He  had  never 
dated  her,  but  they  had  traveled  in  the  same 
crowd  and  sat  in  on  the  same  night  course  at  the 
Art  Center.  Once,  at  a  Christmas  party,  he  had 
kissed  her — briefly,  under  the  mistletoe.  In  view 
of  these  facts,  he  opened  the  office  door  without 
knocking. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said,  sticking  his  head 
inside.   "Does  the  Number  Six  bus  stop  here?" 

Liz  Jordan  looked  up  from  her  desk,  did 
a  double  take  and  then  came  toward  him 
with  outstretched  hands.  "Bill!"  she  mar- 
veled. "Bill  Douglas!" 

"Give  the  lady  ten  silver  dollars,"  he 
grinned,  clasping  her  hands  warmly.  "How 
are  you,  Liz?" 

"Bill  Douglas,"  she  repeated,  her  voice 
still  filled  with  amazement. 

"Let me  know  when  you're  back  on  the 
fairway."  He  pulled  off  his  topcoat. 
"Mind  if  I  sit  down?" 

Sprawling  in  the  nearest  chair,  he 
watched  her  cross  the  room  and  perch  on  a 
corner  of  the  desk.  Her  dark  hair  was 
smoothly  upswept.  She  was  wearing  a 
gray  wool  dress  with  a  vivid  Ascot  that 
matched  her  lipstick.  If  she  had  gained 
any  weight  during  the  past  two  years,  it 
was  certainly  in  the  right  places. 

"You're  looking  mighty  sharp.  Miss  J." 

"Thanks,"  she  said.  "If  I'd  known  you 
were  coming,  I'd  have  worn  a  rose  in  my 
teeth."  Her  blue  eyes  were  frankly  ap- 
praising. "You  look  pretty  good  yourself, 
William.  But  where's  the  sailor  suit — at 
the  cleaner's?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "All  gone.  I  got  care- 
less one  day  and  walked  into  a  piece  of 
shrapnel.  So  they  fired  me."  Seeing  the  ex- 
pression on  her  face,  he  elaborated  hastily: 
"Oh,  they  were  nice  about  it.  Built  me  a 
brand-new  chest  and  pinned  a  medal  on  it 
before  they  gave  me  my  discharge.  But  no 
more  uniforms." 

Liz's  fingers  curled  around  the  edge  of 
the  desk.  Her  eyes  were  wide  and  suddenly 
bright.  "Why,  Bill,"  she  began,  and  then 
stopped  and  swallowed. 

Bill  shifted  nervously  in  his  chair.  He 
hoped  she  wasn't  going  to  pull  a  Marianne 
on  him.  He'd  been  more  or  less  prepared 
for  Marianne's  reaction.  She  was  the  emo- 
tional type  anyway.  But  for  Liz  Jordan  to  play  it 
heavy  

She  didn't.  Her  mouth  twisted  in  a  funny,  lop- 
sided little  smile.  "  Why,  Bill,  I  do  believe  you're 
something  of  a  hero.  Tell  Eliza,  dear.  Why  did  they 
give  you  a  medal?" 

"For  being  a  brave  boy  and  not  yelling  when 
they  pulled  out  the  stitches."  He  changed  the  sub- 
ject quickly.  "I'm  looking  for  a  job,  Liz.  You're 
head  of  the  art  department  here.  I  thought  you 
might  be  able  to  fix  me  up." 

"Ha-ha,"  Liz  said.  "Now  tell  the  one  about  Pat 
and  Mike." 

"No,  I'm  serious."  Bill  lighted  a  cigarette. 
"How's  about  it?" 

She  leaned  forward,  resting  her  elbows  on  her 
knees  and  eying  him  quizzically.  "In  the  name  of 
Peter  Arno,"  she  said,"whyshould  a  cartoonist  want 
a  job — and  in  a  department  store,  of  all  places?" 


BY  ELIZABETH  lUATHEB  WU 

"I  don't  want  a  job.  What  I  want  is  to  marry  a 
quick  trick,  name  of  Marianne  Marsh,  and  go  off 
on  an  extended  honeymoon — maybe  six  months; 
maybe  a  year.  I  want  to  relax  and  have  some  fun 
for  a  change.  But  the  lady  of  my  heart  says  that  a 
marriage  begun  so  frivolously  couldn't  possibly 
last.  Furthermore,  she  won't  marry  me  until  I 
have  a  steady  job.    In  her  estimation,  free-lance 


"/  didnH  realize  you^d  be  working  for  a  lady,"  said 
Marianne,   "lioure  too   kind,"   Liz   murmured. 

cartooning  ranks  with  playing  the  slot  machines  as 
a  way  to  earn  a  living.  Ergo,  I  seek  employment." 

"She  must  be  quite  a  gal.  Do  you  think  she'll  let 
you  smoke  after  you're  married?" 

"Oh,  now  wait  a  minute,"  Bill  protested.  "I 
don't  want  you  to  get  the  wrong  impression.  There's 
nothing  domineering  about  Marianne.  She's  the 
kind  of  girl  you  want  to  take  care  of — young  and 
sweet,  and  oh,  so  lovely  to  look  at.  It's  just  that 
she  feels  marriage  is  a  very  solemn  business  and  I 
have  to  humor  her  for  the  time  being.  Naturally, 
I'll  be  the  one  who  makes  the  decisions  once  we're 
married." 

"Naturally,"  Liz  said.  She  slid  to  her  feet  and 
stood  looking  down  at  him.  "I  think  you're  a  king- 
size  dope,  William,  but  if  you're  determined  to  be- 
come a  wage  slave  you  can  dissipate  your  talents 
right  here.  I've  been  howling  for  an  assistant  for 
weeks,  and  all  Personnel  has  produced  so  far  are 

21 

ILL  USTRATKI)      BY      AKTHUR      WILLIAM      BKOWN 


characters  who  think  art  gum  is  something  you 

chew." 

Bill  jumped  up,  grinning  broadly.  "Sold  to  the 

gentleman  in  the  red  tie.   I  knew  I  could  count  on 

you,  Liz.  When  do  I  start?  " 

"Tomorrow  morning  at  nine.  I'll  call  Personnel 

now  and  tell  them  to  begin  doing  whatever  it  is  they 

do  to  put  people  on  the  pay  roll." 

"Assistant  to  the  head  of  the  art  department  at 

F.  L.  Kinsler  and  Sons."  Bill  was  shrugging  on  his 

coat.  "A  title  like  that  ought  to  impress  anyone — 
even  Marianne."  His  brown  eyes  clouded 
momentarily.  "You  understand,  don't 
you,  that  I  probably  won't  keep  the  job 
very  long?  It  just  depends  on  how  soon  I 
can  persuade  Marianne  to  go  off  on  that 
honeymoon.  If  you'd  rather  wait  until  you 

can  find  someone  who " 

"I  understand."  Liz  smiled.  "It  will  be 
nice  having  you  around  even  for  a  short 
time.  Bill."  She  gave  him  a  small  push  in 
the  direction  of  the  door.  "Scram,"  she 
commanded.  "I'm  a  busy  woman,  even 
though  I  don't  look  same." 

Going  down  in  the  elevator.  Bill  whis- 
tled softly  to  himself.  Outside,  the  sky  was 
gray,  promising  snow.  Bill  hailed  a  cab 
and  gave  the  driver  the  Marshes'  address. 
Marianne,  he  reflected  placidly,  was  going 
to  be  overwhelmed  when  she  heard  the 
news. 

As  recently  as  last  night  he  had  attempted 
for  the  dozenth  time  to  convince  her  that 
they  had  nothing  to  lose  by  giving  his  plan 
a  try.  "If  you're  not  completely  happy, 
we'll  come  back  and  I'll  get  the  steadiest, 
most  respectable  job  in  town,"  he  had 
promised. 

But  Marianne  was  adamant  and  he  had 
finally  decided,  after  a  restless  night,  to 
concede  temporarily  for  the  sake  of  future 
gains. 

The  Marshes'  apartment  was  on  the 
eighteenth  floor,  overlooking  the  park. 
Hattie,  the  second  maid,  ushered  Bill  into 
the  living  room  with  the  assurance  that 
Miss  Marianne  would  join  him  as  soon  as 
she  finished  dressing. 

Bill  glanced  around  the  room,  taking  in 
the  royal-blue  rug,  the  chalk-white  walls 
and  the  starkly  modern  furniture.    It  was 
still  a  minor  miracle  to  iiiin  that  a  girl 
raised  in  such  sophisticated  surroundings 
could  be  as  sweet  and  unspoiled  as  Marianne.  Sit- 
ting down  at  the  piano,  he  strummed  out  a  four- 
fmger  version  of  Come  Out,  Wherever  You  Are. 
Marianne  appeared  in  the  middle  of  the  second 
chorus.  She  was  a  tiny  girl,  with  wide  gray  eyes  and 
shining  golden-brown  hair  that  hung  to  her  shoul- 
ders. There  was  an  appealing  daintiness  about  her, 
a  delicate  beauty  that  had  captured  Bill's  heart  the 
moment  he  met  her. 

"Billy,"  she  cried  in  a  soft  little  voice.  "I'm  so 
sorry.   I  didn't  expect  you  so  early." 

"Hi,  baby,"  Bill  said,  abandoning  the  keyboard. 
"Did  the  other  guy  leave  peaceably?"  He  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  but  carefully,  be- 
cause he  knew  she  didn't  like  to  have  her  hair 
mussed.  "  I  am  a  bearer  of  glad  tidings— practically 
exuberant  tidings,  as  a  matter  of  fact."  He  pulled 
her  down  on  the  piano  bench  beside  him.  "I  have 
a  job."  (Continued  on  Page  65) 


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23 


Have  you  ever  wondered  what  kind  of  flower  you  were  like?   Not  the  hothouse  exotic  blooms,  but  the  everyday  varieties  of  blossoms 
that  are  native  to  almost  every  state.    Perhaps  you  are  like  the  rose  or  the  daisy.   Or  mayhap  you  more  closely  resemble  the  primrose 


or  the  poppy. 


HERE  ARE  THE  QUESTIONS 


It  all  depends  on  your  traits  and  characteristics,  on  what  type  of  person  you  are.   •   B%'  MAROUEHITE  BARZE 


This  little  test  will  tell  you  which  flower  you — and  you— repre- 
sent. Just  answer, the  three  groups  of  questions,  Yes  or  No.  Then 
follow  the  later  instructions. 


/  VES 

1.  Do  you  always  screw  the  cap  bacU  on  the  tooth  paste?      D 
X  2.  Is  it  hard  for  you  to  stand  disorder  and  clutter?     .    \^ Q 
3.  Are  you  fastidious  about  your  clothes  and  grooming?  \y12i 

4i.  Can  you  live  according  to  a  budget  and  not  feel  irked 

and  hampered? D 

^  5.  Are  vou  punctual  about  dates,  appointments,  and  so     \y 

on? a 

6.  Is  your  mind  good  at  facts  and  figures? 0 

7.  Do  you  prefer  to  do  one  thing  and  finish   it,  before 

starting  another? El  / 

\  8.  Is  it  hard  for  you  not  to  worry  and  feel  anxious?    .    .      W 


THE  READINGS 


HERE  ARE 


You  are  like  the  PRIMROSE, 

cool  and  restrained,  loving  harmony, 
beauty  and  order.  Your  blossoms  are 
soothing  in  tone,  yet  fresh  as  the 
dewy  dawn.  You  live  close  to  earth 
and  cling  to  things  dear  and  familiar. 
Cautious  yet  questing  by  nature, 
you  keep  your  emotions  in  hand 
with  technique  and  reserve  and  re- 
fuse to  be  swayed  by  every  passing 
breeze.  Yet  your  face  is  ever  lifted 
to  life  and  love  with  expectancy  and 
assurance. 


^ 


^/ 


You  are  like  the  S^'EET  PEA, 

a  homey  little  flower  that  blooms  in 
generous  abandon  for  all  mankind, 
the  high  and  the  lowly.  Serene  and 
languid,  you  exude  a  faint  perfume 
and  give  forth  lavishly  with  a  riot  of 
dainty  color.  In  seemingly  artless 
fashion  you  make  of  love  an  art,  sin- 
cere and  simple.  There  is  nothing 
austere  about  you,  and  your  friendly 
warmth  makes  you  appealing  to 
many  tastes  and  ages,  and  reminds 
one  of  muted  music. 


/  YE.S 

1.  Do  you  like  to  belong  to  clubs  and  organizations?      .  Q 

X  2.  Are  marriage  vows  sacred  to  you? ED 

''  3.  Do  you  enjoy  talking  to  the  milkman,  groceryman,  \/' 

and  so  on? D 

,4.  Is  it  easy  for  you  to  give  expression  to  yom-  affections?  D 

/^5.  Do  you  find  people  in  general  a  pretty  fine  lot?   .    .    .  CK^ 

6.  Are  you  content  to  let  the  world  jog  along  without 

trying  to  help  reform  it? Dv^ 

7.  Do  you  like  to  pamper  those  you  love? n\, 

8.  Is  it  easy  and  pleasant  for  you  to  meet  and  mix  with 

other  people? .  &\ 


'  •      YES    ]>ro  t" 

*-  1.  Are  you  easily  moved  to  tears  or  laughter? 9  D  V     / 

X  2.  Do  you  often  undertake  too  much  and  tire  yourself?      D  v       D  'v^5r*5^i^^^-^ 

^  3.  Does  a  high  wind  make  you  nervous? □  Q   ,  .J 

y   4.  Is  it  hard  for  you  not  to  embellish  a  story  past  the  ^-yvl 

point  of  truth? □  □  V 

1^  5.  Are  you  prone  to  act  first  and  reason  afterward?    .    .      ZK/      D 
A  6.  Do  slow,  meticulous  persons  irritate  you?     .....      Qy'       Q  n  // 

^   7.  Are  you  apt  to  get  so  keyed  up  you  can't  get  to  sleep?      Qn/     D  ft)'  i 

7     8.  Do  you  have  ups  and  downs  in  mood  without  appar-  /  \\m*^ 

ent  cause? CK/      D  ^ 

•  •_•  ^^ 

Count  how  many  Yes  answers  you  have  in  each  group.  If  you  have    ' 

five  or  more  Yeses  in  a  group,  you  classify  in  that  group.  I  f  you  do  not  x^      ^ 

have  as  many  as  five  Yeses,  you  are  not  in  it.  Put  down  the  numbers  ^-^^ 

of  the  groups  in  which  you  classify,  then  find  the  reading  numbered  in  /  - .    /  ^ 
accordance.  If  you  do  not  have  five  Yeses  in  2J^  group,  you  are  an  X. 

4r  -fe^  % 


/-i' 


You  are  like  the  VIOLET,  the 

quaint  little  flower  of  the  sweetheart 
type  that  is  always  refreshingly  new 
yet  somehow  old-fashioned.  There  is 
an  exactness  about  you,  a  precision 
of  purpose,  combined  with  a  yield- 
ingness  that  is  like  the  cry  of  a  bird 
to  its  mate  in  season.  You  are  not 
the  femme  fatale  among  flowers,  but 
the  femme  coquette.  Your  deep,  royal 
color  makes  you  pensive  and  shad- 
owed with  sadness,  yet  gaily  to  be 
desired. 


/-J 


You  are  like  theTARlVATIOIV, 

that  proud  and  stately  flower  which 
possesses  a  touch  of  glamour.  There 
is  a  duality  in  your  make-up,  a  qual- 
ity that  sets  you  apart.  For  though 
you  are  seemingly  impressionable, 
you  are  fundamentally  unchange- 
able and  deep-rooted.  The  mystery 
of  motion  and  emotion  are  yours  in 
abundance,  and  you  can  invest  life 
and  love  with  the  aura  of  allure 
and  drama.  To  those  who  love  you, 
"you  are  the  music  while  the  music 
lasts." 


/-i'-J' 


You  are  like  the  ROSE,  and  "a 

rose  in  the  rain  is  a  lovely  thing," 
sang  the  poet.  But  a  rose  in  the 
clear  noonday  sun,  or  by  moonlight 
or  twilight,  has  the  same  precious 
quality  of  appeal.  Like  a  willow 
swaying  to  the  winds  of  feeling  with 
graciousness  and  tact,  yet  ever  loyal, 
you  prove  to  dubious  souls  that  a 
rose  by  any  other  name  would  smell 
as  sweet.  The  secret  of  your  radiance 
is  a  full,  rounded  unity  of  nature  that 
loves  all  creation  and  is  so  beloved. 


You    are    like    the    ."VASTI'R- 

TlliM,  those  bright-hued  blossoms 
whose  sun-and-flame  colors  produce 
magic  in  the  eyes  of  many.  Seem- 
ingly guileless  and  gay,  one  finds  on 
acquaintance  a  deeper,  hidden  pro- 
vocativeness  that  claims  lasting  de- 
votion. A  capricious,  sensitive  flower, 
easily  bruised  and  broken,  you  have 
honey  in  your  heart.  This  makes  you 
that  ingenious  creature  who  can 
turn  a  lover  into  a  husband  or  a  hus- 
band into  a  lover  with  linesse  and  ease. 

s 

You  are  like  the  Pl»l»PY,  pi- 
quant and  saucy,  a  complex  flower 
whose  heart  is  now  sunny,  now  mel- 
ancholy. There  is  a  fluidity  about 
you  as  you  sway  with  the  breezes — 
as  if  you  had  just  aligiited  and  might 
take  off  on  wings  like  a  butterfly. 
This  gives  you  a  come-hither,  go- 
yonder  air  that  tantalizes  and  in- 
trigues. Impulsive  and  tempera- 
mental, your  rich  vibrant  color 
reflects  hidden  stores  of  life  surging 
within  you,  reaching  up  and  out  for 
stability  and  understanding,  f] 

You  are  like  the  RAISY,  that 
abundant  flower  which  is  native  to 
the  blood  of  almost  everyone.  Your 
language  is  universal  and  you  have  a 
natural,  common  touch.  There  is 
seldom  any  complexity  about  you, 
but  your  very  simplicity  and  artless- 
ness  may  leave  you  longing  for  more 
of  life  and  love.  Your  music  is  like  a 
waltz,  lacking  a  bit  in  sweet  inti- 
macy and  the  delicate  fragrance  of 
high  emotion,  but  giving  release  and 
surcease  to  many. 


THE  histon'  of  Randy  Maine's  love  life 
was  a  saga  of  backpedaling.  From  the 
time  when  he  first  crowed  "bye-bye," 
his  life  was  one  long  effort  to  get  away 
from  women  who  wanted  to  Mother  him. 
Uplift  him.  Reform  him.  Inspire  him.  and 
of  course  Marry  him.  Before  he  had  time 
to  feel  an>-thing  but  mild  interest  in  a  girl, 
she  had  already  made  up  her  mind  that  he 
Needed  her.  Sadly  enough.  Randy  might 
have  liked  women  if  they  had  given  him 
half  a  chance. 

Randy  was  not  a  lady-killer  to  the  naked 
eye.  He  was  lanky  and  undeniably  plain. 
He  was  one  part  Gary  Cooper,  one  part 
James  Stewart,  and  one  part  the  high- 
school  boy  standing  on  the  auditorium 
platform,  hair  on  end,  urging  everyone  to 
get  out  and  back  the  team.  Sensible  women 
know  enough  to  steer  clear  of  a  great  lover. 
Simple  girls  feel  ill-at-ease  with  a  sophisti- 
cated superdreadnought.  But  Randy  was 
so  far  from  startling  that  every  woman 
he  met  thought  she  was  unique  in  dis- 
covering his  charm.  Therein  lay  his  deadly 
danger. 

Danger  awaited  him  at  every  turn.  He 
was  nice  enough  so  that  little  old  ladies 
stopped  him  on  street  comers  to  complain 
about  Roosevelt.  He  was  naughty  enough 
to  remind  mammas  and  papas  fondly  of 
the  sons  they'd  had  or  might  have  had. 
Hostesses  pursued  him  relentlessly.  Guys 
in  his  outfit  were  always  trying  to  drag  him 
into  double  dates.  The  pressure  was  terrific. 
Yet  never  in  all  his  perilous  twenty-eight 
years  had  Randy  become  engaged.  Not 
/'M   until  now. 

(  ^^^   He  stood  on  a  section  of  New  York  pave- 
*-^^-^    ment.  looked  into  the  unhelpful  face  of  a 
T,  _  New  York  apartment  building,  and  won- 
dered how  it  had  ever  happened  and  how 
he  was  going  to  backpedal  this  time  with- 
out running  over  somebody's  feelings. 
A    Randy  was  kindhearted  through  and 
through.   He  was  acutely  miserable  at 
the  prospect  of  inflicting  pain  on  a  girl 
wlio  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  it  beyond 
accepting  his  proposal.    For  he  had  pro- 
posed. There  was  no  doubt  about  that. 
This  time  he,  himself,  had  been  the  ag- 
gressor, with  loneliness  the  catalytic  agent. 

Randy  would  never  forget  how  lonely  he 
had  been  the  day  he  had  sent  the  wire  to 
Hester  Dealman  reading,  "wilt  thou  be 
MINE  REPLY  COLLECT."  The  fact  that  she 
had  accepted  prepaid  just  made  it  all  the 
worse. 

It  was  raining  that  day  and  Randy  sat 
all  alone  in  the  cheerless  room  of  a  West 
Coast  rooming  house  asking  himself  if  this 
was  what  the  rest  of  his  life  would  be  like. 
He  had  spent  the  night  before  riding  a 
trolley  with  a  girl  who  had  almost  signed 
him  up  before  he  had  realized  what  was 
happening.  He  had  escaped  by  the  skin  of 
his  teeth  and  holed  in,  quaking  at  the  near 
disaster  and  searching  his  battered  soul. 

His  ultimate  fate,  he  told  himself  mourn- 
fully, was  one  of  two  possibilities:  either  an 
opportunist,  like  the  girl  of  the  trolley, 
would  get  him  when  he  was  run-down,  his 
resistance  low;  or  he  would  recoil  so  far 
that  he  would  shoot  right  by  the  girl  he 
ought  to  marry,  leaving  her  to  somebody 
else. 

It  was  a  dreary  prospect  either  way ;  and, 
with  nothing  to  look  at  but  the  rain,  Randy 


MAN 


BV^EKZABEW  INfKlP  WB 


You  rememl)er  the  storv — 
^      /      it  was  a  fox  tvho 
9  0         him :   a  fox   with 

red  hair  and  green  eyes 


rn  light 
bright 


entertained  the  ghosts  of  all  the  girls  who 
had  wanted  to  marry  him.  His  opinion,  in 
so  far  as  he'd  had  time  to  form  it,  hadn't 
changed  about  them  one  whit.  But  so 
pitiful  was  his  present  state  that  he  recalled 
with  favor  a  cherry  pie  that  the  mother  of 
one  young  hopeful  had  once  set  before  him. 

There  was  no  connection  at  all  between 
cherry  pie  and  Hester  Dealman,  but  she 
suddenly  shot  into  his  mind.  For  one 
thing,  she  had  seemed  to  recognize  that 
the  head  on  his  shoulders  consisted  of 
more  than  a  slow  smile  and  a  stubborn  lock 
of  hair.  For  another,  she  had  never 
brought  up  the  subject  of  matrimony, 
adroitly  or  other\\ise.  He  sent  the  wire. 

It  was  a  foolish  impulse  that  he  spent 
many  weeks  regretting.  Back  on  his  job  as 
a  ferry  pilot,  up  in  the  air  where  no  woman 
could  get  at  him.  he  realized  that  he  would 
have  to  backpedal  again,  with  more  finesse 
than  ever  before.  It  took  all  the  shine  off 
the  prospect  of  his  impending  leave  in 


New  York.  The  bog\'  of  breaking  the  en- 
gagement rose  between  him  and  any  plans 
for  a  good  time. 

And  now  the  dreaded  hour  had  come. 
He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  walked  with  a 
firm  step  into  the  lobby. 

The  girl  at  the  switchboard  lifted  two 
pruned  eyebrows  in  an  inquiring  and  ap- 
pro\-ing  arc.  Her  eyes  brightened  in  sweet 
discovery.  "May  I  help  you?"  she  asked 
encouragingly. 

"Doctor  Dealman."  Randy  said.  How 
had  it  ever  happened?  he  asked  himself 
again.  Not  only  getting  engaged,  but  get- 
ting engaged  to  a  female  psychiatrist ! 

"Go  right  up."  said  the  girl.  She  smiled 
slowly,  deliciously. 

A  creature  of  habit.  Randy  started  to 
smile  back.  Catching  himself  just  in  time, 
he  ducked  hastily  into  the  elevator.  Her 
melting  eyes  stayed  with  him  until  the 
door  clanged  shut  and  Randy  could 
breathe  again. 

"Eight,"  he  said,  concentrating  on  his 
objective. 

When  the  elevator  delivered  him,  he  still 
didn't  have  the  faintest  idea  of  how  he  was 
going  to  extricate  himself  from  Hester.  He 
quivered  at  the  thought  that  she  might 
rush  at  him  and  throw  her  arms  around 
him.  She  would  have  every  right,  after 
that  telegram.  And  if  she  did,  it  would  be 
pretty  hard  to  tell  her  right  away  that  it 
was  all  off.  On  the  other  hand,  should  he 
sacrifice  his  leave  to  a  cooling-off  process 
which  would  give  her  the  chance  to  break 
the  engagement  herself?  The  fact  that  he 
was  to  blame  this  time  made  his  guilt 
doubly  hard  to  bear.  Blanking  his  mind  as 
much  as  possible,  he  pressed  the  bell. 
The  door  opened  on  a  young 

woman  who  was  about  his  age 

and  a  head  shorter.    She  had  a 
gleaming  crop  of  red-brown  hair,  and  a 
pair  of  narrow,  cool  green  eyes.  Even  from 
his  present  detached  point  of  view.  Randy 
could  see  why  she  had  stuck  in  his  mind. 

"Hello,  Randy,"  she  said.  "Come  in." 
She  did  not  throw  her  arms  around  him. 
Check  one  up  for  his  side. 

She  turned  a  green  velvet  shoulder  to 
him  and  led  him  into  the  living  room.  A  fire 
was  burning  cheerfully  in  the  fireplace.  A 
table  was  set  with  a  white  cloth  and  silver 
and  crystal  and  tall  white  candles.  Randy's 
heels  twitched  to  change  places  with  his 
toes.  This  was  Setup  No.  1,  he  knew  from 
old  experience.  This  was  "See-how- 
domestic  - 1  -  am,  how  -comfortable- 1  -can- 
make-you." 

Better  tell  her  right  off,  he  thought,  be- 
fore the  spell  had  a  chance  to  work. 
"Hester "  he  said. 

"Let  me  have  your  hat,"  she  said 
quickly.  "Do  sit  down." 

He  found  himself  pressed  into  an  easy 
chair  beside  the  fire.  He  felt  the  stror>g 
jaws  of  the  trap  tightening  on  him.  His 
hands  gripped  the  arms  ot  the  chair. 

"Hester,  there's  something " 

"Randy."  She  sat  down  opposite  him. 
Her  eyes  dwelt  on  him  for  an  inscrutable 
moment.  Then  her  lips  twisted.  "Forgive 
me.  Randy.  Before  you  say  anything, 
there's  something  I  have  to  tell  you." 

Randy  still  gripped  the  chair  arms,  on 
guard,  suspicious.  Every  one  of  tlie  numer- 
ous devices  that        (Continued  on  Page  114) 


24 


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CUO^£  /ff g, 


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r     // 


A 


u 


w 


U¥  GRETTA  PALMEIt 


EVERY  Mar  provides  a  giant  laboratory  in  which 
doctors  are  forced  to  perform  bold  experiments 
under  conditions  that  would  never  ^arise  in 
times  of  peace.  The  war  of  1914  pushed  physi- 
cians into  miracles  of  plastic  surgery  and  taught 
them,  through  study  of  "shell  shock,"  a  great  deal 
about  diseases  of  the  mind.  The  present  war  has 
advanced  medical  science  through  the  use  of  peni- 
cillin and  the  sulpha  drugs  and  blood  plasma.  It 
has  increased  our  knowledge  of  how  to  deal  with 
such  ancient  plagues  as  yellow  fever  and  typhus, 
tetanus  and  deficiency  diseases.  But,  according  to 
one  group  of  doctors,  the  war  may  bring  a  far  more 
revolutionary  advance  in  medicine  than  all  of  these: 
it  may  result  in  a  new  approach  to  the  whole  prob- 
lem of  disease  itself!  i 
The  new  viewpoint  is  called  "psychosomatic 
medicine,"  and  it  studies  the  emotional  factor  pres- 
ent in  physical  disease.  This  approach  has  been 
used  by  a  small  band  of  pioneering  physicians  for 
the  past  ten  or  twelve  years.  But  it  is  oidy  since  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  that  this  method  of  attacking 
disease  has  become  familiar  to  the  great  mass  of 
general  practitioners.  Necessity  fwced  Army  doc- 
tors to  some  knowledge  of  the  psychosomatic  view- 
point, and  for  a  curious  reason:  the  soldier  who 
cracks  under  the  strain  of  this  war  does  not,  very 
often,  express  his  terror  or  strain  in  the  old  form  of 
"shell  shock."  He  knows  about  shell  shock  and 
guards  against  it;  but  he  is  much  more  apt  than  the 
1914  soldier  to  fall  ill  with  a  physical  disease:  ulcers, 
pneumonia,  asthma,  colitis,  high  blood  pressure  or 
even  one  of  the  heart  diseases  which  we  (wronglv) 
associate  with  old  age.  Yet  the  element  of  fear  un- 
der strain  is  often  clearly  present  in  these  maladies 
when  the  soldier  contracts  them  at  the  front. 

Psychosomatic — "mind  and  body" — medicine  is 
being  used  bv  the  Army  as  one  approach  to  the  cure 
of  such  ailments.  Some  medical  officers  are  sent  to 
Columbia  L  niversity,  under  Army  orders,  to  take 
a  three-month  course  in  this  approach.  Medical 
books  descriptive  of  the  new  technique  are  delivered 
to  medical  officers  overseas  on  many  fronts.  Psy- 
■liosomatic  medicine  is  already  being  used,  in 
manv  Army  hospitals,  as  an  aid  to  the  physi- 
callv  sick  soldier  and  veteran;  and  if  it  Uves  up 
to  the  bright  promise  predicted  for  it  by  its 
leaders,  psvchosomatic  medicine  will  revolu- 
tionize the  treatment  of  the  major  sick- 
nesses of  all  civilians  as  well. 
The  theory  on  which  this  new  treatment  is 
l)ased  is  a  very  simple  one:  its  sponsors  say 
that  medicine,  in  the  past  century,  has  studied  the 
mmediate  cause  of  disease  too  much,  and  the  pa- 
tient too  little.  As  a  result,  medical  science  has 
learned  a  great  many  useful  facts  about  what  hap- 
pens to  a  patient  after  he  has  been  attacked  by  a 
typhoid-fever  bacillus;  but  it  has  neglected  the  im- 
portant question  of  why  this  patient  contracted 
typhoid  at  this  time — when  half  a  dozen  of  his  near 
neighbors,  equally  exposed  to  infection,  remained 
well!  Psychosomatists  complain  that  we  have  been 
too  slow  in  asking:  Whv  did  this  \\oman,  who  had 
perfectly  healthy  joints  ten  years  ago,  contract 
arthritis,  when  her  sister  remained  well?  \^  by  does 
this  husband  (who  shares  the  same  meals  and  hab- 
its of  living  as  his  wife)  suffer  from  peptic  ulcers, 
when  she  does  not?  Why  does  an  invading  disease 
germ  find  a  hospitable  site  prepared  for  it  in  the 
throat  of  Mrs.  Smith — while  Mrs.  Jones,  after 
equal  exposure,  is  able  to  shake  it  off? 

The  clue  to  this  whole  mystery  of  why  we  be- 
come ill  is  offered,  according  to  psychosomatic  spe- 
cialists, bv  a  better  understanding  of  the  human 
being  and  his  emotions.  Even  in  perfect  health,  an 
emotion  causes  pli)sioiogical  changes.  If  you  arc 
embarrassed,  liiood  rushes  into  your  cheeks,  causing 


i 


27 


a  blush;  this  is  a  physical  event.  If  you  are  fright- 
ened, you  shiver  and  get  goose  flesh.  If  you  become 
angry,  a  whole  complex  series  of  changes  in  the 
body  may  occur:  there  is  an  increase  of  adrenalin 
poured  out  by  the  glands,  the  heart  beats  faster,  the 
sugar  content  of  the  blood  is  increased,  and  so  on. 
Emotion — conscious  emotion — brings  about  bodily 
changes  we  all  can  recognize. 

But  emotion  is  not  alicays  conscious.  There  are 
buried  in  all  of  us  desires  and  longings  which  we  are 
ashamed  to  admit  to  ourselves — yet  they  are  there, 
real  forces  and  drives  which  must  find  an  outlet. 
The  man  next  door  who  seems  so  gentle  and  harm- 
less on  the  surface  may  be  hiding  a  violent  resent- 
ment against  a  world  which  treated  him  harshly 
when  he  was  a  small  child;  because  he  does  not  ap- 
prove of  his  hatred,  he  dams  it  up,  not  even  admit- 
ting to  himself  that  he  has  hostile  feelings.  But 
these  feelings  will  out,  even  against  his  will;  they 
often  find  expression  in  the  form  of  heart  disease. 

Sometimes  the  relationship  between  emotion  and 
disease  is  very  clear.  Take  a  simple  case  of  boils,  as 
described  by  Dr.  Karl  Menninger. 

The  patient  was  a  yoimg  married  woman  who 
was  deeply  ashamed  of  her  inability  to  like  her  hus- 
band's relatives.  She  would  not  admit,  even  to 
herself,  how  much  she  resented  her  mother-in-law, 
and  whenever  a  conscious  hatred  of  the  older 
woman  crossed  her  mind,  she  pushed  it  down,  down 
into  her  subconscious  mind.  This  patient,  who  was 
very  conscientious,  had  a  vague  feeling  that  she 
must  be  punished  for  having  felt  such  hostility — 
even  though,  most  of  the  time,  she  managed  to  for- 
get that  such  a  thing  as  hatred  had  ever  crossed  her 
mind.  Well,  she  ivas  punished.  Every  time  her 
mother-in-law  came  to  visit  her,  the  young  wife  de- 
veloped a  virulent  attack  of  boils,  which  "resisted 
all  treatment."  They  always  lasted,  in  spite  of 
medical  care,  until  the  day  of  the  mother-in-law's 
departure,  when  they  promptly  began  to  disap- 
pear. But  the  connection  had  never  occurred  to  her 
until  Doctor  Menninger  showed  her  how  her  re- 
sentment and  need  for  self-punishment  were  finding 
expression  in  a  physical  malady! 

.  Wise  physicians  have  always  had  an  intuitive 
knowledge  of  some  such  relation  between  emotion 
and  disease.  Contemporaries  of  the  British  states- 
man, Disraeli,  mention  his  famous  "diplomatic 
colds."  These  were  real  enough,  but  they  always 
occurred  when  an  uncongenial  meeting  had  been 
arranged,  and  cleared  up  as  soon  as  the  dreaded 
date  had  passed. 

The  newer  school  of  psychosomatists  believe 
that  they  are  able  to  substitute  exact,  scientific 
findings  for  the  vague  intuition  of  the  old-fashioned 
doctor.  They  believe  that  such  specific  ailments  as 
arthritis,  diabetes,  heart  diseases,  high  blood  pres- 
sure,ulcers  and  even  fractures  usuallyattack  individ- 
uals whose  life-situation  is  such  that  strong,  uncon- 
scious feelings  seek  expression  through  these  illnesses. 


.   .   .   fHCH 


cutdeiA04HeH 


€ldtHttUH^    tAe4€    UK- 


Take  the  very  elaborate  studies  which  have  been 
made  by  Dr.  Flanders  Dunbar  and  her  associates 
at  the  Presbyterian  Hospital  in  New  York  over  the 
past  twelve  years.  In  1932  these  physicians  decided 
to  make  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  influence 
played  by  emotional  problems  in  two  chosen  mala- 
dies: heart  diseases  and  diabetes.  They  arranged  to  ' 
study  the  psychological  life  of  all  patients  admitted 
to  the  hospital  suffering  from  either  of  these  types 
of  malady,  but  they  wished,  also,  to  compare  the 
two  groups  w ith  another  class  of  patients,  in  whose 
illnesses  emotion  would  play  no  part.  For  this  third 
group,  they  decided  to  study  patients  suffering 
from  fractures. 

What  did  they  discover,  over  a  five-year  period, 
in  which  other  diseases  were  studied  too?  Of  the 
1600  patients  examined  psychologically,  between 
80  and  90  per  cent  were  found  to  be  expressing, 
through  their  illness,  an  emotion  which  was  denied 
expression  in  other  ways!  Not  only  that,  the  frac- 
ture patients  were  found  to  have  as  large  a  psy- 
chological incentive  toward  the  accidents  that 
brought  them  there  as  existed  in  the  diseases  of  the 
other  groups! 

Were  these  patients  suffering  from  imaginary 
ills?  By  no  means.  They  were  all  sick,  and  in  ways 
which  could  be  measured  under  the  microscope  and 
in  the  laboratory.  Could  they  have  avoided  illness 
by  thinking  kinder  thoughts  or  dw  elling  on  an  ideal 
of  perfect  health?  No — for  the  conscious  mind 
played  no  part  in  their  illness,  or  an  insignificant 
part.  For  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  conscious  wishes, 
no  matter  how  hostile  they  may  be,  seem  to  cause 
no  great  trouble.  When  we  have  faced  and  admitted 
the  fact  that  we  would  like  to  shake  our  child  or  at- 
tack our  neighbor,  this  impulse  can  be  controlled. 
The  men  and  women  who  hate  or  fear  or  desire 
without  consciously  admitting  these  impulses,  how- 
ever, may  be  building  major  maladies  out  of  these 
hidden  emotions.  Yet  these  people  will  appear,  as 
the  Presbyterian  Hospital  patients  did,  to  be  per- 
fectly happy,  normal  human  beings. 

Consider  the  evidence,  as  reported  by  Doctor 
Dunbar  in  her  two  scientific  volumes.  Let's  look 
first  at  the  patients  brought  to  the  hospital  for  high 
blood  pressure:  if  the  ])sychosomatic  belief  is  cor- 
rect, we  might  expect  to  find  that  all  the  j)aticnts 
suffering  from  this  ailment  would  have  similar  life 
problems  and  ways  of  solving  them.  And  tlu-y  have! 

As  children,  the  high-blood-pressure  patients 
had  all  been  secretive  and  "too  good";  they  had 
learned  to  "swallow"  their  emotion,  instead  of  ex- 
pressing it  freely.  Few  of  them  had  had  a  strict 
religious  upbringing:  the  demands  tiiey  made  of 
themselves  were  self-created  and  very  severe.  They 
were  all  men  and  women  with  a  "need  to  be  per- 
fect." As  a  result,  they  had  tended  to  work  at  jobs 
below  their  abilities:  ihcso  thev  could  handle  with- 
out fear  of  failure,  but  anything  more  ambitious 
might  have  brought  about  the  failure  and  criticism 


they  all  dreaded.  These  patients  bore  signs  of  anxi- 
ety in  their  faces.  They  admitted  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing decisions.  Occasionally  their  subsurface  emo- 
tions broke  out,  m  a  violent  and  explosive  form, 
but  for  the  most  part  they  seemed  to  be  gentle, 
shy,  considerate.  They  were  defined  by  Doctor  Dun- 
bar as  "top  dogs  and  would-be  top  dogs."  The 
onset  of  the  disease  was  always  associated  with  the 
death  or  separation  of  a  much-loved  person,  or  with 
an  acute  financial  strain. 

So  the  psychological  histories  showed  that  the 
high-blood-pressure  patient  concealed  and  lived 
with  fear.  Fear  of  himself — fear  of  what  might 
happen  if  he  once  "let  the  lid  off."  Fear  of  choosing 
wrong  or  making  a  mistake.  But  fear,  remember,  is 
an  emotion,  and  if  we  do  not  express  an  emotion  in 
conscious  speech  or  action,  it  will  find  its  own  devi- 
ous ways  out  of  the  system,  often  causing  physical 
damage. 

In  this  case,  the  way  out  is  easy  enough  to  un- 
derstand. Heightened  blood  pressure  is  one  of  the 
methods  by  which  every  healthy  man  prepares  him- 
self to  meet  danger.  The  fear  of  these  patients  (a 
constant  companion  of  their  days  and  nights)  had 
been  warning  the  body  that  danger  was  near;  and 
to  a  danger  signal  the  physical  response  was  the 
fast    rushing    of  blood    through    the   veins.    This 


e^^en  ^t€intf    . 


reaction — a  useful  one  when  a  man's  fear  comes 
from  an  outside  danger,  and  he  must  prepare  to 
fight  or  flee — wears  out  the  mechanism  of  the  body 
if  it  is  constantly  repeated  over  long  periods.  And 
that,  say  the  psychosomatic  students,  is  how  the 
blood-pressure  patients  became  ill. 

Or  take  the  interesting  series  of  fracture  patients 
studied  at  Presbyterian.  These  men  and  women  had 
a  previous-illness  record  far  better  tiian  that  of  tlie 
population  as  a  whole — but  their  record  of  previous 
accidents  was  fantastically  high:  79  per  cent  of  them 
had  had  at  least  one  accident  before  the  present 
case,  and  over  half  of  them  had  suffered  from  three 
or  more  accidents.  One  patient  had  had  twenty- 
seven  !  (In  no  other  group  studied  was  the  previous- 
accident  rate  higher  than  11  per  cent.) 

These  fracture  patients,  then,  had  learned  to  ex- 
press their  unconscious  tensions  bv  allowing  outside 
things  to  hurt  them,  instead  of  by  "getting  sick." 
They  had  other  things  in  common:  they  seemed  to 
share  a  resentment  of  authority,  which  extended 
far  back  into  their  childhood  years;  their  accidents 
tended  to  occur  at  periods  when  they  felt  that  their 
employers  were  mistreating  them,  or  when  they 
were  under  pressure  from  their  wives  to  get  a  job 
after  a  long  period  of  unemployment.  Characteris- 
tically, they  were  people  of  an  active  nature  who 
"worked  off"  their  feelings.  Many  of  them  led  wan- 
dering lives.  They  usually  liked  athletics  and  ma- 
chinery— but  almost  never  had  accidents  in  connec- 
tion with  these  activities.  And,  interestingly  enough, 
the  typical  patients'  (Continued  on  Page  157) 


k(^mj^i 


THE  naik  lay  motionless  in  the  blue  of 
the  Italian  morning,  beside  a  little  lake. 
He  was  watching,  his  rifle  at  the  ready. 
The  trees  of  the  thicket  beyond  were 
as  thick  with  snipers  as  with  blossom. 
All  afternoon  he  had  lain  there,  think- 
ing of  his  friend,  who  had  been  shot  through 
the  head  last  night.  That  was  one  of  the 
seven  who  had  joined  up  from  his  village, 
gone.  Now  there  were  only  six. 

The  naik  was  a  Gurkha  from  Nepal. 
Fighting  was  in  his  blood.  It  was  what  he 
was  born  for,  and  it  was  his  firm  belief  that 
only  those  who  fell  in  battle  got  a  free  pass 
to  heaven.  But  he  preferred  doing  it  with 
his  native  weapon,  the  kukri,  a  knife  with  a 
sinister  curve  to  the  blade  of  it.  If  the  naik 
had  a  complaint  to  make  about  this  par- 
ticular war  he  was  now  involved  in,  it  was 
that  a  man  so  seldom  got  a  chance  of  draw- 
ing that  trusty  piece  of  steel. 

The  sun  began  to  go  down.  Little  white 
cotton-wool  clouds,  like  fat  sheep,  began  to 
meander  over  the  sky.  The  naik  watched 
them  reflected  in  the  still  water  of  the  lake, 
leaning  his  head  on  his  rifle  butt.  He  was  a 
man  of  education,  according  to  the  standards 
of  his  own  people  and  his  own  village.  He 
could  read  and  write,  speak  a  little  English, 
and  he  knew  the  way  to  the  post  ofiice. 
Also,  he  had  been  to  a  cinema  show.  That 
wonderful  adventure  had  overtaken  him  in 
Calcutta  when  "they  came  through  on  their 
way  to  the  ship.  Captain  Peter,  their  Eng- 
lish officer,  had  taken  the  seven  of  them  to 
see  Snow  White.  In  a  way  it  had  rung  a  bell 
in  the  naik's  mind,  that  there  were  seven  of 
them  too.  Seven  men  from  the  same  village 
up  in  Nepal,  all  foresworn  to  stick  together. 
For  a  long  time  afterward  all  seven  of 
them  emitted  strange  harsh  noises  when 
alone,  humming  to  themselves  I'm  Wishing, 
and  Someday  My  Prince  Will  Come — but  no 
one  would  ever  have  guessed  that  was  what 
they  were  meant  to  be. 

The  picture  often  came  back  to  the  naik 
at  odd  moments.  He  thought,  now,  that  the 
clear  lake  and  the  gnarled  trees  beyond  it 
were  not  entirely  unlike  the  place  where 
Snow  White's  little  house  was  seen,  with  the 


animals  skylarking  around  it,  and  the  Seven 
Dwarfs  came  whistling  home  at  dark. 

It  was  while  he  was  thinking  this  that 
there  was  a  movement  in  the  tall  reeds  be- 
side him. 

The  naik  held  his  breath.  His  finger 
trembled  on  the  trigger.  Then  he  froze,  for 
he  saw  her.  White  and  wonderful,  she  waded 
out  into  the  water  and  began  to  wash.  The 
naik's  mouth  went  dry.  His  eyeballs  felt 
hot  and  his  heart  began  to  thump  inside  his 
khaki  shirt. 

"Snow  White ! "  he  said  to  himself,  and  he 
gulped.  With  the  Indian's  difficulty  in  pro- 
nouncing the  European  s,  he  turned  it  to 
"Ishnow  White!" 

He  lay  there,  hidden  in  the  reeds.  The 
rumble  of  artillery  fire  shook  the  afternoon, 
but  in  some  strange  way  it  did  not  seem  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  naik.  Battles 
and  snipers  were  far  from  his  mind  as  he 
lay  there  watching  her,  consumed  with  one 
thought  only:  how  to  get  her  and  make  her 
his  own. 

He  eeled  his  lithe  body  noiselessly  into  the 
water.  Cold  and  clean,  it  seeped  through  his 
khaki  shirt  and  oozed  mto  his  boots.  He  did 
not  flinch.  Now  he  was  so  close  to  her  that 
he  could  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  soft  white 
breast  as  she  stood  there.  He  could  see  her 
reflection,  white  and  lovely,  making  another 
as  wonderful  as  herself  in  the  water  of  the 
lake. 

He  put  out  a  sturdy  brown  leg  and  seized 
her,  and  hauled  her  toward  him.  Sitting  in 
the  water,  he  began  to  unwind  his  puttee, 
intending  to  gag  her  if  she  cried  out.  She  did 
not  cry  out.  Soft  and  white  and  wonderful, 
she  lay  in  his  arms,  looking  up  into  his  face. 
For  all  the  world,  thought  the  naik,  as  if  she 
knew  him.  She  settled  herself  comfortably 
against  his  shoulder. 

Then  he  began  to  remember  where  he  was, 
and  why.  To  sit  in  the  water  embracing  a 
large  white  bird  made  one  an  easy  mark,  if 
there  was  a  sniper  around.  He  crawled  with 
her  into  the  shadow  and  shelter  of  the  wood. 

What  she  was  he  hadn't  the  least  idea. 
All  he  knew  was  that  she  was  soft  and  white. 
And  as  friendly  and  tame  as  a  myna  bird  he 


had  kept  in  a  box,  as  a  boy,  and  taught  to 
say  his  name.  As  tame  as  that,  she  was.  But, 
of  course,  a  great  deal  larger. 

The  English  sentry  outside  the  camp  saw 
him  coming.  He  grounded  his  rifle,  and 
cocked  his  helmet  to  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  greeted  the  naik  friendliwise.  They  had 
done  considerable  campaigning  together. 

"Hey,  whatever  you  got  there?  Coo! 
Where  you  find  that  one?" 

The  naik  regarded  her  with  fond  eyes. 
"Can  you  tell  it  me,  what  is  it,  this  one?" 

"Coo,  that's  a  goose,  that  is.  And  you 
thank  your  stars  we're  this  side  of  Christmas, 
or  Nobby'd  'a'  been  after  it  in  a  brace  of 
shakes."  Nobby  was  regimental  head  cook. 

"This  bird  is  not  for  purposes  of  eating," 
said  the  naik.  "Very  tame  bird.  I  take  him 
with  me.  This  bird  very  good  friend.  Look, 
sahib."  He  made  clicking  noises  with  his 
tongue.  The  goose  hissed  softly  and  laid  her 
long  neck  across  his  shoulder.  "You  see?" 
said  the  naik,  delighted.  "I  think  I  .• 
teach  her  to  talk."  I 

"Well,  if  you  manage  that,  you'll  / 
'a'  done  something,"  said  the  sentry 
"Pass,  friend,  and  goose.  And  if 
you're  wise,  don't  let  the  orficers 
see  it.  Powerful  down  on  pets,  they  \ 
are." 

"You  know  what  I  call  her?"  said  V 
the  naik,  his  brown  face  aglow  with  love 
and  pride.  "Ishnow  White!  Now!   Ish- 
now White,  and  seven  Gurkhas."    And 
then  his  face  clouded,  and  he  said,  re- 
membering the  one  the  sniper  had  got  the 
night  before,  "No — ishix  Gurkhas  only." 

"That's  right.  You  keep  an  eye  on  her, 
if  you  don't  want  her  to  find  her  way  all 
untimely  into  the  pate.    Coo,  leave  your 
boots  for  half  a  second  in  this  camp,  and 
Nobby's  making  ragout  of  'em." 

The  naik  didn't  understand  the  half  of  it, 
but  he  knew  by  the  sentry's  face  that  he  was 
sympathetic.  He  waggled  his  head,  and 
picked  the  goose  up  and  made  for  the  Gurkha 
lines. 

The  sentry  called,  "Gimme  an  egg — if  she 
lays  one.  Powerful  partial  for  egg  to  my 
breakfast,  I  am."  (Continued  on  Page  130) 


w^ 


-m 


28 


ILLUSTRATED       BY       COBY       WHITMORI 


^«^ 


V 


*' 


^ 


%tm^j 


*A^  -^^-^ 


''Pe^U^eni.  eviU  cotne  ^acJi..  e^au 
t/iuUi?'  Shooa  TO^itc  did  Caoli. 
<Ui<^^t(tf  Huelc  euid  6atUe-Ac<i'vteeC. 


'■mm^^^''^. 


i'a;'.  -' 


■'  n*  : 


THEY  didn't  think  he  was  shy,  because 
h6  didn't  have  that  look  about  him. 
They  thought  he  was  quiet;  which,  in 
relation  to  them,  he  was.  No  one 
knew  the  seething  activity  in  his  mind,  be- 
cause it  was  thought  and  feeling  that  must 
be  kept  selfishly  from  the  world.  There  is 
no  nakedness  like  that  of  the  man  who 
parades  his  love,  and  the  secret  beauty  of  it 
that  adds  pain  and  joy  to  his  flesh  and  soul. 
Saturday  nights  when  the  other  officers 
went  to  the  closest  town,  twenty  miles  from 
the  replacement  depot,  he  went  with  them; 
but  his  thoughts  were  five  hundred  miles 
away.  As  he  and  his  roommate  of  the  offi- 
cers' barracks  sat  together  with  drinks  be- 
fore them,  he  saw  the  clear,  warm  eyes  of 
his  wife,  and  tried  to  picture  the  son  who 
had  been  born  to  him  even  while  the  lurch- 
ing, musty  train  was  crossing  the  prairies. 
Fate  had  decreed  that  ten  hours  alone  stand 
between  him  and  the  face  of  his  son;  but 
nothing  in  him  could  belabor  fate.  Happi- 
ness, with  its  attendant  pain,  was  a  tree  in 
his  heart,  growing  tall  and  full,  the  wind- 
whisper  of  enchantment  in  its  branches. 

Around  him  as  he  sat,  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  world  passed,  like  a  pageant 
of  shadows.  The  bar  was  the  same  as  in  all 
kindred  towns.  Glow  of  dimness  on  the 
walls,  a  smoky  cavern  of  youth:  soldiers  at 
tables  with  girls,  soldiers  with  lonely  eyes 
roaming  the  room;  the  confident  laughter 
of  young  women,  cigarettes  poised,  their 
soft  dresses  hinting  their  bodies  with  dim- 
lit  promise. 

Some  of  them  looked  at  him,  the  strong, 
ruddy  composure  of  his  face,  shining  as  if 
life  came  into  his  flesh  and  burned  there. 
But  when  they  met  his  eyes,  they  saw  no 
invitation,  only  a  warm  and  strange  re- 
moteness, encountering  them  vaguely,  then 
passing  on. 

He  stared  down  at  his  drink.  The  music 
opened  the  curtain  of  another  hour.  He 
felt  that  she  was  sitting  beside  him.  Every- 
thing lies  still;  there  is  no  world,  he  thought, 
until  I  come  back  to  you  and  my  son. 

He  was  alone  in  his  barracks  room.  It 
was  one  of  the  last  nights  he  would  spend 
there.  The  alert  had  come  from  the  port 
commander.  It  was  not  a  room  in  full  de- 
tail. At  the  rear  was  one  crude  sliding  win- 
dow; two  sides  were  boarded  three  quar- 
ters of  the  way  toward  the  ceiling;  the 
front  of  the  cubicle  looked  on  the  rough 
boards  of  the  barracks  hall.  Lying  on  his 
bed,  he  could  see  the  rusty  stove  sitting  on 
its  bed  of  bricks.  Hanging  on  nails  was  the 
equipment  of  his  job — helmet,  gas  mask, 


BY  WILLIAMS  FORREST 

ILLDSTBATED     BY    ROBERT     G.B&BBIS 

pistol  belt,  musette  bag.  He  was  alone  be- 
cause the  others  had  an  evening  to  capture, 
an  evening  that  might  have  to  last  for  a 
long  time.  He  also  had  an  evening  to  cap- 
ture, but  it  was  one  that  had  taken  place  a 
year  before.  He  glanced  at  his  watch. 
Five-thirty.  It  was  time  to  begin.  He 
jumped  up  from  his  bunk,  put  on  his  tie 
and  cap. 

It  was  a  dim,  restless  dusk  into  which  he 
stepped,  the  wind  of  fall  swirling  over  the 
ground.  Still  visible  across  the  plain  of 
wooden  shacks  were  the  low  hills.  Smoke 
made  quick  ascent  from  the  mess  halls.  It 
was  five-forty  when  he  got  to  the  telegraph 
office.  He  took  a  telegraph  blank  and  be- 
gan to  write:  "At  eight  o'clock,  my  dar- 
ling, you  became  mine  forever.  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  loving  me  and  for  giv- 
ing me  a  son.  You  and  he  are  always  in  my 
heart." 

Slowly  he  walked  southeast,  the  dark 
curtaining  down  around  him.  Lights  were 
pale  behind  the  barracks  windows,  and  the 
figures  he  passed  seemed  lonely  wanderers 
from  another  world.  But  to  him  it  was  a 
magic  hour.  She  had  worn  a  suit  when  they 
married,  and  a  single  orchid  over  her  heart. 
A  simple  wedding,  with  only  ten  people 
there  besides  themselves.  Her  eyes  had 
suddenly  changed  when  she  looked  at  him, 
kindling  with  an  emotion  mysterious  and 
yet  familiar,  as  if  it  had  belonged  to  him 
since  his  beginning  day,  although  he  had 
not  known  or  understood. 

When  they  were  alone,  she  had  drawn 
him  to  her.  Then  he  had  understood  the 
meaning  of  those  eyes,  the  mystery.  There 
were  passion  and  tenderness,  and  pride  and 
faith.  "I  will  always  love  you,"  she  said. 
"I  am  very  happy." 

He  walked  until  a  quarter  to  eight,  when 
he  went  to  the  bar  of  the  officers'  club. 
First  he  had  two  glasses  of  beer  put  before 
him.  Then  he  put  ten  cents  in  the  record 
player.  There  was  a  song  that  had  meant 
much  to  them.   It  would  play  twice. 

He  was  smiling  as  he  sat  at  the  bar. 
How  frightened  he  had  been  last  year  at 
this  time.  When  they  left  her  house,  he  had 
led  her  directly  to  the  bar  in  the  hotel. 
Time  went  swiftly  on  to  eight,  but  she 
could  not  get  him  to  go. 

"Please,"  he  had  said,  "darling,  just  one 
more.  Please?" 

"One  more,"  she  said. 

"And  you  finish  yours." 

31 


The  music  was  over.  The  drinks  were 
gone.  He  walked  out  into  the  night.  My 
wife,  he  thought.  And  my  son.  She  tells  me 
he  looks  like  me,  and  that  it  makes  her  happy. 
"Someday,"  she  wrote,  "he  will  make  a  girl 
as  liappy  as  you  have  made  me." 

It  was  dark  in  his  room.  There  was 
silence  all  around.  He  dreamed  that  he 
held  her  in  his  arms.  Memory  made  it 
very  real.  "Would  you  like  to  have  a 
son?"  she  whispered  in  his  ear.  His  arms 
grew  tight  around  her. 

There  was  little  to  do  on  the  ship.  Little 
card  games  grew  up  and  mushroomed  into 
endless,  high-staked  games  that  held  the 
interest  of  everyone.  Men  would  stand  be- 
hind the  players  for  hours.  In  secluded 
places,  dice  were  rolled  along  a  blanket, 
against  a  bulkhead.  Pocket  editions  of 
popular  novels  were  rescued  from  musette 
bags  stuffed  with  linens,  socks,  toilet  arti- 
cles. Inevitably,  many  men  grew  pale  and 
then  deadly  green  as  the  ship  plunged 
toward  England. 

The  sky  was  very  high  and  cool.  A  few 
men  stood  by  the  rail  and  were  awed  by  the 
empty  sweep  of  sea,  that  made  them  small 
and  unimportant  and  somehow  at  peace. 
Occasionally,  gray  phantoms  to  the  left 
and  right  gave  them  the  knowledge  of  se- 
curity. Once,  on  the  second  day,  a  great 
splotch  of  oil  bubbled  up  from  the  sea,  and 
silently  the  men  left  their  books  and  games 
to  watch.  For  the  first  time  you  could  see 
realization  in  their  faces.  Then  the  blue- 
green  sea  was  stainless  again,  with  perfect 
ruffies  of  clear,  white  foam ;  and  you  heard 
laughter  on  the  deck.  Here  was  the  un- 
conscious heroism  of  children;  and  no- 
where did  you  hear  words  that  clarified  the 
job  they  were  on.  Helmets  and  rifles  were 
casual  items,  unmasked  by  signs  of  death. 

Yet,  perhaps  at  night,  in  the  dark,  alone 
with  the  pound  of  engines  and  their  own 
thoughts,  they  remembered  their  mission 
and  tried  to  look  into  the  future— to  death 
and  pain,  and  skies  ringing  with  invisible 
streams  of  steel. 

He  heard  restlessness  about  him  in  the 
night.  His  own  heart  seemed  part  of  the 
pounding,  living  creature  beneath  him, 
and  his  thoughts  rocked  and  swayed  in  the 
strange  rhythm  of  the  ship.  Once  when  he 
had  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep,  the  sharp 
sound  of  a  man's  voice  wakened  him.  Sud- 
denly cold  and  waiting,  he  listened,  his 
eyes  straining  into  the  darkness  of  the 
room.  It  was  odd  to  understand  finally 
that  he  himself  had  made  the  outcry  he 
had  heard.  (Continued  on  Page  111) 


It  was  a  delicious  secret— warm,  funny,  eio^ving,  alive.    Hoiv  could  she  think  of  saeh  things? 


Printed    suit    with    the    long    shirt    sleeves;    matching    gloves,    satin! 
bandeau  with  a  veil — fashions  to  love,  worn  by  Miss  Mary  Howardji 


Frederics    s""" 


^ft  sdoue  /4^^^^a  .  .  . 


WITH  Wm\  CLOTHES 


Summer  clothes  are  pretty  pictures,  full  of  enchantment  and  romance.  Flowers  are  so 
profuse  that  a  flower -printed  dress  can  be  worn  with  a  flower  hat  and  a  flower  bag. 
Result:  new  heights  of  glamour.  Big  rough-straw  hats  are  wreathed#with  jeweled  leaves, 
edged  with  gold  lace  and  worn  with  a  cool  grege  linen  dress.  Sleeves  rise  to  shoulder 
height  to  leave  arms  cool  and  bare,  or  fall  softly  to  the  wrist  with  a  shirt-sleeve  cuff.  A 
town  suit  may  be  vivid  pink,  or  beige  cotton;  a  simple  two-piece  shantung  dress  is  worn 
with  a  bright  silk  sash;  the  last  Avord  in  accessories  is  the  elegant  matching  glove. 
Women  (and  men)  will  lose  their  hearts  to  these  lovely  summer  fashions,  but  women, 
being  practical  creatures,  will  look  for  down-to-earth  qualities  when  they  buy.  The  grege 
linen  dress  may  be  worn  with  the  big  hat  to  a  special  luncheon,  but  goes  to  an  office  with 
a  tailored  cloche.  The  crisp  cotton  suit  is  perfect  for  commuting  and  business.  T^he 
short-short  sleeve  calls  for  pretty  arms,  whereas  the  matching  glove  is  everybody's 
fashion.  The  polka-dot  dress  is  cool  and  right  for  any  midsummer  day;  the  dark-brown 
sheer  a  steppingstone  to  fall.  BV  WIMIEI.A  ClT^iH^IAN 

Fashion  Editor  of  the  Journal 


VIoiver  of  fashion :  printed  dress  by  Rose  Barrarh :  flower  hat  and 
hag  by  John  Frederics.  Glamour  girl — Miss  Rosemary  Sankey. 


isp  auit  of  Mexican  cullun  in  orange-beige,  a  nine-to-five  summer 
shion  by   Adele  Simpson;   John  Frederics'  big  Milan   sombrero. 


-     '•"  -^^^^ne  M„L 


U  little  dress  of  navy  polka  dot;  matching  gloves. 
Hit  with  hiah  crown,  white  iewelrv — all  notable. 


For  women  who  adore  a  brilliant  color:  South  American 
Dink   suit,   to   ivear   with   a   shinv   black   straiv  sailor. 


Practical  magic :  two-piece  black  shantung  by  Joset 
Walker,  to  change  with  ieuelrv.  hats,  sloves.  sashes. 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    PLUCER 


tool.   ^^""^^    ,nich'd  i" 


^^^  .„   cotton 

...sinc's.s   dress  "j   ^  .         12   to   20. 


P(itft'rn 


LIKKi^'    STHKAMLIiXEK:    black  polka  dots  on  Yfllou  ;  puttern         i  . 
includes  waist-length  jacket  sketched  below.     1587,   12  to  20.  \' 


KIOWHilRLWHO... 


.  .  .  MAKES  ALL  HER  CLOTHES.  When  she  has  a  very  special  date,  she  goes  out  and 
buys  the  prettiest  piece  of  material  she  can  find  and  makes  a  new  dress.  When  she  goes 
away  for  a  week  end,  she  adds  a  gay  vest  or  shirt  to  a  good  skirt  or  pair  of  slacks.  Her  busf- 
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lovely  linens  and  rayons  to  make  cool  sleeveless  dresses — little  yardage  needed.  At  least  one 
dress  will  have  a  jacket,  and  each  will  have  its  matching  gloves,  most  important  acces- 
sory fashion  of  the  year.  For  holidays:  a  bare-back  dress,  young,  quick  and  easy,  and  new 
knee-high  slacks;  for  cool  summer  evenings,  a  short  straight  jacket  in  bright  flannel.  All 
these  fashions  are  made  from  Hollywood  Patterns.  •    *    *   iiv  ri'tm  mar  v  Packard 

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Q  HOLLYWOOD 


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*You  can  make  gloves  to 
natch  any  dress,  from 
[ouRNAL  Glove  Pat- 
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Torn  the  Journal  Ref- 
erence Library,  Philadel- 
jhia  5,  Penna. 

1*     *     * 
For  back  and  other  views, 
»nd  prices  of  Hollywood 
Patterns,  see  page  104. 


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# 


mitt. 


tylor^j/^  cowMe^  (yn  mc^  kaue 


37 


■NNA  could  not  sleep.  She  would  close 
H      her  eyes  and  try  to  make  a  darkness 

^B     in  her  mind;  but  then  she  would 

/H     only  see  the  ocean  clearer  as  it 

/  H     looked  from  her  bedroom  window, 

/  H  the  small  pocks  of  the  waves  mov- 
L_H  ing  against  one  another  with  that 
/  H  maddening  patience  in  the  bright 
•^  -^-  ribbon  of  moonlight,  and  the  dark 
mound  of  David's  ship  floating  on  it,  like 
a  dead  thing.  This  was  his  last  night  with 
her,  and  the  sea  was  out  there  waiting  for 
him  with  that  patience  so  still  and  so  sure 
it  made  her  want  to  scream. 

She  looked  at  her  husband's  face  beside 
her — startlingly  pale  in  sleep  beneath  the 
heavy  black  hair,  but  the  firm  features  re- 
laxed, almost  like  a  child's.  He  looked  as  if 
he' might  be  dreaming,  lightly,  as  if  some 
familiar  thing  might  be  running  through  his 
mind  like  the  soft  tread  of  a  tune  that  is 
hummed  unconsciously. 

/  wonder  if  he  is  dreaming  of  me,  she 
thought.  Or  if  he  is  dreaming  the  stern  bright 
dreams  of  the  sea,  and  the  soft  way  between  us 
is  already  gone  from  him  before  tomorrow  is 
yet  come. 

Perhaps  that  was  why  the  sea  was  so  pa- 
tient, because  David  was  already  there.  It 
seemed  suddenly  as  if  the  sea  was  laughing 
at  her.  And  looking  at  her  husband's  face, 
Anna  hated  the  sea  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  jealously,  as  she  would  have  hated 
another  woman. 

The  sickness  came  over  her,  lying  there, 
that  maybe  she  had  never  had  David  at  all. 
There  had  been  the  times,  the  wonderful 
times,  when  they  laughed  together  about  the 
things  no  one  else  would  find  funny  at  all, 
and  the  times  they  had  been  quiet  together, 
with  just  the  nearness  of  each  other  in  the 
room  drowsing  in  them  cleanly  and  suffi- 
ciently. But  when  they  mentioned  the  sea, 
it  would  seem  sometimes  as  if  he  left  her 
altogether,  the  way  a  child  does  when  some- 
thing brighter  than  his  toys  beckons  and  he 
leaves  them  standing  in  their  places  on  the 
floor.  It  would  seem  as  if  he  forgot  her  im- 
mediately, the  cruel  way  a  child  forgets. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  David  loved  the  sea. 
The  sea  was  patient  and  not  watching  and 
possessed  him  without  fretting,  the  only  way 
a  child  can  be  possessed.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  all  sailors  were  a  little  like  children. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  little  childishness  in  them 
that  put  them  beyond  the  possession  of  any 
one  woman. 

She  knew  there  had  never  been  any  other 
woman  with  David,  in  any  serious  way;  but 
it  would  give  her  a  funny  safe  sort  of  pleasure 
to  pretend  there  had  been  sometimes.  Not 
coyly,  because  with  David  that  sort  of  thing 
would  have  made  them  both  feel  silly. 
"  What  the  heck  ? "  he  would  have  said,  in  his 
frank,  puzzled  way. 

But  one  night  she  said,  "Yeh,  I  know. 
Sailors  never  have  any  other  girls!" 

"Aw,  nuts,"  he  said.  "Girls  are  wacky." 

"Am  I  wacky?" 

He  smiled  a  little.  "Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "I 
guess  maybe  you're  not  so  wacky."  Never 
committing  himself  more  than  that.  But 
that  sounded  lovely  to  her. 

He  never  made  any  pretty  speeches  at  all, 
but  sometimes  he  would  squeeze  her  a  little 
around  the  waist  or  pat  her  hair  very  gently 
and  say,  "Ha,  ha,"  and  that  would  be 
the  most  wonderful  thing  she  had  ever 
heard. 

When  he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  it 
had  been  that  same  way. 

He  had  been  tossing  a  dime  up  and  catch- 
ing itj  as  people  do  sometimes  when  some- 


thing is  on  their  mind.  "I'll  bet  you  can't 
guess  the  date,"  he  said. 

"Nineteen  forty-one?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "forty-three."  Just  like 
that.  No  fooling  around  with  a  second  guess 
or  anything. 

She  laughed.  "You're  wonderful,"  she 
said. 

"Look,"  he  said  suddenly,  and  she  knew 
this  time  he  was  coming  to  what  he  wanted 
to  say  all  along.  "Look,  I'll  bet  you  this  dime 
if  I  asked  you  something  you'd  say  'yes.'" 

"Okay." 

"Okay,"  he  said;  "marry  me?" 

"Darling,"  she  said,  mocking  the  face  of  a 
loser,  "and  I  haven't  got  a  dime  with  me!" 

"Ha,  ha,"  he  said.  But  there  was  no  long, 
dizzy  kiss.  He  made  a  shooing  movement 
with  his  hands.  "Well,"  he  said,  "go  get 
one." 

She  brought  back  a  dime  and  passed  it  to 
him.  She  waited  for  him  to  say  something  a 
little  dreamy  then,  but  he  just  stood  there, 
a  little  shyly,  and  what  he  said  was,  "Want 
to  guess  the  date  on  this  one?"  like  a  kid. 


A 


A 


•   * 


ILLUSTRATED       BY       JOHN       CANNAM 

A  funny  lump  came  into  her  throat. 
"You're  wonderful,"  she  said  again.  "You 
haven't  any  idea  why — but  you  are.  .  .  . 
Nineteen  twenty-two." 

"Aw,"  he  said,  "you  looked.  You  sure  dug 
up  an  old-timer,  didn't  you?" 

And  then  he  kissed  her,  with  one  arm 
really  tight  about  her  waist  and  one  hand  on 
her  hair.  "Ha,  ha,"  he  said  again,  ever  so 
softly.  It  sounded  so  much  more  wonderful 
to  her  than  if  he  had  tried  to  say  something 
silly,  but  looking  at  his  steady  face  with  the 
easy  child  way  in  the  eyes,  she  felt  such  a 
frightening  love  for  every  bit  of  his  funny 
way  that  it  was  almost  pain. 

She  had  not  been  really  jealous  of  the  sea 
until  that  day  she  laughed  at  him,  when  she 
should  not  have  laughed.  It  was  the  day 
after  they  were  married,  not  so  long  ago, 
when  he  had  been  showing  her  his  money 
belt.  Eagerly,  as  he  always  did  with  new 
things.  She  began  to  explore  the  compart- 
ments, and  the  first  thing  her  fingers  drew 


out  was  a  tiny  glass  ball.   It  seemed  to  be 
filled  with  some  sort  of  colorless  liquid. 

"Whatever!"  she  said.  "What's  in  it?" 

He  looked  embarrassed.  "Water,"  he  said, 
"just  water." 

"Water?" 

"Yeh,"  he  said.  "  It's  supposed  to  be  from 
the  deepest  part  of  the  ocean — way  out  some 
dam  place.  I  don't  suppose  it  is,  but — I 
picked  it  up  in  New  York.  Good  luck  or 
something." 

"And  you  carry  the  crazy  thing  around  in 
there,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Darling,  you're 
wonderful." 

He  laughed  too ;  but  when  she  looked  at  his 
face  his  smile  seemed  to  be  broken  on  it  and 
quavering  a  little,  the  way  a  boy  might  look 
sharing  a  laugh  on  himself  at  the  discovery 
of  his  muscle  tensors  or  something,  but  as  if 
the  joke  had  a  secret  little  hurt  in  it.  "I 
wonder  how  they  got  the  darn  stuff  in  there," 
he  said  awkwardly.  He  took  the  belt  away 
from  her  quickly  before  she  could  explore  the 
contents  further,  and  put  it  away. 

But  she  did  not  forget  the  way  his  face 
had  looked.  And  whenever  he  would  speak 
of  the  sea  after  that  she  would  see  the  strange 
quickening  in  his  eyes,  she  would  remember, 
that  tiny  globe  of  water  he  carried  with  him 
in  the  safest  place  he  had.  It  was  not  for 
good  luck,  she  knew;  it  was,  without  his 
awareness  almost,  a  sort  of  bond  between 
him  and  the  sea.  A  sort  of  sign.  And  there 
was  no  sign  between  him  and  her  like  that. 
She  would  try  to  remember  some  word  of  his, 
some  definite  assurance  she  could  not  doubt, 
but  because  of  David's  way  there  had  never 
been  any.  There  was  no  little  thing  like  that 
between  them  at  all.  The  space  with  the 
window  over  it  in  his  billfold  did  not  even 
carry  her  snapshot.  Maybe,  she  would  think 
sickly,  it  was  not  just  David's  way — maybe, 
for  him,  there  had  been  nothing. 

And  suddenly  tonight,  lyiiig  beside  her 
husband  this  last  time  and  not  knov/ing  of 
which  he  was  dreaming,  herself  or  the  sea, 
and  the  question  never  to  be  answered  now 
because  the  time  had  all  gone  by,  she  knew 
what  she  must  do.  It  was  an  ugly  thing  to 
do,  this  last  night,  but  the  passion  to  destroy 
this  sign  between  him  and  the  sea  when  there 
was  none  of  her  own  to  match  it  possessed 
her  beyond  resistance  in  the  beating  stillness 
of  the  moonlit  room.  She  crept  from  her' 
side  of  the  bed  and  felt  for  the  money  belt 
beneath  his  clothes  on  the  chair.  Her  fingers 
trembled  as  they  searched  the  compartment 
where  the  glass  ball  had  been. 

The  cobblestones,  she  thought;  in  a  thou- 
sand pieces  on  the  cobblestones  beneath  the 
open  window.  But  just  as  her  fingers  closed 
about  its  hateful  smoothness,  her  knuckles 
touched  another  object.  She  drew  it  out  with 
the  glass  ball. 

And  then  for  a  minute  she  never  moved. 
She  could  sec  David  putting  it  there  beside 
the  glass  ball,  secretly,  feeling  a  little  sheep- 
ish, like  a  child,  but  not  wanting  anyone 
else  to  laugh  just  the  same;  and  suddenly 
tears  sang  in  her  throat  and  the  whole  night 
seemed  to  lighten  about  her. 

She  held  the  two  objects  together  in  the 
palm  of  her  hand  for  a  minute,  the  one  as 
tenderly  as  the  other  now--for  now  the 
sound  of  the  sea  seemed  to  change.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  strange  bond  between  her 
and  the  sea,  too.  now— warm  and  fierce,  like 
the  bond  between  the  only  two  people  who 
are  both  loved  by  a  lonely  child  in  the  same 
funny  way. 

For  Anna  knew  without  taking  it  to  the 
moonlight  at  the  window  what  the  date  on 
the  coin  she  held  would  be.  It  would  be  1922. 


^^i  m^  maJd  /wwie  /t£^  UeAt  /me  a  mim,  o/n^  {//y^^/mea  c^ /ler^  ^mml  l/m  nMfJi^  l/w€uaA 


38 


IF  ¥OU  ASK   ME 


"wTWhat  is  the  difference  between  Russia 
grabbing  a  slice  of  Poland  and  Germany 
doing  it?  Hon-  can  we  condone  one,  and 
condemn  the  other? 

It  is  against  the  conscience  of  the  Amencan 
people  to  take  any  land  from  a  sovereign  state, 
but  I  think  there  are  some  differences  in  the 
situation  which  you  state. 

We  must  remember  that  Poland  for  two  hun- 
dred years  in  the  past  invaded  parts  of  Russia, 
that  her  boundaries  have  been  changed  over 
and  over  again,  and  that  when  Germany  in- 
vaded Poland  she  knew  that  Great  Britain  had 
concluded  an  alliance  with  Poland  which  bound 
her  to  come  to  Poland's  aid. 

In  the  course  of  the  w-ar  Russia's  alliances 
have  changed.  She  first  had  a  defensive  alli- 
ance with  Germany,  hoping  to  prevent  the  in- 
vasion of  her  own  country  until  she  was  ready 
to  defend  herself.  When  the  invasion  by  Ger- 
many came,  Russia  had  already  gone  into  a 
part  of  Poland  where  a  great  many  of  the  peo- 
ple were  Slavs.  Her  great  objective  in  the  fu- 
ture is  not  the  acquisition  of  more  territory, 
since  she  has  as  much  land  as  anyone  could 
want,  but  she  does  want  to  make  her  bounda- 
ries as  secure  as  possible.  If  she  can  achieve  this 
even  by  taking  some  land  from  the  conquered 
and  giving  it  to  a  country  like  Poland,  from 
which  she  is  taking  some  land,  but  with  whom 
she  hopes  to  establish  friendly  relationships,  we 
may  not  condone  it,  but  we  cannot  look  upon 
it  in  the  same  light  as  we  would  the  outright 
conquest  of  a  nation  by  a  ix>wer  that  planned 
to  make  the  people  completely  subservient  to 
their  wishes,  as  Germany  did. 

"^P^ People  are  ahi^iys  talking  about  the  in- 
triguing things  they  icoiihl  do  if  they 
only  had  the  time.  Do  yt>ii  hare  a  .s;«'- 
cial  thivarle<t  anibilion  nhich  circum- 
stance has  not  alloxced  yon  to  carry  out? 

My  ambitions  are  all  of  a  rather  modest 
variety.  Someday,  if  I  ever  feel  I  have  the  ca- 
pacity, I  should  like  to  write  some  short  stories, 
but  I  shall  not  feel  thwarted  if  I  never  get 
around  to  it.  It  is  more  in  the  category  of  the 
things  one  would  like  to  do  but  that  one  is  not 
sure  one  should  take  the  time  to  find  out 
whether  one  is  capable  of  doing. 

^p^Don't  you  and  your  husband  realize 
that  failure  on  your  pari  to  refute  the 
many  lii-ious  charges  nuulc  against  you 
by  certain  columnists  nutkcs  many  jteo- 
ple  believe  tlwse  attacks? 

Don't  you  think  deeds  speak  louder  than 
words?  Don't  you  think  it  is  far  more  sensible 
not  to  bother  alxiut  foolish  criticism,  but  to 
live  one's  life  and  let  the  people  finally  draw 
their  own  conclusions? 

I  am  a  great  believer  in  letting  time  bring 
out  the  truth  and  not  being  overconcerned 
about  what  other  people  say  when  you  know 
they  are  motivated  by  considerations  which 
you  can  do  nothing  to  change. 

^Wrl  am  going  icith  a  man  eight  years 
younger  than  myself.  We  gel  along  splen- 
diilly,  but  my  frieiuls  are  opposed  to  our 
marrying  because  of  my  age.  What  do 
you  think? 

Eight  years  do  not  seem  to  be  an  insur- 
mountable barrier,  though  as  you  grow  older  it 
will  grow  more  difficult  to  bridge  the  gap.  If 
you  and  the  young  man,  however,  face  the  fact 
that  women  age  more  quickly  than  men  and 
that  you  will  not  be  able  to  do  many  of  the 
things  he  will  perhaps  want  to  do  in  the  future, 
you  may  find  that  your  love  is  great  enough  to 
surmount  all  difficulties. 

Letters  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt, 
c/o  the  L.^DiEs'  HoMi:  Journal.  No  Idlers  for 
this  page  sent  to  the  White  House  will  be  answered. 
It  should  be  uiulerslood  thai  Mrs.  RooseveU's  an- 
swers reflect  only  her  own  opinions,  and  are  not 
necessarily  the  opinions  either  of  the  Administra- 
lion  or  of  the  Editors  of  the  Journal. 


S^  S^C€uun  ^ooAcvelt     ^ 


"^F Are  the  families  of  boys  in  the  Mer- 
chant Marine  entitled  to  €Hsplay  service 
flags? 

Yes.  The  flags  can  be  obtained  from  retail 
outlets.  The  flag  ha%  a  blue  background,  gold 
cord,  a  white  silhouette  of  a  boat  at  the  top, 
and  below  white  stars  for  those  in  service  and 
gold  stars  for  those  who  have  Seen  killed. 

■^^7  u-ould  like  to  correspond  with 
wounded  boys  in  .Army  or  ISavy  hospitals 
who  have  no  relatives  to  write  them. 
How  can  I  get  their  addresses? 

Lists  of  boys'  names  are  not  given  out  as  it  is 
considered  a  dangerous  practice.   You  could 


WELCOME  HOME! 


kr  cnooRT  lyAicsno 


"It's  from  a  George  who  says 
he's  coming  home.  I've  got 
three  Gi'orges  and  I'm  trying 
to  nuitch  up  tlie  handwriting." 

REPRINTED   COURTESY    COLLIER'S 

make  personal  contact  through  mutual  friends, 
or  you  could  work  for  the  Red  Cross  in  hospi- 
tals and  get  to  know  special  cases. 

'^^■■tre  G.I.  Joe's  wife  and  child  actually 
supposed  to  live  on  $80  a  month?  How 
can  this  be  done? 

Allotments  are  fixed  by  Congress,  not  by  the 
Army.  If  a  soldier's  wife  has  no  other  source  of 
income  but  her  allotment,  she,  I  suppose,  must 
either  try  to  find  a  way  to  live  on  $80  a  month, 
or  she  must  find  a  way  of  increasing  her  income. 
One  can  either  work  or  live  with  one's  relatives. 

"^F^My  husband  is  a  prisoner  of  the  Ger- 
mans, ff  hen  he  is  liberated,  will  he  have 
to  fight  Japan  if  tfe  are  still  at  war  with 
the  Japs? 

I  am  afraid  nobody  knows  the  answer  to  this 
question.  In  the  first  place,  when  one  has  been 
a  prisoner  in  Germany,  it  will  take  some  time  to 
get  him  back  into  condition,  and  by  that  time 
the  war  with  Japan  may  be  over;  or  it  may  be 
decided  that  men  who  have  been  through  such 
hardships  can  be  used  to  better  advantage  in 
this  country.  I  doubt  if  the  military  authori- 
ties are  as  yet  prepared  to  answer  this  question 
categorically.  There  are  always  exceptions,  and 
if  a  man  has  special  qualifications  for  something 
that  is  badly  needed,  so  that  he  wanted  to  go  on 
serving  against  the  Japanese,  it  might  be  a  great 
hardship  to  keep  him  out  of  military  service. 


Would  you  call  me  unpatriotic  or  self- 
ish in  wanting  my  husband  home  after 
the  European  tear  is  over  for  the  follow- 
ing reasons:  he  will  be  thirty-eight  in 
July  and  I  am  over  thirty-five  and  we 
want  children  very  badly.  Because  of 
firujncial  reasons,  tve  couldn't  marry  un- 
til May,  1941.  Would  there  be  a  chance 
for  men  over  thirty-eight  to  be  let  out 
after  this  w^r  in  Europe  eruls? 

I  have  no  idea,  of  course,  whether  the  men 
who  are  over  thirty-eight  will  be  sent  home 
when  the  European  war  is  over  and  used  again 
in  the  Pacific  or  not.  That  is  a  question  which 
only  the  military  authorities  can  decide.  I  am 
sure  the  men  in  the  services  will  be  given  an  op- 
portunity to  state  their  cases  to  their  superior 
officers,  however. 

I  do  not  think  it  is  either  unpatriotic  or  seM- 
ish  for  a  couple  situated  as  you  are  to  ask  for 
consideration.  If  a  man  is  indispensable  for 
any  reason,  individual  considerations  would 
have  to  go  by  the  board;  but  short  of  that,  I 
think  consideration  should  be  given  to  individ- 
uals as  far  as  it  is  humanly  possible  to  do  so. 

"iF^Why  can't  department  stores  secure 
good  cotton  materials  such  as  gingham, 
chambray  and  ordinary  cotton  prints? 
You  can  purchase  a  nice  cotton  dress  of 
these  materials — but  at  such  a  price! 
If  dress  manufacturers  can  secure  such 
materials,  why  can't  they  be  bought  by 
the  yard  in  department  stores? 

At  the  present  time,  due  to  the  decrease  in 
total  production,  shortage  of  manpower  in  the 
mills  and  increased  military  demand,  we  are 
getting  for  civilian  use  only  about  50  per  cent 
of  the  former  supply  of  cotton  goods.  There  is 
about  the  same  drop  in  the  supply  of  piece  goods 
as  there  is  in  the  supply  of  dresses  made  out  of 
the  same  materials.  The  jobbers  and  retailers 
get  the  same  kind  of  priority  treatment  as  man- 
ufacturers of  essential  garments. 

It  is  not  wholly  true  that  dresses  can  be 
bought  and  materials  cannot.  There  is  just  as 
much  shortage  on  dresses  throughout  the  coun- 
try as  a  whole  as  there  is  on  piece  goods,  and 
both  situations  are  rapidly  getting  worse.  In 
order  to  step  up  the  production  of  children's 
clothes,  the  WPB  had  to  withdraw  priorities 
for  making  adult  clothes  out  of  cotton  materials, 
as  they  felt  rayons  could  be  substituted  for 
those  better  than  for  children's  clothes.  In  or- 
der to  take  care  of  the  rural  trade,  which  has 
been  particularly  hard  hit  in  the  piece-goods 
situation,  the  WPB  made  a  special  allocation - 
of  ten  million  yards  this  last  quarter,  which  was 
distributed  through  jobbers  for  sale  as  yard 
goods.  That  was  limited  to  small  communities, 
so  that  it  didn't  go  into  the  big  cities  where 
there  was  more  to  choose  from.  For  the  coming 
quarter  there  is  another  program  like  this,  but 
this  time  they  expect  to  allocate  about  fifteen 
million  yards. 

'^rOver  the  radio  I  heard  that  some  offi- 
cial has  proposed  giving  the  families  of 
servicemen  in  the  Pacific  the  opportunity 
to  live  on  Pacific  isles  in  order  to  be  with 
the  servicemen  occasioruilly.  This  might 
seem  a  crackpot  plan  to  some,  but  ru>t  to 
most  families  of  these  servicemen.  Could 
you  get  this  plan  through  the  proper 
channels  to  be  up  for  consideration — or 
at  least  give  it  your  support? 

I  did  not  know  that  any  official  made  this 
suggestion.  I  am  afraid  it  is  wishful  thinking. 
No  family  could  live  anywhere  where  the  Army 
was  not  already  living,  since  there  would  be  no 
quarters  for  them,  and  I  doubt  very  much  if 
this  plan  is  feasible  at  all  except  in  places  where 
families  have  been  before,  such  as  Hawaii,  the 
Philippines,  Midway  and  Guam,  which,  of 
course,  at  the  end  of  the  war,  will  be  open  to 
wives  and  families  as  they  were  before,  as  well 
as  any  other  places  where  our  troops  may  be 
stationed ;  but  I  doubt  very  much  if  anywhere 
this  will  be  allowed  before  the  Pacific  war  ends. 


^m  im^QicfKi -  on,  [Ad  iium  9 ioni  ( 


MUt 


1  ■  _.   "^ 
f4 


•     t  1 


/Jf' 


mjOTHING  moved  on  the  balcony.  The  light, 

■  stealthy  footsteps  did  not  resume.  Nothing 

■  moved  anywhere,  except  suddenly  Marny 
i  1  had  a  fantastic  notion  that  the  horrible 
thing,  sagging  there  in  the  darkness  within 
reach  of  her  hand,  might  sway  nearer.  There 
was  a  sound,  though,  hard  and  heavy  and  fast, 
pulsing  in  her  ears  and  her  throat:  the  frantic 
thudding  of  her  heart.  And  she  must  run, 
escape,  put  distance  between  her  and  the  bal- 
cony. Before  the  footsteps  turned  and  came 
down  that  winding  stairway.  Before  the  thing 
so  near  her  swayed  and  moved  again ! 

The  darkness  was  bewildering;  her  pulses 
beat  hard  and  heavy  in  her  ears,  in  her  throat, 
all  over  her  body.  She  was  running,  pushing 
herself  through  the  hot  blackness;  her  outflung 
hands  grazed  shrubbery  at  the  comer  of  the 
house,  she  avoided  the  front  steps,  gravel  spat- 
tered sharply  in  the  still  night. 

An  area  of  light  suddenly  turned  the  driveway 
white  and  outlined  the  hibiscus  sharply  black 
against  it.  She  whirled  around  a  curve  and  saw 
the  gatehouse  ahead.  A  policeman  was  sitting 
on  a  bench,  directly  under  the  light,  smoking; 
he  heard  her  and  jerked  upward  to  listen  and 
then  came  pounding  along  the  driveway. 

She  must  have  told  him  the  thing  she  had 
found.   His  bulky  figure  was  running  back  to- 


Af 


ward  the  house;  he  had  shouted  toward  the 
gate;  other  figures— two  policemen  and  Ed- 
ward— came,  too,  thumping  heavily  through 
the  night  and  then  becoming  part  of  it  as  they 
passed  her.  But  there  were  flashlights,  cutting 
fine,  sharp  fingers  through  the  blackness;  she 
reached  the  front  steps  and  the  policemen  and 
the  glancing  rays  of  flashlights  disappeared 
around  the  comer  of  the  house.  She'd  better 
follow.  She  did,  and  they  were  standing  to- 
gether, in  a  queer  disjointed  group  below  the 
balcony. 

Bill  was  there  too.  A  ray  of  light  fell  on  his 
face;  he  was  staring  at  that  heavy,  hanging 
shadow,  his  face  strangely  white.  Light  streamed 
out  all  at  once  from  the  balcony,  and  Tim 
Wales  shouted  down: 

"What's  going  on  down  there?" 

Bill  was  saying,  "But  there  was  somebody. 
When  I  was  going  toward  the  garage  to  put  the 
car  up.  He  was  in  the  shrubs  there.  He  ducked 
out  of  sight  just  as  my  lights  swung  around.  I 
started  after  him  but  he  got  away  and  I  came 
around  the  other  side  of  the  house  and — it's 
Andre  Durant!" 

A  flat,  yellow  ray  of  light  was  full  upon  the 
face  of  the  thing  that  hung  so  heavily  f^om  the 
balcony  railing,  just  beside  the  iron  stairway. 
The  dark  hair  had  (Conlinued  on  Page  44) 


-'m   '*"\,-'''mi^zimi&- 


M  MIIJIIION  G.  EBERHJRT 


'   % 


^«fiirJ 


1H  TOW,  don't  take  this  too  literally  or  too  personally.    If  I  had  my  way,  any 

■  living  soul  who  routed  me  out  prior  to  eleven  a.m.,  even  on  a  May  morning, 

■  would  hear  words  that  no  lady  should  make  vocal  or  even  know.  I  am  no 
B  early  bird.  I  don't  crave  the  early  worm.  Let  the  early  birds  have  the  un- 
■   suspecting  and  put-upon  worm.  But  give  me  some  good  sound  wheat  cakes 

j  ■  and  country  sausage  and  I'll  settle  for  a  pot  of  coffee  as  black  as  a  church 
•^  "  hymnal  and  as  bitter  as  the  gossip  on  the  parish-house  steps.  That's  me. 
(Or  is  it  I  ?)  Make  up  your  own  grammar,  as  I  always  say.  After  all,  these  gram- 
mars that  were  bom  only  to  plague  us  are  only  one  man's  opinion. 

Well,  Tennyson  said  it. 

"  You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me  early,  mother  dear; 
Tomorrow' II  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the  glad  New  Year; 
Of  all  the  glad  New  Year,  mother,  the  maddest,  merriest  day; 
For  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May." 

Dear,  sentimental  (but  good-looking)  old  Tennyson.  Do  you  know,  I've  got  a 
cape  exactly  like  the  one  you  see  him  wearing  as  he  strolls  among  the  Brussels 
sprouts  and  primroses  in  a  happier  and  more  serene  English  garden  than  we  can 
picture  now.  I  don't  know  what  color  his  was — mine  is  red.  You  can  spot  me  a  mile 
off.  I  wear  it — or  fancy  I  do — with  an  air  half  grenadier  and  half  Wilhela  Cush- 
man.  And  I  hope  nothing  comes  of  this.  But  I  fancy  Tennyson — brooding  over 
his  little  Queen  o'  the  May,  in  his  lovely  English  springtime — wore  a  sort  of  gray 
cape.  Like  the  mists  that  rise  at  sunset — like  the  silvery  thyme  at  his  feet. 

note  I  digress.  It  is  certainly  nice  to  digress.  Keeps  one  from  getting  on  the 
beam — as  the  boys  say — too  soon.  But  I  must  about  the  business  of  life.  Outside 
the  windows  in  our  picture,  you  are  seeing  all  the  flowers  and  trees  ajid  shrubs  that 
ought  to  be  blooming  outside  my  windows  this  minute — but  aren't.  True,  there  are 
a  few  anemic  lilacs  trying  to  get  over  winter  and  come  through,  like  smiles  on  the 
cracked  and  creased  faces  of  ladies  who  have  not  ceased  to  be  expectant. 

However,  this  simple,  elegant  and  springtime  repast  starts  out  modestly — as  so 
many  things  in  spring  do — modestly.  In  the  beginning,  let  us  agree  on  modesty, 
at  least.  So  this  beginning  is  all  tangled  up  with  vegetable  juices  and  tomatoes 
and  beets.  Seeing  them  all  set  up  in  a  first-course  cocktail,  you  might  think  that 
tomatoes  and  beets  weren't  vegetables  but  belonged  to  the  branch  of  the  family 
from  the  other  side  of  the  tracks. 

MADRILEIVE  COCKTAIL 

To  2'^  cups  of  a  combination  of  vegetable  juices  containing;  tomato,  acid  Va 
cup  beet  juice  drained  from  canned  beets.  The  gartlen  beets  aren't  ready  yet, 
but  we  must  have  color  in  a  cocktail  for  spring.  Season  with  2  teaspoons  of 
grated  horse-radish  and  the  juice  of  1  lemon.  Add  pepper  and  salt  to  taste. 
Mix  well  and  chill  thoroughly. 

Tempted  but  resisting.  It's  a  terrible  temptation  to  stop  right  here  and  go 
fishing.  At  least  I  should  think  I  might  write  about  it,  but  isn't  that  the  editor  look- 
ing at  me?  It  is  indeed.  I  believe  he  has  the  X-ray  eye.         (Continued  on  Page  J 54) 


-  -/---:/ 


PHOTO  BY  STUART-FOWLBR 


ISome  of  us  read  horror  and  who-dunnit 
stories,  and  the  best  minds  admit  it. 
They're  fun  to  read,  but  they  are  only 
stories  after  all.  But  a  real  story  of  terror 
and  horror  beyond  anything  I've  ever  read 
is  Mary  Berg's  diary— Warsaw  (ihetto. 
This  one  needs  to  be  read— it  ought  to  be 
and  I  hope  it  ivill  be.  And  this  one  is  true. 

2  Something  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  al- 
most as  satisfactory,  is  a  steamed  cherry 
pudding.  Make  a  plain  biscuit  dough. 
Roll  out  and  spread  with  black  (or  red) 
cherries.  Roll  up  now  and  steam  it.  Use 
the  cherry  juice  in  your  sauce  with  cream. 

3  Bet  you  wish  you'd  done  more  about 
oysters.  But  they  will  return  with  the 
first  scarlet  leaves  of  fall,  so  cheer  up. 


4 


Sjiread  the  everyday  frankfurter  with 
mustard,  roll  it  in  line  cracker  crumbs 
and  brown  under  the  broiler.  Surprise ! 


r  Ever  cover  pears— fresh  or  canned— 
T  with  waffle  batter,  bake  and  serve  up  with 
U  honey  or  maple  sirup?  Don't  all  speak  at 
the  same  time.  I'm  a  little  hard  of  hearing. 

G  There's  a  beautiful  spaghetti  sauce  with 
mushrooms  all  ready  for  you;  and  in- 
stead of  spaghetti,  try  it  on  a  plain  ome- 
let. Or  with  a  dish  of  baked  rice  and  cheese. 

7  An  artichoke-heart  cocktail  for  a  first 
course  is  an  idea  to  conjure  with.  They 
come  in  oil  or  plain.   Be  sure  the  sauce 
is  high  with  seasoning. 

8  For  tea  or  to  go  with  gelatin  desserts, 
the  lemon-butter  tartlets  grandma  used 
to  make  are  just  uncommon  enough  to 
be  cocky  as  Susie  in  her  Easter  bonnet.  Add 
a  few  chopped  nuts — or  not,  as  you  will! 

9  From  an  old  cookbook:  "Lemonade  is 
now  made  to  carry  in  the  pocket."    It 
turns  out  to  be  a  powder— and  this  'way 
back  in  1802.   I  love  to  read  the  story. 

1  n  To  bake  croquettes  when  frying  is 
1 11  out — which  I  hope  it  won't  be — brush 
1 U  them  with  fat  and  bake  until  brown 
in  a  very  hot  oven — 475°  F. 

it  Picked  up  from  Sluarl  (photographer): 

I  I  Chopped  nuts  instead  of  croutons  in 

I I  the  soup.  "Soup  to  nuts"  is  his  slogan. 

J  n  The  garden  clubs  are  coming  to  life. 
I  /  This  is  the  time  when  fishermen  go 
lu  fishing  and  ladies  look  to  their  tulips. 
Let  m.e  tell  you  about  a  garden-club  punch. 
(I'll  be  showing  off  my  garden  next  month— 
if  all   the  little  bulblets  do  their  stuff.) 


BY  m  mmmu 


i  n  Take  equal  parts  of  cold  tea  and  car- 
I  I  bonated  water,  and  allow  to  each  quart 
'"a  cup  of  sliced  strawberries,  a  cup  of 
diced  pineapple,  a  lemon  or  two,  sliced, 
lemon  juice  and  sugar  to  taste.  Ice  well — 
don't  dilute  too  much.  Add  a  few  sprigs  of 
mint. 

1^1  may  as  well  do  it  now  as  later.  Has 
I  [1  to  come.  A  glass  of  punch  without  a 
■^^  sandwich  is  like  a  sandal  without  a 
strap.  Gets  nowhere.  Try  toasted  pecans 
chopped  fine,  mixed  to  a  paste  with  lemon 
juice  and  mayonnaise.  On  thin  white  bread. 

(j  r  Asparagus  will  be  a-cumin  in.  It's  the 
I  T  queen  of  the  crop,  and  all  too  short- 
*"  lived.  Don't  overcook  it;  and  if  in  a 
salad,  French  dressing  is  your  best  bet.  A 
green  pepper,  minced,  a  few  leaves  of— 
must  I  say  it? — parsley  and  a  chopped 
pickle  in  the  dressing  make  a  vinaigrette. 

For  future  reference — cuaimber  division. 

Peel  a  cucumber  and  cut  into  cubes. 

Braise  in  a  little  butter  or  margarine 
until  quite  soft.  Add  a  can  of  condensed 
chicken  broth,  half  a  cup  of  cream  and  a 
quarter  of  a  cup  of  browned  slivered  al- 
monds. Serve  hot  with  chicken.  Hear 
dem  wedding  bells? 


17 


Fish  will  not  swim  out  of  water.  I 
once  had  a  goldfish  that  tried  it.  The 
cat  got  there  first. 


Macaroni  or  spaghetti  au  gratin,  lib- 
erally sprinkled  with  finely  chopped 
peanuts,  has  just  been  served  up  to 

me,  and  it's  good.    Funny  I  didn't  know 

about  this. 


More  and  better  news:  Honey  peanut 
butter,  and  isn't  that  something !  It's  a 
lunch-box  special,  anafter-schoolmust. 

Fried  hominy  and  bread  sauce  are 
equally  good  with  guinea  chicken. 
Only  the  breasts  are  best  to  serve. 

SUMMER  KETrR.>S 

Summer  returns  this  way. 
Fulfill.^  the  eternal  vow. 

The  agitated  breast 
Is  quiet  now. 

The  bird  in  her  transient  home 
Itetfards  the  fountain's  play. 

I'nfold.s  the  budding  rose — 
^tummer  returns  this  way. 

42 


n  I  Cut  thick  slices  of  bread  and  scoop 
/  I  out  a  deep  well  in  the  center  of  each. 
^  ^  Dip  in  melted  butter  or  margarine  and 
brown  to  a  crisp  in  the  oven.  Drop  an  egg  in 
each  well.  Dust  with  salt  and  pepper,  put 
in  the  oven  to  set  the  eggs  and  serve  with  a 
Welsh  rarebit  poured  over.  This  is  first-rate. 

n  0  Herb  note:  Sweet  fennel,  or  finochio, 
/  /  boiled  as  a  vegetable,  is  as  delicate  as 
'-'  ^  old  lace  and,  as  an  appetizer,  served 
raw,  has  a  fiavor  as  haunting  as  flutes. 

n  0  Cut  bananas  in  half  lengthwise.  Brush 
/  1  with  butter  and  lemon  juice,  roll  in 
^'  'J  shredded  coconut  and  bake  until  ten- 
der.  Serve  with  lemon  sauce. 

n  k  When  the  cook  comes  home  with  a 
//I  late  timetable,  look  out.  Something's 
'-'  ^  stirring,  and  it  isn't  waffles.  It  might 
be  a  chaise  longue  in  the  kitchen,  you  know. 

fl  r  When  oysters  go  out,  trout  come 
/  \  in.  Fried  or  broiled,  and  with  bacon — 
'-' "  maybe.  Lemon  is  the  best  dressing, 
with  water  cress.  Don't  go  fancy  with  trout. 


Department  of  utter  despair:  Soybean 
pie!  Hitch  up  the  mare,  Miranda, 
and  let's  go  find  a  squash  or  something. 


0  n  Chicken  baked  in  rich  milk  or  cream 
/  y  is  of  the  best.  Have  it  cut  up  as  for 
'-I  •  fricassee,  brown  it  in  salad  oil.  Now 
put  it  in  a  shallow  casserole  and  season 
with  salt,  pepper  and  a  little  thyme.  Cover 
with  milk  or  cream  and  bake  until  very 
tender  and  milk  or  cream  is  about  gone. 

Second  chapter:  Cook  two  minced 
onions  in  oil.  When  soft,  add  a  table- 
spoon of  curry  mixed  with  two  table- 
spoons of  flour.  Salt,  pepper  and  a  dash  of 
cayenne.  Mix  well.  .\dd  two  cups  of  milk  or 
cream  and  serve  poured  over  the  chicken. 

Little  new  potatoes  arid  onions  not  too 
ancient  make  a  summer  salad  that  will 
bring  luster  to  the  eye.  But  don't  for- 
get that  it's  the  cucumbers  that  turn  the 
trick.  -Alternate  slices  of  potatoes  and  cu- 
cumbers with  little  green  onions,  dressed  up 
with  sour  cream,  vinegar,  salt  and  pepper. 

As  inseparable  as  griddlecakes  and 
sirup  are  eggs  Benedict  and  hollan- 
daise  sauce.   But  have  you  tried  that 
sauce  on  spinach  or  on  little  fish  balls? 

n  1  There  will  be  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  in 
1  I  July.  The  way  I  have  it  figured  out.  you 
'J  *  can  see  it  if  you  are  on  your  toes.  And 
never  say  I  didn't  tell  you.  I  am  seldom 
wrong,  astronomically  speaking,  so  I'm  told. 


l>  K  A  W   I  >  ( 


B  V      K  .      C  .      A  T  ll  K  B  T  I 


Indulge  yovirself  with  a  cheerful  meal  built  round 
bright  bowls  of  Campbell's  Tomato  Soup.  Red- 
ripe,  luscious  tomatoes  grown  under  the  summer 
sun  and  filled  with  healthful  vitamins,  make  this 
soup  one  to  put  zest  in  your  appetite  and  warmth 
in  your  heart.  Indeed,  it's  so  good  it  is  the  soup 
most  folks  like  best. 


^^  ^>V 


When  the  larder's  low  and  you  won't  be  shop- 
ping till  tomorrow,  how  nice  to  take  a  can  of 
Campbell's  Beef  Soup  off  the  shelf !  You  know 
you've  something  substantial  to  build  a  meal 
around.  The  family  will  welcome  this  tasty 
soup  so  appetizing]  y  hearty  with  tender  pieces 
of  beef,  garden  vegetables  and  barley  — all  in 
a  stock  well-simmered  from  lean  beef. 


BEEF  SOUP 


You  have  a  problem  on  your  hands— or  not.  NOT 
if  you  have  Campbell's  Vegetable  Soup  on  the 
back  of  the  stove  and  some  sandwiches  ready. 
For  then  lunch  can  be  on  a  "help  yourself"  basis, 
and  the  family  will  like  nothing  better!  Fifteen 
different  vegetables  and  a  rich  beef  stock  give 
this  soup  its  delicious  taste  and  its  wholesome 
nourishment.  That's  why  so  many  mothers  say, 
"It's  almost  a  meal  in  itself". 


VEGETABLE  SOUP 


To  market,  yes  to  market 
We  dearly  love  to  go,  sir— 
^J^V- — -/'^\^    There  to  buy  good  Campbell's  Soup 
V     ,     A^*^^   '  Because  we  love  it  so,  sir ! 


44 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


This  illosfration  is  faken  from  Metropolitan's  Sound  Film  Strip,  "Jimmy  Beats 
Rheumatic  Fever."  If  you  would  like  to  show  this  feature  at  your  P.T.A., 
Woman's  Club,  Red  Cross,  or  other  Group  Meeting,  just  write  and  let  us  know. 


'  wook  wUt  the  (doctor  or«:/ehjc| 
far  Wf  'Rhgumatrc  Te\/er! 


That  may  seem  like  peculiar  medi- 
cine piled  up  on  Jimmy's  bed. 

But  those  books  and  games  and  cray- 
ons have  been  carefully  selected  to  keep 
him  contentedly  occupied,  until  all  signs 
of  the  disease  have  cleared  up.  He  still 
faces  long  weeks  in  bed. 

Bed  rest  is  a  tough  assignment  for  any 
youngster  who  no  longer  feels  sick,  and 
wants  to  be  up  and  at  play.  But  if  rheu- 
matic fever  and  rheumatic  heart  disease 
are  to  be  fought  successfully,  it  is  the 
best  medicine  he  can  get. 

Doctors  think  it  is  the  treatment  that 
will  do  most  to  lessen  the  menace  of 
rheumatic  fever  — ^he  cause  of  more 
deaths  among  children  of  school  age 
than  any  other  disease! 

Rheumatic  fever  in  its  early  stages 
is  very  difficult  to  recognize  —  all  the 
more  reason  why  parents  should  be  alert 
to  its  tell-tale  symptoms. The  most  strik- 
ing is  pain  and  swelling  in  joints  and 
muscles.  The  pain  often  travels  from 
joint  to  joint  and  is  frequently  preceded 
by  a  sore  throat  or  tonsillitis. 

Other  signs  such  as  continued  loss  of 
weight  or  appetite,  or  fleeting  muscular 
aches,  call  for  medical  checkup.  They 
may  or  may  not  mean  rheumatic  fever. 

Unfortunately  the  disease  has  a  ten- 
dency to  recur,  so  it  is  vitally  important 
that  the  first  attack  be  recognized  and 
treated  promptly. 

Generally  the  sufferer  must  stay  in 
bed  under  a  doctor's  care  until  all  signs, 
including  laboratory  tests,  show  that  the 
inflammation  has  disappeared.  He  may 
stay  at  home,  if  circumstances  permit— 
or  possibly  in  a  convalescent  home. 

Equally  important,  thereafter,  he 
should  be  protected  as  far  as  possible 


from  contact  with  people  who  have 
colds,  since  recurrence  often  appears  to 
be  brought  on  by  mild  illnesses  like 
colds,  grippe,  sore  throat,  and  respira- 
tory trouble. 

Three  quarters  of  those  attacked  by 
rheumatic  fever  are  between  the  ages 
of  5  and  30— and  of  these  the  great  ma- 
jority are  between  10  and  15. 

Experiments  now  being  made  with 
small  regular  doses  of  certain  drugs 
show  promise  of  preventing  recurrence. 
But  even  if  these  prove  effective  there 
will  be  continued  need  to  maintain  sus- 
ceptible children  in  the  best  possible 
health  by  regular  medical  supervision. 

To  learn  more  about  this  disease, 
send  for  Metropolitan's  free  booklet 
55J— "Rheumatic  Fever." 

Remember  — May  is  Child  Welfare 
Month  ...  a  fine  time  to  check  up  on  the 
general  health  of  your  children.  Make 
sure  your  boy  or  girl  has  been  immu- 
nized against  childhood  diseases  for 
which  protection  is  available. 


COPYRICHT   1945 METROPOLITAN   LIFE   I  ft  S  U  R  A  NC  E  CO  . 

Metropolitan   Life 
Insurance  Company 

(A   MUTUAL  COMPANY) 
Frederick  H.  Fucker, 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD 
Leroy  A.  Lincoln, 
PRESIDENT 

1  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  10,  N.  Y^ 


Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company 
1  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  10,  N.Y. 

Please  send  me  a  copy  of  your  booklet, 
5SJ,  entitled,  "Rheumatic  Fever." 


Name- 


Street. 
City 


-State- 


THE  WHITE  DRESS 

(Continued  from  Page  39) 


fallen  forward.  She  had  to  get  away;  the 
night  was  too  full  of  chaos  and  of  something 
that  surged  too  loud,  now,  and  heavily  in 
her  ears. 

There  were  more  lights  from  the  balcony. 

One  of  the  policemen  swung  around  to- 
ward her.  "Was  he  like  this  when  you  found 
him,  miss?" 

"You  found  him "  began  Bill.  Then 

he  was  at  Mamy's  side,  his  arm  was  tight 
and  warm  around  her.  "/  found  him,"  he 
said  to  the  policeman.  "I  came  around  that 
comer  of  the  house.  I  found  him  just  as 
you " 

The  policeman  said,  "She  found  him.  At 
least  she  said  she  did.  She  came  running 
down  to  the  gate.  That's  how  we  got  here." 

Edward  mumbled  something  incoherent 
and  disappeared.  The  two  policemen  stared 
at  the  thing,  brightly,  eerily  illuminated. 
Bill  turned  Mamy  so  she  couldn't  see;  he 
pressed  her  face  down  against  his  shoulder. 

He  said,  "See  here,  we  had  just  left  the 
car.  It  hasn't  been  five  minutes.  You  l^mow 
that,  you  saw  us  come  in." 

The  drawing  room  and  then  the  porch 
sprang  into  such  bright  light  that  the  flash- 
lights paled.  Tim  Wales,  in  a  dressing  gown, 
came  charging  across 
the  porch  and  stopped.  ^HI^^^^HH 
And  stared,  as  if  mes- 
merized horribly  by 
that  forever-silent 
thing.  Then  all  at  once 
everybody  was  talking. 

Bill  Cameron  held 
Mamy  tighter  and  said 
in  her  ear, '  'You've  got 
to  get  away  from  this. 
Come  on."  Bill's  arm 
seemed  to  move  her, 
without  any  volition  on 
her  part;  he  took  her 
into  the  drawing  room, 
he  slid  her  down  onto 
the  sofa  and  stuffed  a 
pillow  under  her  feet 
so  they  stuck  up  ab- 
surdly in  their  white 
pumps.  There  was  a 
sharp  black  mark 
across  one  toe;  she'd  Vi^HH^BHIH 
got  that  dancing. 

'  ■  Bill  ■ "  she  cried,  and  turned  so  she  was 

wholly  in  his  arms,  clinging  to  him,  hiding 
her  face  as  if  to  shut  out  everything  the 
night  had  held. 

He  held  her  warmly  for  a  moment,  his  face 
against  her  own  as  he  had  done,  not  meaning 
to,  dancing.  This  time  it  was  deliberate  and 
stiong  and  indescribably  comforting. 

"  Marny,  Marny.  Don't  tremble  like  that. 
Don't— Mamy.  I  promise  you  I'll  fix  things. 
I  don't  know  how,  God  knows,  but  I — well, 
I  promise  you.  Somehow  I'll  make  them 
come  right.  Understand?" 

She  clung  more  tightly;  her  arms  were 
around  his  neck  and  she  decided  quite  sim- 
ply that  she  wouldn't  let  go;  she'd  just  hold 
on,  like  that,  to  something  that  was  real  and 
sane  and  strong.  If  she  did  so,  nothing  could 
happen. 

He  said,  "Marny,  listen.  You've  got  to 
pull  yourself  together.  Quick.  This  is  gomg 
to  be  messier.  Listen.  You're  not  paying 
attention  to  me."  He  took  her  arms  from 
around  him  and  gave  her  a  queer,  hard  shake 
and  made  her  look  at  him.  "Now  answer 
me.  I  left  you  on  the  steps  when  I  put  the 
car  in  the  garage.   Did  you  see  anybody?" 

"No — no " 

"What  did  you  do?" 

What  had  she  done?  She  thought  back 
past  an  infinite,  terrible  gulf.  "I  got  tired  of 
waiting.  The  door  was  locked.  I  went  to  the 
garage.  You  weren't  there.  I  came  back 
and  thought  of  that  door"— she  pointed 
toward  it — "so  I  came  around  the  house. 
And— it  was  there." 

She  thought  he  was  going  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  again  and  she  wanted  him  to,  but 
he  held  her  tighter  and  said,  "What  did 
you  do?" 


SO  THEY  SAY 

^  If  you  hope  for  pleasant  things 
^  to  turn  up,  keep  the  corners  of 
your  mouth   that   way.  —ANON. 


I  think  the  acid  test  of  a  woman's 
character  is  to  be  found  at  the 
breakfast  tabic.  It  is  easy  to  be  nice 
at  noon,  and  easy  to  be  jolly  at 
night,  but  a  woman  with  a  well- 
balanced  sense  of  humor  at  the 
breakfast  table  is  evidence  of  a 
healthy  mind  in  a  healthy  body. 

—CANON  PATON-WILUAMS. 


"I  ran  back  to  find  the  police.  'Kiere  was 
somebody  on  the  balcony " 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"There  was  somebody  on  the  balcony. 
Just— just  light  footsteps.  It— whoever  it 
was— stopped.  Just  like  that.  Stopped. 
And  I  ran  down  to  the  police  and  it  was  dark 
and  they  came  and " 

"Who  was  on  the  balcony?" 

"I  don't  know — I  couldn't  see.  I  only 
heard  somebody  and  then  it  stopped." 

"All  right.  That  is  safe  to  tell.  That  much. 
But  no  matter  what  you  think  or  remember 
or  anything,  don't  add  a  word  to  it.  Under- 
stand? Tell  them  only  that." 

Judith  said  from  the  doorway,  "What  has 
happened  ? "  She  saw  the  lights  and  the  men 
outside  and  swept  across  the  drawing  room 
in  her  trailing  dressing  gown.  Bill  ran  after 
her.  At  the  door  of  the  porch  they  saw  her 
stop;  they  saw  her  hands  flung  upward  to 
her  eyes;  they  saw  her  whirl  around,  stum- 
bling, running  back  toward  them. 
Bill  caught  her.  "Here— where  are  you 

going?  Wait " 

Her  face  was  chalk-white;  she  dropped  her 
hands  and  stared  at  him. 

He  said,  "The  police 
■i^HHBl^HI       are    there.     Tim    is 
there.  They'll  question 
us." 

"W^hat  have  I 
done?"  said  Judith. 
"Oh,  what  have  I 
done!" 

Bill  said,  "What  do 


you  mean?  Sit  down. 


If  a  woman  tells  a  man  "You  are 
handsome,"  he  seldom  believes  it; 
but  if  she  says  "You  are  clever,"  he 
always  believes  it.  -Excelsior,  Paris. 

War  would  end  if  the  dead  could 
return.  —PREMIER  BALDWIN. 


Here."  He  shoved  a 
chair  toward  her  and 
she  sat  down  mechani- 
cally, her  great  dark 
eyes  staring  up  at  him, 
her  hands  locked  be- 
tween her  knees,  the 
silk  flowing  around  her. 
"What  do  you 
mean?"  said  Bill 
again,  but  she  shook 
her  head,  numbly, 
staring  at  him.  Bill 
^■^■^^^■■i  looked  at  her  for  an 
instant.  "Mamy — re- 
member what  I  told  you,"  he  said.  "Hold 
everything." 

He  was,  incredibly,  gone;  through  the 
brightly  lighted  porch,  back  to  that  mutter- 
ing, gesticulating  group  with  the  flashlights 
and  the  eerie  white  faces  and  Tim  Wales 
shouting  above  them : 

"Where's  Laideau?  He  did  it!  Search  the 
place.   Don't  let  him  get  away." 

Winnie  came  running  into  the  room,  blue 
dressing  gown  clutched  around  her. 
Judith  lifted  her  head  and  cried,  "Winnie, 

don't  look.    Don't  go.    Your  father  " 

Winnie  stopped  dead.  "Judith,  why  are 
those  men  out  there? " 

Judith  knew  exactly  what  was  happening. 
She  said,  "Andre" — and  stopped  and  seemed 
to  select  words,  and  then  in  a  sudden  msh — 
"Andre  has  killed  himself." 

Winnie  looked  at  her  and  then  at  Marny 
and  went  to  the  porch.  She  stopped  in  the 
doorway  and  after  a  long  moment  came  back. 
Her  face  was  so  white  that  the  thick  eye- 
brows stood  out;  then  suddenly  she  sat  down 
in  a  straight  chair  and  stared  at  Judith. 

And  the  men  searched  the  house.  They 
searched  the  island;  they  sent  for  Manson 
and  for  the  medical  examiner  and  automo- 
biles began  to  make  a  swift,  speeding  lint- 
along  the  causeway.  It  was  like  and  yet 
horribly  unlike  the  night  before  when  Cecily 
had  been  found;  that  had  been  bad  enough, 
this  was  different.  Worse,  owing  to  a  few 
salient  and  very  important  differences. 

Winnie  hinted  at  those  differences  first. 
For  as  they  sat  there,  aware  and  trying  not 
to  be  aware  of  everything  that  happened, 
Winnie  said  suddenly: 

"They  had  the  island  under  guard.  Po- 
licemen were  at  the  gate." 

(Continued  on  Page  46) 


L.\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


45 


■(MIXG  HELEN  RANDALL — has  distinctive  Southern  loveline.s-^.  Her  complexion  is  cameo- 
mooth.  "Pond's  Cold  Cream  takes  mighty  good  care  of  my  skin,"  she  says. 

HELEN'S  RING— a  heautiful 
diamond  in  a  square  setting. 
The  band  is  platinum. 


'i,  Mancem 


m^ 


HELE>  RANDALL  of  Atlanta  will  wed 

Lt.  William  Clement  Shreve  of  San  Diego. 

Another  Pond's  Bride-to-Be, 

she  is  the  daughter  of 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Luther  BUll  Randall 

of  the  prominent  Georgia  family 

She  lives  in  a  spacious  Southern  house  with  big 
white  pillars  across  the  front  I 

She  looks  exactly  the  way  you  think  a  charming 
Southern  girl  should  look — very-  feminine,  ten 
lovely,  with  a  complexion  that's  sweet-as-vou- 
please.  .Another  'engaged  girl  '  Pond's  complexion! 

"I  just  depend  on  Pond's  Cold  Cream  like  any- 
thing." Helen  says,  ''it's  the  grandest  cleaner-upper 
— and  leaves  my  face  with  such  a  smooth,  soft 
feehng." 

She  smooths  cool,  luscious  Pond's  Cold  Cream 
completely  over  her  face  and  throat — then  pats  to 
soften  and  release  dirt  and  make-up.  Tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  another  Pond's  creaming — mov- 
ing white-coated  fingers  around  in  little  creamy 
whirls.  Tissues  off.  'This  extra  creaming  gets  my 
face  extra  clean  and  extra  soft,"  she  says. 

Use  Pond's  yourself — every  night,  every  morn- 
ing— and  for  clean-ups  in  betAveen.  You'll  love  it 
just  as  Helen  does ! 


SHES  LOVELY  I 


USES  PONDS! 


MKS.  ER^•EST  L.  BIDDLE — of  Philadelphia  s  Main  Line 
MRS.  GERALDINE  SPRECKELS — of  the  Spreckeh  of  Calif ornia 
LAjyc  STAJO-EY  OF  ALDERLEY — internationally  famous  beauty 
MISS  CONSTANCE  MCCORMICK — of  the  Chicago  McCormichs 
MRS.  ERNEST  DU  PONT,  JR. — of  the  great  Wilmington  family 


AT  THE  BLOOD  DONOR  CENTER— Ue\en  assists  in  making 
hemoglobin  tests.  Ever  since  the  war  began  she  has  worked  loyally 
as  a  Nurse's  Aide.  There  are  many  Nurses  Aide  duties  needing 
volunteer  workers.  Ask  your  local  chapter  how  you  can  best  serve. 


BE  SURE  TO  ASK  FOR 
the  big  luxury-size  jar  with 
its  wide  top  that  lets  you  dip 
the  fingers  of  both  hands  in 
at  once.  It  gives  you  such 
a  nice-to-have  lavish  feeling! 
Get  your  big  jar  of  Pond's 
Cold  Cream  today — at  beauty- 
counters  ever^Tvhere. 


f^ml 

Ponds    B| 

Today — many  more  women 
use  Pond's  than  any  other 
face  cream  at  any  price 


X* 


Treet  a  la  King 

**Treet . , .  biscuits  and  cream  gravy  !  Real  man^s 
food .'"  said  J.  C.  Hemmerle,  one  of  the  husbands 
who  selected  this  meal.  Your  family  will  like 
it,  too! 

1  can  Armour's  Treet  4  tbsps.  flour 

4  Cloverbloom  Eggs,  2  cups  milk 

hard-cooked  and  sliced  Pepper 

3  tbsps.  Cloverbloom  34  cup  chopped 
Butter  or  Mayflower  green  pepper 

Margarine  Hot  baking  powder 

%  cup  celery,  diced  biscuits 

Use  prepared  biscuit  mix  and  follow  directions 
on  package  to  make  biscuits.  Cut  rather  large 
and  bake  in  450°  V.  oven.  Meantime,  melt 
butter  or  margarine,  add  chopped  celery  and 
cook  2  to  3  minutes.  Blend  in  flour,  stir  in  milk 
and  cook  until  thick.  Add  chopped  green  pep- 
per, pepper,  diced  Treet,  sliced  eggs.  Serve 
between  halves  of  split  biscuits.  Serve  with 
cold  sliced  tomatoes,  cantaloupe  a  la  mode,  tea 
or  coffee  for  quick  dinner  menu.  4  to  6  servings. 


More  delicious 


than  the  same  fine  meat  cooked  at  home! 


"The  Jury  of  Husbands"  chose  these  meuVs  for 
June.  Every  Treet  recipe  is  "man-tested". 
Watch  for  them  each  month!  Save  them  all! 


Extra  flavorful  .  .  .  extra  tciulcr  .  .  .  extra  high 
in  vitaiiiiiiH  an<l  food  value  .  .  .  tUat's  Treet! 
For  the  clioioc  pork  shoulder  is  chopped,  sea- 
soned, blended  and  vacuum-sealed  in  the  tin 
he/ore  cooking  right  in  its  own  rich,  natural 
meat  juices!  None  of  the  goodness  "cooks 
away."  Try  Treet!  Your  family   will  love  it! 


"My  wife  can  giw  me  Treet  and  Eggs  for  break- 
fast, lunch  or  dinner  anytime  !"  said  R.  D.  Hulse, 
another  member  of  the  Jury  of  Husbands.  And 
this  is  one  of  the  best  of  all  quick  and  easy  meals! 

1  can  Armour's  Treet 
4  Cloverbloom  eggs  6  slices  bread 

Slice  Treet  into  8  slices.  Brown  lightly  for  1}/^ 
minutes  to  the  side  in  a  very  little  fat.  Mean- 
while, poach  the  eggs  and  place  them  on 
buttered  rounds  of  toast.  To  poach  eggs  have 
shallow  pan  of  water  boiling  vigorously.  Break 
egg  into  sauce  dish  and  slip  it  carefully  into 
the  water,  turning  the  heat  low  so  that  the 
water  no  longer  boils.  When  the  white  is  set, 
the  egg  is  done.  Remove  with  spoon,  draining 
off  the  water.  Cut  2  slices  of  bread  cornerwise 
and  butter,  and  serve  with  eggs  and  Treet. 


ARMOUR 

and  Company 

listen  lo  Hedda  Hopper's  Hollywood,  every 
Monday  nighl  over  CBS.  See  local  papers  for  lime. 


Buy  War  Bonds 
and  Stamps 


Xxtn 


•""w.. 


46 


(Continued  from  Page  44) 

Judith  gave  her  a  sharp  look.  "Someone 
could  have  come  by  boat." 

"Then  he  didn't  kill  himself.  You  don't 
really  think  so  either." 

"He  was  hanged,"  said  Judith.  "I  saw 
that.   I  don't  know  what  happened." 

Winnie  seemed  to  make  a  motion  to  go  out 
on  the  porch  again. 

Judith  said,  "You'd  better  not.  It's — 
horrible."  She  shivered.  And  looked  herself 
out  toward  the  porch.  "I  wish  Tim  would 
come  in." 

But  it  was  Manson  who  crossed  the  porch, 
the  screened  door  banging  behind  him,  and 
called  back  to  someone,  "Tell  Doctor  Meade 
ito  come  in  here,  when  he's  finished."  He 
crossed  the  drawing  room  without  appar- 
ently looking  at  any  of  the  three  women.  He 
put  his  head  into  the  hall  and  snapped,  ap- 
parently to  another  policeman,  "Bring  them 
all  in  here.  Everybody.  Servants  too.  Keep 
the  reporters  out;  tell  them  I'll  give  them 
the  story  in  half  an  hour.  They  can  have  all 
the  pictures  they  want  as  soon  as  Doctor 
Meade  has  finished."  He  turned  around, 
looked  at  Marny,  Judith  and  Winnie  as  if 
they  were  not  there  at  all  and,  as  Tim  Wales 
and  Bill  came  in  from  the  porch,  he  said, 
"Now  then.  That  man  didn't  hang  himself. 
Who  did  it?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  demanded 
Tim  Wales.  He  pulled  his  bathrobe  around 
his  paunchy  middle;  his  fat,  shiny  hands 
were  shaking.   He  didn't  look  at  Judith. 

Captain  Manson  said,  "Answer  my  ques- 
tion. Do  you  know  who  did  it?" 

"If  anybody  killed  him  it  was  Laideau." 
said  Tim  Wales  and  selected  and  lighted  a 
cigarette. 

"When  did  you  see  Durant  last?" 

"Me,  personally?"  said  Tim,  his  littk 
eyes  hard  and  obstinate.  "I'll  be  glad  to  tell 
you.  Dinner  was  sent  to  his  room  on  a  tray. 
He  and  Laideau  had  it  together.  I  wouldn't 
have  them  at  my  table,  and  I  couldn't  get 
rid  of  them  just  yet  on  account  of  the  news- 
papers. But  I  wouldn't  eat  with  them.  I 
haven't  seen  Durant  since  about  seven 
o'clock,  when  I  saw  him  come  in  from  the 
swimming  pool  and  go  up  the  stairs  to  the 
balcony.  From  there,  as  you  know,  he  could 
walk  around  to  his  room.  I  never  saw  him 
again.  I  don't  know  anything  about  this. 
Except  if  ever  a  man  deserved  hanging, 
he  did." 

"Tim "  began  Judith  in  a  stifled  way. 

XVI 

Ihe  detective's  face  jerked  toward  Judith. 
"How  about  you,  Mrs.  Wales?" 

"Y'ou  mean — you  mean  "    Judith's 

face  had  no  beauty  then;  it  was  strained  and 
white  with  terror. 

"  I  mean  when  did  you  last  talk  to  Andre 
Durant?" 

Judith's  hands  were  locked  so  tight  that 
they  looked  bony  and  hard.  "After  dinner. 
I  went  to  his  room;  it  adjoins  the  room 
Laideau  is  using.    I  talked  a  minute " 

"What  about?" 

"  I  said  " — Judith  swallowed — "  I  said  that 
I  thought  if  there  was  anything  he  knew  of 
Cecily's  past  that  might  possibly  explain  her 
murder,  I  thought  he  ought  to  tell  it.  That  it 
would  help  us  all  and  couldn't  hurt  Cecily 
now.   Or — or  anyone." 

The  detective  looked  at  her.  "And  what 
did  he  say?" 

Judith  touched  her  lips  with  her  tongue. 
"He  said  he  didn't  know  anything.  I  went 
away.   It  was  then,  I  suppose,  about  eight." 

"What  did  you  do  then?" 

"I  went  to  my  room.  I  was  tired.  My 
husband  and  Winnie  were  down  here  on  the 
porch.  I  went  to  bed.  I  read  and  then  I  took 
a  sleeping  pill;  about  ten,  that  was." 

"And  that's  the  last  time  you  saw  Andre 
Durant?" 

"Yes." 

There  was  no  way  of  knowing  what  or 
how  much  the  detective  accepted  as  true. 
He  turned  to  Winnie.  "And  you?" 

"I  saw  him  at  the  pool,"  said  Winnie. 
"Marny  was  with  me.  It  was,  I  think,  be- 
tween five  and  six  o'clock.  Then  Marny  and 
Commander  Cameron  went  to  the  Beach 
and  they  took  Charlie  home.  Judith  told  me 


May 


Muffi 

J  J 


PLAIN  OR  FAN< 


^j>Q«;v        The  plain  ones  are  easyA 
^:!>'!*LfhS'    good  wifh  any  meal  .    ' 


Fancy    ones    are    easy, 
Top  wifh  jam  or  jelly  .  . 

Add  nut  meats  to  the  be 
or    tangy-flavored    fruit 

^r;t^.\35    But,   plain   or   fancy,    th 
•^^^^ i\/    perfect  made  with  Duff's 

—  just  add  W* 


Mrs.'Bob  Hop 


wife  of 

the  famous 

radio  and 

screen  star 


BOB  LOVES  THE 
EXTRA  FLAVOR 

colman's  gives  to 

FOOD,  here's  his 
FAVbRITE  DISH 


-J' 


Savory  Ham:  Rub  a  paste  of  two  ta 
spoons  Colman's  (dry)  Mustard 
two  tablespoons  water  into  both  si 
of  a  slice  of  tenderized  ham  about 
inches  thick  (wt.  about  2  lbs.).  P) 
ham  slice  in  shallow 
baking  dish,  cover 
with  1  cup  milk  and 
bake  45  minutes  at 
425°  F.or  until  ham 
is  tender  and  top  is 
nicely  browned.  . 

FRCB  RECIPB  BOOKLCT—    ^li^U 

Atlancis  Sales  Corp.,  Sole      '  ■-   .'u 
Distributor,  3580  Mustard 
Street,  Rochester,  N.Y.  Please 
send  me  12  new  Colman's  recipes. 


Name- 


AdJress- 


Waffles 

J  J   MADE  WITH  DUFF'S 


e  convenfional  way  is  with  <?">-»» 
'up  .  .  .  but,  confidenfially,      ')V^  ^ 

affles  make  a  swell  meal  "^^^^tN^ 
h  asparagus-ham  roll ...  or  '^ — — =_i>^ 

companion  to  fruit  salad, 
combined,  with  chicken  .  .  . 

t,  plain   or   fancy,    they're 
rfect  made  with  Duff's  ! 

—  just  add  WATER 


Good  foods  taste  better 
with  DERBY  STEAK  SAUCE 

•  There's  a  tangy  goodness  in  this 
thick,  all-purpose  sauce  that  brings 
out  the  flavor  of  every  dish  you 
prepare.  Use  it  in  cooking,  serve 
it  at  the  table.  So 
inexpensive. 

Also  Derby 
Barbecue, 

Worcester- 
shire and 

Hot  Souces 


that  it  would  be  better  to  have  dinner  sent 
up  to  .Andre  and  to  his  friend,  so  I  did." 

Rilly  and  his  wife  and  the  smart  little 
colored  maid  were  in  the  doorway.  Some- 
:hing  was  going  on  in  the  hall  behind  them; 
but  the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  matter 
just  then  was  the  frightened  nod  Rilly  gave 
as  Winnie  looked  at  him  for  confirmation. 
His  wife  nodded  too.  her  large  eyes  fastened 
n  the  detective.  The  smart  little  maid 
turned  to  stare  curiously  into  the  hall. 

Captain  Manson  said  to  Winnie,  "Then 
what?" 

■  Then  what  happened,  you  mean?  Why — 
nothing  exactly.  We  had  dinner,  father  and 
Judith  and  I.  Judith  went  upstairs;  she  said 
5he  was  tired.  Father  and  I  talked  awhile  on 
tiie  porch.  I  went  to  bed  about  ten-thirty,  I 
think.    I  didn't  see  Andre  again." 

"How  about  you,  Mr.  Wales?" 

"I've  told  you,"  snapped  Tim.  " I  sat  out 
there  after  Winnie'd  gone  to  bed  and 
smoked,  and  had  a  nightcap.  I  don't  know 
ust  when  I  went  to  bed,  but  it  was  shortly 
after  Winnie'd  gone.  I  didn't  see  Andre 
again ;  I  didn't  hear  anything.  I  took  a  cou- 
ple of  pills  and  slept  until  all  the  hullabaloo 
waked  me.  Then  I  came  down." 

■■\\'hat  about  you.  Miss  Sanderson?" 

Bill  Cameron  said  quietly,  "I  told  you 
about  that.  Captain  Manson." 

"Go  on.  Miss  Sanderson." 

Mamy  heard  herself  talking  as  if  it  were 
Judith  or  Winnie  or  anybody  except  herself. 
She  had  waited  on  the  steps;  she  had  gone 


WELL  1.VED 

^  If  a  marriage  is  not  to  prove  a 
^  visible  disaster,  or  a  mere  can- 
tankerous compromise,  t^vo  people 
will  have  to  show  tireless,  vigilant 
courtesy:  and  when  it  is  broken,  as 
broken  it  must  be  over  and  over 
again,  they  will  have  to  show  tireless 
inspiration  in  whatever  gesture  is 
re<inired  to  start  oflF  once  more. 

—  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW. 

A  married  woman's  as  old  as  her 
husband  makes  her  feel. 

—  PINERO:  Pinero  Calender. 
(Frank  Palmer) 


to  the  garage;  she  had  returned;  she  had  re- 
membered the  door  from  the  porch;  she  had 
found 

Captain  Manson  said,  "Go  on,  please. 
You  found  Durant?" 

"Yes,"  Mamy  whispered,  her  throat  tight 
and  stiff. 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  Durant? 
Could  you  see?" 

"Not — exactly." 

"How  did  you  know,  then?" 

"There  was  something — a  sort  of — 
outline.   I  knew  who  it  was." 

"What  did  you  do  then?" 

"I  remembered  the  police  at  the  gate.  I 
ran  to  tell  them." 

"How  long  a  time  elapsed  between  your 
being  left  at  the  step  by  Commander 
Cameron  and  your  notifying  the  police?" 

"I  don't  know.  A  few  minutes." 

Captain  Manson  turned  to  a  policeman; 
it  was  the  man  who  had  followed  her  and 
Bill  Cameron  on  a  motorcycle. 

The  policeman  said,  "  It  was  about  twelve 
minutes,  sir.  I  was  listening  to  the  chauffeur's 
radio,  and  the  commercial  had  just  come  on 
at  the  end  of  a  fifteen-minute  program.  It's 
one  of  my  favorite  programs  and  I  was  hop- 
ing we'd  get  back  in  time  to  hear  it.  Twelve 
minutes  is  my  guess." 

Laideau  appeared  in  the  doorway  and 
Rilly  and  his  wife  and  the  maid  moved  aside, 
glancing  sideways  at  Laideau  and  the  two 
policemen  holding  his  arms.  Manson  did  not 
even  look  at  him,  although  Laideau's  tiny, 
ugly  dark  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  the 
detective  as  if  drawn  by  a  magnet.  And  in 
the  same  moment  the  medical  examiner  and 
another  policeman  came  across  the  porch. 

The  doctor  was  short,  fat,  round  and  hot. 
He  wiped  his  hands  with  a  handkerchief. 
"You  were  right,  captain,"  he  said.  "Fellow 


GET  OUT  YOUR  CRISCO!     NOW  YOU  CAN  BAKE 

A  Better  Cake  on 
Every  Count! 


Pure  and  Sweet - 
/t's  Digestibfe! 


WAIT  till  you  ta.ste  the  cakes  you  can  make  with 
Crisco!  Compare  one  of  Crisco's  New  Pride  'n'  Joy 
Cakes  with  the  cakes  you  used  to  make  .  .  .  for  flavor — 
lightness — texture — moistness.  One  luscious  bite  will 
convince  you  that  Crisco  cakes  win  out  on  every  count! 

These  brand  new  easy  recipes  have  been  specially 
perfected  for  Crisco.  Pure,  snowy  Crisco  is  fresh  and 
sweet  as  new-churned  butter.  It  brings  out  the  fuU,  rich 
flavor  of  your  cakes.  And  Crisco  has  developed  a  special 
baking  secret.  It  gives  you  lighter,  more  tender  cakes. 
Yes,  even  lighter  than  cakes  made  with  the  most  ex- 
pensive shortening! 

Crisco  is  the  ideal  cake  shortening  no  matter  what  the 
recipe  you  use.  But  if  you  want  cake  at  its  most  delicious 
best — make  this  Breath  o'  Spring  Cake  with  Crisco! 


fiich^Moist^Light^BAfe! 


SO 


duie/c.' suRB!  £Asy.' 


CRISCO  BREATH  O'  SPRING  CAKE 

Even  a  beginner  can  save  about 

half  the  mixing  time! 


Don't  worry  if  you've  never  made  a 
cake  this  way  before.  Measure  ingre- 
dients e.xactly  .  .  .  follow  the  simple 
directions  carefully  ...  be  sure  to  use 
Crisco.  Only  with  Crisco  can  we  prom- 
ise you  a  better  cake  on  every  count! 
Measure  into  mixing  bow'l: 

2  cups  cake  flour  (sift  before  measuring) 
IV]  cups  sugar 

Vi  cup  Crisco 
1  Isp.  salt 
%  cup  milk 

Beat  vigorously  by  hand  or  with  mixer 
(medium  speed)  2  minutes.  Now 
quickly  stir  in  (yes,  all  by  itself) : 

3  Isps.  baking  powder'" 
Add:   2  eggs  (unbeaten) 

Va  cup  milk 
I  tsp.  voniilo 


IJlend  by  hand  or  in  mixer  (medium 
speed!  for  2  minutes.  The  batter  will 
be  smooth  and  thin.  Pour  into  2  shal- 
low 9"  or  deep  8"  layer  pans  which 
have  been  rubbed  with  Crisco  and 
dusled  with  flour.  Bake  in  moderate 
oven  (37."i°F.)  about  25  minutes,  or 
until  baked.  Frost  with  your  favorite 
boiled  icing  and  decorate  with  candy 
flowers.  All  Measurements  Level. 

*Double-aclion  or  phosphate  type  (Calu- 
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vse  i  tsps. 
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48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194 


That  s  sabotage  I 
Just  2  inches  from 
where  you  washed 
that  lettuce 


your  sink  drain 
is  ahve  with 
loathsome 
SEWER  GERMS ! 

Survey  by  Molnar  Laboratories 
New  York  City 

you  could  scrub  all 
day  and  these  filthy 
germs  would 
continue  to  multiply- 
down  in  the  drain! 

Actual  sewer  germs  magnified 

approximately  20,000  times 


/    *  / 


but  Drano  boils 
SEWER  GERMS  out 
in  a  flash ! 
Makes  your  sink 
safe,  sanitary! 


^^  {^ 


^ 


W 


Yes,  and  Drano 

opens  clogged  drains - 
drains  so  stopped  up 
that  even  water 
cant  trickle  through! 


BOY  TODAY! 


<ste' 


Never  over  25ji  at  drug,  hardwar ;,  gnd  grocery  stores 


Drano 

A  Product  of  The  Drackeff  Company 

CLEARS  OUT  SEWER  GERMS 
OPENS  CLOGGED  DRAINS 


Copr.  1^4(>  The  DruckctC  Co. 


was  killed  before  he  was  hung.  Skull  frac- 
ture just  behind  the  ear.  Some  heavy,  hard 
instrument.  Don't  know  what." 

"You  mean,"  said  Captain  Manson, 
"that  it's  possible  that^somebody  hit  him, 
fracturing  his  skull,  and  then  tied  that  rope 
around  his  neck  and  pulled  him  up  over  the 
balcony  railing?" 

Doctor  Meade  nodded.  "Looks  like  it." 

"Could  a  woman  have  done  it?"  asked 
Captain  Manson. 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,"  he  said  and  walked 
briskly  across  the  room  and  into  the  hall. 

Manson  said,  "Let  him  go.  I'll  see  to 
him."  He  meant  Laideau.  The  two  policemen 
dropped  their  hands;  Laideau  gave  a  kind  of 
shiver  and  rubbed  one  arm  as  if  it  had  been 
bruised.  The  detective  said  to  the  policemen, 
"And  take  Miss  Sanderson  to  her  room. 
Don't  let  anybody  see  her  or  talk  to  her." 

"You  can't "  began  Bill  Cameron  and 

started  toward  her,  and  Captain  Manson 
shot  out  a  thin,  arresting  arm. 

"I  can,"  he  said. 

The  policemen  were  at  Marny's  side.  She 
went  out  through  the  hall,  she  went  up  the 
stairs;  the  policemen  were  directly  behind 
her.  If  anyone  in  the  drawing  room  spoke 
or  moved,  she  did  not  hear  it. 

She  ought  to  have  known:  Bill  had  told 
her;  Manson  had  told  her;  she  had  reasoned 
it  out  for  herself.  Andre  had  been  their 
principal  suspect.  And,  in  a  queer  way,  he 
had  protected  her.  But  now  Andre  was 
murdered.    So  they  would  charge  her  with 


HOW   \V»|TLI>  YOU 
SAY  IT? 

1^  The  quest  of  the  eorrecl  plural  of 
^  the  \tord  "mongoose""  Mas  solved 
hy  a  gentleman  who  wanted  a  pair 
c»f  these  interesting  and  aiTeetionate 
creatures.  Il«'  wrote  to  a  dealer: 
"Sir.  please  s«-n<l  me  two  mongeese." 
lie  did  not  lik<-  the  look  of  this,  tore 
up  the  paper  and  began  again:  "Sir, 
pleas*'  send  ine  two  mongooses."" 
This  \ersion  did  not  satisfy  him  any 
l>«'tter  than  the  tirst,  so  lie  wrote: 
"Sir,  please  s«'n«l  me  a  mongoose — 
and,  hy  the  way,  send  m«'  another." 
—  PUNCH  BOWL. 


murder.  Cecily  had  come  to  her  with  a  gun, 
and  the  police  knew  the  whole  story. 

She  went  into  her  room  with  her  head 
high;  which  was  queer,  because  she  had  no 
knowledge  of  walking,  of  moving,  of,  even, 
touching  the  switch — she  only  knew  that  the 
room  leaped  into  light. 

One  of  the  policemen  went  outside  and 
stood  on  the  balcony,  just  outside  the  door, 
which  he  closed.  The  other  said,  rather  un- 
comfortably, "  I'll— well,  I'll  stay  in  the  hall, 
just  outside  the  door,  miss.  Captain  didn't 
say — well,  anyway,  I'll  stay  right  here." 

She  stood  for  a  long  moment  in  the 
brilliantly  lighted  room.  She  had  changed 
places  with  Andre!  Andre  was  dead,  so  he 
was  no  longer  the  main  suspect  of  the  police. 
Now  she  had  taken  that  place. 

The  bed  was  turned  down.  Her  night 
things  were  laid  out.  It  was  sharply  normal, 
extraordinary  simply  because  it  was  so  un- 
extraordinary,  so  out  of  pace  with  a  world 
that  had  become  fantastic.  She  looked  down. 

It  was  then  that  she  realized  that  quite 
recently  someone  had  been  in  her  room.  The 
tangible  small  things  that  give  rise  to  sub- 
conscious knowledge  began  to  emerge  and 
make  themselves  clear.  Someone  had  sat  on 
the  bed;  there  were  a  few  wrinkles  and  the 
shallow  but  definite  indentation  on  the 
otherwise  smooth  linen  and  silk.  Someone 
had  dropped  a  cigarette  in  the  ash  tray. 
It  was  a  cigarette  like  those  Tim  Wales 
smoked — but  they  were  everywhere  in  the 
house,  probably  in  every  ash  tray,  along 
with  other  brands.  It  was  the  same  brand 
that  someone  listening  from  behind  the  vines 
on  the  balcony  had  dropped. 

She  looked  around  then  and  saw  it.  Be- 
tween the  door  and  the  bed  was  an  odd,  long 
smear.  It  was  a  kind  of  reddish  brown,  show- 
ing not  deeply  but  on  the  surface  of  the 


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WHY?  Moths  will  actually  starve  to 
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This  is  the  professional  moth- 
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And,  LARVEX  is  inexpensive — only 
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SURE!  See  this  spectacular 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


49 


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deep-piled  rug.  As  if  someone  had  dragged 
something  along,  over  the  rug,  so  it  touched 
for  a  few  brief  inches.  Something  that  was 
newly  painted.  Something  that  made  a 
short,  small  red  smear.  She  moved  across 
the  room  and  knelt  down  on  the  carpet.  And 
thought.  Cold  water  takes  it  out.  Not  clean- 
ing fluid;  not  hot  water.  Only  cold  water. 
Andre's  skull  had  been  fractured,  and  the 
doctor  had  said  he  believed  it  had  happened 
before  Andre  was — somehow — hung  there 
from  the  balcony.  She  had  heard  footsteps 
on  the  balcony  and  they  had  stopped.  Be- 
cause whoever  was  there  had  entered  the 
room?  And  had  dragged  something  over  the 
rug,  not  knowing,  because  it  was  dark,  that 
that  smear  had  been  made? 

She  got  up  and  went  into  the  bathroom. 
Someone  had  been  there,  too ;  had  washed  his 
hands  and  used  two  towels  and  thrust  them, 
wet  and  crumpled,  back  upon  the  rack. 
There  was  water  splashed  around  the  basin 
and  a  little  puddle  under  the  soap.  Suddenly 
and  with  a  kind  of  cold  horror  she  looked  for 
red  smears  there,  too,  reddish  brown,  diluted 
with  water.  There  was  nothing. 

She  must  hurry.  Get  the  smear  off  the  rug 
first.  Before  the  police  see  it.  She  took  a  fresh 
towel,  held  it  under  the  cold-water  faucet 
and  went  back  to  the  rug.  She  knelt,  trying 
to  force  herself  to  the  ugly  task,  and  some- 
one knocked  and  called  to  her: 

"Marny — Marny,  can  I  come  in?"  It  was 
Bill  Cameron.  She  got  up.  He  opened  the 
door,  came  quickly  across  to  her,  taking  her 
wrist  in  his  hand,  staring  at  the  dripping 
towel.  "  What  are  you  doing?" 

"There "  she  said. 

He  looked  and  knelt  too.  Finally  he  got 
up.  "  I'll  get  Manson." 

"No,  no " 

His  eyes  blazed  down  into  her  own. 
"Don't  be  a  fool.  It's  a  plant.  Deliberate. 
Like  fixing  it  so  you  would  find  Andre.  It 
wasn't  any  coincidence.  It  was  part  of  a 
plan;  it  had  to  be." 

"Someone  was  here.  Someone  sat  on  the 
bed  and  smoked  and  washed  his  hands  in  the 

bathroom " 

He  said,  "Listen,  Marny.  It's  a  safe  bet 
that  whoever  killed  Cecily  killed  Andre. 
And  I  think  I  know  why  too.  And  whoever 
did  is  trying  to  implicate  you."  He  went  to 
the  door  and  spoke  to  the  policeman  outside. 
"Get  Manson.  Quick."  He  came  back  to 
her.  "Now  then.  I  got  Manson  to  let  me  see 
you  about  a  lawyer.  I  think  that  he's  got  to 
consider  you  a  suspect  because  of  the  evi- 
dence, but  I  think  he  doesn't — well,  want  to. 
I  think  his  instinct  is  against  it.  Therefore, 
let's  give  him  every  chance  to  get  at  the 
truth,  put  everything  on  the  table."  He 
paused,  frowning.  "I  may  not  be  right.  My 
opinion  may  be  governed  by  my  own  feeling 
about  you.  There  is  a  certain" — he  paused 
and,  rather  curiously,  used  the  words  that 
had  entered  her  own  thoughts — "there  is  a 
certain  deceiving  security  in  the  knowledge 
of  innocence.  That's  the  way  I  feel  about 
you.  You  didn't  murder  Cecily  or  Andre,  so 
I  keep  thinking  that  they  can't  seriously  ac- 
cuse you  of  it.  Yet — oh,  maybe  I'm  wrong. 
But  are  you  willing  to  put  yourself  in  my 
hands  and  do  as  I  tell  you?  Knowing,"  said 
Bill  Cameron,  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes,  "knowing  that  I  may  be  wrong." 

Bill  Cameron's  face,  clear  and  intent,  his 
gray  shoulders  solid  and  broad.  Suddenly 
everything  about  him  seemed  right.  It  was 
the  only  word  that  came  clearly  into  her 
mmd— right.  She  looked  back  up  into  his 
face  and  said,  "All  right.  Bill." 

Manson  knocked  at  the  door  and  entered. 
"Well?"  he  said.  "If  it  is  a  confession,  I'd 
better  have  the  stenographer  take  it  down." 

XVII 

Bill  cameron  seemed  to  square  his  shoul- 
ders. "  It  is  not  a  confession.  Look  here,  cap- 
tain, I  want  to  make  a  bargain  with  you." 

Manson's  intensely  concentrated  look 
seemed  to  grow  more  marked.  "  I  don't  think 
you  are  talking  about  bribes,  commander. 
I've  had  such  offers  in  my  time,  but  not  for 
a  long  time." 

"No,  I'm  not  talking  about  bribes."  Bill 
had  moved,  so  he  stood  squarely  between 
Manson  and  the  smear  on  the  rug."  I  mean 


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You  can  be  a  BETTER  COOK  with  Less  Work 
—with  New  Easy-Mix  Spry 


"TDEMEMBER  the  old  sayinR— 'Xpopp- 
-tV  sity  is  tlie  motlicr  of  invention'? 
\\(']\,  we  housewives  iiavc  mothered  in- 
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lately — and  real  tasty  ones,  too! 

"New  Easy-Mix  Spry  and  its  short- 
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lighter,  more  delicious  cakes  (and  never 
a  bit  of  high-point  butter  needed!)  with 
New  Sjiry  and  my  easy  One-Howl  Cake 
Method.  See  how  everyone  loves  foods 
fried  crisj)  and  brown  tlie  Spry  way — 
and  the.v're  so  digestible! 

"Try  these  luscious  strawberry  des- 
serts that  save  sugar  .  .  .  discover  Sjiry's 
secret  of  tender,  flaky  delicate-tasting 
pastry  and  short-bread!" 


.stantly  with  rotary  beater  until  thick  .<ind 
fo.'iiny  about  3  minutes.  Hemove  from 
heat,  add  sclatin  mixture.  Cool.  Beat  egg 
whiles  until  stilT,  but  not  dry.  Add  sug.ar 
gr:i<Uially  beating  each  time  until  stiff. 
I'old  carefully  into  gelatin  mixture.  Fold 
in  strawberries,  i'ile  lightly  into  baked  pie 
shell.  Decorate  with  more  berries  if  desired. 
Chill  several  hours  or  until  set. 

Spnj  Pie  Shell:  Mix  I'l  cups  alit 
ri'Hi'osE  Fi,orR  and  J  2  teaspoon  salt. 
Mea.sure  7  tablespoons  spry  and  divide 
into  two  equal  parts.  Strp  1—for  Tender- 
ntss:  Cut  in  lir.'t  half  of  Spry  until  as  tine 
as  meal.  Creamy  Spry  cuts  in  so  easily! 
Step  ^ — for  Flakincss:  Cut  in  remaining 
Spry  until  size  of  large  pe:us.  .\dd  3  table- 
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info  a  dough.  Roll  thin;  prick.  Hake  in 
very  l>ot  oven  (45()''  F.)  10  to  15  minutes. 


Strawberry 

Chiffort  Pie 

4  egg  >olks 
H  cup  light  corn 
sirup 

Dash  of  salt 
Juice  of  1  lemon 
Grated  rind  of  14 
lemon 

1  tablespoon  gelatin                   . 

(softened  in  i4                     £ 

cup  water)                              J 

4  egg  whites                             M 

Vi  cup  sugar                            /l 

1  cup  strawberries,                 fA 

cut  in  half                           /^ 
1  baked  Spry  Pie               /  jJ 

Shell                                     I'M 

Combine  first  5  ingredients;  blend  well.          |^ 
Cook    over   boihng   water,    beating   con-          V^N 

Sugarless  Strawberry 
Short  Cake 

Spry's  Short  Cut:  In  your  regular 
biscuit  recipe  which  calls  for  2 
cups  flour,  use  3i  cup  Spry. 
]{oll  dough  into  8x8-inch  square 
about  3-2  inch  thick.  Prick  dough 
with  fork.  Cut  into  8  triangles. 
Bake  on  baking  sheet  in  very 
hot  oven  (450°  F.)  12-15  min- 
utes. So  tender  thanks  to  Spry! 
So  rich-tasting  you  don't  miss 
sugar.  Sweeten  one  quart  sliced 
strawberries  with  corn  sirup  or 
honey.  Split  hot  biscuits  (so 
flaky  they  lift  apart)  and  put 
berries  tictwccn  and  on  top! 


*•••••••• 


50 


this:  Apparently  Miss  Sanderson  is  on  the 
spot.  There  is  evidence  against  her.  You  had 
to  go  through  a  form  of  arresting  her " 

■■  I  didn't  arrest  her." 

"You  sent  her  up  here,  with  a  guard.  It 
also  seemed  to  me  that  if  you  were  convinced 
in  your  own  mind  that  she  had  killed  either 
of  them  you'd  have  actually  arrested  her." 

Manson  said,  "What  is  your  bargain?" 

"I  have  to  say  all  this  first,"  said  Bill 
Cameron.  "I  don't  think  you  believ^e  she 
murdered  either  Cecily  or  Durant.  But  I 
do  think  that  you  cannot  discount  the  e\a- 
dence  as  it  stands.  Right?" 

"Go  on." 

"Her  discovery  of  Cecily's  body  was  acci- 
dent. But  her  discovery  of  Durant's  body 
was  a  deliberate  plant,  and  I  think  whoever 
murdered  Durant  has  planted  another  piece 
of  evidence.  Intended  to  cast  suspicion  upon 
her.   So — well,  it  proves  she  didn't  do  it." 

There  was  no  way  to  tell  what  Manson 
was  thinking.  His  face  conveyed  nothing 
but  hard  concentration.  "  What?  "  he  said. 

Bill  Cameron  gave  Mamy  a  glance  and 
then,  with  something  like  a  shrug,  moved 
aside.  "There."  he  said,  and  pointed. 

It  was  blood. 

Men  from  police  headquarters,  expert 
technicians  with  equipment  to  identify  a 
bloodstain  as  such, 
were  in  the  house  then. 
Marny  and  Bill  Came- 
ron watched.  Captain 
Manson  watched.  And 
then  told  them  to  take 
a  specimen  away  with 
them  and  label  it. 

Captain  Manson, 
standmg  in  the  open 
door,  spoke  rapidly  to 
another  policeman. 
"Search  this  room,"  he 
said.  "Quickly." 

"Yes.  sir.  What  for, 
captain?" 

"Something  heavy 
and  hard,"  Captain 
Manson  said.  "A  — 
hammer  would  do  it. 
An  ax.  Even.  I  sup- 
pose, a  baseball  bat." 

Marny  hadn't 
thought  of  that:  sup- 
pose whoever  killed 
Andre  had  hidden  the 
weapon  that  had  been 
used  somewhere  in  her 
room.  She  glanced  at 
Bill  Cameron  and  he 
was  afraid  of  it,  too; 
she  could  tell  by  the  stiff,  hard  look  in  his  face. 

They  found  nothing.  They  opened  the 
wardrobe  and  looked  among  Mamy's 
clothes — things  that  seemed  so  familiar  and 
everyday.  In  the  bathroom,  in  drawers  and 
under  the  mattress  of  the  bed,  and  along  the 
draperies  at  the  windows.  They  found  noth- 
ing and  Manson  sent  tlie  other  man  away. 

And  Bill  Cameron  said,  his  mouth  very 
tight  and  Scotch-looking,  "You  see.  Captain 
Manson?  Miss  Sanderson  wouldn't  have 
done  that  deliberately.  She  wouldn't  have 
told  you " 

"I'm  not  saying  what  anybody  would  do," 
said  Manson.  He  sat  down;  his  clothes 
looked  damp  and  limp,  his  face  withered. 

And  Mamy  said  suddenly,  leaning  for- 
ward, "I  heard  footsteps.  Wliile  I  was  out- 
side. Just  after  I'd  found  him.  Somebody 
walked  along  the  balcony;  I  heard  it  clearly 
and  then  the  footsteps  just  stopped." 

Bill  Cameron  said,  "That's  right.  You 
told  me.  Did  it  sound  as  if  whoever  it  was 
came  into  this  room?  " 

"I  couldn't  tell.  It  was  so  dark,  and  I  had 
just  found  him.  you  see." 

Bill  said,  "You  couldn't  possibly  have 
seen  anyone  from  where  you  must  have 
stood.  But  probably  whoever  it  was  came 
into  your  room,  waited  and  smoked — listen- 
ing, I  imagine,  to  know  just  what  would  hap- 
pen and  what  you  would  do.  .^nd  then  pur- 
posely, I  think,  left  that  smear  on  the  rug." 

Manson  said,  "  Will  you  tell  me  your  story 
again.  Miss  Sanderson?  In  detail." 


)w/fffS 


BY  MARY  IMIOLE 

I  would  be 

to  you  the  moon 

that  rules  your  sea  ... 

a  shepherd's  tune 

calling  you  close  to  me  .  .  , 

the  shade  at  noon 

of  a  lone  wide  antlered  prairie 
tree  .  .  . 
I'd  be  chameleon 

night  and  day  .  .  . 

wind,  with  you  run  j  .  . 

one  perfect  May  .  .  , 
You  tire  of  sun? 

My  rain's  hands,  gray, 

would  solace  you  till  you  were 
^von. 

•    •••••••■A- 


Ma 

She  did,  rapidly  and  slowly,  by  jert 

WTien  she'd  finished  he  turned  t( 
"How  about  you,  commander?" 

So  Bill  told  his  story  again;  it  C(v 
with  her  own,  naturally,  up  to  the  tr 
he  had  left  her  on  tlie  step.  And.  pur. . 
car  away,  had  seen  someone  move  q 
out  of  the  beam  of  lights  from  the  ca 
had  tried  to  find  him. 

"Who  was  this  person  you  say  yo 
and  tried  to  find?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  just  saw  a  moti> 
black  figure.  But  I  didn't  see  en 
know  who  it  was." 

' '  Man  or  woman  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know.  Except — well.  \\  . 
have  knowTi  if  it  had  been  a  woman.' 

"But  you  can't  be  sure?" 

"Well,"  said  Bill  and  paused,  and  f 
said,  "no." 

"  Why  did  you  try  to  find  out  who  it » 

"  Why  ?  Because  of  the  murder,  of  a 
Because— well,  because  the  fellow  c 
want  to  be  seen." 

"Then  what  did  you  do?" 

xA.S  I  told  you.  I  put  the  car  in  and 
the  door  a  shove  as  I  went  out.  I  ran  ( 
toward  the  hedge:  I  thought  whoe%-er  ii 
had  gone  in  the  direction  of  the  swim 
pool,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house. 
"I  know."  said 
tain  Manson  n 
tersely. "  I'm  fairb 
acquainted  with 
layout,  bv  now." 
Bill  flu'shed  a 
"Well,  at  any  ra 
went  down  there 
hunted  around 
whoever  it  was 
got  completely  a 
At  least  I  couldn't 
anything.  I  the 
Mamy  had  com( 
into  the  house :  I  r 
thought  of  the 
door  being  locked, 
since  it  was  nean 
came  around  the  ( 
end,  the  back  entr 
of  the  house 
couldn't  find  my 
it  was  so  dark,  a 
had  my  cigar 
lighter,  so  I  got  it 
I  saw  something  t 
near  the  railing, 
had  got  to  Dun 
body  just  as  the  p 
came  from  tlie  ( 
.  side  of  tlie  house. 
look  here.  Captain  Manson,  there  ivas  st 
body  in  the  shrubbery,  and  he  got  ot 
there  as  fast  as  he  could." 

"If  you  saw  somebody,  what  about 
footsteps  Miss  Sanderson  claims  to 
heard?   Wliat  about  the  blood  on  the 
Your  mysterious  intruder  couldn't  have 
in  two  places  at  once." 

"  I  think  there'd  have  been  time  for  hi 
run  round  the  house  instead  of  toward 
swimming  pool,  as  I'd  thought,  and  up 
balcony  stairs.  Where  I  suppose  he 
have  stoppeQ  and  listened  to  be  sure  wht 
or  not  I  was  following  him^  Then  he  c 
have  heard  Marny,  and  tiptoed  into 
room  and  waited  a  minute  to  see — at 
to  listen  to  what  was  going  to  happen, 
deliberately  place  these  false  dues.  Ju; 
I  think  the  door  was  locked  on  purpos< 
Mamy  and  I  would  come  back  from 
Beach  and  find  tlie  door  locked — think  al 
the  side  door,  come  around  that  way 
find  Durant's  body.  I  simply  don't  be! 
tliat  the  fact  that  it  was  ^^a^ny  who  fc 
Cecily,  and  Mamy  who  found  Durant,  o 
be  coincidence.    It  was  planned." 

"Then,  to  carry  it  further,  you  think  sc 
body  in  this  house  locked  the  front  door  < 
murdering  Andre,  went  down  to  the  hi 
and  was  seen  by  you,  levitated  himself  sc 
how  through  the  darkness  and  in  what  r 
have  been  a  very  short  space  of  time  to 
balcony,  and  waited  for  Miss  Sandersoi 
find  Durant :  then  left  ashes  and  a  bloods 
deliberately  in  her  room ;  washed  his  lia 
(Continued  oh  Page  53) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


6i^a  ne^f  kick  orifof  cakemakiwgf 
%^5^n$lWMl^-&liK Wipe; 


You  NEVER  DREAMED  you  could  make  cake 
so  quickly — and  so  beautifully  — as  you  can 
with  Swans  Down  and  Swans  Down's  new 
"Mix-Easy"  recipes! 

So  show  off  a  little!  Try  this  twin  Mix-Easy 
recipe  .  .  .  whites  of  eggs  for  a  silver  cake  .  .  . 
yolks  for  a  gold  cake.  (Of  course,  you  can  make 
either  one  without  the  other.) 

But  you  can  mix  the  two  as  fast  as  you  used 


to  mix  one!  No  creaming  .  .  .  beating  time  cut 
in  half  .  .  .  and  so  few  dishes  to  wash! 

You  get  richer  taste,  too,  and  your  cakes  keep 
fre.sh  longer.  And  in  spite  of  the  "hurry-up" 
mixing,  they  have  all  the  famous  Swans  Down 
qualities  .  .  .  tenderness,  fineness,  delicacy. 

Make  your  next  cake  a  Swans  Down  "Mix- 
Easy"  cake!  Swans  Down  guarantees  it — but 
not  with  any  other  flour! 


°nce  before  J""  '"'  «^oXatf  .'^^^^  o^r  aTo'xTo^^^^^ 


'f^cAttiiq  cut  ih  kalr/' 


o,.  "  s  Swans  n'^^^s'^e 

f  teaspoon  saJt 
^^'^P  sugar 


J  teaspoon 

"^f^S  whiter    k 
to  nieHr,     '  beaten 


^-duXl  "'  <^'-'  ic  ^i:'"*'-'  -t'^  rota 


strokes     4  n      "'''"«''   ber^?^    ^"'^  *ea<  ,  ®''.  *^«''  -2  mini 

fio*/ng,  ^  "eater  often.)      ^^'  'O'nute. 

(375°p  )  A"^''  batter  into  r. 

"^  ^  aebcate  ye]. 


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gredients back,  if  you  don't  think  your 
Swans  Down  "Mix-Easy"  Cake  is  better 
than  any  similar  cake  you've  baked  with 


not  changed  — you  can  still  use  all  your  old 
favorite  recipes.  Swans  Down  has  made 
supremely  fine  cakes  for  50  years.  And  today 
more  women  choose  Swans  Down  than  all 


any  other  flour! . .  .Swans  Down  itself  has         other  packaged  cake  flours  put  together. 


Watch  for  New  "Mix-Easy"  Recipes 
in  your  Swans  Down  box! 

New  "  Mix-Easy  "  recipes . . .  developed 
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ing in  Swans  Down  packages. 


^fce  a  Mfer  cake  mHi  $iwan$IWi 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


BUY  WAR  BONDS  AND  STAMPS 


Ice  Cream?  Can  Do! 


True  to  their  motto,  "Can  Do,"  Seabees  in  the 
South  Pacific  have  often  built  ingenious  ice 
cream  machines  from  salvage  materials.  The 
clipping  and  picture*  above  show  you  how  one 
such  job  was  done. 

Many  another  American  outfit  has  invented 
strange  freezers  in  far  places  —  adapting  old 
oil  drums  to  new  duties— bending  pipe  around 
palm  stumps  for  cooling  coils.  Sailors  have 
patiently  scraped  frost  off  ship  refrigeration 
lines  to  make  ice  cream. 

Why?  Because  ice  cream  is  a  symbol  of 
home  and  a  tonic  to  morale.  Because  it's  not 
only  good  to  eat,  but  good  for  the  men  who  eat 


it.  Ice  cream  is  a  valuable  food,  rich  in  vita- 
mins and  calcium,  like  the  creamy  milk  from 
which  it's  made. 

We're  glad  we've  been  able  to  ship  so  many 
tons  of  ice  cream  ingredients  to  boys  like  these 
overseas.  We're  grateful  for  your  patient 
acceptance  and  understanding  of  the  limited 
supply  left  at  home. 

Meanwhile,  National  Dairy  Laboratories 
have  been  busy  developing  dairy  products  in 
new  forms  that  will  be  as  useful  in  peace  as 
they  are  in  war.  All  of  them  help  bring  to  you 
and  your  family  the  good  health  inherent  in 
milk  —  nature's  most  nearly  perfect  food. 


Dedicated  to  the  ivider  use  and  better  under- 
standing of  dairy  products  as  human  food 
.  .  .  as  a  base  for  the  development  of  new 
products  and  materials  .  .  .  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and  in  the    to^vns   and   cities   of  America. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS      CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


*The  Navy  had  no  official  photos,  so  we  built  this  careful  reproduction. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


53 


HUBBY'S  NIGHT  OUT 


(Continued  from  Page  50) 
ind  cleaned  off  whatever  instrument  of  mur- 
ier  was  used,  in  that  bathroom;  walked  out 
nto  the  hall  and  to  his  own  room  and  pre- 
ended  later  on  to  be  awakened." 

Bill  said,  looking  very  white,  "  I  didn't  say 
hat.  There's  only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wales  and 
Vinnie  in  the  house.  Except,  of  course, 
.aideau." 

"Why  would  Laideau  kill  his  best  friend?  " 

"Laideau  would  slit  his  own  grand- 
nother's  throat  for  a  dime." 

"That's  not  the  point.  They  worked  to- 
;ether,  Laideau  and  Durant.  Laideau  prof- 
ted  by  Durant's  brains.  He  wouldn't  have 
:illed  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden  egg. 
•io;  Miss  Sanderson,  by  your  own  testimony, 
hey  were  trying  to  blackmail  you.  Laideau 
ould  not  have  done  so  without  Durant's 
upport.  You  see  for  yourself  it  provides  a 
notive  for  your  murdering  him." 

"But  I  told  you  about  Cecily,"  said 
i^arny.  "They  couldn't  have  blackmailed 
ne." 

"They  could  still  have  made  it  bad  for  you 
f  Durant  had  come  to  trial."  Captain  Man- 
on  paused,  his  eyes  bright  and  hard. 

Bill  said  suddenly,  "Captain,  we  got  a 
;eneral  idea  from  what  the  doctor  said,  but 
k'ill  you  tell  us  exactly  how  Durant  was 
;illed?"      « 

"He  was  hit  on  the  head,  behind  the  ear, 
wice.  Hard.  One  of  the  blows  apparently 
;illed  him.  Then  a  slipknot  was  neatly  put 
round  his  neck.  The 
ither  end  was  looped 
Tound  the  balcony 
ailing — or,  rather,  the 
)ointed  iron  post  that 
)rojects  just  at  the  top 
if  the  stairs.  He  was 
lauled  up  to  a  suffi- 
ient  height  to  get  his 
eet  off  the  ground, 
rhen  the  knot  was 
astened.  It  was  not  a 
lerculean  feat,  by  any 
neans;  the  leverage 
vas  such  that" — he 
;ave  a  slight  shrug— 
'even  I  could  do  it.  I 
ried.  It  was  not  too 
lard  a  pull  for  a  wo- 
nan.  It  only  required 
hree     things  —  a 

veapon,     Durant's       

)resence   near  enough 

hat  spot  at  near  enough  the   right  time, 

md  a  rope." 

"You  haven't  had  time  to  trace  the  rope? " 

"Not  yet.  It  may  mean  nothing  when  we 
lo.  It  might  have  been  merely  a  rope  from 
he  garage,  pier,  anywhere." 

"Are  you  limiting  your  suspects  to  people 
)n  the  island?" 

"I'm  not  limiting  the  suspects,"  said  Cap- 
;ain  Manson  rather  wearily,  "to  anybody. 
3ut  there  are  certain  probabilities.  One  is 
;hat  Cecily  Durant  and  Andre  Durant  were 
cilled  by  the  same  person;  this  is  because 
nurder  is  an  unusual  and  desperate  act.  The 
aw  of  averages  and  probabilities  suggests 
)ne  murderer  rather  than  two.  But  if  there 
vas  one  murderer — as  I  believe — there  is  an 
;xtraordinary  conflict  of  motives.  For  in- 
stance, who  wished  to  do  away  with  Cecily 
Durant  if  it  was  not  her  husband?  The 
mswer  to  that  could  be  a  woman  who  wanted 
0  marry  Andre  Durant.  But  would  that 
.voman  murder  Cecily  to  get  Durant,  and 
;hen  murder  Durant?  You  see?" 

If  CECILY  had  not  been  murdered " 

"Then  I'd  have  believed  that  the  motive 
.n  the  case  of  Andre  Durant's  murder  was 
almost  certainly  fear  or  revenge." 

Both  words  seemed  strange  and  melo- 
dramatic and  yet  convincing,  uttered  in  that 
Iquiet,  businesslike  voice. 

"Fear?"  said  Bill. 

"Fear  of  blackmail." 

"Revenge?" 

"The  revenge  of  some — husband,  father, 
Drother."  Manson  shrugged.  "Any  man  who 
lad  a  right  to  resent  Andre  Durant's  treat- 
■nent  of  a  woman.  And  did  so." 

Bill  Cameron  said  suddenly  and  violently, 

I'd  have  liked  to  do  it  myself." 


^  More  than  one  fine  marriage  has 
'f  gone  up  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  ow- 
ing to  the  wife's  inability  to  under- 
stand that  an  occasional  night  out 
«  ith  the  boys  is  what  every  husband 
needs  to  preserve  his  reason.  In  the 
life  of  every  man  above  the  rank  of 
moron  there  are  times  when  the 
urge  to  go  mildly  gay  in  exclusively 
masculine  company  becomes  too 
strong  to  be  withstood;  and  it  is  by 
her  behavior  at  such  times  that  the 
young  wife  proves  herself.  If,  when 
her  spouse  timidly  ai>plies  for  the 
necessary  leave,  she  at  once  assumes 
that  his  love  is  dead  and  scampers 
weeping  to  her  mother,  she  may  be 
held  to  have  failed  at  her  job. 

— K.  R.  G.  BROWNE. 


"Frankly,"  said  Captain  Manson,  "so 
would  I.  But  the  law  requires  me  to  deliver 
that  murderer  into  the  hands  of  justice.  And 
in  this  case  that  murderer  is  almost  certain 
to  have  murdered  Cecily  Durant  first.  But  I 
don't  know  why." 

"Captain  Manson,  who  told  Charlie  In- 
gram that  Cecily  had  seen  Marny?" 

The  detective  replied  to  that,  too.  simply 
and  directly.  "He  said  he  had  heard  it,  and 
had  seen  Cecily  leave,  with  Miss  Sanderson 
following  her." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Bill.  "I  was  on  the 
porch.  I'd  have  seen  him.  Where  was 
Charlie  Ingram  tonight  when  we  went  to  his 
house?   He  wasn't  at  home." 

"Are  you  suggesting  that  actually  he  did 
not  overhear  anything,  but  that  Cecily  told 
him  of  her  meeting  with  Miss  Sanderson? 
Are  you  suggesting  he  was  the  person  you 
claim  to  have  followed  tonight  and  who  got 
away  from  you?" 

"Somebody  was  there  near  the  garage," 
said  Bill  stubbornly.  "Ingram  could  have 
rowed  over  from  Silver  Point.  So  the  police 
at  the  gate  wouldn't  have  seen  him." 

"I've  questioned  Ingram  and  Ingram's 
record — for  another  reason.  So  far  as  I  can 
discover,  he  had  no  previous  knowledge  of 
either  Cecily  Durant  or  Andre.  Why  do  you 
think  he  murdered  Durant?" 

Bill  shrugged.  "Fear.  Or — revenge." 
Unexpectedly  Captain  Manson  went  to 
the  door.  "Get  hold  of  Charlie  Ingram  and 
tell  him  to  meet  us  at 
the  police  station.  In 
Miami  Beach.  In  half 
an  hour." 

Bill  had  been  sitting 
on  the  arm  of  a  chair; 
he  got  up  slowly. 

Captain  Manson 
said,  "Come  just  as 
you  are.  Miss  Sander- 
son. You  can  have 
someone  pack  a  bag 
for  you  later,  if  you — 
need  it." 

Bill  Cameron  looked 
white  and  rigid.  He 
said  quickly,  "I'm 
coming  too." 


XVIII 

Ihe  stairway,  hall  and 

drawing    room    were 

empty;  there  was  no 
sign  of  Tim  or  Winnie  or  Judith  except  ashes 
from  Tim's  cigarettes  in  the  many  trays. 
The  police  car  was  drawn  up  at  the  door. 

Laideau  went  with  them,  huddled  in  a 
corner  of  the  back  seat,  his  thick,  black  hair 
and  ugly  pale  face  dimly  visible,  his  great 
hands  clasped  together.  He  did  not  speak. 

The  uight  was  still  and  quiet,  with  no  faint 
suggestion  of  a  storm.  As  they  went  along 
the  causeway  and  turned  on  Collins  Avenue, 
the  policeman  driving  the  car  turned  the 
radio  to  a  news  broadcast  and  got  the  latest 
hurricane  warning;  the  storm  was  still 
headed  that  way. 

"  It'll  hit  tomorrow  night,"  said  the  police- 
man and  turned  the  radio  dial.  "I'm  going 
to  take  my  wife  to  a  hotel.  We're  too  near 
the  ocean."  He  paused,  his  shoulders  a 
black,  bulky  shadow  ahead,  and  added, 
"May  hit  before  then.  They  can't  always 
get  it  right  on  the  nose.   But  it'll  hit." 

Charlie  Ingram  arrived  in  another  police 
car  shortly  after  Marny  and  Bill  Cameron 
were  ushered  into  Captain  Manson's  office, 
leaving  Laideau,  smoking  uneasily,  in  an- 
other room.  Charlie  looked  sleepy  and  an- 
noyed. And  admitted  almost  at  once  that  he 
had  not  seen  Cecily  leave  the  Wales  house  on 
the  night  she  was  murdered. 

It  was  hot  in  the  high-ceilinged,  clean 
office.  The  windows  were  open,  but  no  breath 
of  air  stirred.  Charlie,  sitting  with  his  legs 
crossed,  glanced  rather  nervously  at  Marny 
and  at  Bill  Cameron  and  looked  back  at 
Manson,  who  sat  at  the  desk. 

"Thought  you  ought  to  know  the  girl  was 
there,"  said  Charlie.  "But  I  didn't  want  to 
tell  you  who  told  me.  Matter  of  fact,  she 
asked  me  not  to  tell  you  at  all.  But  I " — he 
shrugged — "I  thought  you  ought  to  know. 
So  I  just  said  /  had  seen  the  girl  leave." 


AN  OUNCE  OF 
PREVENTION 

IS  WORTH  A  POUND 
OF  CURE 


54 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


Not  just  a  ''salad  dressing''.  •  •  not 
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€* 


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Manson  leaned  forward  and  put  his  elbows 
on  the  desk.  "You  do  realize  that  this  is  a 
niurder  inquiry,  don't  you,  Mr.  Ingram?" 

Charlie  blinked.  "Why,  certainly,  old 
chap.  It's  why  I  thought  I'd  better  not 
bring  Judith  into  it." 

"Judith "  said  Marny  and  stopped. 

Captain  Manson  said,  "You  mean  that 
Mrs.  Wales  told  you  that  Cecily  Durant  had 
seen  Miss  Sanderson?" 

Charlie  hesitated,  swung  his  monocle  on 
its  ribbon,  cleared  his  throat  and  said  finally, 
"Well — yes.  Said  she  had  seen  the  girl,  or 
overheard  her  talking  to  Marny  or  some- 
thing. Said — well,  I  don't  think  she  really 
meant  to  tell  me.  'Asked  me  not  to  tell  any- 
one. But  it  seemed  to  me  you  ought  to  know 
that  the  girl — Durant's  wife,  I  mean — 
actually  had  a  gun."  He  turned  to  Marny. 
"  I  just  thought  the  police  ought  to  know  the 
girl  was  running  around  with  a  gun.  Shows 
she  had  some  thought  of  suicide."  He  swung 
his  monocle  with  a  righteous  air. 

Manson  said  slowly,  "A  little  thing  like 
perjury  wouldn't  bother  you?" 

Charlie's  eyes  popped  open.  "Perjury! 
My  dear  fellow !  I  was  only  doing  my  duty." 

"Didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  your  story 
was  likely  to  make  the  police  suspect 
Marny?"  demanded  Bill  Cameron  hotly. 
"Do  you  think  you  are  doing  your  duty 
when  in  order  to  protect  Mrs.  Wales  you 
deliberately  turn  suspicion  toward  Marny?" 

Charlie  Ingram  gave  an  uneasy  wriggle  in 
his  chair.  "Now,  now,  old  chap,"  he  said 
protestingly.  "No  need  to  get  upset.  I 
didn't  intend  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
only  thought  they  ought  to  know  Cecily 
Durant  had  been  there  and  had  had  a  gun. 
I  didn't  think  Marny  had  shot  her.  Not  for 
a  minute.  But  I  couldn't  tell  about  the  girl 
without  telling  that  it  was  Marny  she  had 
come  to  see,  could  I  ?  There  was  no  need  to 
drag  Judith  into  it."  He  turned  appealingly 
to  Captain  Manson.  "Seems  perfectly  clear 
to  me." 

I  ROB.\BLY,  thought  Marny  rather  wearily, 
nothing  had  ever  been  quite  clear  in  Charlie's 
mind  except  how  to  shoot  and  how  to  play 
tennis  and  how  to  tell  a  pleasant  and  in- 
nocuous story  at  a  dinner  table.  He  was 
devoted  to  Judith;  the  muddled  reasoning 
arising  from  that  devotion  was  perfectly 
comprehensible. 

Even  Captain  Manson  seemed  to  see  that. 
"False  witness  is  not  a  pleasant  thing,  Mr. 
Ingram,  no  matter  how  much  you  disguise 
it.  Is  there  an>lhing  else  you've  told  me 
that  was  not  true?" 

"Now,  now,  see  here!"  Charlie  was 
ruffled  and  worried.  "I'm  no  liar.  I  only — 
well,  one  must  protect  one's  friends.  It 
didn't  seem  to  me  to  matter  whether  /  had 
seen  the  Durant  girl,  or  Judith  had  seen  her ! 
Merely  a  gesture  on  my  part." 

Bill  Cameron  said,  "A  very  unpleasant 
gesture!" 

Charlie  Ingram  jumped  up.  "I  don't  like 
your  tone,  commander " 

Captain  Manson  interrupted  crisply: 
"Will  you  sit  down,  please,  commander. 
You,  too,  Mr.  Ingram.  If  you  want  to  fight 
you  can  do  it  outside,  but  I'm  too  busy  just 
now  to  bother  with  you.  .  .  .  Now  then, 
when  did  Mrs.  Wales  tell  you  that  she  had 
seen  Cecily  Durant  with  Miss  Sanderson?" 

Charlie  settled  back  into  his  chair  and 
looked  at  Captain  Manson.  "I  think  it  was 
early  the  morning  after  the  murder.  After 
Cecily  Durant's  murder.  Judith  said  that 
she  thought  the  Durant  girl  had  killed  her- 
self because  she  knew  that  she  had  a  gun.  I 
said — one  can't  remember  exactly — but  I 
think  I  said,  'How  do  you  know?'  Or  words 
to  that  effect." 

Bill  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  with 
a  gesture  of  strongly  withheld  violence, 
seemed  to  remember  he  was  in  uniform  and 
jerked  them  out  again  as  violently.  Charlie 
glanced  nervously  to'ward  him. 

The  detective  said,  "Go  on." 

"Yes.  Well— I'm  doing  the  best  I  can,  you 
know.  One  can't  always  remember  these 
things  exactly.  However,  I  do  remember 
that  Judith  said,  'Never  mind  how  I  know,' 
or  something  like  that.  And  added  that  I'd 
better  not  tell  the  police  because  it  might 


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LADIKS'  IIOMK  JOURNAL 


55 


MM 


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sound  as  if  Marny  had  been  having  an  affair 
with  Durant.  I  said  Why?'  ..And  she  told 
me  then  that  the  girl  had  tlireatened  Marny 
with  the  revolver  and  had  said  that  Marny 
couldn't  take  Andre  away  from  her,  that 
she— I  mean  the  Durant  girl— wouldn't  let 
her.  I  told  you.  captain,"  said  Charlie  with 
suddenly  assumed  dignity,  putting  his  mon- 
ocle carefully  in  his  eye,  "  I  told  you  that  I 
myself  had  heard  the  Durant  girl  and  Marny 
talking.  I  told  you  what  Judith  had  heard 
them  say.  The  only  difference  was  that  I  told 
you  that  I  had  been  on  the  porch  and  they 
had  been  on  the  balcony  and  I  had  heard  it 
all.  The  actual  fact  is,  of  course,  that  Judith 
must  have  been  there." 

"She  was  not  on  the  porch,"  said  Bill 
Cameron,  biting  out  the  words. 

"  Was  she  on  the  balcony?  "  asked  Captain 
Manson,  turning  to  Marny. 

"Not  when  Cecily  ran  out  of  my  room  and 
I  followed  her.  I  saw  no  one.  E.xcept  Com- 
mander Cameron,  on  the  porch  below." 

"  Was  the  door  open?  The  door  from  your 
room  to  the  balcony?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  could  Mrs.  Wales  have  overheard 
without  your  knowing  it?  If,  say,  she  hap- 
pened onto  the  balcony?" 

"Yes.    Yes,  I  suppose  so.    But  I  didn't 

think "  A  fleeting,  odd  memory  checked 

her.  Sometime  after  her  swim  with  Andre 
someone  had  passed  along  the  balcony.  She 
had  not  heard  anyone;  she  had  caught  only 
a  glimpse  of  a  shadow  passing  briefly  across 
the  bed  and  vanishing.  As  if  someone  had 


REriPE  FOII   LOVE 

^  A  y<>iinK  uoinaii  u  ho  thought 
^  she  ua.s  losiii-i  lier  liiisl>aii<l's 
afTcilioii  Moiil  t<>  llir  s«-veiilh  ilaiifjh- 
Ici'  <>(' a  scx'iilh  daiielilci'  l<>i"  a  love 
polioii.  This  iii>'slcr>  woniiiii  told 
hei*:  "<M'l  <t  vi\\\  piere  of  hecf,  cut 
fhit.  iilxMil  ail  iiK-li  lliif-k.  Slice  ail 
onion  in  I  m  o.  and  riili  llie  meat  on 
h<itli  sidles  Willi  it.  I*iil  on  pepixT 
and  .sail.  aii<l  toasi  it  on  each  side 
o>er  a  r<'d  «'oal  lii<-.  Drop  on  it  lliree 
liiinps  of  l>iill<-i'  and  two  sprigs  of 
pai'sle>  and  ^el  liiiii  to  cat  it." 

i'iic    vfiiiii^    >\  I f'c   <lid    so,    and    her 

IhIsIkIIhI    Io\CiI    Ii4*|-    rol'4*\CI'. 


been  there.  But  it  hadn't  been  Judith;  she 
remembered  the  exact  time:  Judith  had  just 
gone  into  the  hall.  And  it  was  before  she  had 
emerged  from  the  bathroom  to  find  Cecily 
Durant,  pale  and  thin  and  young,  standing 
there  with  the  gun  hidden  in  her  hands. 

"  What  is  it.  Miss  Sanderson?  What  have 
you  remembered?  Tell  me." 

She  told  him  slowly,  trying  to  recapture 
what  was  at  best  an  elusive  impression. 

The  detective  said,  "But  then  it  couldn't 
have  been  Judith  Wales." 

"Couldn't  it  have  been  Cecily?"  asked 
Bill  Cameron. 

Captain  Manson  looked  at  him  slowly. 
And  said  pointedly,  "Will  you  please  sit 
down,  commander,  and  permit  me  to  ques- 
tion in  my  own  way." 

"Sorry."  Bill  Cameron  was  plainly  not 
sorry.  He  went  over  to  a  chair  and  sat  down, 
looking  remarkably  solid,  as  if  he'd  be  very 
hard  to  move. 

Captain  Manson  rubbed  his  wrinkled 
brown  hands  across  his  eyes.  He  said,  "Now- 
then.  I'd  like  you  to  go  back,  please,  to  the 
time  of  your  arrival  in  Miami,  Miss  Sander- 
son. Tell  me  exactly  what  happened.  As  if 
you  were  making  a  timetable.  Up  to  the 
time  you  found  Mrs.  Durant  murdered."  He 
pressed  a  bell  on  his  desk  and  a  policeman 
came  in.  "Will  you  take  this?"  said  Captain 
Manson,  and  the  fX)liceman  went  to  another 
small  desk  and  came  back  with  a  pad  and 
a  pencil. 

He  looked  at  Manson.  "Fellow  called 
Laideau  says  he  wants  to  see  you." 

"He'll  see  me  all  right,"  said  the  detective, 
looking  grim  and  tired.  "Now  then.  Miss 
Sanderson.  You  arrived  at  the  airport  at 
about  six.  Who  met  you?  Start  from  there." 

She  did.  Their  ride  home  to  Shadow 
Island,  her  swim,  Bill  Cameron's  arrival. 


"I  grew  up  in  a  family  where  every  little 
girl  w.is  taught  to  cook— so  I  learned,  too. 

"I  remember  the  day  my  grandmot+ier 
taught  me  to  make  butterscotch  pudding 
by  her  own  special  recipe.  I  was  proud, 
for  my  pudding  tasted  wonderful— but  oh, 
how  long  it  took! 

"Today,  Grandma  marv-els  at  the  JeiI-0 


says  Kafe  Smith 


Butterscotch  Pudding  I  make  in  just 
about  8  minutes!  She  says  that  its  luscious, 
brown-sugary,  buttery  flavor  really 
matches  her  own  old-time  pudding! 

"jell-0  Chocolate  Pudding  wins  her 
praise,  too  — because  its  rich,  deep  flavor 
is  specially  prepared  by  ;h^  makers  of 
famous  Walter  Baker  Chocolate. 

".And  Jell-0  Vanilla  Pudding  keeps  up 
the  old-rime  tradition,  with  its  delicate^ 
true  vanilla  deliciousness. 

"Trv  mv  three  suggestions  for  nourish- S 
ing,  made-w  ith-milk  Jell-0  Puddings.- 
There'll  be  other  new  ideas  ih  magazines 
—and  on  the  air  in  the  Kate  SmitKHour." 

Remember  — The  Kate  Smith  Hour  now 
on  Sundays.  Full  Columbia  Ne'twork.- 
Listen  in!  n 


I 


^•0%iiMm~ 


Products  of  General  Foods- 
made  by  the  makers  of  Jell-O 


^^S*h  C^iamJimm 


56 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


#^  ^M^"^' 


Time  out  for  30  seconds— 
to  keep  you  from  dancing 
your  charm  away! 


imu. 


Away  with  you— before  underarm  odor  has 
a  chance  to  spoil  your  fun!  What  good 
would  sweet  music  be  if  your  dancing  part- 
ner gave  you  the  cold  shoulder— and  every- 
one but  you  knew  the  reason  why? 


Mum  fo  the  rescue!  And  not  too  late  even 
though  you're  dressed.  Isn't  it  well  worth 
30  seconds  to  guard  your  after-bath  fresh- 
ness with  Mum?  No  risk  now  of  underarm 
odor  to  come! 


On  with  the  dance  — you're  near  and  you're 
dear  to  the  one  you  love!  And  you're  tak- 
ing no  chances  with  happiness  like  that. 
Not  while  there's  Mum  to  keep  you  sweet 
and  dainty  — to  win  you  encores  the  whole 
evening  long! 


MUM'S  QUICK -Only  30  seconds  to  use  Mum. 
Even  after  you're  dressed,  even  when  you're  busy, 
you  still  have  time  for  Mum. 
mum's  safe— Won't  irritate  skin.  'Won't  harm 
fabrics,  says  American  Institute  of  Laundering. 
mum's  certain  — Mum  works  instantly.  Keeps 
you  bath-fresh  for  a  whole  day  or  evening.  Get 

Mum  today. 

•  •  • 

For  Sanitary  HapVint  — Mum  is  so  gentle,  safe,  depend- 
able that  th(msands  of  women  use  it  this  way,  too. 


Product  0}  Bristol-Myers 


Mum 

TAKES  THE  ODOR  OUT  OF 
PERSPIRATION 


Captain  Manson  interrupted  there  and 
said  to  Bill,  "About  what  time  was  that?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  I  should  say 
around  six-thirty.  At  any  rate,  there  was 
time  for  me  to  go  to  the  house,  present  my 
letter  to  Miss  Wales,  and  drive  back  to  my 
hotel,  after  she  asked  me  to  dinner,  change 
into  whites  and  return  to  Shadow  Island.  In 
all  it  must  have  taken  me  a  little  less  than 
an  hour.  It  Was  about,  I  think,  seven-thirty 
when  I  saw  Cecily  run  down  the  stairs  from 
the  balcony." 

"Will  you  go  on.  Miss  Sanderson?" 

Andre  Durant  had  come  while  she  was 
still  talking  to  Commander  Cameron;  Com- 
mander Cameron  had  left  the  swimming 
pool,  she  had  not  known  that  he'd  gone  to 
the  house;  she  and  Andre  Durant  had  re- 
mained in  the  pool  for  perhaps  ten  to  fifteen 
minutes.  While  they  were  swimming,  Charlie 
Ingram  had  stopped  to  speak  to  them.  Again 
the  detective  verified  it. 

Charlie  Ingram  said,  yes,  that  was  right. 
"I'd  been  down  at  the  tennis  court.  Winnie 
had  had  a  racket  restrung  for  me  and  I 
walked  over  from  Silver  Point  to  pick  it  up. 
Thought  I'd  just  stroll  around  past  the  pool 
to  see  if  anybody  was  there,  and  there  was. 
Mamy  and  this  Durant  chap." 

"Did  you  go  to  the  Wales  house  at  all? " 

"No.  Never  went  near.  Knew  my  own 
racket,  and  Winnie'd  been  trying  it;  said 
she'd  leave  it  there  for  me.  No,  I  didn't  go 
to  the  house." 

"Did  you  see  anyone  besides  Miss  San- 
derson and  Durant?  Commander  Cameron, 
for  instance?" 

Charlie  shook  his  head.  "Didn't  see  any- 
one. No,  wait  a  minute."  He  paused,  swing- 
ing his  monocle,  frowning  absently.  "  I  didn't 
see  anybody,  but  I  got  a  sort  of  impression 
that  somebody  was  walking  along  the  drive- 
way as  I  came  through  the  hedge  from  the 
pool  and — well,  as  if  whoever  it  was  ducked 
into  the  shrubbery.  Now  understand,  I 
didn't  see  anybody.  I  just  had  a— a  notion." 

The  detective  said,  "What  gave  you  that 
notion?  A  sound — footsteps  on  the  gravel? 
Someone  talking?" 

Charlie,  still  sulky,  gave  himself  a  little 
more  time  to  think  than  was  absolutely  nec- 
essary. He  said,  "I  really  don't  know,  cap- 
tain. I  only  remember  that  the  thought 
crossed  my  mind— well,  it's  just  as  I  tell  you. 
I  thought  someone  was  around  somewhere, 
but  I  didn't  see  anybody." 

And  Marny  said  suddenly,  "I  thought 
that  too.  I  thought  someone  was  at  the 
opening  of  the  hedge,  there  near  the  drive- 
way. I  looked  twice.  But  no  one  was  there." 

There  was,  she  thought,  something  a  little 
100  sharp  and  shrewd  in  the  detective's  eyes. 
He  said,  "So  you  didn't  actually  see  this 
mysterious  presence  either?" 

She  said,  feeling  her  face  grow  hot,  "No. 
I  only  remember  it  because  I  looked  twice; 
I  don't  know  why.  I  thought,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  that  it  was  Commander  Cameron." 

"Did  you  linger  at  the  hedge  or  did  you 
go  straight  to  the  house,  commander?" 

"I  told  you,"  said 
Bill  Cameron.  "I  went 
straight  to  the  house. 
The  houseman  an- 
swered the  bell  and  let 
me  into  the  hall.  I 
waited  for  a  minute 
while  he  gave  my  card 
to  Miss  Wales,  who 
was,  I  think,  in  the 
dining  room;  at  any 
rate,  she  came  from 
there.  If  you  mean,  did 
I  see  anyone  along  the 
drive,  I  didn't.  But  I 
couldn't  have  seen 
anyone,  the  way  the 
driveway  curves  and 
through  all  that  heavy 
shrubbery.  That 
doesn't  mean  that  no- 
body was  there." 

Captain  Manson 
said  rather  dryly,  "Can 
you  swear  that  some- 
body was  there,  Miss 
Sanderson?    Did   you 


May,  1945 

actually  hear  or  see  anyone  after  Mr.  In- 
gram left?" 

"No.  Except  as  I  told  you,  I  thought 
someone  went  along  the  balcony " 

"But  that  was  just  as  Mrs.  Walfs  was 
leaving  your  room  and  before  Cecily  Durant 
came  to  you,"  reminded  the  detective. 

Bill  Cameron  stirred  restively  and  said, 
"Captain — if  you  don't  mind — suppose  that 
was  Cecily  Durant  on  her  way  to  Durant — 
or  someone  else?" 

"WTio?"  said  the  detective  again. 

Bill  Cameron  shrugged.  "Anybody." 

Charlie  Ingram  appeared  to  catch  some 
hidden  meaning  in  his  voice  and  turned  to 
look  at  him  sharply  and  antagonistically. 
"Do  you  mean  that  Cecily  herself  went  to 
see  Judith?  She  didn't.  For  one  thing, 
Judith's  room  is  at  the  front  of  the  house." 

"If  Cecily  had  never  visited  the  Wales 
house,  she  couldn't  know  that." 

"Judith  would  have  told  me  if  Cecily  had 
come  to  her.  Judith  never  keeps  anything 
a  secret." 

ll/XCEPT  from  the  police,"  said  Captain 
Manson,  again  rather  dryly.  And  turned  to 
Mamy.  "After  Mr.  Ingram  left,  you  and 
Durant  swam  for  a  while?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  was  as  you  left  the  pool  and  were  ap- 
proaching the  house  that  you  had  your— 
that  is — interview  with  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marny.  Interview!  How  un- 
real that  moment  with  Andre  seemed,  as  if  it 
had  never  touched  her  life  at  all.  She  said 
"Yes,"  and  went  on.  They  had  come  to  the 
house;  they  had  gone  up  the  winding  stair- 
way to  the  balcony,  she  had  gone  into  her 
room  and  there  had  talked  for  a  few  mo- 
ments to  Mrs.  Wales.  Later  Cecily  had 
come. 

Bill  had  heard  it  all  before,  and  so  had 
Captain  Manson.  He  made  no  comment  at 
all,  but  turned  to  Charlie. 

"Will  you  give  me  your  story  again?  Be- 
gin when  you  left  the  swimming  pool." 

"But  you  know — oh,  all  right,  all  right. 
I've  no  objections,  I'm  sure.  Question  me 
all  night  if  you  like,"  said  Charlie  with 
wounded  sarcasm,  and  began. 

It  was  very  short.  He  walked  along  the 
causeway  to  Silver  Point,  went  to  his  house, 
changed  and  returned.  He  saw  no  one  along 
the  way  either  time,  except  Edward,  the 
chauffeur.  He  reached  the  house  after 
Judith,  Andre  and  Cameron  were  already 
in  the  drawing  room ;  Winnie  met  him  in  the 
hall,  so  they  entered  the  room  together  and 
Tim  Wales  came  from  somewhere 

"Somewhere?"  queried  Captain  Manson. 

Charlie  shrugged.  "I  don't  know  where," 
he  said  testily.  "Maybe  the  study.  Maybe 
the  dining  room.  Anyway,  there  he  was  and  I 
was  shaking  hands  and  Judith  was  introduc- 
ing Commander  Cameron  and  Winnie  said 
something  about  dinner  and  all  at  once  he" — 
he  shot  a  sulky  glance  at  Bill  Cameron— 
"hared  off  through  the  porch.  Disappeared. 
Marny  wasn't  down.  Judith  told  me  to  go 
after  Cameron  and  tell  him  dinner  was  about 


'^How  did  von  know  ive're  roommates?" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


57 


I'm  iodi/iJe&n  ik 


iRY  girl  belongs  to  the  younger 
generation  until  she  feels  another 
inger"  generation  stealing  up  be- 
her.  When  she  begins  to  object  to 
newer  ways  it's  time  to  look  out! 
.  Take  the  case  of  Tampax — for 
thiy  sanitary  protection.  This  meth- 
as  become  very  popular  in  the  prom- 
t  girls'  colleges  and  in  offices  and 
plants.  Some  older  women  may 
ic  it's  too  "different"  but  Tampax 
y  does  follow  a  sound,  scientific 
:iple. 

impax  was  invented  by  a  doctor  to 
>orn  internally.  Made  of  pure  surgical 
3n,  it  is  ingeniously  enclosed  in  indi- 
al  applicators  for  quick  and  dainty 
:tion.  (Your  hands  need  not  even 
h  the  Tampax.)  No  belts  or  pins  are 
ired  and  no  odor  can  form.  "Tampax 
es  no  chafing  and  no  bulging  or 
kling  of  clothing.  Quick  changing. 
■  disposal.  No  embarrassment. 
)ld  in  3  absorbencies  (Regular,  Super, 
or)  for  varying  individual  needs.  At 
;  stores,  notion  counters.  Month's 
ige  supply  will  go  into  purse;  for  4 
■ths'  supply  get  Economy  Box. 


REGULAR 

SUPER 

JUNIOR 


ttd  for  Advertising 

t  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


PAX  INCORPORATED 
r,  Mass. 


LHJ.55-L 


ise  send  me  in  plain  wrapper  a  trial  package  of 
ax.  I  enclose  \0i  (stamps  or  silver)  to  cover  cost 
iling.  Size  is  checked  below. 

EGULAR  (     )   SUPER  (      )   JUNIOR 


_State_ 


to  be  served.  So  I  did.  There  they  were  by 
the  bamboos.  Girl  was  dead.  That's  all." 

"How  about  tonight?" 

"Tonight?  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  it! 
If  you  think  I  killed  Durant " 

' '  Where  were  you  tonight  ?  About  eleven  ? ' ' 

Charlie  turned  bright  purple  and  exploded. 
"  It's  none  of  your  business !  I  didn't  murder 
Durant  and  I  didn't  know  a  thing  about  it 
till  one  of  your  men  phoned  meand  rousted 
me  out  to  come  down  here.  Durant  de- 
served murder,  but  I  didn't  do  it.  And  I'll 
raise  Cain  with  you  for  false  arrest  if  you 
don't  let  me  out  of  here." 

Captain  Manson  looked  singularly  un- 
impressed, and  a  policeman  opened  the  door 
and  stuck  his  head  in.  "Captain,  this  guy 
Laideau  out  here  wants  you  to  arrest  him. 
Says  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  murder, 
but  if  he  goes  back  to  Shadow  Island  he'll  be 
murdered  himself!" 

XIX 

IJRING  him  in  here,"  said  Captain  Manson. 
Laideau  came  in,  sallow,  his  great  shoul- 
ders hunched,  looking  at  no  one.  And  he  was 
either  genuinely  afraid  or  he  achieved  a  re- 
markably convincing  pretense  of  fear.  The 
detective  questioned  Laideau  at  length,  as 
the  minutes  of  the  hot  night  ticked  away. 
Marny  concluded  it  was  for  the  same  reason 
that  he  had  asked  her  to  repeat  her  own 
story:  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  previously 
overlooked  loophole  for  inquiry,  and  because 
the  murder  of  Andre  Durant  had  given  a  dif- 
ferent slant  to  the  inquiry. 

Laideau  had  taken  Cecily  in  a  rowboat  to 
the  island  because  she  had  insisted  on  going. 

"She  knew  her  husband  had  returned 
from  New  York?" 

"  I  told  you  that.  He  told  me  he  was  com- 
ing and  I  made  the  mistake  of  telling  her. 
She  insisted  on  going  to  see  him.  She'd  been 
nervous  and  hysterical  all  week.  I  couldn't 
do  a  thing  with  her.  She  threatened  to  come 
by  taxi  and  make  a  scene,  so  I  thought  it 
better  to  take  her  myself." 

"Why  did  you  row  across?" 

Laideau's  little  eyes  shot  a  quick,  ugly 
look  at  the  detective  and  lowered  swiftly 
again.  "No  reason.  I  thought  it  was  a  good 
idea,  that's  all." 

"You  didn't  do  it  because  you  didn't  want 
anyone  to  know  you  and  she  were  on  the 
island?" 

"I  didn't  want  a  public  scene.  Maybe  I 
thought  the  row  would — calm  her  down. 
Anyway,  that's  what  I  did.  I  let  her  off  at 
the  pier  and  I  stayed  in  the  boat." 

"You  didn't  come  on  the  island  at  all?" 

"No.   I've  told  you " 

"Go  on." 

It  was  brief.  He  had  waited  for  Cecily, 
but  he  didn't  know  how  long — he  had  no 
watch;  it  seemed  a  long  time,  but  probably 
wasn't.  She  came  at  last,  running  down  to 
the  pier;  she  wouldn't  answer  any  of  his 
questions.  She  got  into  the  boat  and  they 
started  off  away  from  the  island  and  all  at 
once  she  said  she  had  to  go  back.  Again  she 
was  hysterical  and  determined,  so  he  took 
her  back.  She  got  out  on  the  pier,  and  this 
time,  instead  of  waiting  near  the  pier,  he 
rowed  out  into  the  bay,  toward  Miami 
Beach. 

"Why?"  said  Captain  Manson,  and 
Laideau  shrugged. 

"I  didn't  want  to  be  in  on  anything.  I 
was  ready  to  wash  my  hands  of  her.  I 
thought  I'd  done  enough  for  Durant  to  keep 
her  quiet  for  the  last  month  or  so." 

Captain  Manson  leaned  forward.  "Why 
should  you  keep  her  quiet  for  the  last  month 
or  so?" 

But  Laideau's  eyes  were  small,  ugly  and 
stubborn  and  impenetrable.  "No  special 
reason,  except  she'd  been  hard  to  manage 
ever  since  they  separated.  I  stayed  at  the 
Villa  Nova  to  be  near  her.  Andre  went  to 
another  hotel  and  then  was  invited  to  the 
Wales  island.  It  seemed  a  good  idea  for  him 
to  go.  We — he  was  short  of  money." 

"You  say  you  rowed  out  into  the  bay?" 

"Yes.    I  told  you  that  at  least  twenty 

times.   I  didn't  hear  any  sound  of  a  shot.   I 

didn't  know  she  had  a  gun — I  suppose  it  was 

my  gun,  for  it's  gone,  as  I  told  you.    I  did 

(Conlinued  on  Page  59) 


'I 


GloriaTanderbilt  De  Cicco 

"I  adore  the  softer  look  and  'finish'  my  skin  gets  from 
a  1-Minute  Mask  with  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream,"  says  beautiful 
Gloria  Vanderbilt  De  Cicco,  who  is  the  glamorous  young 
heiress  to  one  of  America's  great  names 
and  fortunes.  "No  doubt  about  it — the  Mask  makes  a 

noticeable  difference  in  my  complexion — and  quickly!" 


'Quick  way  to  look  my  very  bestf* — Gloria  Vanderbilt  De  Cicco 

Wo-w  to  nave  a  softer,  clearer-looRin^  sRin 
...  in  one  minute* 

Spread  lavish  tvhite  fingerfuls  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  all  over  your 
face — except  eyes.  Leave  this  refreshing  Mask  on  for  one  full  minute. 

"Keratolytic"  action  of  the  cream  goes  to  work !  Loosens  and  dissolves 
tiny  powder- catching  skin  particles  and  grubby  specks  of  imbedded  dirt. 

Thrilling!  Results  show  as  soon  as  you  tissue  off  the  Mask. 
Your  face  seems  to  light  up — 
looks  radiantly  fresher  and  clearer. 
Feels  smoother,  too — 
ready  for  a  flawless  make-up  job! 


Quick  Make-up  Trick  •  .  .  Smooth  on  a 

satin-light  film  of  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream — and  leave  it  on — for  smoothing, 

protective  make-up  base.  It's  non- 
greasy — and  expert  at  holding  powder! 


Get  a  luscious  BIG  jar 
of  glamour-making  Masks! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May, 


THAT    NEW 


' 


NEW    NEWir    LOOK 


THIS  DRESS   HAS  ACTUALLY 
BEEN   LUXED   18  TIMES-*- 
See  /low  ne^f  it  looks! 


Just  look  at  this  color  photograph  of  a  smart  cotton  dr« 
Luxed  and  ironed  18  times  . . .  see  how  fresh  and  new  it  loo 
The  stripes  didn't  run  . . .  the  dress  looks  lovely  I 

Now  when  nice  fabrics  and  dresses  are  scarcer,  more  < 
pensive,  it  pays  to  give  washables  the  gentle  Lux  care  whi 
keeps  them  lovely  so  much  longer.  Actual  washing  tests 

a  famous  laboratory  sht 
that  Lux  care  keeps  colt 
lovely  up  to  3  times  longe 

Harsh  washday  methc 
are  truly  wasteful.  So  avc 
strong  soap,  hot  water,  rou 
handling.  These  may  ma 
colors  fade  and  run,  fabr 
wear  out  too  soon.  Anythi 
safe  in  water  is  safe  in  Li 


oap  contains  vil 
war  materials  . . 
DONT  WASTE  I 


tObot  iUMcrui  ivaihin(\  can  do 


>  Two  halves  of  the  same  sweater. 
The  right  half,  washed  the  gentle 
Lux  way,  retained  its  shape.  The 
left  half  was  shrunken  by  hot 
water  and  cake-soap  rubbing. 


Lingerie    needs    Lux    care !    Hot  ■ 
water,   strong   soap,   rough   han- 
dling frayed  straps  (far  right) 
faded  color.  Lux  care  kept  identi- 
cal undies  lovely  3  times  longer. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


59 


(Continued  from  Page  57) 
hear  an  airplane  go  overhead  and  it  seemed 
very  low  and  may  have  been  the  Navy  plane, 
but  I  didn't  look  up.  There  were  several 
motorboats — I  remember  that.  After  a 
while  it  was  getting  dark  and  I  thought  she'd 
gone  to  the  house  to  see  Andre  and  he  could 
see  to  her.  I  rowed  back  to  the  Beach  and 
had  a  bite  to  eat  and  had  just  got  back  to  the 
Villa  Nova  when  you  phoned." 

Captain  Manson  said  suddenly,  "  I  under- 
stand you  wish  to  be  arrested.    Why  ?  " 

Laideau  got  up  with  the  sinuous,  slow 
ease  of  a  feral  animal.  His  little  eyes  shone 
in  the  light.  "Because  whoever  got  him  is 
going  to  get  me  next.  I  don't  care  what 
charge  you  arrest  me  on.  But  if  you've  got 
any  decency  you'll  put  me  where  I'm  safe. 
I'm — afraid  of  Shadow  Island." 

Charlie  sat  forward.  Captain  Manson 
said,  "Why?" 

"I  told  you." 

"Why  was  Durant  killed?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it.   I  was  asleep." 

"Did  he  know  who  murdered  his  wife?" 

There  was  a  slight  pause;  then  Laideau 
said,  "No."  And  stuck  to  it.  He  knew  of  no 
motive  for  either  murder,  but  he  was  afraid. 
He  turned  ugly  and  mean;  he  refused  to  re- 
turn to  Shadow  Island.  Eventually  Captain 
Manson  sent  him  away  with  a  policeman. 

"  But  he  did  it,"  cried 
Charlie.  "He  did  itT  ■■i^HHBBI 
He's  lying!  He  thinks 
if  he  pretends  to  be 
afraid  it'll  go  to  clear 
him.  He  murdered 
both  of  them." 

"Why?"  said  Cap- 
tain Manson.  "There's 
no  motive  for  Laideau 
to  have  murdered 
either  of  them." 

"He's  a  thug  and  a 
cutthroat." 

"That's  your  opin- 
ion, Mr.  Ingram,"  said 
Captain  Manson. "  Can 
you  prove  it?  .  .  .  Now 
will  you  all  come  with 
me,  please." 

They  followed  him 
into  another  room.  The 
policeman  with  the 
notebook  went  with 
them;  another  police- 
man in  the  hall  un- 
locked the  door  of  the  IMMHI^^^^H 
room  into  which  they 
were  led  and  turned  on  the  lights.  It  was  a 
small  bare  room  with  extraordinarily  bright 
lights.  Marny  was  suddenly  aware  that 
both  policemen  had  placed  their  hands  in 
a  businesslike  way  upon  the  revolvers  at 
their  belts.  And  then  she  saw  why. 

Charlie  Ingram  gave  a  kind  of  squeal. 
Bill  Cameron  stopped  dead  still  and  stared. 
On  the  table,  brightly  lighted,  lay  a  curious 
small  assortment  of  objects.  One  was  a 
revolver.  Another  was  Andre  Durant's  cig- 
arette case.  On  a  plate  was  a  little  hoard  of 
half-smoked  cigarettes.  On  another  plate 
lay  three  brown  and  withered  flowers, 
hibiscus,  broken  off  short.  There  was  a  small, 
plain  gold  earring;  there  was  a  narrow  black 
ribbon  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  twisted 
and  broken. 

Charlie  recognized  the  ribbon.  He  clutched 
at  his  monocle  and  cried,  "That's  mine. 
[That's  like — how  did  it  get  there?"  It 
imatched  the  ribbon  on  his  monocle. 
I  Captain  Manson  said,  "Exhibits.  The  re- 
ivolver  was  found  tonight;  not  in  the  bay, 
but  hidden  under  some  sand  along  the  sandy 
strip  there  by  the  pier.  The  revolver  belongs 
to  Laideau ;  we've  checked  it." 

"My  ribbon " 

"Wait,  please.  The  cigarettes  are  the 
brand  smoked  constantly  by  Mr.  Wales. 
Phey  are  in  every  room  in  the  house  at 
Shadow  Island;  but  we  managed  to  get 
Dne — rather  smudged,  but  identifiable — 
fingerprint  which  checks  with  the  middle 
finger  of  Mr.  Wales'  right  hand.  These  cig- 
arette ends — three  of  them,  you  will  note — 
were  found  down  by  the  pier,  not  far  from 


A  Matter  of  Direetion 

^  Billy  Sunday  said  that  once  he 
^  was  to  conduct  a  service  in  a 
town  in  which  he  had  never  been  be- 
fore. On  alighting  from  the  train  he 
found  in  his  pocket  a  letter  he  had 
forgotten  to  mail.  He  hailed  a  news- 
boy and  asked,  "Son,  can  you  tell 
me  the  way  to  the  post  office?" 

"Sure,"  said  the  boy,  and  he  gave 
the  preacher  directions  for  reaching 
the  office. 

Sunday  thanked  him,  and  asked, 
"Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"No,"  answered  the  lad. 

"Well,  I'm  Billy  Sunday,  and  I'm 
going  to  preach  here  tonight.  You 
come  up  to  the  service  and  I'll  show 
you  the  way  to  heaven." 

"Ah,  gwan!"  said  the  kid.  "You 
didn't  even  know  the  way  to  the  post 
office!" 

— CHAS.  N.  LURIE:  Moke  'Em  Laugh  Agoin. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 


the  bamboo  hedge.  Mr.  Wales  had  already 
told  me  that  he  had  not  gone  to  the  pier 
until  after  Cecily  Durant  was  murdered. 
The  gold  earring  is  one  of  a  pair  belonging 
to  Winnie  Wales;  the  other  was  in  her  jewel 
case  in  her  dressing  room — it  was  unlocked, 
in  a  drawer.  But  that  earring  was  found  only 
a  few  inches  from  the  body  of  Cecily  Durant, 
under  the  bamboos.  Miss  Wales  has  admitted 
owning  it,  but  says  she  had  not  worn  the 
earrings  in  several  days  and  does  not  know 
how  it  got  there.  Those  withered  flowers  are 
hibiscus  blossoms  and  Miss  Sanderson  is  the 
only  one  in  the  household  who  has  admitted 
to  being  at  the  pool  and  near  the  hibiscus 
hedge  that  night." 

"I  didn't  break  off  a  flower.  I  never 
thought  of  it " 

rJiLL  CAMERON  interrupted;  he  said,  "I'm 
the  only  person  not  represented  here.  I — 
and  unless  I'm  wrong,  Judith  Wales." 
Captain  Manson  did  not  reply. 
And  they  were  wrong;  there  was  Judith's 
bloodstained  handkerchief,  thought  Marny. 
Only  Winnie  had  found  that  instead  of  the 
police,  and  had  destroyed  it. 

Bill  said,  "False  clues?  All  of  them? 
Planted?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  detective. 
Charlie  turned  to  Captain  Manson.  "  But 

I  tell  you  my  ribbon "  he  began." 

The  detective  said, 
^■^■■■■■■i  "  It,  too,  was  found  not 
far  from  the  place 
where  the  body  lay." 
"But  I  wasn't  there 
till  after  she  was  mur- 
dered!" Charlie  told 
him.  "I  swear  it!  I 
don't  know — I  can't 
imagine — I  often  break 
ribbons — I  keep  a  sup- 
ply of  them.  They  seem 
to  break  so  easily." 
He  was  twirling  his 
monocle  madly. 

Bill  said,  "You  work 
them  too  hard." 

"Did  you  break  one 
anywhere  near  the  pier 
recently?"  asked  Cap- 
tain Manson. 

Charlie  was  again  a 

deep,  angry  purple. 

"No!  I've  not  been 

near — well,  anyway,  I 

can'tremember.  I  don't 

■^■■■IBiHl       know.     But    I    didn't 

murder  the  girl!" 

Bill  Cameron  said  quietly,  "  Which  is  the 

true  clue,  captain?" 

The  detective  looked  at  him  quickly;  it 
was  a  brief,  oddly  communicative  glance. 

Bill  added,  "Or  perhaps  there  is  no  true 
clue.  Perhaps  it's  the  absence  of  a  clue. 
Nothing  there  leads  to  Mrs.  Wales." 

Charlie,  slower  on  the  uptake,  stared, 
spluttered  and  cried,  "You  can't  mean  that 
you  suspect  that  Judith  did  this  on  purpose ! 
Planted  clues  to  everybody  except  herself 
on  purpose !  Why,  it's  impossible !  It's  mad. 
It's" — he  stuttered  and  searched  for  a  word 
and  cried — "it's  fiendish!" 

"But  there  was  a  clue  to  Judith,"  said 
Marny.  "A  handkerchief  with  her  initial  on 
it."  She  told  them;  quickly,  the  bright  lights 
beating  down  upon  her  face  and  in  her  eyes. 
And  told  it  again,  slowly,  while  the  police- 
man with  notebook  and  pencil  took  it  down. 
Captain  Manson  questioned  her.  "  Where 
did  Miss  Wales  find  it?" 
"She  wouldn't  say." 

"You  are  sure  it  was  a  handkerchief  be- 
longing to  Mrs.  Wales?" 

"No.  But  it  was  initialed  with  a  J." 
"Are  you  sure  the  stains  were  blood?" 
"Yes.   Well,  no.   I  thought  it  was  blood. 
It  could  have  been  anything  reddish  brown. 
It  looked  like  bloodstains." 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before?" 
She  explained  swiftly:   "I  didn't  think 
you'd  believe  me;  I  had  no  proof.  And  it 
would  have  sounded  as  if  I  had  invented  it 
to  try  to  clear  myself  by  implicating  Judith. 
Besides,  I— I  don't  think  she  did  it." 

"It's  hard  to  believe  that  anybody  could 
murder,"  said  the  detective  quietly. "  Murder 


B©   l©)^©ly    "t  @)    'k&w® 


You'll  never  worry  about  staying  sweet  and 
dainty  if  you  use  Fl^ESH,  the  cream  decxlorant 
that  stops  perspiration  worries  completely. 
It's  gentle,  stays  creamy  and  smooth  . . .  never 
greasy,  never  gritty.  Doesn't  dry  out . . .  usable 
right  to  the  bottom  of  tiie  jar.  50^. . .  25ji . . .  10^!. 


60 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


beautiful  society  leader,  says:  .  .  .  "I 
adore  the  smooth  sheer  way  that  my 
Dream/loner  Powder  goes  on — it 
makes  the  color  look  so  soft  and  clear!" 


h 


It's  /^/mi-aa/me^'' 

-brings  lovelier  color  to  your  skin 


•  Now — a  new  suffusing  ingredient  makes  Pond 
Powder  go  on  extra  "sheer-gauge"!  This  new  ing 
spreads  the  tiny  particles  of  soft  color  more 
smoothly,  more  clingingly  over  your  skin. 
Gives  Pond's  more  luxurious,  "sheer-gauge" 
evenness  on  your  face! 

That's  why  Pond's  shades  not  only 
have  lovely  color  in  the  box — they  add 
lovely  color  to  your  skin!  Smoother  color. 
Sheerer  color.  More  glamorous  color. 

Compare  "sheer-gauge"  Pond's  with 
the  powder  you  are  wearing  now. 
See  for  yourself  the  soft,  sweet  delicacy 
it  gives  your  skin-tone!   The  all-over 
velvety  smoothness  it  lends  your  face! 
6  beautiful  Dreamflower  shades. 
49^,  25^,  10(i  (plus  tax). 

PONDS  Dreamflower  Powder 

made  "sheer-gauge"  by  experts  io  beauty! 


s  Dreamflower 
redient 


"Sheer-gauge'/  means 
more  flattering  shades 
on  the  skin! 

Two  stockings— exactly  the 
same  shade  in  the  box — 
but  so  different  "on"! 
Now— Pond's  Dreamflower 
Powder  shades  look  love- 
lier "on"  because  they're  so 
beautifully  "sheer-gauge"! 


itself  is  almost  incomprehensible.  But  it 
happened." 

Charlie  blustered,  "It's  all  nonsense. 
Judith  didn't  kill  her.  Or  Durant.  Some- 
body's trying  to  implicate  everybody  but 
himself."  He  glared  at  Bill  Cameron,  who 
grinned  a  little  unexpectedly  and  said: 

"Do  you  think  that  makes  me  the  prime 
suspect,  Ingram?" 

Captain  Manson  coughed.  "But  there  is 
a  clue.  Will  you  come  over  here,  please." 

Another  table  stood  against  the  wall.  The 
policeman  snapped  on  a  bright  droplight 
above  it,  disclosing  an  array  of  gray,  white, 
irregular  shapes. 

"Casts,"  said  the  detective.  "We  made  a 
moulage  of  footprints  and  marks  around 
Cecily  Durant's  body.  As  it  lay  on  the  grass, 
just  beyond  the  strip  of  sand,  we  did  not  get 
anything  satisfactory.  However,  we  did  get 
this,  commander."  He  touched  a  cast  lightly. 
An  irregular,  rough-looking  surface,  with 
marks  made  upon  it.  "If  you  look  closely, 
said  Captain  Manson,  "you'll  find  that  these 
marks  make  a  C  and  an  A  in  capitals,  and 
this  wavering  line  fol- 
lowing them  could  be         

a  broken  attempt  to 
draw  an  M.  They 
were  obviously  made 
with  someone 's 
finger',  hurriedly.  We 
measured  the  dis- 
tance from  Cecily's 
hand  to  the  strip  of 
sand  and  she  could 
have  reached  it.  Try- 
ing to  tell  us,  before 
she  died,  who  killed 
her." 

"C—A—M,"  said 
Charlie,  staring. 
"Catneron!" 

"  Fortunately," 
said  the  detective 
dryly,  "the  marks  on 
the  sand  were  not  dis- 
turbed by  the  vari- 
ous footprints  made 
around  the  body  be- 
fore the  police  ar- 
rived. .  .  .  You'll  find 
marks  that  fit  your 
shoes  there,  Mr.  In- 
gram. And  yours. 
Miss  Sanderson.  And 
your  own,  com- 
mander," he  added. 

"And  part  of  my 
name,"  said  Bill, 
studying  the  moulage 
showing  the  traced 
letters.  "I've already 
told  you  I  only  saw 
Cecily  when  she 
came  down  the  bal- 
cony stairway." 

"You  did,  commander,"   Manson  said. 

Charlie  was  beginning  to  look  pleased. 
"Seems  very  odd  to  me  that  two  strangers — 
Cecily  Durant  and  Commander  Cameron — 
turn  up  at  exactly  the  same  time.  Are  you 
sure  you  didn't  know  her,  somewhere,  com- 
mander?  In  Jamaica,  for  instance." 

"Very  sure,"  said  Bill  imperturbably. 
"For  one  reason,  I've  never  been  in  Jamaica 
and  can  prove  it  by  the  State  Department 
passport  record  and  by  my  Navy  record.  .  .  . 
I  didn't  follow  that  girl  to  the  pier  and  mur- 
der her,  captain." 

"Neither  did  I,"  snapped  Charlie. 

And  Captain  Manson  sighed.  "Durant's 

name  was  Charles  Andre "  he  said  and 

left  the  sentence  unfinished  and  snapped  out 
the  light. 

Twenty  minutes  later  they  were  taken 
back  to  Shadow  Island.  Charlie  took 
Laideau's  place  in  the  back  seat  of  the  car. 
Laideau,  however,  was  not  arrested. 

Captain  Manson  told  them,  "He  had  no 
motive.  He  had  everything  to  lose  and  noth- 
ing to  gain.  Good  night,"  said  Captain 
Manson  politely  and  a  policeman  escorted 
them  to  the  car. 

So  she  was  not  to  be  arrested  either, 
thought  Marny  wearily.  Not  then,  at  least. 
But  if  anything  had  occurred  during  those 


two  hours  which  tended  to  exonerate  her,  she 
did  not  know  what  it  was. 

It  was  by  then  nearly  three  o'clock.  They 
stopped  to  let  Charlie  out  at  the  entrance  to 
Silver  Point.  Charlie  mumbled  something 
which  could  be  taken  as  a  good  night  and 
started  along  the  driveway  toward  his  house. 

They  passed  the  lights  at  the  entrance  to 
Shadow  Island,  and  policemen  again,  and 
this  time  the  front  door  was  open  and 
lighted.  The  hall  was  lighted,  and  the  draw- 
ing room,  and  two  policemen  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room  doorway  as  Bill  and  Marny 
came  into  the  hall. 

Bill  glanced  at  them.  "Any  news?" 
One  said,  "Captain  Manson  just  tele- 
phoned. He  said  to  tell  Miss  Sanderson 
to  " — his  voice  lowered  to  a  hoarse  whisper — 
"  to  be  sure  to  bolt  the  doors  to  her  bedroom. 
Both  of  them.  The  one  leading  onto  the  bal- 
cony and  the  one  from  the  hall." 

Bill  Cameron's  face  tightened.  "Why?" 
The  policeman  shrugged,  but  eyed  Marny 
with  curiosity.   "He  didn't  say.  Told  us  to 
stay  here  tonight.  Or 

what's  left  of  it." 

Bill  put  his  arm 
around  Marny  sud- 
denly, and  turned  to- 
ward the  stairway. 
They  reached  the  up- 
per hallway,  and  it 
was  empty,  although 
lights  were  shining 
brilliantly.  He  opened 
the  door  to  her  room, 
glanced  around,  and 
then  drew  her  inside 
the  room.  He  glanced 
into  the  glittering, 
gay-colored  bath- 
room. He  crossed  to 
the  balcony,  closed 
the  door  and  bolted 
it,  testing  it  to  be  sure 
it  held. 

He  came  back  to 
her.  "Nobody  here." 
She  was  so  tired 
that  everything 
seemed  to  whirl  in  a 
kind  of  impression- 
istic chaos  around 
her.  Only  then  did 
she  realize  the  mean- 
ing of  his  search. "  But 
nobody — there's  no 
reason — I'm  not  in 
danger,"  she  said 
jerkily.  And  looked 
up  at  Bill  Cameron. 
"Am  I?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

His  eyes  held  her 
own  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  put  both 
arms  around  her  and  held  her  close  against 
him.  Perhaps  she  turned  her  head,  perhaps 
he  turned  it.  His  mouth  met  her  own  and 
held  it  and  everything  else  in  the  world  fell 
away  and  there  was  nothing  that  mattered 
outside  the  circle  of  his  arms  and  the  warm, 
hard  pressure  of  his  mouth. 

He  kissed  her  and  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  down  at  h§r;  it  was  a  strangely  clear 
and  uncomplicated  look,  as  if  the  problems 
of  earth  and  the  path  she  had  yet  to  journey 
upon  it  were  solved  and  settled  forever. 
Then,  his  eyes  very  bright,- he  bent  and 
kissed  her  again;  it  was  queer  how  warm 
and  sweet  and  tender  that  tight,  Scottish 
mouth  could  be.  She  was  bewildered,  swept 
by  a  tide  of  an  emotion  that  was  new  and 
strange — yet  deeply  familiar,  as  if  she  had 
known  it  for  a  long  time.  She  wanted  only  to 
remain  where  she  was  forever. 

Bill  Cameron  lifted  his  head,  looked  down 
into  her  eyes  again  and  grinned.  He  put  her 
down  in  the  chair  and  went  to  the  gaily 
paneled  doors  of  the  wardrobe  and  opened 
them,  whistling  very  softly.  He  came  back 
to  her  with  a  nightdress  in  one  hand  and  her 
white  robe  in  the  other. 

"Take  these,"  he  said.  "Go  in  the  bath- 
room and  get  into  them.  This  may  shock  the 
whole  household,  but  I  can't  help  it.  (io  on. 
Hurry.    It's  practically  morning  and  you 


,:J -iJmeow  a  ^/fr)iAf/ 


BV  MAY  CARI.ETOrV  KORD 

Another  woman's  child  is  in  my  care 
Tonight.   My  hand  it  is  that  tucks 

him  in, 
Rosy  and  warm,  with  blankets  to  his 

chin; 
I  fold  his  blouse  and  socks  upon  a 

chair, 
Set  stubby  shoes  beneath;  hear  his 

brief  prayer. 
And  suddenly  far  echoes  now 

begin   .   .   . 
My  own  is  calling  in  a  voice  more 

thin 
Than  far,  since  he  is  here  and 

everywhere. 
What  if  he  dreams  a  half  a  world 

away? 
What  if  swift  bomber  planes  fly 

overhead? 
There  are  no  distances,  nor  sea,  nor 

land, 
A  mother  may  not  traverse  night  and 

day. 
I  smooth  the  blanket  on  his  foreign 

bed   .   .   . 
Good  night,  my  son,  God  keep  you  in 

His  hand. 


II 


1  see  many  admirers 
at  your  feet!*' 


The  fortuneteller  must  have 
pictured  you  in  a  pair  of 
smart  Miracle-Tread  Shoes! 
For  Miracle-Tread  —  with  the 
flattering  smartness  of  higher 
priced  footwear  plus  special 
features  that  encourage  poise 
and  lovely  ankle  lines — will 
do  much  to  attract  admiring 
glances  to  your  feet. 


THE  TAMARA 
In  Turftan  Kip  or 
White  CaratuI 

\ 


THE    TULSIE 
In  White, 
Army  Rusfet  or 
Black  Brogandl 


Remember  ihe  men 

overseas.    Write  fo  them  —  offeni 


WOMENS  DIVISION 

CRADDOCK-TERRY  SHOE  CORIKiRATION 
lYNCHBURG,  VIRGINIA 


61 


look  as  if  you  hadn't  had  any  sleep  for  six 
months." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

He  was  pulling  the  chaise  longue  so  it 
stood  between  the  bed  and  the  door, 
whisthng  very  softly.  He  said,  "Stay  here, 
of  course." 

"But  I " 

He  lifted  her  out  of  the  chair.  "Hurry  up. 
I'm  dead  tired." 

When  she  came  out  he  was  established  on 
the  chaise  longue  and  was  already — or  pre- 
tended to  be — asleep.  She  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  for  a  moment.  His  eyes  were 
firmly  closed  and  he  looked  very  comfortable 
leaning  back  against  the  beige  cushions. 
There  was  still  a  suggestion  of  a  grin  lurking 
at  the  comers  of  his  mouth  and  she  regarded 
It  suspiciously,  but  he  did  not  move. 

She  reached  up  and  turned  off  the  bed 
light.  She  closed  her  eyes,  thought  suddenly 
and  clearly,  Forever?  But  I've  only  known 
him  since  yesterday — and  sleep  caught  at  her 
as  if  it  had  comforting  arms. 

When  she  awoke  he  was  gone.  It  was  noon 
and  the  light  outside  was  full  and  strong  and 
from  somewhere  came  the  sound  of  pound- 
mg.  It  came,  in  fact,  from  everywhere,  as  if 
a  number  of  people  were  pounding  very  con- 
stantly and  ,very  hard. 

She  sat  up  and  looked  around;  a  white 
folded  paper  lay  on  the  rug  by  the  hall  door, 
and  it  was  a  note  from  Bill.  She'd  have 
known  it  from  something  very  definite  and 
vigorous  about  his  handwriting,  she  thought, 
sitting  on  the  bed  and  reading  the  note.  It 
was  very  short: 

At  four-thirty  exactly  will  you  put  on  a  dress 
of  Judith's  or  Winnie's — long  skirt,  but  not  one 
of  your  dresses — and  go  down  to  the  pier?  Be 
sure  nobody  sees  you.  This  sounds  silly;  I 
don't  want  to  scare  you  to  death,  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  take  any  chances  either.  If  you  are 
seen,  give  it  up  and  get  back  to  the  house  as 
fast  as  you  can.  Bill. 

Below  was  a  hasty  triple  postscript: 

Judith  says  she  did  not  tell  Charlie  about 
Cecily  and  you.  Don't  go  wandering  off  alone 
with  anybody.  I  don't  think  I  was  seen  coming 
from  your  room  this  morning.  But  if  so,  I 
might  consider  making  an  honest  woman  of  you. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  rug  and  pounding 
began  sharply  on  the  balcony  immediately 
outside  her  room.  She  realized  then  what 
was  happening:  the  windows  and  all  the 
French  doors  were  being  boarded  up.  Yet 
the  sky  remained  light  and  extraordinarily 
still;  there  was  nothing  anywhere  to  suggest 
that  a  hurricane  was  headed  that  way. 

Where  had  Bill  gone?  What  was  his 
plan?  And  if  Judith  hadn't  told  Charlie 
about  Cecily  coming  to  her  with  a  revolver 
in  her  hand,  how  did  Charlie  know  it? 

Someone  knocked  very  softly  on  the  door 
and  it  was  again  Winnie.  This  time,  how- 
ever, she  brought  no  coffee;  her  face  was 
flushed  and  angry.  She  said,  "Are  you  awake 
at  last?  It's  almost  time  for  lunch.  They're 
getting  the  windows  boarded  up.  Marny  "— 
she  sat  down  heavily;  she  wore  a  neat  blue 
chambray  dress  and  every  line  of  her  stocky 
figure  suggested  the  first  Mrs.  Wales,  but  her 
eyes  were  exactly  like  Tim's  when  he  was  in 
a  seething  rage — "why  did  you  tell  the  po- 
lice about  that  handkerchief?  You  promised 
not  to." 

"  I  didn't  promise.  Besides " 

Winnie  wouldn't  listen.  "They've  been  at 
me  about  it  this  morning.  And  now  they've 
got  Judith  in  the  study,  questioning  her." 

"What  did  you  tell  them?" 

"Tell  them!"  flashed  Winnie.  "I  told 
them  there  was  no  handkerchief,  of  course. 
I  told  you  I'd  say  that."  She  got  up 
abruptly.  "You'd  better  get  up.  What  went 
on  at  the  police  station  last  night? 
Laideau  has  disappeared.  Did  they  arrest 
him?  There  wasn't  anything  in  the  paper." 

"I  think  they  let  him  go.  Winnie,  that 
handkerchief " 

"I  don't  think  that  was  very  nice  of 
you!"  snapped  Winnie  and  went  away, 
closing  the  door  behind  her  with  a  bang. 

Eventually  Marny  went  down  to  lunch; 
she  slipped  Bill's  note  imder  the  blotter  on 


Only  one  soap 
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this  exciting 
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ADORNS   YOVR    SKIIV    IVITH 


62 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


J^OW !  TAe^roved,  wonder-working' 

DEODORANT 


in 


MODESS 


■\7"Es!  It's  a  proved  marvel  of  effectiveness 
■'•  — this  wonderful  new  deodorant  that's 
sealed  in  every  luxurious  Modess  napkin! 

Scientifically  certified  hy  a  famous  inde- 
pendent laboratory: 

The  superior  effectiveness  of  Modess 
with  Deodorant  demonstrated  itself 
in  every  one  of  26  different  experi- 
ments, conducted  under  the  most 
exacting  laboratory  conditions. 


vuo* 


<i\.\'i'* 


VC.'^ 


So  fast  acting— so  efficient— that  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  women  hail  this 
new  Modess  with  great  enthusiasm. 

No  fuss.  No  bother  with  separate  powder. 
No  sprinkling  over  everything. 

You  don't  pay  a  peimy  more  for  this 
marvelous   new  Modess,  but   think  how 


much  more  you  get!    Added   daintiness! 

Greater  softness!  3  out  of  4  women 
voted  Modess  softer  to  touch,  in  nation- 
wide poll. 

Greater  safety!  209  nurses,  in  hospital 
tests,  found  Modess  safer,  less  likely  to 
strike  through  than  nationally  known 
layer-type  napkins! 

Ask  today  for  wonderful  new  Modess,  the 
napkin  with  the  proved,  tested  deodorant! 


Your  store  has  two 
kinds  of  Modess.  If 
you'd  rather  have 
softer,  safer  Modess 
without  deodorant, 
just  ask  for  "Stand- 
ard Modess." 


the  small  white  writing  table  before  she  left 
her  room.  Four-thirty,  and  any  dress  which 
had  a  long  skirt  and  did  not  betong  to  her. 

She  was  tired  and  wished  she  could  forget 
Andre.  And  the  small  queer  assortment  of 
objects  that  the  police  had,  without  any  of 
them  knowing  it,  gathered  up  and  identified. 
And  Tim's  words;  "I'd  like  to  see  him 
hanged,"  Tim  had  said.  The  next  night 
Andre  had  been  hanged.  And  they  had 
talked  of  revenge  as  a  motive. 

By  the  time  Marny  got  downstairs  the 
police  had  gone  and  reporters  had  gone. 
Tim,  again,  had  dealt  with  them. 

They  had  lunch  in  the  dining  room,  in  an 
air  of  unnatural  gloom  from  the  candles 
and  the  boarded-up  windows.  And  nothing 
happened.  Laideau  did  not  turn  up  at  all 
and  no  one  seemed  to  know  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  Bill  Cameron  did  not  return. 
Tim  glowered  and  smoked  and  read  the 
newspapers,  or  pretended  to,  sitting  on  the 
porch  that  hot,  queerly  bright  and  still 
afternoon  with  the  water  of  the  bay  like 
molten  brass  and  the  sky  a  pearly  roof  that 
seemed  to  press  down  rather  closely  upon 
them.  Judith  disappeared  for,  she  said,  a 
nap.  About  three  o'clock  Charlie  Ingram 
came  and  borrowed  a  hammer,  saying  his 
own  had  disappeared  and  he  was  tired  of 
trying  to  nail  up  shutters  with  a  pair  of 
pliers  and  a  brick,  and  went  away  again. 

There  was  some  dis- 
cussion about  going  to      ^^■■■^^^H 
a  hotel,  but  Tim  ve- 
toed it  again. 

"  Well,"  said  Winnie, 
"the  storm  may  turn 
yet.  But  I'll  have  to 
let  the  servants  go. 
They  all  live  on  the 
mainland." 

■  ■  Let  'em  go," 
snapped  Tim.  Winnie 
went  away  and  Tim 
waited  until  her  foot- 
steps had  crossed  the 
drawing  room  and  then 
looked  at  Marny. 
"Where's  Bill  Cam- 
eron?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"What  happened 
last  night?  They  took 
you  to  the  police  sta- 
tion   " 

"Nothing." 

He  eyed  her  sharply.      ^^^^^^iBHBi 
"Okay,  don't   talk   if 
you  don't  want  to.   But — look  here,  Marny, 
who  do  they  think  did  it?" 

"I  don't  know."  She  looked  away  from 
Tim's  bright,  granitelike  eyes,  boring  into 
her  own.  It  must  be  nearly  four-thnty.  "I 
want  to— telephone,"  she  said.  And,  passing, 
put  her  hand  for  a  moment  on  Tim's  shoul- 
der. 

"Thanks,  Marny,"  he  said,  and  cleared 
his  throat.  "Thanks." 

Where  was  Bill?  And  what  was  he  doing? 
Well,  she'd  follow  his  instructions. 

No  one  was  in  the  hall.  She  went  up- 
stairs and  hesitated.  How  did  one  go  about 
abstracting  another  woman's  dress?  In  any 
case,  it  would  have  to  be  a  dress  of  Winnie's, 
as  Judith  was  presumably  still  in  her  own 
room,  resting.  She  went  to  Winnie's  door 
and  knocked. 

iHERE  was  no  answer,  so  she  entered  it, 
very  quietly,  feeling  both  guilty  and  fright- 
ened, because  of  the  darkness.  Yet  others 
were  within  call,  she  told  herself.  It  was  silly 
to  let  her  heart  pound  like  that,  hard  in  her 
throat.  Others  had  been  within  call  last 
night  when  Andre  was  killed. 

She  wouldn't  think  of  that.  She  glanced 
around  the  shadowy  room;  furniture  loomed 
up  dimly.  For  a  moment  she  thought  of  re- 
treat and  rejected  it.  She  went  instead  to 
the  closet,  selected  the  first  long-skirted  dress 
that  she  discovered,  put  it  over  her  arm 
and — opening  the  hall  door  cautiously  again, 
and  again  finding  no  one  about — hurried  to 
her  own  room. 

If  anybody  saw  her  going  down  to  the  pier 
at  half  past  four,  in  a  long  dinner  dress  that 
didn't  belong  to  her,  with  a  hurricane  in  the 


May,] 

all-too-immediate  offing,  they'd  arrest 
on  suspicion  alone!    It  wasn't  going  to 
nearly  as  easy  as  Bill's  directions  had  m 
it  sound. 

She  got  into  the  dress;  it  was  the  di 
Winnie  had  worn  the  night  C^ily  was  n 
dered,  all  soft  chiffon  ruffles  and  much 
big  for  Marny.  And  something  was  going 
outside!  It  was  something  very  queer 
kind  of  stir  and  movement,  a  vibration 
the  approach  of  a  distant  army.  She  star 
toward  the  door  to  look,  and  it  was  boan 
up.  She  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  it  ' 
nearly  four-thirty.  She'd  better  go. 

She  did  not  see  that  the  blotter  on 
writing  table  was  a  little  askew.  She  thi 
a  raincoat  around  her  shoulders  and  hitcl 
up  the  long  blue  skirt  below  it,  holding  it 
with  one  hand  so  it  would  not  show  bel 
the  coat.  And  went  into  the  hall,  and  do 
the  stairs. 

iHE  front  door  was  not  boarded  up; 
let  herself  out  cautiously  and  did  not  th 
that  anyone  saw  her,  although  as  she  clo 
the  door  it  seemed  to  her  she  could  hea 
telephone  ringing  sharply  inside. 

It  was  still  fairly  bright,  but  there  was 
more  quiet;  instead,  everything  about  1 
seemed  to  have  taken  on  an  independe 
restless  life.  A  strong,  hot  wind  presi 
against  her  like  a  hand  and  then  was  go; 
the  green  banks  al( 


LOVE'<»>  BIRTH 

^  When  is  the  moment  of  falling  in 
^  love?  How  deep  must  the  look  go 
before  the  answering  look  rises  to 
meet  it,  swept  upward  from  the 
heart  like  a  bird  or  a  current?  Which 
IS  the  moment  of  seeing,  when  what 
was  known  before  turns  strange  and 
what  was  strange  is  strange  no 
longer  but  recalled  as  from  a  dream? 
^  hat  sudden  glance  or  silence,  what 
lifted  hand  or  piteous  look,  fra- 
grance, light  upon  flesh,  unspoken 
promise,  knocks  on  the  door  of 
memory,  lights  the  warm  lamp  of 
seeing,  opens  to  hunger  again,  to 
the  Thou-art-mine  of  the  spirit,  the 
I-am-thine  of  the  heart?  No  one 
can  say:  there  is  no  rule,  there  is  no 
history.  It  comes  in  silence;  the 
moment  is  full  of  doubt  and  won- 

'**'■•— ROBERT  NATHAN:  The  Enchanted  Voyoge. 
(Alfred  A.  Knopf,  Inc.) 


the  driveway 
murmuring  and  mc 
ing.  She  hesitated, 
the  verge  of  returni 
But  there  was,  actual 
nothing  very  port' 
tous  about  that  r 
mentary  puff  of  wii 
There  was  actua 
nothing  very  threati 
ing  about  the  way  i 
heavy  tropical  grow 
was  moving. 

She  skirted  t 
house  closely,  g 
behind  the  row 
bamboos  and  pass 
the  spot  where  Cec 
had  been  found,  a 
stopped.  No  one  w 
there.  The  casuarir 
were  waving.  The 
was  another  stro 
hot  puff  of  wind  whi 
■■■■■I^^B  rattled  the  bambo( 
The  sky  and  b; 
seemed  suddenly  darker.  The  two  sm 
boats  tied  at  the  pier  moved  up  and  do\ 
and  outward  and  then  back,  banging  agair 
the  pier. 

She  could  not  see  Miami  Beach — t 
waving,  tossing  casuarina  trees  blocked  li 
view;  she  could  not  see  the  house,  eitht 
She  could  hear,  though;  suddenly  and  ve 
distinctly  from  somewhere  near  came  t 
sound  of  oarlocks. 

She  whirled  around.  And  stared  at  t 
thick  moving  greens  of  the  casuarina  trt 
and  could  see  nothing  beyond  them.  S 
went  almost  to  the  edge  of  the  curling,  mo 
ing  gray  water,  and  still  could  not 
through  the  waving  green  trees. 

Was  Bill  in 'a  boat  behind  the  casuarinj 
approaching  the  island? 

Or  had  someone  else  written  that  note? 
A  hot  wind  came  from  nowhere,  car 
from  everywhere,  caught  her  and  swirled  h 
coat  around  her  and  her  hair  in  her  eyes  ai 
was  like  a  giant  hand,  buffeting  her,  blindii 
her,  confusing  her.  The  bamboos  rattli 
sharply.  Too  sharply,  so  she  twisted  aroun 
Something  that  looked  like  a  black  cloa 
like  the  garments  on  a  scarecrow,  was  stan 
ing  there,  as  if  it  had  body,  flapping  in  tl 
wind.  There  was  no  face;  there  was  nothii 
recognizable  and  it  was  moving  toward  he 
Wind  flung  itself  upon  her,  blinding  h 
sight,  making  the  flapping  thing  invisible, 
snatched  her  breath  out  of  her  mouth  ai 
stung  her  face  and  she  tripped  in  the  loi 
chiffon  ruffles  and  fell,  clutching  at  the  san 
pushing  herself  back  desperately  from  tl 
gray,  surging  water. 

(To  be  Concluded) 


65 


HHHIHBHHII 

ffe^o/iom 

^tamioKf^ 

BY  JESSE 

STUART 

Where  is  the  April  we  shall  see  no 

Where  is  the  spirit  of  the  wind 

more  ? 

in  us? 

Where  has  the  April  of  our  young 

Why  have  we  lost  the  fragrance  of 

lives  gone? 

the  flower? 

Where  do  the  waters  of  young  rivers 

Strong  backs  once  hard  to  bend  in 

pour, 

flesh  of  us 

Over  the  blue  slate  and  the  soft 

Have  grown  more  brittle  in  this 

sandstone? 

trying  hour. 

That's  where  the  glossy  green  of 

Do  not  ask  me  why  we  love  growing 

April  went 

April 

And  why  green  twilight  winds 

With  blowing  wind  and  floating 

pass  with  a  sigh; 

fleecy  cloud; 

It's  for  the  mortal  April  blood  we 

We  follow  rainbows  arched  across 

spent 

the  river, 

Under  red  evening  clouds  and 

We  are  so  young,  so  foolish  and 

wind-blue  sky. 

so  proud! 

from  Album  nf  Destiny,  recently  published  by  E.  P. 
Out  ton  &  Co.   Copyright,  1944.  E.  P.  Button  &  Co. 

SHE'S   THE   BOSS 

(Continued  from  Page  21} 


illy,   you  haven't!    Why,    I   thought 

the  way  you  acted  last  night " 

lat  was  last  night."  Bill  leaned  back, 
ing  his  elbows  on  the  keyboard  with 
;ordant  crash.  He  was  savoring  her 
as  astonishment  to  the  utmost. ' '  Today 
ded  to  act  like  a  man  who  wanted  a  job. 
t  worked." 

ow  perfectly  wonderful  of  you.  Oh, 
I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  you 
n't  2ver  settle  down,  even  for  me." 
nne's  face  was  glowing.  "Tell  me  all 
it,"  she  demanded  satisfyingly.  "  What 
)f  job  is  it?    Where  are  you  going  to 

n  assistant  to  the  head  of  the  art  de- 
ent  at  F.  L.  Kinsler  and  Sons."  He 
it  out  and  waited  for  further  words  of 
Dation.  Instead  there  was  silence.  He 
1  his  head.  Marianne  was  staring 
r  lap.  "Isn't  that  wonderful?"  he 
)ted. 

;s.  Yes,  of  course.  Only" — she  looked 
him  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  dis- 
l — "only  I  thought  you  meant  a  real 
1  a  business.  I  think  you  ought  to  for- 
1  about  drawing,  Billy  dear,  for  the 
)f  our  future.  Howard  does  too.  He 
ist  the  other  day  that  a  feeling  of  se- 
is  very  important  in  rehabilitation, 
lat  art,  even  commercial  art,  is  a  risky 
|:  of  income." 
straightened  up  abruptly.  "Who  is 
rd?  And  what  ever  gave  him  the  idea 
need  rehabilitating?" 
Dward  Bigelow,  the  psychiatrist.  He's 
malyzing  mother  for  years.  He's  ter- 
smart,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "even 
\i  he  is  kind  of  young.  We've  had  sev- 
ing  talks,  and  he  says  the  best  way  for 
rning  serviceman  to  make  a  satisfac- 
djustment  is  for  him  to  get  a  steady 
ing  worth-while  work." 
plowed  his  sandy  hair  with  long,  rest- 
igers.  The  knowledge  that  Marianne 
iscussed  him  with  a  psychiatrist  was 
him  the  first  twinge  of  insecurity  that 
1  ever  experienced. 
)u  tell  your  friend  Howard  that  his 
etor  should  be  adjusted  as  well  as  I 
le  said.  He  gripped  her  hands  firmly. 
;,  Marianne,  I  took  this  job  to  please 
ind  I  was  darned  lucky  to  get  it. 
tive  positions  don't  grow  on  trees. 

you " 

1,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  mean  it's 
;han  just  drawing  pictures?  You'll  be 
cutive?" 

ell — in  a  way,"  he  modified  hastily. 

the  look  of  pleasure  on  her  face,  he 

d  to  let  the  "just  drawing  pictures" 

nd  press  home  his  advantage.  "Now 


that  I'm  a  solid  citizen,  respectably  em- 
ployed, how's  about  picking  us  a  wedding 
day,  baby?" 

Marianne's  lips  parted  slightly  and  a 
dreamy  look  crept  into  her  eyes.  Bill  de- 
cided all  over  again  that  she  was  the  loveliest 
little  creature  he  had  ever  seen.  Gazing  at 
her,  he  thought  of  words  like  "adore"  and 
"cherish"  without  embarrassment. 

" about  the  middle  of  June,"  Mari- 
anne was  saying.  "Sissie  will  be  home  from 
school  by  then,  and  mother  doesn't  leave  for 
the  shore  until  after  the  Fourth." 

"June!"  Bill  exploded.  "Why,  that's  five 
months  away.  Don't  be  silly,  baby.  What 
are  you  doing  next  week? " 

Marianne  looked  aggrieved.  "But,  dearest, 
I've  always  dreamed  of  being  a  June  bride. 
Besides,  we'll  be  lucky  if  we  can  find  a  house 
and  have  it  ready  to  move  into  in  five 
months."  She  moved  closer  and  rested  her 
head  on  his  shoulder.  "  It  isn't  as  though  just 
any  house  would  do  for  us,  Billy.  We'll  prob- 
ably have  to  look  and  look  before  we  find  the 
perfect  little  nest." 

When  Bill  Douglas,  foot-loose,  apartment- 
dwelling  bachelor,  late  of  Saipan,  broke  sur- 
face for  the  third  time,  he  managed  a  weak 
"Yes,  dear."  His  design  for  living  did  not 
include  anything  that  even  remotely  re- 
sembled a  little  nest.  But  this  was  hardly 
an  auspicious  time  to  break  the  news  to 
Marianne.  He'd  wait  a  week  or  so,  he  de- 
cided, until  he  was  well  established  at 
Kinsler's.  Then  he'd  be  in  a  position  to  insist 
that  they  get  married  right  away,  on  the 
grounds  that  it  wasn't  fair  to  expect  him  to 
make  all  the  concessions.  This  would  auto- 
matically solve  everything,  because  once 
married,  as  he  had  told  Liz,  he  would  nat- 
urally be  the  one  to  make  the  decisions. 

He  gave  Marianne  a  quick  hug.  "Get  your 
coat,  baby.  I'm  going  to  buy  you  the  best 
dinner  in  town  to  celebrate  this  momentous 
occasion." 

Bill  walked  into  Liz  Jordan's  office  promptly 
at  nine  the  next  morning.  Under  his  prewar, 
weather-beaten  topcoat  he  was  wearing  a 
brown  tweed  suit,  the  best  his  wardrobe 
could  offer  in  the  way  of  executive  apparel. 
He  didn't  own  a  hat,  but  his  sandy  hair  bore 
traces  of  a  recent,  vigorous  brushing.  His 
eyebrows  shot  up  at  the  sight  of  Liz  at  her 
desk,  looking  as  though  she  had  already  been 
there  for  hours. 

"'Morning,  chief.  You  must  be  early, 
because  I'm  not  late." 

"Bill!"  Liz  threw  down  her  pen.  Her 
generous  mouth  widened  in  a  welcoming 
smile  that  was  reflected  in  her  eyes.  "Am  I 
ever  glad  to  see  you." 


freiici 


Cut  off  and  crumb  tops  of  Nabisco  Shredded  Wheat.  Dip  biscuits 
in  beaten  egg  and  milk,  roll  in  the  crumbs,  fry.  Serve  with 
syrup.  Because  Nabisco  Shredded  Wheat  is 
A  /J    t      the  cereal  you  can  serve  a  different  way  every 

TT—       .^ — /  morning,  it's  a  "cereal  shelf"  in  itself ! 

'  But  to  get  the  original  Niagara  Falls  product, 

always  ask  for  NABISCO  Shredded  Wheat. 


mJf! 


ANOTHER  DELICIOUS  PRODUCT  !^>.^ 

BAKED  BY  NABISCO  ^S^ 

NATIONAL  BISCUIT  "  '' 
COMPANY 


MABJI%EAT 


SHREDDEB 


66 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


A  special  process  keeps  Kleenex 

Luxuriously  Soft  - 
Dependably  Stron; 


Only  Kleenex  has  the  Serv-a-Tissue  Box 
that  serves  up  just  one  double  -  tissue  at  a  time ! 


yo(//i  A/osE  /</voi^s- 

THERE'S  OA/iy  OA/E 
/<LEEA/EX 


In  these  days  of  shortages  we  can't 
promise  you  all  the  Kleenex  you  want, 
at  all  times.  But  we  do  promise  you 
this:  consistent  with  government  reg- 
ulations, we'll  keep  your  Kleenex  the 
finest  quality  tissue  that  can  be  made! 


There  is  only  one  KLEENEX 


•T.  M.  H.g.  U.  S.  I'al.  Off. 


"And  a  Merry  Christmas  to  you  too."  He 
advanced  uncertainly  to  the  desk.  "I  hope 
this  doesn't  come  as  a  surprise  to  you.  I'm 
the  guy  you  hired  yesterday,  remember?" 

"Remember?  Darling,  I  spent  the  night 
praying  you  wouldn't  change  your  mind. 
Publicity  called  right  after  you  left  yester- 
day." She  leaned  back  and  brushed  a  hand 
across  her  forehead,  as  though  the  mere 
memory  were  exhausting.  "They  were  so 
frantic  that  I  promised  them  you,  and  I've 
been  frantic  ever  since  for  fear  you'd  change 
your  mind  and  not  show  this  morning." 

Bill  tossed  his  coat  in  a  corner  and  pulled 
up  a  chair.  "These  spells  of  incoherence,"  he 
said  gently;  "do  they  occur  often?" 

"  It's  the  War  Loan  drive,"  she  explained. 
"We  always  have  a  special  attraction  to  lure 
the  customers  into  buying  extra  bonds.  This 
time  we're  having  celebrities  in  the  book 
department— you  know,  an  autographed 
volume  with  each  and  every  bond.  Only  at 
the  last  minute  two  of  the  four  scheduled 
authors  wired  that  they  can't  be  here.  Pub- 
licity was  calling  around  in  a  frenzy,  trying 
to  locate  substitutes.  So  I  promised  them 
you." 

"Me?  But  I'm  no  author!  I've  never 
written  anything  longer  than  a  caption  in 
my  life." 

"You're  a  cartoonist,  though,  with  stuff 
in  three  different  collections,  in  case  you've 
forgotten.  What's  more,  you're  a  returned 
hero.  The  combination  should  be  irresist- 
ible." 

"That,"  Bill  said,  "will  always  be  a  mat- 
ter for  speculation.  I  refuse  to  be  drooled 
over  by  a  flock  of  female  shoppers,  even  for 
my  country." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  and  then 
Liz  reached  for  the  phone.  "I'd  better  tell 
them,"  she  said  quietly. 

If  she  had  put  up  a  fight  it  would  have 
been  all  right.  This  way  he  felt  like  a  heel 
in  neon.  "On  second  thought,  I'll  do  it,"  he 
said,  "  for  laughs." 

Her  face  lighted  up  and  she  pushed  the 
phone  away.  "You're  a  good  sport,  William." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Just  a  born  apple 
polisher,  chief." 

At  ten  o'clock  they  went  down  to  the  book 
department.  Liz  introduced  him  to  the  head 
buyer;  to  the  vice-president  in  charge  of 
public  relations,  Paul  Daniels,  who  called 
him  "a  real  lifesaver,  old  man";  and  to  sev- 
eral women  in  uniform  who  looked  impressed. 
Then  she  took  him  over  to  a  desk  facing  the 
main  aisle.  It  was  flanked  on  one  side  by 
stacks  of  the  books  in  which  his  drawings 
appeared,  and  on  the  other  by  a  small  table 
bearing  a  typewriter  and  metal  cash  box. 

"Celebrity  stall  Number  One,"  Liz  said. 
She  nodded  toward  one  of  the  uniformed 
women.  "Mrs.  Barnhill  will  handle  the 
bond  sales.  All  you  have  to  do  is  look  famous 
and  sign  your  name.  I  suggest  that  you  get 
busy  and  autograph  some  copies  before  the 
mob  scene  begins,  so  you'll  have  a  reserve." 

Bill  looked  skeptically  at  the  desk-high 
piles  of  books.  "Now  I  know  what  they 
mean  by  the  faith  that  removes  mountains." 

She  patted  his  shoulder.  "En  garde, 
William.  The  shooting  starts  at  ten-thirty, 
as  advertised."  Her  slender  heels  beat  a 
rhythmic  tattoo  down  the  aisle. 

Bill  folded  his  long  legs  under  the  desk  and 
began  signing  his  name  on  flyleaves  without 
conviction.  With  luck,  he  thought,  he  might 
be  able  to  get  rid  of  a  dozen  books. 

Mrs.  Barnhill  ensconced  herself  at  the 
table  beside  his  desk.  "I'm  so  glad  I  was 
assigned  to  you,  Mr.  Douglas,"  she  bubbled. 
"Harvey  Teller's  desk  is  hidden  behind  re- 
prints and  Jepson  Jones  is  in  a  draft." 

Bill  gulped  and  quickly  cut  the  dozen  in 
half.  Jepson  Jones  was  the  author  of  several 
best-selling  novels,  and  Teller's  book  on 
postwar  planning  had  been  mentioned  favor- 
ably by  the  President.  He  was,  he  thought, 
a  soggy  sandwich  at  this  picnic. 

And  then  the  women  began  to  appear. 
Bill  was  astonished  and  gratified  at  the 
number  who  were  familiar  with  his  work  and 
eager  for  his  autograph.  Stimulated  by  the 
request  of  a  plump  matron  who  asked  him  to 
draw  something  under  his  autograph  for  her 
son  overseas,  he  propped  a  scribbled  notice 


Many  druggists  are  now 
offering  NUJOL  at  only 
69$!  a  quart  instead  of 
890.  This  offer  is  good 
for  limited  time  only.  So 
buy  this  fine  mineral  oil  — 
TODAY  — save  20  cents 
on  every  bottle! 

During  April  ond  May  only,  the  minimum 
price  on  the  Nujol  Quort  size  is  reduced 
from  $.89  to  $.69  In  states  having  Fair 
Trade  Laws. 


mm 

STOCKINGS* 


f  -^^ /      The  QUAKER  name 
*^^j!^     /        is  your  assurance  that 
'  ''^        qualify  shall  be  maintained. 


•Res.  U.S.  Hat.  Off. 

QUAKER  lACE  COMPANY  •  HOSIERY  DIVISION 
330  FIFTH  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK 


/fiov !  —  a  1 

canaries  — all  ia  one  pack-   — 
age.    Simplifies  cage  bird  feeding.    Nu- 
tritious, vitamin   fortified  — a  complete 
food.  See  for  yourself  how  it  stimulates 
song,    vigor,    brilliant   plumage,    easy 
moulting,  fertile,  hatchable  eggs.  Try 
PETAMINE    —   The  Wonder  Food 
for  Canaries. 
KaLOGC  SEED  CO.,  P.  0. Boi 684. Mllwaulieel.Wls. 


supply  PETAMINE,  isnd  hit  name. 


m 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


67 


CORHS? 

NEW 

BLUE-JAY 


^^"^""V^' 


Here's  prompt  relief  from  corn  tor- 
ture! Anesthetic  Nupercaine  in  New 
Blue-Jay  deadens  throbbing  surface 
pain  where  corn  meets  tender  live 
flesh,  until  gentle  medication  lets  you 
lift  core  right  out.  Greatest  advance 
in  years  in  treatment  of  corns! 

Blue-Jay's  soft  Dura-felt  pad  gives 
you  instant  relief  from  deep-hurting 
shoe  pressure;  won't  skid,  won't  rub 
off.  New  Blue-Jay  is  streamUned, 
flesh -color.  And 
only  Blue- Jay  has 
Nupercaine.  At 
drug  and  toilet 
goods  counters. 


BLUE 
JJW 


Corn  Plasters , 


A  product  of 
Division  of  The  Kendall  Compony,  Cft/cogo  16 


BAUER  &  BLACK 


IT'S  SUCH 
AN  EASY  WAY 
TO  GET  YOUR 

VITAMINS!      _ 

Anne  JeRreys 

REPUBLIC  STAR] 

GOOD  TO  EAT  and  good  for 
you !  For  that  extra  energy 
and  the  vitamins  you  need, 
enjoy  VITA-SERT  every  day. 
It's  a  delicious  chocolate  bar — 
chock-full  of  vitamins  —  that 
makes  a  perfect  midday  des- 
sei  t  or  between  meal  snack, 
r-  VITA-SERT  at  any  food, 
drug  or  candy  counter ! 


All  THESE 
VITAMINS  IN 
EVERY  BAR 

^  •  .  4000 1.  U 

••  'Mg. 

■  ■  2Mg. 

-■  •  •  4001.0. 

^eae  quantiti'*- 
mum.  adult  S 
requirements     M 

uaronteed  t , 
d  Housekeeping  , 


B^^ 


D.  FALSE  TEETH 

Rock,  Slide  or  Slip? 

FASTEETH,  an  improved  powder  to  be 
^[jrinklad  on  upper  or  lower  plates,  holds 
lalsf  teeth  more  firmly  in  place.  Do  not  slide, 
ili|j  or  rock.  No  gummy,  gooey,  pasty  taste 
>r  feehng.  FASTEETH  is  alkaline  (non- 
ibcid).  Does  not  sour.  Checks  "plate  odor" 
Identure  breath).  Get  FASTEETH  at  any 
rarug  store. 


on  his  desk:  "$50  bond— illustrated  auto- 
graph; $100  bond — cartoon  drawn  to  order." 

He  was  looking  for  a  stock  boy  to  send  for 
a  sketch  pad  when  his  roving  eyes  encoun- 
tered a  pair  of  horrified  gray  ones. 

"Marianne,"  he  cried,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "This  is  a  surprise." 

"It  certainly  is  to  me,"  she  replied  with 
unaccustomed  crispness,  "in  view  of  what 
you  told  me  last  night." 

He  pulled  her  away  from  the  desk  and  into 
the  fine-bindings  section,  which  was  de- 
serted. "This  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  my 
job,"  he  said  earnestly.  He  explained  about 
the  bond  sale  and  the  authors  who  couldn't 
come  at  the  last  minute.  "I'm  just  helping 
out  in  an  emergency  as  a  personal  favor  to 
my  boss." 

Marianne  was  regarding  him  uncertainly 
when  Liz  appeared. 

"To  what,"  Liz  demanded,  "are  you  up, 
William?  Back  to  the  mines,  or  it  will  be  a 
piece  of  stale  bread  and  forty  lashes  for  you, 
my  lad." 

Bill  introduced  the  two  girls.  "I  was  just 
telling  Marianne  how  I  happen  to  be  im- 
personating a  big  shot.  .  .  .  Liz  is  my  new 
boss,"  he  explained. 

"Oh,  I  see."  Marianne's  smile  was  re- 
strained. "I  didn't  realize  that  you'd  be 
working  for  a  lady." 

"You're  too  kind,"  Liz  murmured. 

Marianne  looked  at  her.  "I'm  sure  Billy 
is  going  to  enjoy  working  for  you.  Miss 
Jordan.  You  seem  to  be  on  such  cordial  terms 
already." 

"Oh,  Liz  and  I  are  old  friends,"  Bill  inter- 
jected heartily.  "Many's  the  bottle  of  fixa- 
tive we've  split  in  our  day,  eh,  Liz?" 


YOUTH  VS.  AGE 

^  After  his  sixtieth  year  a  man  is 
^  more  surprised  to  find  himself 
right  about  something  than  he  was 
at  twenty  to  find  he  was  wrong 
ahout  something. 

—  STRICKLAND  GILLILAN: 
Quoted  in  Your  Life. 


"Now,  sweetie,"  Liz  chided  tenderly, 
"let's  not  bore  Miss  Marsh  with  reminis- 
cences." Her  lips  parted  in  a  dazzling 
smile.  "  I'm  delighted  to  have  had  this  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  you,  Miss  Marsh." 

Bill's  appreciative  contemplation  of  her 
retreating  figure  was  quickly  interrupted. 

"Well,  I  must  finish  my  shopping," 
Marianne  said.  "Are  you  still  planning  to 
have  dinner  with  us  tonight?" 

"Sure,"  Bill  grinned  down  at  her.  "Why 
not?" 

"See  you  at  seven,  then." 

Bill  went  back  to  his  desk,  where  Mrs. 
Barnhill  was  riding  herd  on  a  group  of  im- 
patiently waiting  women. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon 
Paul  Daniels  came  over  and  clapped  him' on 
the  back.  "Nice  going,  old  man.  Come  up 
to  my  office  when  this  is  over.  We've  planned 
a  little  shindig  for  you  and  Jones  and  Teller." 

The  little  shindig  turned  out  to  be  a 
sizable  cocktail  party. 

Liz  took  Bill  under  her  wing  as  soon  as  he 
appeared.  "Here,"  she  said,  handing  him  a 
Martini.  "You've  earned  it." 

"The  hard  way."  Bill  raised  the  glass. 
"To  an  interesting  experience  I  wouldn't 
care  to  repeat." 

"You  were  swell  to  do  it.  Bill.  Thanks  a 
million."  She  took  his  arm.  "Now  come 
and  let  some  of  these  people  meet  you." 

The  gathering,  it  developed,  was  com- 
posed of  store  executives  and  officials  con- 
nected with  the  bond  drive.  They  plied  Bill 
indiscriminately  with  canapes,  cocktails  and 
compliments.  It  was  all  very  pleasant,  and 
somehow  Bill  forgot  to  look  at  his  watch 
until  it  was  seven-thirty. 

"Holy  smoke!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  was  due 
at  the  Marshes'  for  dinner  a  half  hour  ago. 
Where's  a  phone?" 

"In  there."  Liz  pointed  to  a  door.  "Re- 
lax, William.  They'll  put  a  plate  in  the  oven 
for  you."     (Continued  on  Page  69) 


"PORTRAIT  PINK" 

•  To  wear  with  new  pinks 
and  navy  blues,  this  spring's 
premier  fashion.  Look  starry- 
eyed  and  young  in  this  gay, 
enchanting  Dorothy  Gray 
Portrait  Pink  Face  Powder, 
Rouge,  Lipstick.  Complete, 
$2.50,  plus  tax. 

Copyright,  1945.  by  Dorothy  Gray.  Ltd. 


LOtJvxcf 


•t 


cue 


-r>^o±  lix^c^xxs.  :p^Ji  -Red 


*e  ... 


<jL)&usnvu  CVtou 


AMERICAN 
DESIGN  OF  BEAUTY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194S 


Frigidaire  Again  Gives  This  Wartime  Help: 

HOW  TO  FIGHT  FOOD  WASTE 
WITH  YOUR   REFRIGERATOR 


Share  and  Play  Square  with  Food! 


Here's  one  answer  to  food  shortages!  Keep  these 
"Refrigerator  Rules"  faithfully,  and  you'll  find  that 
today's  hard-to-get  foods  ivill  go  further — because  none 
need  be  wasted  through  incorrect  storage.  Guard 
your  family's  food  supply — for  proper  nourishment, 
and  to  help  food  fight  for  freedom.  Here's  how  — 

Some  important  rules  appear  on  this  page.  See  others 


in  "101  Refrigerator  Helps"*— a  valuable  booklet 
offered  free  by  Frigidaire  to  users  of  all  makes  of  re- 
frigerators. It's  also  filled  with  recipes,  hints  on  meal 
preparation,  tips  on  how  to  give  vital  refrigeration 
equipment  the  best  of  care. 

First  thing  to  remember — most  foods  contain  a  lot 
of  moisture.  If  this  is  lost,  they  get  tough  and  tasteless; 


vitamins  are  destroyed.  Unless  your  refrigerator  is  a 
high-humidity  type,  be  sure  to  cover  foods.  Then  they'll 
keep  their  moisture— and  their  goodness. 

Give  perishables  prompt  attention!  Never  let  expo- 
sure to  room  temperatures  rob  foods  of  nutritive  values, 
appearance,  flavor.  Always  put  perishable  foods  into 
your  refrigerator  as  soon  as  possible. 


fTCSn  /vl€Ot  may  be  kept  uncovered  in  meat  com- 
partment or  loosely  wrapped  just  below  freezer.  If  it  is 
not  to  be  used  soon,  wrap  and  freeze  immediately.  Wash 
poultry  thoroughly,  pat  dry,  wrap  in  waxed  paper,  store 
in  meat  compartment,  .\lways  wrap  fish.  Freeze  fish  that 
is  to  be  kept  longer  than  24  hours.  For  more  information 
on  meat-keeping  see  "101  Refrigerator  Helps."* 


Da/r(f  PrOaUCtS  are  highly  perishable.  Refriger- 
ate milk  and  cream  immediately,  continuously.  Sutler  needs 
a  tight  cover  to  protect  flavor.  Eggs  need  refrigeration,  too. 
At  room  temperature  they  lose  freshness  far  faster  than  in 
a  refrigerator.  "101  Refrigerator  Helps"*  will  give  you  mar^y 
more  helpful  suggestions. 


Vegetab/eS  anc/  Fri//tS  require  moist  storage. 
Wash,  trim  and  drain  leafy  vegetables  immediately.  Pile 
them  loosely  in  a  covered  container  to  prevent  bruising, 
and  put  them  into  your  refrigerator.  Soft,  fresh  fruits  and 
berries  should  be  sorted,  spread  out  in  a  shallow  pan,  refrig- 
erated. Do  not  cover.  Never  wash  berries  before  you  store 
them.  Other  tips  in  "101  Refrigerator  Helps."* 


These  foods  get  high  priority  in  your  refrigerator: 

Milk  Cream  Butter  Cheese 

Meat  Fish  Poultry  Eggs 

Frozen  Foods  Fresh  Green  Vegetables 

Fresh  "ripe"  fruits;  berries,  peaches,  grapes 

Leftover    meats    and    vegetables 

Unused  portions  of  canned  fruits,  vegetables  and  juices 


l?os. 


Do 


Do 


Do  be  sure  your  refrigerator  keeps  Safety  Zone  Tem-., 
peratures— from  32°  to  45°  or  50°. 

Do     remove  food  from  store  wrappings  or  packages. 

Do  wrap  and  freeze  ground  meats  immediately  if  they 
are  not  to  be  used  within  24  hours.  This  also  applies 
to  "variety"  meats  like  liver  and  sweetbreads. 

separate  ground  meats  into  usable  portions  before' 
freezing.  Place  waxed  paper  between  portions. 

refer  to  "101  Refrigerator  Helps"*  for  more  hints. 

ffoft'ts/ 

Don't  crowd  perishable  foods  out  of  your  refrigerator  by 
overloading  with  bottled  goods,  jellies,  relishes,  etc. 

Don't  let  milk  stand  at  room   temperatures  —  nor  poun 
unused  portions  back  into  bottle. 

Don't  leave  odorous  foods  uncovered. 

Don't  freeze  more  ice  cubes   than  you  need.   Use  thel 
space  for  storing  frozen  foods. 

Don't  guessabout  food  storage.  When  in  doubt,  refrigerate. 


wcroRy/s  our  business! 


i-CttOVCrS  should  be  stored  immedi- 
ately, used  promptly.  Put  cooked  meats  in 
meat  compartment,  or  covered  containers  in 
coldest  part  of  food  compartment.  Keep  left- 
over vegetables  covered.  See  ways  to  use 
leftovers  in  "101  Refrigerator  Helps."* 


For  Excelience 


FRIGIDAIRE 

in  ICar  Production  DivlsiOII     Of 

GENERAL  MOTORS 


*GET  THIS    FREE   36-PAGE  BOOKLET 
from  your  Frigidaire  Deoler 

"101  Rcfrip.rator  Helps!"  For  all  refrigerator  users. 
New  tips  on  care  and  use  of  your  refrigerator.  Find 
Frigidaire  Dealer  in  Classified  Directory  or  write  Frigid- 
aire, 119  Amelia  St.,  Dayton  1,  Ohio.  In  Canada, 
address  219  Commercial  Rd.,  Leaside  12,  Ontario. 


I 

Peacetime  tuiU 

Ur% 

of 

o 

« 

o 

o 

Refrlgvrotort 


Range* 


Water  Heoten        Heme  Freexers 


J 


I  C^mtKMfd  from  Page  67 ' 
Marianne  answered  mi  the  first  ring.   He 
d  her  about  the  party,  explaining  that  he 
i  to  put  in  an  appearance  because  it  was 
tly  in  his  booar. 

"You  might  have  caOed  me  before  this." 
!  said  in  a  hurt  voioe. 
"I'm  9arr>-.  baby.  I  was  ha\"ing  such  a 
)d  time  I  didn't  think  about  it  until  now. 
1  lea\Tng  right  away  though.  See  you  in 
ew  minutes." 

■  Please  don't  tear  \x>ursdf  away  aa  my 
ount,"  she  said  stiffly. 
ier  attitude.  Bill  felt,  was  unreasonable. 
;  didn't  seem  to  realize  that  beii^  a 
Amty  entailed  cenain  obligations.  He 
d.  "O.K.,  then.  I  won't.  See  \"ou  tomor- 
r."  He  cradled  the  rrfx>ne  uith  a  bang 
i  stixxie  back  to  the  main  office.  "Get 
IT  coat,"  he  instructed  Liz.  "I'm  taking 
1  to  dinner." 

She  took  one  look  at  his  £ace  and  went  o8 
idiently. 

Phey  went  to  the  Kinkajou.  down  on  the 
ith  Side.  It  was  Bill's  ta%-orite  restaurant, 
;  he  hadn't  been  there  since  his  discharge, 
irianne  preferred  places  with  soft  lights 
1  music. 

jz  locked  around  at  the  checked  table- 
ths.  the  bare  floors  and  the  shin -sleeved 
iters.  "I'll  bet  the  food  here  is  dreamy." 
:  said.  "Make  mine  a  steak — rare." 
3ill  sighed  appreciatively.  He  might've 
>wn  she  wasn't  a  creamed-chicken  gal. 
301  told  Liz  about  his  conversation  with 
iiianne.  Carried  away  on  the  tide  of  his 
a  pitMe,  he  told  her  about  the  June  wed- 
g.  the  little  nest— even  about  Howard. 
:  off-stage  noise. 

"I  know  how  she  feels,"  he  woimd  up, 
lit  I  think  she  might  have  been  more  un- 
standing  this  evening,  .\fter  all.  it 
uldn't  have  happened  if  she  hadn't  in- 
:ed  that  I  get  a  job." 

'You  forget  that  she's  TOung,  Bill,"  Liz 
d  gently.  "She  probably  spoke  without 
aking  and  will  be  filled  with  remorse  by 
narrow.  I'm  sorn.".  for  you.  that  you 
n't  ha\nng  dinner  with  >x>ur  darling.  But 
J  not  sorr>"  for  me."  She  watched  the 
iter  deposit  two  sizzling  platters  on  the 
lie.  "Ob%nously,"  she  added,  smiling. 
rhe  food  lived  up  to  Liz's  prophecy  and 
I's  expectations,  .^s  they  ate.  a  feeling  of 
Q-being  stole  over  him.  Between  mouth- 
5.  Liz  brought  him  up  to  date  on  the 
iNities  of  the  crowd  they  used  to  run 
tund  with,  and  they  indulged  in  some 


LITTLE  GUY 


'.Voir  u<e  €^n  go  on  our  hunger  strike!" 


69 


gleeful  remimsang.  By  the  lime  the  Cam- 
emben  and  oc^ee  arrived  he  had  for^oneo. 
temporarily,  about  Marianne. 

"Would  you  like  to  nde  back  uptown  and 
smoke  out  a  good  band?"  he  asked  as  be 
paid  the  check.  "The  night  is  >x>ung  and 
tomorrow's  Sunday." 

Liz  studied  for  a  moment.  "  I'd  like  to  r. ,: 
back  uptown."  she  said  slowly.  ""Then  1  c 
like  to  get  out  and  walk  across  the  bridge 
and  up  the  avenue  for  a  while.  Or  is  that  a 
touch  too  quaint  for  TOur  Wood,  \Mlliam?" 
She  locked  up  quickly,  the  comers  of  her  ' 
mouth  curved,  ready  to  join  him  if  .v. 
laughed. 

"Liz.  for  ideas  like  that  ywi  should  be 
paid."  he  said. 

Halfway  across  the  bridge  they  stopped  to 
watch  a  tug  push  bdligaiently  through  the 
blocks  of  ice  that  almost  covered  the  surface 
of  the  river.  Then,  turning  up  their  coat 
cellars,  they  went  chi.  their  footsteps  crunch- 
ing and  creakmg  in  the  snow.  They  walked 
for  a  long  time,  stopping  occasionally  to  gaze 
into  a  lighted  store  window  and  argue 
genially  about  the  articles  displayed. 

When  they  reached  Oak  Street.  Bill 
gra^jed  her  arm  and  steered  her  around  the 
comer.  "Unless  memory  fails  me,  we'll 
reach  Nick's  just  before  I  freeze  s(did." 

Liz  grinned  up  at  him.  Her  dteeks  were 
pink  with  cold  and  her  blue  eyes  sjiarkled. 
"Two  minds  and  stuff."  she  said. 

The  first  thing  they  noticed  as  they  en- 
tered was  the  new  dining  room.  They  agreed, 
mounting  stools  at  the  bar,  that  Xick  had 
betrayed  them,  changmg  the  place  like  this 
behind  their  backs. 

Xick  greeted  them  warmly.  They  v^ . :  . 
said,  the  first  of  the  old  crowd  that  hed  scr: 
in  a  long  time.  "Everxthing  is  difierc:.: 
now."  He  gestured  disparapngly  toward : . 
dining  room.  "With  the  war  ever>-bod>  .- 
hungr>\  Now  we  have  menus.  Now  we  have 
troubles.  Butter,  meat,  sugar.  Points!"  He 
soA'ed  them  half-and-half  on  the  house. 

Later  they  moved  down  the  block  to 
Azpell's,  where  the  scramUed  eggs  were  al- 
most as  good  as  they  remembered. 

"  This  has  been  a  five-star  evening,  Kli," 
Liz  said,  when  they  stood  finally  at  the  door 
of  her  apartment. 

"It's  been  swell,"  he  agreed.  "The  most 
fun  I've  had  since  I've  been  back,"  Because 
it  seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do,  he  bent 
and  kissed  her.  .-^s  their  hps  met,  he  remem- 
bered that  other  kiss,  under  the  mistletoe. 
Then  he  stopped  thinking.  "I'jn  sorr>\"  he 


t-ftw  5*1/ 


w 


Ccmibine  bran  aod  milk;  let  stand  3  minutes.  A,:^  :>  2-c 

beaten  egg.  Sift  together  dry  ingtedients;  add  to  brir.  mixt-re.  .\;; 
melted  shonening;  quickly  sdr  in.  Fill  gieased  ma£n  pans  ^>  r-1'.. 
Bake  in  moderately  hoc  oven,  375°  F.,  25  minutes.  Gives  vo,;  II 
simply  luscjous  gems  that  are  rtmlly  gems!  Fluffy  and  cake-Hch:  £5 
only  bran  muffins  made  widi  Nabisco  Bran  can  be— because  this 
bran's  fmer-milUJ  iac  really  finer-baking!  Better  taste  and  texture! 
( In  these  delidous  gems  there's  diet-bulk  (hat's  often  needed,  too! ) 


BAKED 


NATIONAL  BISCUIT  COMPANY 


NABISCO) 


70 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 


WHAT   D'YA  MEAN 


W^^^  don'f  i  use 


...  Ii^iven'f  ifou  inearJi  ?  "Scotch"  Brand  Tapes  are 

being  used  to  seal  and  identify  shell  cases . . .  and 

^>     that's  just  one  of  their  countless  war  jobs. 


Ripped  shower  curtain  .  .  .  torn  book  pages 
.  .  .  snapshots  lying  loose  in  the  desk  drawer 
...  all  waiting  'til  you  can  fix  'em  with 
"Scotch"  Tape. 

But  your  fighting  man's  not  waiting.  He's 
getting  "Scotch"  Cellulose  Tape  .  .  .  and 
plenty  of  it  for  all  the  war-front  jobs  it 
does  so  well. 

And  listen  .  .  .  war  industry  uses 
more  than  a  hundred  different  kinds 
of  tape  made  under  the  "Scotch" 
Brand  ...  to  speed  and  simplify 
production. 

So  don't  expect  these  "Scotch" 
Tapes  back  too  soon  .  .  .  but  when 
they  do  get  home  again, 
expect  them  to  be  better, 
more  convenient,  more  useful  than  ever. 


Scotch 


BRAND 


FOR  t  QUALITY... look  for 

the  "SCOTCH"  trademark. 

//  identifies  the  more  than  100  varieties 
oj  adhesive  tapes  made  in  V.  S.  A.  by 
Minnesota  Mining  &  M/g.  Co., 
Saint  Paul  6,  Minnesota. 


Tape 


©  IM3  M.  M.  a  M.  CO, 


said  unsteadily,  when  it  was  over.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  do  that." 

Her  mouth  twisted  in  a  curious  little  smile. 
"I  was  afraid  of  that,"  she  whispered,  and 
closed  the  door  softly  in  his  face. 

Riding  uptown  the  next  day  to  keep  his 
regular  Sunday-dinner  date  with  Marianne 
and  her  mother.  Bill  suffered  qualms  about 
the  kind  of  reception  in  store  for  him.  But 
if  Marianne  was  still  angry,  she  gave  no 
sign  of  it. 

"Mother's  in  bed  with  one  of  her  head- 
aches." she  said,  leading  the  way  into  the 
dining  room. 

"That's  too  bad." 

They  discussed  the  state  of  Mrs.  Marsh's 
health  for  a  while,  and  then  Marianne 
changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"\\'ill  you  start  your  regular  job  tomor- 
row?" 

"Yes,"  Bill  said.  "That  business  yester- 
day was  strictly  extracurricular.  Y'ou  under- 
stand, don't  you,"  he  continued  anxiously, 
"that  I  couldn't  very  well  get  out  of  it?" 

Marianne  regarded  her  fork  gravely.  "You 
mustn't  worry  so  about  justifying  yourself, 
Billy.  Howard  says  that  it  isn't  unusual  for 
a  feeling  of  insecurity  to  manifest  itself  in  a 
display  of  exhibitionism." 

Bill  managed  to  land  his  cup  safely.  "Ex- 
liibitionism!"  He  glared  at  her.  "What  do 
j.  im  do.  give  this  joker  a  daily  report  on  my 
activities?" 

"  I  asked  him  to  come  over  last  night,"  she 
replied  with  dignity,  "hoping  that  he  could 
shed  some  light  on  your  extraordinary  be- 
havior. .A.fter  all,  Billy,  when  the  man  you're 
going  to  marry  tells  you  that  he  has  a  splen- 
did position  and  the  very  next  day  you  find 
him  making  a  public  spectacle  of  himself 
with  signs  and " 

"I  wasn't  making  a  spectacle  of  myself," 
Bill  shouted.  "I  was  doing  a  favor  for  my 
boss." 

"I  suppose  going  to  that  party  and  not 
calling  me  until  dinner  was  practically  over 
was  another  favor."  Her  eyes  were  flashing 
and  her  voice  was  shrill.  "You  probably 
planned  it  that  way  so  you  could  stay  at  the 
party  with  her." 

"Don't  be  childish.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
we  left  the  party  right  after  I  talked  to  you 
and  went  to  dinner." 

"You  took  her  out  to  dinner?" 

"She  didn't  take  me." 
There  was  a  grim  silence,  broken  only  by 
muftled  sounds  from  the  kitchen. 

Marianne  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Miss 
Jordan  is  quite  attractive,"  she  remarked 
unexpectedly. 

"Quite.  She's  also  very  understanding," 
he  said  pointedly. 

"Then  she  won't  mind  so  much  if  you 
don't  take  that  job,  will  she?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  I've  already 
taken  it." 

"Well— but  you  haven't  started  to  work 
yet."  Marianne  propped  her  chin  in  her 
hand  and  looked  at  him  solemnly.  "I've  de- 
cided to  forget  about  a  June  wedding,  Billy. 
We'll  get  married  right  away  and  go  off  on  a 
hone\Tnoon,  like  you  planned.  Then  when 
we  come  back  you  can  find  a  nice  job  in  a 
bank  or  something.  How  does  that  sound?  " 

"Why,  it  sounds  fine,"  Bill  said,  trying  to 
get  his  bearings.  "But  I  don't  see — what's 
made  you  change  your  mind  so  suddenly?" 

"All  this  quarreling.  It  wouldn't  have 
happened  if  I  hadn't  made  you  get  a  job. 
Besides,  it  really  isn't  fair  to  expect  you  to 
do  all  the  giving  in,  is  it?" 

"It's  nice  of  you  to  look  at  it  that  way." 

Things  were  breaking  for  him  in  a  hurry 
now.  and  much  sooner  than  he  had  dared  to 
hope.  He  realized  that  Marianne  was  look- 
ing at  him  expectantly,  so  he  walked  around 
the  table  to  kiss  her. 

"Gee.  baby,  this  is  wonderful.  I'm  walk- 
ing on  air."  He  was  sure  he  would  be,  too, 
just  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  his  surprise. 

"And  you'll  tell  Miss  Jordan  the  first 
thing  tomorrow?" 

"The  first  thing." 

Liz  was  on  the  phone  when  he  walked  into 
her  office  the  next  morning.  She  waved  gaily 


Howdoyoucleana 


7//^        wifh  a 

No!  No!  That  rough  stu£P  doesn't  pay! 
Use  Brillo.  Cleans  ofif  baked-on  batter 
quickly — but  safely! 


with  a 


cUsh  ragi 


The  messy  way— and  slowl  Brisk,  efficient 
Brillo  saves  you  time  and  elbow-grease!       Ij 


^ith 


BriOoA 


Right!   Square   metal-fiber   Brillo   pads 
clean  up  every  crack!  Fast!  Easy!  Polish 

too!  Get  genuine  Brillo  Soap  Pads     

in  the  red  and  green  box— or  Brillo     I  "JJJ 
Cleanser,  separate  pads  and  soap.     \*oh^ 


KCiPS  ALUfMNUm  BKIUIAMT 


JOHNNY  SPARKLE'S  PLATFORM  I 

W;  BANISH 

^fcTOILETt 

55P 


EXPELLO  CORPORATION,  Dover, 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


71 


UMINALL 

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}y,  HE'S  GOT  SPEED  ! 
SINCE  he's  getting 

VITAMINS 

LP  your  dog  to  feel  and  act  his  best  by 
ing"  him  Sergeant's  Vitamin  Capsules 
itapets)  daily.  Dogs  need  vitamins  just 
humans  do. 

itapets,  made  specially  for  dogs,  have 
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igue. 

et  Viiapets  today  to  help  keep  your 
healthy  and  fit.  At  drug  and  pet  stores 
rywhere.  Sergeant's  Dog  Book  is  free, 
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and  motioned  him  to  a  chair.  She  was  wear- 
ing a  black  skirt  and  a  white  blouse  that  tied 
in  a  bow  under  her  chin.  From  where  Bill 
sat  it  looked  like  a  very  sharp  cx)stume  in- 
deed. He  wished  he  dicdn't  have  to  tell  her 
that  he  wasn't  going  to  take  the  job  after  all. 
He  realized,  to  his  surprise,  that  he  had  been 
rather  looking  forward  to  working  with  her. 
She  was  a  swell  gal  and  a  lot  of  fun.  The  eve- 
ning he  had  spent  with  her  had  already  taken 
on  a  special  aura  in  his  memory. 

"Hi,  sourpuss,"  she  said,  cradling  the 
phone.  "Straighten  up  and  smile  bright. 
I've  just  perjured  myself  and  borne  false 
witness  to  get  you  the  ofifice  next  door." 
She  came  around  the  desk  and  stood  before 
him,  hands  clasped  behind  her,  eyes  spar- 
kling with  enthusiasm.  "It's  just  been  re- 
decorated and  they've  promised  to  furnish 
it  to  order." 

Bill  rubbed  his  hands  on  his  knees.  "I've 
changed  my  mind,  Liz.  I'm  not  going  to 
take  the  job." 

"Not  going  to  take  it?"  The  light  in  her 
eyes  faded.  Then  she  smiled  ruefully. 
"You've  decided  to  stick  to  cartooning. 
Smart  boy." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Marianne's  finally 
agreed  to  do  things  my  way.  We're  going  to 
be  married  next  month  and  go  south  for  an 
indefinite  stay.  She  wasn't  too  keen  about 
my  working  here  anyway." 

"Oh,"  Liz  said.  Her  cheeks  were  sud- 
denly pink.  "First  she  won't  marry  you 
until  you  get  a  job.  Now  she'll  marry  you 
provided  you  don't  take  a  job.  I  can  hardly 
wait  for  tomorrow's  communique." 

"Waiter,  a  saucer  of  milk  for  the  lady," 
Bill  murmured. 

"Maybe  you  enjoy  being  pushed  around 
like  a  carpet  sweeper,  but  I  think  you're 
crazy  to  let  her  get  away  with  it." 

"  I  want  you  to  feel  perfectly  free  to  keep 
your  opinions  to  yourself,  Liz.  Things  have 


WHICH  ARE  YOU? 

^  Great  minds  discuss  ideas;  medi- 
^  ocre  minds  discuss  things;  small 
minds  discuss  people. 

—  WALTER  WINCHELL. 


worked  out  exactly  as  I  wanted  them  to  and 
I'm  very  happy.  Very  happy,"  he  repeated 
firmly. 

Her  expression  softened.  "Are  you,  Wil- 
liam? Then  I  guess  that's  all  that  matters." 

"I  guess  it  is."  Bill  got  to  his  feet.  "Well, 
take  care,  Liz." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "Good-by,  Bill, 
and — good  luck." 

He  wondered  afterward  if  he  should  have 
invited  her  to  the  wedding.  But  he  couldn't 
very  well,  because  Marianne  hadn't  picked 
a  definite  date  yet.  According  to  her,  their 
wedding  day  depended  upon  such  things 
as  when  her  dress  would  be  ready,  when 
the  chapel  would  be  available  and  how  soon 
she  could  gather  together  a  suitable  trous- 
seau. 

One  evening  she  showed  him  the  guest- 
room bed  piled  high  with  towels,  luncheon 
sets,  sheets  and  various  unidentifiable  items. 

"Sure  they're  nice,"  he  said.  "They're 
fine.  But  why  spend  time  buying  them  now? 
Why  not  wait  until  we  come  back?" 

"Because  then  we'll  be  busy  shopping  for 
furniture,  stupid."  She  gave  him  a  tender 
little  smile.  "Which  reminds  me;  I  bought 
the  sweetest  pair  of  end  tables  today.  And 
I've  ordered  two  precious  lamps  to  go  with 
them.  Just  think,  the  first  pieces  of  our  very 
own  furniture.  Isn't  it  thrilling?" 

"Yeah,"  Bill  said,  feeling  vaguely  trapped. 
Tables  and  lamps  reminded  him  of  the  little 
nest,  and  his  forehead  grew  damp.  He  didn't 
want  to  settle  down  for  a  long  time,  and 
when  he  did  it  would  not,  please  God,  be  in 
surroundings  that  could  conceivably  be  de- 
scribed as  a  little  nest.  He  sat  on  the  end  of 
the  bed  and  drew  her  down  beside  him. 
"Look,  baby,  let's  concentrate  on  getting 
married  and  that  honeymoon  and  forget 
about  lamps  and  washcloths.  Why,  there'll 


Springiime  lloom- 
minus  gflooml 


This  tale's  of  Mathilda— 

who's  ready  to  sing 
At  the  sight  of  the  flowers 

that  bloom  in  the  spring. 


Like  cleaning  the  windows. 

For  some  it's  a  chore, 
But  not  for  Mathilda! 

No,  not  any  morel 


'•  •\  --^^    ' 

5    The  cost  is  so  little, 
you  never  would  guess — 
Not  even  a  penny 

per  window,  but  less/ 


It's  true,  to  be  sure, 

that  the  blossoms  remind  her 
Of  house-cleaning  jobs 

to  be  gotten  behind  her — 


For  ahe  uses  WINDEX, 

that  joy  and  delight, 
A  spray  and  a  wipe 

gets  the  panes  looking  bright. 


So  at  house-cleaning  time 

in  the  Spring,  don't  forget  .  .  . 
Get  WINDEX,  the  best 

window  polisher  yet  I 


Get  Brighter  Windows  Quicker  With— 

WINDEX 

WINDEX  is  a  must  for  house  cleaningi  No  streaking,  no 
film,  when  you  insist  on  this  noninflammable,  oil-free  cleaner 
that  costs  but  a  fraction  of  a  cent  per  window  pane.  Don't 
trust  cheap  substitutes! 

For  Extra  Economy,  Buy  the  Big  20-ounce  Size 


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{^//^<^^i&g^i>a^^^^^ 


Martex  towels  have  always  ranked  with  silver  and  china 

as  highly  prized  wedding  gifts.  Today,  the  Bride  who  owns  Martex  towels 

treasures  them  doubly,  because  they  are  so  hard  to  get.  Stores  will  continue 

to  have  a  few  regular  quality,  full  size  Martex  towels  in  Jocquard 

patterns  like  Floral  Wreath  and  Criss  Cross  shown  above.  However,  most  Brides 

will  have  to  content  themselves  with  the  new  wartime  Martex  towels. 

These  will  be  restricted  in  size  and  thread  count  by  Government  order,  so  that 

more  towels  will  be  available  for  all.  Labelled  "Maximum  Quality 

under  War  Regulations,"  our  wartime  towels  will  still  have  the  sturdy  plied  yarn 

underweave  that's  always  made  Martex  famous  for  long  wear. 

Wellington  Sears  Company, 

65  Worth  Street,  New  York  1 3,  N.  Y. 

fiUr  MORE  WAR  BONOS 

fn€VttecK, 

BATH  TOWEIS     •      CHENIllE   MATS     •     DISH  TOWELS 


72 


probably  be  moths  in  this  stuff  before  we're 
ready  to  set  up  housekeeping." 

Marianne  smoothed  her  skirt  and  folded 
her  hands  in  her  lap.  Her  soft  hair  brushed 
her  shoulders  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  "  I  was 
going  to  save  it  for  a  surprise,"  she  said, 
"until  I'd  found  our  house,  but  I  guess  I 
better  tell  you  now.  The  most  wonderful 
thing  has  happened,  Billy.  We  can  settle 
down  right  after  we're  married,  because 
Howard  has  found  a  simply  scrumptious 
job  for  you.  He  says  that  you  can  start 
early  next " 

"Just  a  minute,"  Bill  said  grimly,  grabbing 
a  handful  of  taffeta  bedspread.  "Let  me  get 
this  straight.  You  say  we  aren't  going  to  have 
a  honeymoon  because  Howard  has  found  me 
a  job?" 

She  nodded  happily.  "As  a  lecturing  guide 
at  the  Art  Center.  Howard  says  it's  an  ideal 
position  for  you,  providing  security  without 
cutting  you  off  entirely  from  your  natural 
mterests.  He  says  that  enforced  daily  con- 
tact with  large  groups  will  speed  up  the  ad- 
justment process." 

Bill's  jaw  finally  relaxed  enough  to  let  the 
words  out.  '"I  wish  that  zombi  would  keep 
his  nose  out  of  my  affairs,"  he  roared.  "And 
I  wish  he'd  stop  filling  you  full  of  screwball 
ideas  about  me.  Once  and  for  all,  I  am  not  a 
rehabilitation  problem.  And  I  am  not,  so 
help  me,  going  to  let  him  turn  me  into  one. 
A  guide  at  the  Art  Center!  Y'e  gods!"  . 

"A  lecturing  guide,"  Marianne  interposed. 
"What  are  you  so  angry  about,  Billy?  I 
think  it's  a  splendid  opportunity,  and  I  think 
Howard  was  ever  so  nice  to  take  the  trouble 
to  find  it." 

Bill  stared  at  her  suspiciously.  "Did  you 
ask  him  to  get  me  a  job?" 

"I  most  certainly  did.  We  have  to  think 
of  the  future,  Billy,  and  after  that  awful 
day  at  Kinsler's  I  could  see  that  you  wouldn't 
ever  get  a  really  respectable  job  for  yourself. 
So  I " 

"I  see,"  Bill  said. 

A  great  calm  had  overtaken  him,  and  he 
saw  many  things.  He  saw  that  Marianne 
was  still  so  young  she  thought  a  steady  in- 
come was  a  guaranty  of  security.  He  saw 
that  she  did  not  have  enough  confidence  in 
him  to  marry  him  without  this  supposed 
guaranty  of  security.  She  thought  he  was 
basically  unstable  because  he  was  an  artist, 


May,  19 

and  a  psychiatric  problem  because  he  hz 
come  home  with  a  yen  to  have  some  fi 
before  he  settled  down  to  work  again. 

He  was  surprised,  when  he  put  his  ar 
around  her,  that  he  could  feel«so  fatheri 
"Baby,"  he  said,  "we  may  as  well  face  tl 
facts.  We've  stirred  up  a  mess  that  ob\ 
ously  isn't  going  to  jell.  I  vote  we  dump  i 
with  no  hard  feelings." 

Marianne  stared  at  him  for  a  momei 
and  then  jumped  to  her  feet.  Her  fai 
flushed  and  her  thin  lips  grew  thinner.  ' 
knew  it,"  she  cried.  "It's  that  Jordj 
woman.  I  could  tell  the  minute  I  saw  you  t 
gether.  You're  in  love  with  her,  aren't  you? 

Bill  stood  up.  "I  hadn't  thought  of  it  b 
fore,"  he  said  slowly,  "but  you  have  som 
thing  there.  Liz  is  certainly  my  kind  of  gal 

Suddenly  the  fight  drained  out  of  Mar 
anne  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "^ 
linens,"  she  whimpered,  "my  furniture,  n 
wedding.  What  am  I  going  to  tell  v\ 
friends?" 

Nothing  about  him.  Bill  noted.  Nothid 
about  a  broken  heart  or  a  barren  futur 
"  Why  don't  you  talk  it  over  with  Howard?] 
he  suggested  kindly.  "I'm  sure  he'll  be  ab 
to  help  you.  And  be  happy  to  have  tl 
chance,"  he  added  with  a  sudden  flash 
insight. 

Marianne's  eyes  assumed  a  speculati' 
glint  that  shone  through  the  tears.  "I  thii 
I  will,"  she  said. 

The  nearest  public  telephone  was  tw 
blocks  away  in  a  drugstore.  Bill  grinned  < 
he  consulted  the  directory.  He  was  prot 
ably  the  only  guy  in  the  world  who  didn 
know  the  telephone  number  of  the  girl  1 
was  going  to  marry.  But  he  forgot  aboi 
that  and  everything  else  when  he  heard  Liz 
voice. 

"This  is  William  I've-seen-the-light  Douj 
las,"  he  said.  "How  would  you  like  to  me« 
me  at  Nick's  in  twenty  minutes?" 

"Would  like,"  she  said.  "But  would  Mis 
Marsh?" 

"Miss  Marsh  and  I  parted  company  as( 
ten  minutes  ago  when  she  accused  me  of  bi 
ing  in  love  with  you.  I  pleaded  guilty.' 

"Oh,  BiN."  There  was  a  short  pause,  an 
then  her  voice  came  running  over  the  win 
"Take  a  big  table,  William.  We  have  a  Ic 
of  cards  to  put  on  it." 


•  •••••••••••*••*•••* 


/4<i4^  /4^  7(/(Mta4t 


BV  MARCELE.^E  COX 


THOSE  mothers  who  are  cherished  most 
are  the  ones  who  always  have  "time": 
time  to  listen  to  confidences,  time  to  look  at 
a  drawing,  time  to  tell  a  story. 

They  lived  in  a  state  of  holy  spatrimony. 

There  has  been  a  turning  of  tables  in  our 
family;  the  children  now  recommend  the 
movies  ive  ought  to  see. 

Living  entirely  in  the  past  is  as  silly  as 
spending  all  the  time  on  one  program  reading 
the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting. 

Children  never  learn  truth  by  finding  one 
parent  concealing  his  acts  from  the  other. 

The  more  independent  a  woman  becomes, 
the  more  she  tends  toward  himitation. 

Parents  are  often  so  busy  with  the  physi- 
cal rearing  of  children  that  they  miss  the 
glory  of  parenthood,  just  as  the  grandeur  of 
a  tree  is  lost  when  raking  leaves. 

The  one  infallible  rule  in  our  family  is  that 
the  daughters  are  not  going  into  formals  un- 
til they  are  out  of  play  suits. 

When  a  daughter  confides  that  her  boy 
friend  likes  her  so  well  he  has  printed  her 
name  in  three  places  on  his  yellow  corduroys, 
all  any  mother  can  do  is  hope  for  the  best. 

Advice  to  young  girls:  Cook  before  you 
leap. 


She  was  one  of  those  women  who  win 
themselves  up  in  the  morning  to  do  a  day 
work  and  nothing  short  of  an  earthquak 
can  stop  them. 

Taking  children  out  to  eat  is  the  ora 
examination  part  of  their  education  i 
manners. 

Adolescent:  one  who  goes  out  like  a  lio 
and  comes  in  like  a  lamb. 

Old  advice:  "'.\  girl  should  have  only  thos 
followers  of  whom  her  near  relatives  and  h( 
conscience  approve." 

Fable  in  Engllmh 

There  once  was  a  woman  who  dearly  love 
pretty  clothes.  She  liked  them  so  well  tha 
whenever  she  was  given  anything  new  sh 
packed  it  carefully  away  in  tissue  paper  o 
moth  balls.  Her  bureau  drawers  and  clothe 
closets  were  a  joy  to  behold,  while  she  hersei 
was  a  sight  beyond  description.  This  wen, 
on  for  years,  with  the  woman  going  farthel 
and  farther  away  from  her  honeymooTi 
Finally,  one  bright  spring  morning,  her  hu' 
band  awakened  with  beauty  in  his  heart.  H 
took  one  look  at  his  wife  and  ran  away  wit 
another  woman. 

Moral:  A  woman  should  be  careful  i 
what  she  "saves"  isn't  something  she  . 
lose. 


•     •••••••••*•••••••••    ^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


LAKAINE    DAY,STARKING    IN     M  ETKO  •  G  OLDWYN  •  M  AVER'S  **KEEP  YOUR   POWDER  DKY  " 


^.^-^"^ 


>CVO^ 


^o 


<a'as>-* 


\ 


\je«^' 


VC^ 


Q-cv® 


.^■&^ 


^Q 


,^Vi 


One  miracle  cream  to  cherish  your  skin; forever!  To  help 
you  to  new  beauty,  to  a  man-made  world  of  admiration  1 

One  cream  that  does  so  much  jnore  for  you  than  old- 
fashioned  cold  and  cleansing  cream  can  do!  You'll  know  when 
you  feel  your  grateful  skin  respond  to  its  luxurious  cleansing, 
softening  and  stnoothing  effects.  When  you  use  it  as  a  powder 
hose;  as  a  night  cream  to  discourage  drjTiess  and  dry-skin  lines. 
And  only  Woodbury  has  "Stericin",  purifying  the  cream 
in  the  jar,  helping  protect  against  blemish-causing  germs. 

For  your  new  beauty,  try  it  now.  10<i  to  $1.25,  plus  tax. 


Woodbury 
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c 


ream 


...  //5  a//  you  neeJ : 


74 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 


i^ir 


..J/*^. 


^    ...byCHERAMY 


A  single  precious  drop  will  tell  you  . . . 
Frolic  is  your  perfume.  A  fragrance 
fresh  and  sparkling  . . .  with 
untiring,  sure  appeal.  Wear  it  for 
happiness.  Wear  it  for  the  added 
interest  you'll  see  in  masculine  eyes! 


Perfume.  6.50;  3.50;  debulanle  iize.  1.10. 
Toilet  Water.  1.75. 

DuMing  Powder.  1.00.  Talcum  Powder.  50c. 
iPlui  lax) 


THE  FARMER'S 
DAUGHTER 

(Conlinued  from  Page  IS) 

Deem  went  his  somewhat  puffing  way  into 
the  square,  dimly  yellow  house  that  was  the 
rectory,  sat  down  in  his  own  wide  chintz- 
covered  chair  and  scratched  his  Irish  setter's 
head. 

His  wife  came  flying  down  the  stairs,  call- 
ing out,  "Did  you  get  him.  Pinny?"  Since 
the  Reverend  Doctor  Deem's  Christian  name 
was  Edward,  no  one  knew  where  the  name 
"Pinny"  came  from.  But  that  was  what 
Amy  Deem  always  called  him. 

"No,  Amy,  I  didn't  get  him.  I  set  a  good 
snare  for  him,  too — two  of  them,  in  fact— 
but  he  escaped  me." 

"Oh,  dear!  I  should  have  gone,"  Amy 
said.  She  was  a  very  little  woman,  quick 
as  a  flash,  with  a  young,  provocative  face 
which  was  remarkably  expressive.  It  was 
impossible  to  imagine  how  she  had  come  to 
marry  Edward  Deem,  but  marry  him  she 
had,  and  there  was  no  doubt  she  loved  him. 

"I  don't  think  even  your  charms  would 
have  sufficed,"  he  said.  "I  told  him  there 
was  angel  food.  I  offered  an  intellectual  de- 
bate. He  said,  'Some  other  time.'" 

She  sat  down  in  the  window  seat,  but, 
since  she  was  never  still,  she  picked  up  her 
knitting  and  the  needles  began  to  flash.  "I 
know.  He's  numb,"  she  said.  When  their 
one  son  had  died,  she  had  known  what  it  was 
to  be  numb  for  a  time.  "  I  wish  I  could  for- 
get how  he  looked  at  the  cemetery.  I  can't 
get  it  out  of  my  head.  You  were  too  busy 
with  the  service,  but  I  saw  him— he  looked 
dreadful." 

"I  saw  him,"  Deem  said  unexpectedly. 

"Oh,  you  do  annoy  me.  Pinny!  You 
always  see  everything.  I  can't  have  even  a 
little  special  see  to  myself.  .  .  .  Now  don't 
give  me  a  dissertation  on  the  Oedipus  com- 
plex, or  anything  like  that,  for  I  just  don't 
believe  it.  He  was  devoted  to  her,  yes,  but 
it  wasn't  anything  like  that.  It  just  hap- 
pened that  way.  He  ought  to  have  married." 

"Well,  goodness  knows  you've  tried  hard 
enough  to  marry  him  off,  Amy." 

I  HAT  little  Illings  girl  who  taught  first 
grade  would  have  been  perfect  for  him.  She 
was  terribly  smart  and  awfully  pretty." 

He  did  not  answer.  He  filled  a  pipe  with 
great  deliberation. 

"Well,  if  you  saw — he  did  look  dreadful, 
didn't  he?"  she  demanded  suddenly. 

"Yes,  quite  dreadful.  He  still  does.  But  I 
don't  think  he  intends  to  let  us  comfort  him." 
His  voice  didn't  tease  her  now.  It  was  quite 
serious.  "I  don't  mind  admitting  that  I'm 
disturbed  about  him.  I've  always  liked 
him — I  suppose  because  he  has  the  same 
turn  of  mind  as  I  have,  which  is  only  evi- 
dence of  my  vanity.  But  I  have  liked  him. 
He  has  no  worldly  ambitions,  doesn't  even 
want  to  be  superintendent  of  schools  in  the 
county,  which  he  certainly  could  be  if  he 
wanted  to.  No,  he  has  the  notion  that  to  fill 
one  respectable  place  well  is  enough  of  a 
job  for  a  lifetime.  And  he  has  done  it  well,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he's  had  to  nurse  his 
mother  all  these  years.  He's  an  important 
part  of  West  Ulster.  ...  I  don't  think  his 
mother's  death,  which  has  been  long  ex- 
pected, is  enough  to  make  him  as  he  is.  I 
think  it's  something  else.  I'd  like  to  help 
him,  but  I  don't  think  any  ordinary  help  is 
going  to  do.  It's  odd,  and  saddening.  Amy — 
my  job  is  with  men's  souls,  but  I  get  pretty 
used  to  men's  having  no  great  depths  of  soul. 
The  minute  I  come  on  one  who  does  have 
such  depths,  I'm  frightened  and  helpless. 
I  don't  know  whether  that's  a  sad  commen- 
tary on  mankind  or  on  me.  It  might  mean 
that  I  will  not  to  see  under  the  surface  and 
that  there  are  frightening  depths  anywhere, 
if  I  only  troubled  to  look.  But  the  truth  is 
that  when  I  looked  at  Pelletier  standing  by 
his  mother's  grave,  I  was  frightened.  He 
looked  as  if  he  were  looking  into  hell  itself." 

"Yes,  that's  just  the  way  he  looked," 
Amy  Deem  said. 

"If  I  were  a  man  who  went  to  confession, 
I  should  now  have  to  confess  that  intellectual 


tt  a  model— on  octual  cose 


large  blemish 
small  blemish 


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Covermork,   all  shades  1.25,  3.00 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


75 


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AMBROSIA 

THE  SPARKLING  LIQUID  FACIAL  CLEANSER 


curiosity  was  taking  precedence  over  my 
sympathy.  I  feel  sorry  for  Pelletier,  but  my 
mind  goes  gnawing  away  at  his  trouble  like 
a  rat.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  got  to  know  what  that 
hell  was  he  was  seeing." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  he  wants  your  sym- 
pathy— he's  always  seemed  to  prefer  your 
mind,"  Amy  said  as  if  to  comfort  him. 

"Are  you  aiding  the  devil  in  excusing  me?  " 
Deem  said,  "You've  always  said  curiosity 
was  my  greatest  vice." 

"Oh,  it  is  a  vice  too.  I  ought  to  know," 
Amy  confessed.  "But  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  help  him  if  you  don't  know." 

"That's  what  I  tell  myself.  But  it  could 
be  that  he  prefers  to  keep  his  hell  private, 
you  know.  And  it  could  be  that  I'm  only  so 
anxious  to  see  what  makes  the  wheels  go 
round  that  I'm  ignoring  that  fact." 

"You  argue  with  yourself  too  much," 
Amy  murmured  absently.  "The  angel  food 
turned  out  perfectly  too.  I'll  take  half  of  it 
around  and  leave  it  at  the  house  tonight." 

"I  wouldn't,"  Edward  Deem  said  with  a 
curious  firmness.  But  the  little  eyes  went  on 
with  their  speculating. 

Meanwhile,  Thomas  Pelletier  went  on 
down  the  hill.  Just  before  the  foot,  a  small 
street  branched  off,  rounding  the  foot  of  the 
hill  and  winding  back  along  the  creek.  It 
was  known  as  River  Street,  and  on  it  was  the 
small  white  house  where  Thomas  Pelletier 
had  lived  with  his  mother  and  where  he  now 
dwelt  alone.  He  did  not  take  this  street  now, 
but  went  on  to  Main  Street  and  up  it  to  the 
post  office.  It  was  not  his  habit  to  get  the 
mail  at  this  time.  That  he  always  did  at 
seven-fifteen,  just  after  he  had  turned  on  a 
favorite  news  program  of  his  mother's.  Then 
he  took  a  tin  pail  from  the  pantry  shelf, 
walked  down  to  Main  and  up  past  the  post 
office  to  Lindsey's,  where  he  got  the  butter- 
milk that  his  mother  had  to  have  every  day, 
and  on  the  way  back  he  picked  up  the  mail. 
But  now  he  went  slowly  up  Main,  went  into 
the  office  and  got  the  mail.  There  was  a  little 
packet  of  it:  a  few  notes  of  sympathy  and 
two  educational  papers  and  a  circular  or  two. 
He  stuck  it  all  in  his  coat  pocket. 

Just  outside  the  post  office  he  met  Mrs. 
Tollman.  She  was  Lawyer  Tollman's  wife,  a 
pleasant  but  nosy  woman.  She  stopped  and 
said,  "How  are  you,  Tom?" 

"All  right,"  he  answered  mechanically. 

"You  look  awfully  tired,"  she  said.  "And 
no  wonder,  I  guess.  But  you've  been  a  won- 
derful son,  a  wonderful  son,  Tom,  and  no  one 
can  say  different.  I'm  not  one  to  flatter,  as 
you  know,  but  when  I  see  how  boys  and  girls 
neglect   their   fathers   and   mothers  these 

days  Well,  here's  our  own  Polly — 

wouldn't  listen  to  us  when  we  warned  her 
about  these  war  marriages — now  she's  home 
with  her  baby  and  not  a  thought  in  the  world 
but  that  it's  our  duty  to  look  after  her.  Not 
that  we  mind,  only  I'm  not  as  young  as  I 
was,  Tom,  and  I  thought  I  was  done  raising 
babies.    I'm  not  really  complaining,   you 


Boy  With  Stuff 

The  boy  is  Bill  Mauldin. 

The  stuff  is  the  rough  but  ten- 
der, mud-drenched  but  spirited, 
resigned  but  hopeful  story  of  the 
fellow  in  the  foxhole  .  .  .  shot 
forth  with  the  grimmest  triple- 
witted  cartoons  that  ever  leaped 
off  an  artist's  drawing  board. 

The  stuff  is  the  real  stuff — 
straight  from  the  khaki  shoulder. 

If  you've  got  to  miss  some- 
thing, don't  let  it  be 

BY  BILL  MAULDIN 

Excerpts  from   the  book  soon  to 
be  published  by  Henry  Holt  &  Co. 


76 


L\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


FIRST  CALL  TO 


'EARLY  BIRDS"  GO   FOR  PARKAY's   APPETIZING   FLAVOR! 


Your  whole  "gong"  will 
pile  out  of  bed  double- 
quick  for  such  a  tempt- 
ing start  to  a  wholesome 
breakfast. 

Delicious  Parkay  Margarine  adds  the 
flavor-goodness  that  makes  hot  toast, 
rolls  and  pancakes  such  hearty,  good 
eating.  In  addition,  Parkay  helps  provide 
vital  food  energj'  that  families  need  for 
hard  work  and  play. 

Fresh,  delicate  flavor.' 

From  American  farms  come  the  whole- 
some ingredients  that  make  Parkay  so 
appetizing,  so  nourishing!  Kraft  brings 
pasteurized  skim  milk  to  a  peak  of  flavor 
perfection  by  adding  cultures  produced 
from  milk.  This  is  blended  with  top- 
quality,  highly-refined  vegetable  oils 


that  make  Parkay  Margarine  one  of  the 
best  energy  foods  you  can  serv  e. 

9,000  units  of  Vitamin  A  — 
guaranteed .' 
And  Kraft  guarantees  every  pound  of 
Parkay  to  contain  9,000  (U.S.P.  XII) 
units  of  Vitamin  A — added  in  this  de- 
pendable amount,  winter  and  summer. 

Kraft  Quality — naturally! 
In  fact,  blended  into  this  delicious, 
smooth-spreading  margarine  is  all  the 
qualit)-  you'd  expect  of  a  spread  for 
bread  made  by  Kraft.  Enjoy  Parkay,  too, 
as  a  seasoning  for  hot  cooked  vege- 
tables. At  breakfast — or  any  meal — it's 
a  grand  flavor  treat  ...  an  economical 
aid  to  good  nutrition! 

KRAFT  CHEESE  COMPANY 
Chicago  90.  Illinois 


PARKAY  —  a   nutritious  spread  for  America's  bread 


know— I'm  just  trving  to  say  you'll  never 
have  an\-thing  on  your  conscience,  about  not 
being  thoughtful  and  considerate.  I  always 
thought  your  mother  ought  to  have  a  nurse, 
some  nice  strong  middle-aged  woman  like 
Ada  Graham;  I  even  talked  to  her  about  it. 
but  she  didn't  want  a  nurse.  Well,  she's  at 
rest,  dear  soul — and  she  was  a  dear  soul. 
Tom.  so  gentle  and  patient.  I've  never  seen 
an\thing  like  it— it  couldn't  have  been  easy 
for  her.  Nor  for  you.  either.  Tom.  I  guess 
you  get   your  good   disposition   from  her. 

Frank  never  gets  done  saying "  But  she 

was  talking  to  nothingness,  for  Thomas 
Pelletier  had  just  walked  away  from  her  and 
on  down  the  street  without  answering.  She 
stared  after  him.  her  pleasant  face  redden- 
mg.  Then  the  red  subsided.  "Poor  boy. 
He  don't  know  what  he's  doing."  she  said 
to  no  one. 

That  was  almost  true,  but  not  quite.  The 
outside  part  of  him  scarcely  did  know  what 
he  was  doing,  but  something  inside  his  mind 
knew  ver>-  well.  He  was  trving  not  to  go 
home.  Trving  not  to  get  back  to  that  white 
'nouse  on  River  Street,  trving  to  prolong  the 
process  of  getting  there.  But  not  even  his 
desire  for  this  could  keep  him  there  on  the 
sidewalk  listening  to  Mrs.  Tollman,  though 
he  was  not  aware  of  quite  how  ruthlessly  and 
wordlessly  he  had  gone  away  from  her. 

And  all  the  time  the  something  his  mind 
was  evading  went  on  working,  working.  It 
brought  up  the  matter  of  Mrs.  Jones.  Mrs. 
Jones  had  come  to  the  school  that  morning 
wanting  to  reproach  him 
with  having  encouraged 
her  son  Will  to  run  off  and 
join  the  Navy  before  he 
had  finished  high  school. 
He  had  not  done  this  at 
all— quite  the  contrary — 
but  he  had  not  even  tried 
to  make  Mrs.  Jones  know 
this.  He  had  just  listened 
and  said.  "Well,  it's  done. 
Mrs.  Jones."  And  she  had 
hardened  her  mouth  and 
looked  at  him  as  if  she 
hated  him  and  thought 
him  a  liar.  But  he  had  let 
her  go. 

Now  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  must  see  her  and 

make  it  clear  just  where       

he  stood  about  Will.  She 
ived  two  miles  out  in  the  country  and  it 
was  late  in  the  afternoon,  no  time  to  go  call- 
ing. But  he  left  the  stores  and  houses  of 
Main  Street  and  set  out  on  the  country  road 
as  if  he  had  long  planned  it  and  it  were  im- 
portant that  he  go  at  this  moment. 

He  w.\lked  along  steadily  enough,  but  he 
saw  the  bright  trees,  the  leaves  in  the 
ditches,  the  cows  in  browning  pastures,  all  in 
a  haze.  He  made  a  faint  eflort  to  sort  out 
words  for  talking  to  Mrs.  Jones,  but  the  haze 
penetrated  his  mind  and  prevented  orderly 
thought.  Still,  he  walked  on. 

It  was  almost  suppertime  when  he  turned 
into  the  Joneses'  driveway.  The  farmhouse 
lay  still  in  the  late-afternoon  light,  a  little 
lonely  and  remote.  No  smoke  rose  from  the 
chimney.  He  went  around  to  the  back  door 
and  rapped.  No  one  came.  He  rapped 
again,  though  he  felt  a  faint  relief  that  he 
might  possibly  not  have  to  talk  to  anyone. 
He  stood  there  on  the  steps  for  some  time, 
but  there  was  not  a  sound  an\-where.  He 
turned  away  at  last,  going  down  the  steps 
with  a  curiously  aimless  movement.  Then  he 
saw  a  girl  walking  between  the  bam  and  the 
milkhouse.  carrying  a  pail  of  milk  in  either 
hand.  He  moved  toward  her.  not  wanting 
to  speak  to  her.  but  not  wanting,  either,  to 
start  homeward.  He  wondered  vaguely  who 
she  was,  for  he  knew  Will  Jones  had  no 
brothers  or  sisters. 

"Mrs.  Jones  away?"  he  called  out. 

The  girl  paused.  She  was  quite  young — 
nineteen  or  twenty,  probably.  She  had  on  a 
tan  shirt  and  khaki  slacks  with  bicycle  clips 
around  the  ankles.  She  was  as  brown  as  a 
hickory  nut  and  her  arms  above  the  shining 
pails  were  hard-looking,  strong  and  brown. 
Her  hair  was  curly,  but  cut  short  like  a 
boy's.   It  was  of  a  medium  brown,  too,  so 


CW  \s.  MAY 

^  \  vain  Miiing  man  sub- 
^  milted  to  Kranz  Liszt  a 
maniisrript  pie<*e  bristlins 
with  hi<leous  dissonances. 
Fiittins  his  (inzer  on  one  pas- 
sage. I.is7.l  .saifl.  ''This  eannut 
be  done  in  music." 

"Bui  I  have  done  it."' 
smirked  the  voiins  man. 

W  ilh  a  sarcaslir  smile.  I.iszt 
v«alke<l  over  to  his  «lcsk.  put 
his  quill  into  the  ink.  (hen 
spatterefl  ink  over  the  voun^ 
man's  v«  bile  vest.  "This,  too." 
he  said,  "ran  be  df>ne.  but 
may  not  be." 

—  Federal  Mtnic  Baton.  Los  Angeles. 


that  she  seemed  all  one  piece  of  brownness, 
like  the  brown  fields  and  the  brown  earth. 

"Yes.  she's  gone  to  Greenfield  to  the 
Grange  doings."  she  answered.  "She's  stay- 
ing all  night."  She  began  to  move^oward 
the  milkhouse  again,  done  with  him. 

There  was  nothing  now  to  do  but  go  home. 
Still  he  stood  there,  pulled  back,  unable  to 
go.  He  was  still  standing  there  when  she 
came  out  and  began  to  walk  back  toward  the 
bam.  She  gave  him  a  curious  look,  but  did 
not  speak.  He  began  to  move  toward  her. 

"When  did  you  say  Mrs.  Jones  would  be 
home?"  he  asked  vaguely. 

loMORROW  sometime.  I  guess."  Her 
voice  was  the  plain,  matter-of-fact  speech  of 
the  countryside.   She  didn't  elaborate. 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  come  again."  he  said. 
"I'm  Mr.  Pelletier.  from  the  Academy.  I 
saw  her  this  morning  and  she  was  upset  over 
Will's  going  off.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  her 
about  that."  He  was  aware  that  there  was 
no  need  to  tell  her  this.  "I  didn't  know  Will 
had  a  sister,"  he  went  blindly  on. 

"I  live  next  door."  she  said.  "I'm  just 
doing  the  milking  to  help  out." 

"That's  quite  a  job.  isn't  it?  They've  got 
a  lot  of  cows,  haven't  they?" 
"Twelve." 

"Suppose  I  help  you?" 
She  gave  a  quick,  earthy  sort  of  laugh. 
"You  don't  look  like  you  knew  how." 

"Well.  I  do."  He  went  over  to  the  well, 
washed  his  hands.  She  had  walked  on  to- 
ward the  bam.  but  he 
caught  up  with  her.  "I 
mean  it."  he  said.  "I  like 
to  milk." 

"  Well.  I  could  certainly 
do  with  some  help."  she 
said  easily  enough.' 
"There's  a  pail." 

He  hadn't  milked  since 
he  was  eighteen  or  so.  but 
he  found  the  old  regular 
gestures  coming  back.  He 
leaned  his  head  against  the 
cow's    side,    hearing    the 
steady  thud  of  the  streams 
of  milk  into  the  pail.  He 
smelled  the  familiar  bam 
smell  of  animal  and  hay 
and  leather.   It  was  curi- 
ously  peaceful  and  com- 
forting. He  felt  safe  for  the 
first  time  in  days,  and  had  an  odd  desire  to 
have  the  milking  go  on  and  on  formany  hours. 
The  girl  was  working,  too.  not  talking  except 
for  now  and  then  a  word  to  a  cow:  "Stand 
over  there,  Bess!" — something  like  that. 
"You  new  here?"  he  called  out  once. 
"No." 

"  You've  never  been  to  the  Academy,  have 
you?" 

She  laughed  again,  that  hearty,  country 
laughter.  "\  never  got  past  eighth  grade." 
she  said. 

"You  aren't  Pres  Adams'  girl,  are  you?" 
"That's  right.   Nell  Adams."  she  agreed. 
She  volunteered  nothing  more. 

They  carried  their  pails  to  the  milkhouse. 
It  was  cool  and  pleasant  in  the  milkhouse. 
They  emptied  the  milk,  went  back  for  the 
last  milkings.  It  wjfs  getting  dark  when  they 
finished. 

"Well,  that  was  a  big  Uft,"  she  said  then. 
"Thanks." 

"That's  all  right.  I  liked  it.  I'll  walk 
over  with  you." 

She  laughed.  "There's  no  need,"  she  said. 
"I'm  not  afraid." 

He  almost  said.  "But  I  am."  But  without 
words  he  fell  into  step  beside  her  in  the  drive 
and  turned  when  she  did  up  the  mjiin  road 
toward  the  Adams  place.  She  must  have 
been  tired,  but  she  walked  with  a  quick,  easy 
lightness. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  Academy?  " 
he  asked  at  last. 

"Well,  my  mother  died  and  somebody  had 
to  look  after  pa.   I  didn't  like  school  much, 
anyway." 
"Why  not?" 

"Oh.  I  don't  know.   I  just  didn't.   I  like 
the  farm.    Pa  didn't  make  me  stay  out  or 
anything.    He'd  get  along  if  I  was  to  get 
(Continued  on  Page  78) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNjfL 


^Jfe    ^^^^ 


HERE'S  THE  FLAVOR 

THAT  MAKES  LEFTOVERS  NEW! 

No  matter  what  you  find  in  the  icebox, 
countontheflavorofDelMontecfa^  Qwiden 
Peas  to  perk  it  up.  Because  Del  Monte  takes 
out  the  starchy,  oversize  peas  —  the  tasteless 
immature  ones,  too. 

You  get  Del  Monte's  pack  of  only  the 
finest  of  the  "middle  sizes"  —  blended  to- 
gether. Some  smaller  ones  for  sweetness, 
some  larger  ones  for  richness  —  all  selected 
for  downright  flavor  and  goodness. 


ODDS   AND   ENDS   of 

Sunday's  roast  team 

up    with    Noodles     *s^*- 

Paprika  and   Del     \j[ 

Monte  <Sis£y  Qaxdcn      ^^ 
Peas.  The  "middle 
sizes  "  make  sure  of       >**' 
first. 


PEAS 


In  Testing.  Each  day's  pack  must  finally  be 
checked  and  re-checked  to  qualify  for  the  Del 
Monte  label  — first  at  each  cannery,  then  at  central 
Del  Monte  headquarters. 


A  QUALITY  BLEND  OF  JUST  THE  TASTIEST  "MIDDLE  SIZES" 


lAdies'  home  journal 


May,  19 


'Round  the  Town 
It's  TUSSY. . . 


Dining  at  Chicago's 
Pump  Room 


Copyright,  ly-lS.  by  Ltliii  is^  1  ink  Fruiiucts  CorpuraLiuii.  BluomtR-ld.  N    J. 

HE'LL  want  to  rush  right  out  and  buy  you  a  dozen  roses  when  you 
appear  in  Tussy's  heart-melting  new  lipstick  and  rouge  shade  . . . 
Sentimental.  Pink  enough  to  make  you  look  devastatingly  sweet  and 
feminine  . . .  strong  enough  to  accent  spring-costume  colors.  It's  creamy 
smooth  ...  softening ...  lasts  for  hours!  Sentimental  and  other  Tussy 
Lipsticks,  $1  each.*  To  complete  your  pretty 
pink    looks,    use    Talisman ...  a    delicate,  >^ 

blushing  shade  of  Safari  Face  Powder.  $1.* 

Tussy  Cosmetiques,  683  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York  22,  N.  Y.        ^ 


•Plui  tix 


FOR   THAT   YOUNG,  YOUNG   LOOK 


(Continued  from  Page  76) 
married  or  anything — there's  a  couple  of 
widows  that'd  be  glad  to  look  after  him." 

"Are  you  going  to  get  married?" 

"Oh,  sometime,  probably.  I  don't  feel  in 
any  hurry.  Good  thing  I  don't,  I  guess,  with 
everybody  going  off  to  war." 

"Mrs.  Jones  seemed  to  blame  me  for 
Will's  going." 

"Yes,  she  cried  all  day,  and  Sam  Jones 
came  over  and  said  he  guessed  he'd  take  her 
over  to  her  sister's  to  take  her  mind  off  it. 
He's  all  they've  got,  and  he  helped  a  lot  on 
the  farm.   But  I  guess  he  wanted  to  go." 

"I  begged  him  to  finish  school  first;  he 
was  doing  so  well.  I  don't  like  boys  of  seven- 
teen going  off  to  be  killed." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  Will'll  be  killed.  He's 
got  nine  lives.  He  fell  off  the  haymow  and 
run  a  pitchfork  through  his  shoulder.  He 
almost  got  drowned  in  the  pond,  and  when 
their  barn  burned  a  while  back  and  he  tried 
to  get  the  horses  out,  a  horse  kicked  him  and 
almost  killed  him.  But  he's  still  alive." 
They  had  come  to  her  house  now  and  she 
said,  "Want  to  have  supper  with  us? 
There's  just  salt  pork  and  gravy  tonight, 
but  you're  welcome." 

"Thanks,  I'd  like  to,"  he  said. 

He  didn't  know  why  he  had  refused 
Deem's  invitation  and  accepted  this.  Per- 
haps he  had  unconsciously  feared  Deem's 
keen  perception,  his  speculative  little  eyes. 
At  any  rate,  he 
wanted  to  ride  along 
on  this  matter-of- 
fact  acceptance. 
The  road  up  to  the 
house  was  a  long 
one,  and  suddenly 
he  had  that  strange 
haziness  overpower 
him  again.  The  ri- 
diculousness of  his 
being  here,  of  his 
having  milked  the 
cows,  came  home  to 
iiim  and  frightened 
him.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  been  living  in 
madness  for  hours 
and  now  had  come 
back  to  sanity,  but 
a  bewildered  sanity. 
He  wanted  to  run 
away  in  the  dark- 
ness, run  and  run 
and  never  be  seen 
again.  That  impulse 
seemed    more    like 

madness  than  this  quiet  walk  and  talk,  but 
he  knew  it  was  not. 

They  came  to  the  step  and  he  hunted  for 
words  to  tell  her  that  he  had  changed  his 
mind.  He  stood  there  hesitant  and  she 
turned  from  the  kitchen  door  and  the  lighted 
doorway  and  he  swayed  a  little,  crumpled 
up  on  the  low  porch.  He  felt  himself  going 
and  he  heard  her  hearty  voice  calling  out, 
"  Pa !  Pa ! "  and  then  he  heard  no  more. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  was  lying  on 
a  cot  bed  in  a  plain,  clean  little  room.  There 
were  rulifled  curtains  and  a  plain  white 
bureau  and  wallpaper  with  poppies  on  it. 

Nell  Adams  sat  on  a  low  stool  by  his  bed. 
She  looked  quiet  and  anxious,  but  when  she 
saw  his  eyes  open  she  said  cheerfully, 
"Well!" 

"I  don't  know  what  happened,"  he  said. 
His  voice  wouldn't  come  out  with  any 
volume.  He  hardly  knew  whether  it  had 
come  out  at  all. 

"Hush,  now.  Doc  Besser'll  be  here  any 
time.  He  was  up  at  Larabee's  and  they 
haven't  got  any  phone,  so  pa  drove  up  after 
him.  Just  you  be  quiet." 

"I  don't  want  a  doctor." 

"Well,  you're  going  to  have  one.  You  near 
scared  the  gizzards  out  of  us!" 

"But  I  don't  want  a  doctor.  I  did  it.  I 
know  I  did  it.  I  kept  trying  to  pretend  I 
couldn't  have,  but  I  did." 

"Did  what?" 

"I  killed  my  mother." 

She  stared  at  him.  Then  she  put  out  a 
strong  brown  hand  and  laid  it  on  his  fore- 
head, pushing  his  hair  back  with  a  warm, 


sure,  comforting  gesture.  "Don't  be  silly 
she  said.  "You're  out  of  your  mind." 

"No,  I'm  in  it,"  he  said.  Then,  as  s 
moved  her  hand  ever  so  little,  he  said,  "Dot 
take  your  hand  away."  * 

"I  won't.  But  you  be  quiet  now.  Y^ 
had  a  fall." 

"I'll  tell  you  and  you  can  tell  the  doct< 
I  don't  want  to  tell  it  but  once." 

"All  right,  tell  me,"  she  said,  but  as  if  s 
were  talking  to  a  child  that  needed  to 
humored. 

Ihere  was  such  strength,  such  commc 
sense  in  her  voice.  He  gave  up  his  horror 
that  strength.  "I  had  this  dream,"  he  sai 
"  I  went  into  her  room  and  I  put  her  sleepii 
pills  into  a  glass  of  water — one  by  one,  ve 
slowly,  and  all  the  time  I  kept  thinking  si 
would  wake  up  because  I  did  it  so  slowl 
But  I  couldn't  hurry.  I  woke  up  and  I  vfr 
all  wet  with  sweat  and  I  was  shaking.  It  w 
awful.  I  went  into  her  room  and  she  w 
dead.  The  pill  bottle  was  empty." 

"Then  she  took  them  herself,"  she  sa 
sensibly. 

"No.  My  mother  didn't  want  to  die. 
Don't  take  your  hand  away." 

"  I  won't.  But  you're  working  yourself  \ 

over  nothing.  You  couldn't  have  done  it 

"Why  couldn't  I?" 

"You're  just  not  the  kind  of  man  wl 
could.  Anybody'd  know  that." 

"Anybody?  N 
body  knows  wh 
kind  of  person  an 
one  else  is.  N 
body.  .  .  .  I  w 
very  tired  of  takii 
care  of  her.  I' 
never  had  wh; 
you'd  call  a  life 
my  own.  I  was  tin 
of  taking  care 
her." 

"I  guess  you' 
still  tired.  That 
natural,"  she  sai' 
"Yes,  I'm  tired 
he  said.  "I'm  tin 
of  going  to  get  tl 
buttermilk  an 
changing  the  bf 
so  as  not  to  hu 
her  and  combir 
her  hair  and  tl 
food  never  beir 
quite  right  an 
looking  over  pape; 
where  she  could  a 
ways  see  me  and  hearing  the  same  silly  rad: 
programs  at  the  same- time  night  after  nigl 
and  giving  medicine.  .  .  .  You  fool  eve 
yourself.  I  didn't  know  how  tired  I  was, 
was  tired  enough  for  that." 

"Oh,  that's  silly!"  she  said.  "I  dreamed 
hit  pa  with  a  piece  of  wood  off  the  woodpi 
once,  but  I  haven't  got  anything  again 
him.  It  doesn't  mean  anything,  a  dream 
"Some  people  think  otherwise." 
"Oh,  sure — people  that  read  dream  book 
like  my  Aunt  Sadie." 

"  No,  Freud — such  people." 
"Who's  he?" 
"A  doctor."' 

"He  ought  to  have  more  sense.  Anywa 
it's  easy  to  see  you're  just  not  the  kind  i 
man  to  do  a  thing  like  that,"  she  said  agai 
stubbornly. 

He  felt  the  haze  coming  between  then' 
He  tried  to  keep  it  away,  for  he  felt  warme 
and  healed  by  her  sensible  voice.  Or  was 
by  her  hand  against  his  head?  He  grew  cor 
fused  about  which  it  was.  "Don't  tak 
your  hand  away — don't  ever  take  it  away, 
he  murmured. 

"I'd  have  a  nice  crick  in  my  arm — ever's 
long  time!"  she  said.  But  she  left  her  han 
there.  It  was  strong  and  hard  and  young  an 
there  seemed  to  be  some  virtue  in  its  toucl 

"Don't  ever "  he  said,  and  his  eye 

closed. 

There  were  men's  voices  in  the  room,  th 
smell  that  clings  to  doctors. 

"I  don't  know  no  more'n  you,  doc 
heard  Nell  yelling  and  there  he  was.  We  go 
him  in  here  and  then  Nell  sent  me  hotfoof 
after  you." 


DOri  WASTE  PAPER 

•  Don't  buy  paper  you  don't  need. 

•  Don't  let  the  druggist,  grocer, 
butcher,  baker,  wrap  articles  you 
can  carry  home  unwrapped. 

•  Don't  throw  paper  away  until 
it's  thoroughly  used. 

•  Don't  throw  this  magazine 
away— rpass  it  on  to  someone  who 
couldn  t  buy  a  copy;  wartime  paper 
needs  are  forcing  us  to  print  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  fewer  copies 
than  we  printed  last  year. 

Lend  Your 
Journal  to  a  Friend 

Make  a  Friend 
hiy  l.«nding  Your  J«»urnal 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


79 


One  glance  and  you 
can  understand 
why  FIBS  must  be 
easy  to  insert.  That 
smooth,  gently- 
tapered  end,  so  dif- 
ferent from  any  other 
leading  tampon  —  tells  the  story. 

This  important  feature  is  bound  to  aid 
easy,  comfortable  insertion,  and  your  first 
experience  with  Fibs  proves  it's  so! 

Why  FIBS  are  "quilted" 

Fibs  are  quilted  to  prevent  cotton  particles 
from  clinging  to  delicate  internal  mem- 
branes ...  an  exclusive  safety  feature. 
The  quilting  also  contributes  to  your 
comfort . .  .  keeps  Fibs  from  flufBng-up  to 
an  uncomfortable  size,  which  might  cause 
pressure,  irritation,  difficult  removal. 

Next  time  you  buy  tampons 
be  sure  to  ask  for  FIBS!  * 

•T.  U.  Roe.  U.  3.  P.t.  Off. 


CRO^PilX 


STORES 

FOREST  CITY  PRODUCTS,  INC.  •  CIEVEUND  13,  OHIO 


A  thermometer  was  stuck  under  his  tongue 
and  he  felt  fingers  on  his  wrist. 

"H'm,"  Doctor  Besser  said.  "What  hap- 
pened, Nell?" 

"Why,  he  stopped  at  Mrs.  Jones'  when  I 
was  there  milking,  and  he  said  he'd  help 
me — and  he  did.  Then  he  walked  over  here 
and  I  asked  him  in  to  supper — then,  just 
outside  the  door,  he  fell." 

"He's  exhausted;  I  think  that's  all,"  the 
doctor  said.  "He  ought  to  rest  for  several 
days.  He's  been  under  a  strain,  with  his 
mother  going  and  all.  But  I'll  have  to  get 
somebody  to  come  in — maybe  Edna  Leslie'!! 
come.  You  can't  manage." 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  he  could  see  their 
faces,  far  off:  the  dried,  though  lively,  face 
of  Pres  Adams,  the  round  moonface  of  Doc- 
tor Besser.  But  where  was  the  hand? 

"Don't  leave  me,"  he  said. 

Nell  laughed,  but  her  laugh  was  faintly 
troubled.  "  I'll  take  care  of  him.  I  guess  he 
won't  be  much  bother,"  she  said. 

"Looks  like  Nell's  been  doing  some  kick- 
ing up  of  her  own  while  I've  been  over  to  the 
widow's,"  Pres  Adams  said  with  an  earthy 
chuckle  that  was  related  to  Nell's  laughter. 
"Didn't  even  know  she  knew  prof!" 

"So  that's  the  way  the  land  lies,  eh, 
Nell?"  the  doctor  said  genially,  but  sur- 
prisedly.  "Thought  you  and  Buck  Peabody 
had  it  fixed  up." 

"Never  did  know  what  Nell  was  up  to," 
Pres  Adams  said  with  another  chuckle. 
"She's  a  deep  one,  my  Nell." 

Pelletier  waited  for  a  scornful,  cheerful 
denial  of  him,  for  now  it  would  come.  But  it 
did  not  come. 

"What  can  he  have  to  eat?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  anything.  Anything  he  wants.  Prob- 
ably been  cooking  for  himself  and  gone  with- 
out since  his  mother  went.  Mostly,  I'd  say, 
though,  he  wants  rest.  Funerals  take  it  out 
of  you.  .  .  .  I'll  drop  in  and  tell  Ellen  Scott 
to  take  over  for  a  few  days,  shall  I  ?  " 

The  voices  faded  away  through  the 
kitchen.  It  grew  very  still,  and  fright  began 
to  take  possession  of  Thomas  Pelletier 
again,  a  horrible  and  consuming  fright. 

Then  Nell  Adams  said,  "Pa,  you  get  his 
clothes  off.  He  can't  lie  there  in  his  clothes 
all  night.  I'll  get  a  nightshirt." 

Pres  Adams  laughed.  "  I  dunno  where  the 
nightshirts  are  your  ma  made  me.  I've  slept 
in  my  skin  or  my  long  underwear  so  long,  I 
dunno  what  a  nightshirt  looks  like." 

"They're  in  the  bottom  bureau  drawer." 

"He's  more  the  kind  to  go  in  for  these 
fancy  pajamas,"  Pres  said. 

Feet  went  up  uncarpeted  stairs  somewhere 
and  Pres  Adams  began  to  undress  Thomas 
Pelletier.  Pelletier  had  strength  neither  to 
resist  nor  to  help  him.  He  had  not  even 
strength  to  open  his  eyes. 

Pres  Adams  chuckled.  "  Featherstitching 
and  all!"  he  said  with  mock  admiration. 
"Your  ma  always  did  like  to  put  on  dog." 

Pelletier  felt  the  cool  touch  of  the  heavy 
cotton  on  his  skin,  felt  a  quilt  being  pulled 
up  under  his  chin.  Then  the  hand  on  his  head 
again.  He  smiled  without  opening  his  eyes. 

"Don't  you  mind  pa,"  she  said  gently. 

"Well,  if  you've  got  your  professor  all 
tucked  in,  you  might  get  my  supper,"  Pres 
Adams  said. 

"All  right,  pa." 

There  was  the  smell  of  salt  pork  frying, 
the  hiss  of  milk  being  poured  into  a  hot  iron 
spider,  the  clatter  of  dishes. 

"Here,  now,  you  drink  this,"  she  said. 
"  It's  good  strong  broth  and  it'll  do  you  good. 
I'll  hold  you  up." 

He  felt  her  strong  arm  under  his  shoulder. 
He  couldn't  hold  the  cup.  She  held  it  with 
her  other  hand  and  the  broth  was  hot  and 
strong  in  his  throat.  He  dropped  back 
against  the  pillow. 

"You're  weak  as  a  kitten,"  she  said. 

He  could  hear  the  splash  of  dishwater,  the 
sound  of  a  pump,  but  it  was  all  far  off,  with- 
out meaning,  at  the  edge  of  the  fright  that 
possessed  him  and  which  was  only  eased  by 
the  touch  of  Nell  Adams'  hand,  the  sound  of 
her  cheerful  voice. 

"Well,  anything  more  you  want  to- 
night? "  she  asked.  "You  want  as  pa  should 
help  you  to  the  bathroom?" 


''The  G'Suit  is  the  best 
thing  anyone  ever  did 
for  us! 


jj 


{One  of  many  actual 

statements  made  by 

fighter  pilots) 


When  a  pilot  flying  at  high  speed  made  a  sudden  change 
in  direction,  gravity  forces  caused  a  stoppage  of  blood 
circulation  through  his  brain.  His  vision  "blacked  out" 
and  he  lost  control  of  his  plane.  The  decisions  and  strategy 
he  had  planned  were  erased  from  his  mind.  He  was  at 
the  mercy  of  the  enemy. 


The  G-Suit,  by  exerting  pres- 
sure on  vital  parts  of  the  body, 
protects  the  pilot  against  black- 
out and  thereby  saves  lives, 
planes  and  equipment. 

How  did  it  come  about  that 
designers  of  Spencer  Supports 
were  able  to  pioneer  in  the  de- 
velopment of  this  valuable  aid 
for  our  Air  Forces?  The  an- 
swer is  that  in  the  designing  of 
Spencer  Health  Supports,  basic 
physiological  and  engineering 
principles  are  used. 


*In  the  development  of  the 
G-Suit  we  had  the  cooperation 
of  the  Aero-Medical  Laboratory, 
and  the  Proving  Ground  Com- 
mand of  the  Army  Air  Forces; 
the  Medical  Research  Section  of 
the  Bureau  of  Aeronautics  of 
the  United  States  Navy;  the 
National  Research  Council's 
Committee  on  Acceleration, 
members  of  which  are  associated 
with  Mayo  Clinic,  Johns  Hop- 
kins, Banting  Institute,  Yale 
University — and  other  medical 
and  aviation  authorities. 


The  Berger  Brothers  Company  &  Subsidiary 
SPENCER   INCORPORATED   makers  of 


SPENCER 


INDIVIDUALLY 
DESIGNED 


SUPPORTS 


NEW       HAVEN,       CONNECTICUT 


That's  where  you  walk,  when  you  wear  Yardley  English 
Lavender!  So  airy-light,  so  irresistible..^ it's  a  scent  that 
carries  you  to  cobbled  lanes,  leaf-dappled  country  roads 
. . .  and   carries  those   about  you  quite  away  as  well  I 


YARDLEY 


ENGLISH 
LAVENDER 


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Add  20%  Federal  Tat 


Yardley  prodyefs  for  Amerlco 
are  created  In  England  and 
finished  in  the  U.  S.  A.  from  the 
original  English  formulae,  combining 
imported  and  domestic  ingredients, 
Yardley  of  London,  Inc., 
«20  Fifth  Ave.,  Rockefailar  Crator, 
Nev»  York  20.  N.  Y, 


80 


He  had  a  sudden  sharp  memory,  through 
the  haze,  of  his  mother's  picayune  delicacies 
about  the  workings  of  the  human  body.  Then 
he  heard  Pres  Adams'  chuckle  and  the  dry 
voice  saying,  "The  commode's  right  there 
handy,  with  u-ten-siles!" 

"Don't  go,"  he  whispered. 

"He's  all  right.  I'll  keep  an  ear  open," 
Pres  said.  "You  get  to  bed,  Nell." 

"I'll  sit  here  for  a  little  while— just  till  he 
gets  to  sleep,"  Nell  said. 

Then  there  was  her  hand  again.  Presently 
he  reached  up  and  put  the  hand  under  his 
cheek  and  he  began  to  feel  rested,  began  to 
feel  sleep  flowing  into  him. 

When  he  woke  it  was  early  morning.  An- 
other clear,  bright  October  morning.  At  first, 
seeing  the  poppies  on  the  wall  and  feeling  the 
unaccustomed  heavy  muslin  of  the  nightshirt 
on  his  body,  he  thought  he  was  dreaming. 
Then  he  felt  the  hand  under  his  cheek  and 
saw  Nell  Adams'  face  on  the  pillow,  still  and 
young  in  sleep.  She  was  still  sitting  on  the 
low  stool,  but  her  head  had  dropped  forward 
along  her  arm  and  she  was  sleeping  soundly. 
She  still  had  on  the  tan  shirt  and  slacks. 

He  stirred  and  she  sat  up  quite  suddenly, 
pulling  her  hand  from  under  his  face,  rub- 
bing her  arm  briskly  and  saying,  "Ouch! 
I'm  all  needles!" 

He  wanted,  unexpectedly,  to  weep,  though 
he  had  never  in  his  conscious  mind  been 
given  to  self-pity  or  tears.  "You've  been 
here  all  night,"  he  said. 

"I  was  afraid  I'd  wake  you  up,"  she  said, 
but  sensibly,  without  tenderness. 

"I've  put  you  to  a  lot  of 
bother,"  he  said.  "I'm  all 
right  now.  I'll  get  up  right 
away." 

"You'll  do  no  such 
thing!  Doc  Besser  said 
you  had  to  stay  in  bed  for 
four  or  five  days  anyway. 
You're  no  bother,  so  don't 
worry.  .  .  .  Well,  I'd 
better  get  over  to  Joneses' 
and  get  the  milking  done." 
She  stood  up,  stretching 
her  anus  above  her  head 
in  a  movingly  young  and 
natviral  gesture. 

"You  sat  here  all  night ," 
he  repeated  wonderingly.      

For   an    instant    she 
looked  bewildered,  as  if  she  were  a  little 
amazed  herself  that  she  had  stayed  there. 
Then  she  laughed  and  said,  "You  were  out 
of  your  head.  You  wouldn't  let  go  my  hand." 

"  I  wasn't  out  of  my  head,"  he  said. 

"You  certainly  were.  Well,  I've  got  to  go. 
Pa's  moving  around  up  there — he'll  be  down 
in  a  minute.  I  won't  be  gone  long.  Breakfast 
when  I  get  back." 

He  heard  her  at  the  pump.  He  could  al- 
most feel  the  shock  of  the  cold  water  on  her 
young  face.  He  heard  her  whistling  down 
the  road.  Twelve  cows  to  milk.  The  fright  of 
last  night  seemed  gone  now.  He  waited  for 
her  to  come  back.  He  knew  she  would  come 
back.  The  Academy,  though,  seemed  far 
away  and  unimportant. 


AMMITIVITIOI¥ 

1^  It  niakeN  little  diiTerence 
^  whether  you  throw  bou- 
€|uetM  or  islones — it  is  always 
well  to  hold  a  supply  in  re- 
serve. .-Vdilitional  bouquets 
will  he  experted.  and  more 
stones  will  he  needed. 

— C.  W.  MASTERS. 

There  is  no  good  arisuiii^ 
with  the  inevitable.  The  only 
argument  available  with  an 
east  wind  is  to  put  on  your 
overcoat.  _jamES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


May,  1945 

over  all,  maple  leaves  superimposed  on  the 
pink-and-white  design.   He  drowsed  again. 

"Did  you  do  this?"  he  asked. 

"Do  what?  Oh,  the  quilt?  No,  ma  did 
that.  That  was  the  last  quilt  she*ever  did. 
I  made  a  Simburst  one,  though,  and  a  Rose 
of  Sharon." 

"Let  me  see  them." 

She  laughed.  "You'd  better  have  some 
breakfast  first,"  she  said. 

She  brought  breakfast  on  a  tin  tray,  oat- 
meal and  cofTee  and  eggs  and  bacon. 

"Dig  in.  Can  you  manage  it  yourself?" 

"Yes.  I  could  get  up,  really.  I've  got  to 
get  back  to  school." 

"After  a  while,"  she  said. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning  she  came  in 
with  the  quilts  over  her  arm. 

"If  you  really  want  to  see  them,  here  they 

are,"  she  said.  She  spread  one  of  the  quilts' 

out  in  a  sweeping  movement  before  her. 

"That's  the  Sunburst,"  she  said.  "But  I  like 

the  Rose  of  Sharon  better."  She  dropped  the 

Sunburst  and  spread  out  the  other. 

"A  lot  of  stitches,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  they  go  quite  fast,"  she  said.  "You 

just  do  them  to  fill  in  with." 

"Fill  what  in?" 

"Time.  To  keep  busy  in  between." 
He  wanted  to  go  on  prodding  her  with,  "  In 
between  what?  "  but  it  was  so  pleasant  lean- 
ing there  against  the  pillows,  with  the  bright 
quilts  spread  out  before  him  and  the  October 
sun  making  the  world  so  bright  and  gaudy 
outside  the  windows,  that  he  could  not  say 
anything  at  all.  She  folded 
the  quilts  up  and  went  out 
with  them. 

In  the  afternoon  he  said, 
"I  ought  to  shave." 

"You  look  all  right.  If 
you  were  pa,  you'd  be 
looking  like  a  porcupine 
by  now." 

He  said  with  a  faint  bit- 
terness, "As  your  father 
says,  maybe  teaching  is  a 
devitalizing  business." 

"I    could   give    you  a 

straight  razor,"  she  said. 

He  made  a  grimace  and 

said,  "No.   No,  thanks!" 

She  gave,  then,  a  quite 

young  giggle  and  said, 
"You  ought  to  see  pa  when  he's  fixing  up  to 
go  see  his  widow.  Or  hear  him,  I  mean! 
He's  got  a  lot  of  ups  and  downs  in  his  face  and 
he's  always  cutting  himself.  But  he  thinks 
safety  razors  are  for  schoolboys."  Then  she 
flushed,  as  if  perhaps  she'd  insulted  him. 
"Pa's  funny,"  she  finished  a  little  lamely. 

Then  almost  before  he  knew  it  was  an- 
other day,  night  had  come  again.  But  to- 
night Nell  said  good  night  to  him  cheerfully 
and  went  upstairs.  He  lay  awake.  After 
a  long  time  he  got  slowly  out  of  bed  and 
found  his  way  through  the  kitchen  to  the 
bathroom  beyond.  He  had  pulled  on  his 
trousers,  but  realized  as  he  did  so  that  it  was 
a  prudish  gesture,  here  where  no  one  would 
see  him,  here  where  his  mother  could  not  see 
him.  He  was  surprised  to  find  himself  so 
weak.  The  moonlight  was  bright  and  he  had 
not  needed  to  turn  on  the  light,  but  when  he 
came  out  of  the  bathroom  he  was  suddenly 
conscious  that  it  was  night  and  his  dream 
came  back  to  him .  He  began  to  shake  and  the 
sweat  came  out  all  over  his  body.  He  groped 


r  RES  ADAMS,  in  overalls,  came  to  the  door 
and  grinned  at  him.  "How's  the  professor 
this  morning?  Able  to  sit  up  and  take 
nourishment?"  Pres  asked. 

"I'm  fine,"  Pelletier  said. 

"Always  thought  teachin'  was  a  de-vi- 
talizin'  business,"  Pres  said  with  his  dry     for  a  chair  by  the  kitchen  table,  fell  into  it  ;  i 
mockery.  "Nell's  ma  was  boimd  to  make  a    heavily  and  dropped  his  head  down  on  the  ^ 
schoolteacher  out  of  Nell,  but  I'm  right  re-    table, 
lieved  Nell  didn't  have  no  leaning  that  way.        Light  steps  ran  down  the  stairs.   He  felt 


Most  schoolteachers  are  pretty  puny." 
Pelletier  smiled,  but  did  not  answer. 
"You  get  out  and  pitch  hay  for  a  summer, 
you'd  soon  have  more'n  skin  on  your 
bones.  .  .  .  Well,  milking  time,  and  I  ain't 
got  Nell  to  help  me."  He  winked  at  Pelletier 
good-naturedly,  but  as  if  tliey  had  a  secret 
between  them,  and  went  off  through  the 
kitchen,  slamming  the  screen  door  behind 
him. 

The  quilt  over  him  was  made  up  of  very 
tiny  pink  and  white  squares,  set  together  in 
a  complicated  pattern.  His  mind  sorted  out 
the  pattern  and  dwelt  on  the  millions  of 
stitches  involved.  The  quilting  design  ran 


her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  but  he  couldn't 
stop  shaking. 

"You  ought  to  have  called  pa.  You 
oughtn't  to  have  got  up!"  she  scolded  hmi. 
"You've  taken  a  chill.  Come  on  now,  get 
back  in  bed.  I'll  help  you.  Just  lean  on  me — 
don't  try  to  walk  alone.  Don't  you  know 
you're  sick?"  So,  scolding  him  gently,  she 
got  him  back  to  the  bed,  pulled  the  quilt 
over  him.  "  I'm  going  to  get  you  a  hot- water 
bottle.  You  mustn't  get  chilled.  Ma  had  a 
chill  and  then  she  got  pneimionia." 

She  brought  the  bottle,  slipped  it  under 
tlie  covers,  sat  down  beside  the  cot.  She  had 
(Continued  on  Page  8Z) 


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:S, 


Who  would  guess  she  s 
heen  on  her  feet  all  day 

She  dashes  from  business  to  benefits  .  .  .  without  a  care. 
She's  always  good  company  .  .  .  with  never  a  sign 
\         of  weariness.   Her  Selby  Arch  Preserver 

shoes  cancel   loot   fatigue  these   three   ways: 

•  Steel  arch  bridge  for  firm  support. 

•  Individually  placed  metatarsal  pad  for  comfort. 
•  Perfectly  flat  innersole  for  comfort-plus. 


35 


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Siighlly  Higher  in  Western  Statea  and  Canada 


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SELBY  SHOES,  Fifth  Ave.  and  38th  St., 
New  York  City,  and  Your  Leading  Shoe 
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hr  thildnn,  GREEN  SHOE  MFG.  CO.,  B«(lon,  Mod. 

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82 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945  I 


*  Buy  More  War  Bonds  and  Savings  Stamps  * 


The  "Doll  Waist"  of  Paris  reports  influences  our  current  fashions. 

Gossard's  famed  MisSimplicity*  design  gently,  but 

surely  incuroes  your  waistline. 

The  diagonal  pull  of  the 

cross-ooer  straps  does  the  trick 

giving  you  the  desired  look  of  fragile  grace. 


THE  H.W.GOSSARD  CO.Chkono,  New  York,  San  Fronciico,  Dallos,  Ailonta,  Toronto,  Melbourne,  Sydney,  Buenos  Ail 


(Conlintied  from  Page  80) 
on  a  flannel  robe  over  her  nightdress,  but  her 
feet  were  bare. 

"Warmer?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Yes,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said. 

"Well,  then,  you  stay  put.  Don't  get  up 
again— just  you  call.  Pa'll  hear  you." 

But  some  of  the  fright  and  weakness  still 
gripped  at  him  and  showed  in  his  eyes. 

"Look,"  she  said,  and  now  she  hesitated, 
seemed  shy.  "Look,  Professor  Pelletier — it 
was  a  dream,  honest  it  was.  You  don't  want 
to  let  it  get  you  like  that.  Think  I'd  dare  sit 
here  like  this  if  you  were  somebody  who 
could  do  such  a  thing  as  that?  I'd  be 
afraid — and  I'm  not,  not  a  bit." 

"But  you  aren't  afraid  of  anything,"  he 
whispered. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am.  I'm  afraid  of  lots  of 
things.  But  I  know  you  didn't  do  it.  Don't 
ask  me  how — a  girl  just  knows,  that's  all." 

"It's  odd,"  he  said  vaguely.  "When 
you're  here,  I  believe  you  implicitly.  I  know 

you're  right.  It's  when  you're  not  here " 

His  voice  trailed  off.  Then  he  opened  his  eyes 
and  said  more  clearly,  "You  didn't  tell  the 
doctor;  why  didn't  you  tell  the  doctor?" 

"Hush!"  she  said.  "You're  getting  flighty 
again.  There  wasn't  anything  to  tell  the 
doctor.  .  .  .  You  want  me  to  sit  here  till 
you  go  to  sleep?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  wanting  to  say,  "No,  no, 
go  to  bed,  child,"  but  not  being  able  to  do  so. 

She  curled  her  bare  feet  under  her 
inside  the  robe  and  sat  there,  very  still. 

"I'm  being  such  a  bother,"  he  said  after 
a  long  time. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  bothering."  she  said. 
"It's  sort  of  exciting,  in  a  way.  And  you've 
been  taking  care  of  someone  a  long  time- 
it's  only  fair  that  you  get  taken  care  of  for 
once." 

So  he  slept  and  another  day  was  gone.  In 
the  morning  he  found  a  toothbrush  and  a 
safety  razor  by  his  bed.  He  shaved  slowly. 
He  had  two  callers.    Miss  Scott  came  first. 

"Here's  one  of  your  women  after  you," 
Pres  Adams  said.    He  had  his  chores  done 


and  had  put  on  a  clean  shirt  and  a  necktit 
and  shaved. 

Miss  Scott  gave  a  somewhat  dry  laugh  anc 
said,  "I'm  not  in  the  running.  I  just  wantec 
to  know  if  he  was  really  sick  or  just  loafing;, 
I've  got  to  do  his  job."  ^ 

"You  told  me  to  rest,"  Pelletier  said. 

She  sat  down  in  the  rocker  by  the  window 
She  looked  just  as  she  did  on  school  days,  ir 
the  same  gray  suit,  with  her  watch  pinnec 
on  the  lapel.  "How  on  earth  did  you  get  u[ 
here?"  she  demanded  abruptly. 

"This  isn't  my  nightshirt,"  he  answered 
irrelevantly. 

"  I  should  hope  not ! "  she  answered  tartly  ! 
"  Or  if  it  is,  I've  been  mistaken  in  your  taste } 
all  these  years.   How  did  you  get  up  here?'f 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly.        ! 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  shrewd  looki 
"Well,  I  won't  disturb  you  any  more.  Jusif 
get  a  good  rest  and  don't  worry  about  any »' 
thing  at  the  Academy.  It'll  keep  going.  .  .,  jis 
Deem's  coming  to  see  you,  if  he  gets  up  thif' 
gumption.  I  saw  him  at  church  this  morninif- 
and  he  said  he'd  get  up.  If  you  don't  want 
to  talk  to  him,  don't." 

"I  don't,"  he  said,  but  in  that  same  slo\i 
voice  that  made  Miss  Scott's  eyes  wi^en  i 
little.  She  got  up,  said  good-by  briskly  am 
went  out. 

Nell  was  on  the  back  porch  hanging  uj 
dish  towels. 

"Has  the  doctor  been  here  today?"  Misji 
Scott  asked  Nell. 

"No.    He  didn't  say  if  he'd  be  back  q|i 
not.    He— Mr.   Pelletier'll  be  all  right, 
guess,  if  he  just  rests." 

"He  looks  too  tired  to  rest,"  Miss  Scotf' 
said,  unexpectedly  even  to  herself,  it  seemed 
"If  you  want  anything,  you  can  find  me  a 
the  Academy.  I'm  Miss  Scott.  Or  night 
I'm  at  home.  Maybe  he  might  want  som 
clothes  or  something  from  home.  And  I  thin'|il! 
the  doctor  ought  to  keep  an  eye  on  him." 

Nell  looked  at  Miss  Scott  directly  and  saic-fo 

more  firmly,  "He'll  be  all  right." 

,     Miss  Scott  returned  the  look  as  directly' 

but  with  an  inner  discomfort  she  did  no 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


83 


uite  understand.  She  was  not  used  to  being 
ut  in  her  place  by  children.  "Oh,  Doctor 
)eem,  from  the  rectory,  might  drive  up. 
le's  quite  a  talker;  I  wouldn't  let  him  visit 
30  much  with  Mr.  Pelletier,  if  I  were  you." 
'here  seemed  no  more  to  say  or  do  and  she 
rent  away.  She  looked  back  from  her  small 
ar  in  the  drive  and  Nell  stood  there  on  the 
orch,  looking  after  her.  Miss  Scott  had  the 
;eling  of  enmity  in  the  straight  young 
gure,  but  she  knew  of  no  possible  reason  for 
;,  so  she  shook  her  gray  head,  got  into  the 
ar.  backed  out  through  a  flurry  of  chickens 
nd  drove  home. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  Deem  was  a  differ- 
Qt  matter.  "Nonsense!  Of  course  he'll  see 
le,"   Mr.    Deem's  voice 

lid  from  the  kitchen.  "I       

;11  you,  I  don't  exert  my- 
ilf  over  most  of  my  pa- 
shioners  as  much  as  this, 
nd  I  won't  be  balked  af- 
;r  forgoing  my  afternoon 


TRUE  LOVE 


ap !   I  tell  my  wife  I  don't 


ap,  but  I  do,  I  do.  Where 

the  boy?  .  .  .  Oh,  here 
Du  are." 

"But  he's  too  sick  to       

ilk!"    Nell    said,    with 

lore  concern   and   determination   in    her 

Dice  than  he  had  yet  heard. 

"/'//  talk!"  Mr.  Deem  said  with  a  deep 
luckle.  "That's  my  business.  .  .  .  Haven't 
3u  got  a  stouter  chair  than  this?  That 
randfather's  chair  by  the  stove'll  be  fine, 
ine.  I'mnot  easy  on  chairs." 

Nell  brought  the  high-backed  old  hickory 
lair  into  the  bedroom. 

Thomas  Pelletier  smiled  at  her  and  said, 
It's  all  right.  You  sit  down  too." 

She  sat  down  in  the  rocker  where  Miss 
:ott  had  sat.  She  had  on  a  woolen  skirt, 
laid,  today,  and  a  blue  pull-over  sweater. 

Mr.  Deem  raised  his  brows  a  little,  as  if 
)  indicate  he'd  rather  be  alone  with 
elletier,  but  Nell  sat  there  stififly,  saying 
Dthing,  and  made  no  movement  to  leave. 
Let's  see,  what's  your  name?"  he  said. 


^  A  man  reserves  his  great- 
^  est  and  deepest  love  not  for 
the  woman  in  whose  company 
he  finds  himself  electrified 
and  enkindled  but  for  that 
one  in  whose  company  he 
feels  tenderly  drowsy. 

—ANON. 


"Nell  Adams,"  Nell  said  stiffly. 
"Of  course!  Of  course!  I  remember  you. 
You're  the  Four-H  girl  who  won  a  prize  with 
a  bull  calf  at  the  county  fair  two  years  ago. 
Two  of  my  parishioners  had  antimacassars 
and  jelly  up  for  exhibit  and  I  had  to  go  look 
at  them — we  don't  go  in  for  bull  calves  at 
St.  Paul's,  more's  the  pity.  .  .  .  She's  a 
very  stubborn  child,  Tom,  very  stubborn. 
She  and  Amy  ought  to  get  on  well  together — 
two  of  a  kind.  Wasn't  going  to  let  me 
in.  If  I'd  been>my  diminutive  copartner  in 
the  spiritual  development  of  West  Ulster, 
Brother  Braddock,  I  don't  doubt  she'd  have 
picked  me  up  by  my  collar  and  dropped  me 
off  the  porch,  but  sheer  bulk  is  a  kind  of 
compelling    force,    I've 

found.    A   commanding 

height  is  better,  but  I  make 
fat  serve.   .  .   .    Do  you 
mind   if   I   smoke?"    He 
was  already  filling  his  pipe. 
"Or  are  you  one  of  a  de- 
nomination  that   doesn't 
think  it  seemly  in  a  clergy- 
man?   But    nonsense;    I 
presume  you  smoke  your- 
self.  All  the  girls  do  nowa- 
days." 
"No,  I  don't  smoke,"  Nell  said. 
"  Don't, eh?  "His  little  eyes  twinkledat  her. 
"Nice   room.     Nice   chair.     Just   fits   me. 
Wouldn't  sell  it,  would  you?" 

"No,  it's  pa's  chair.   It  used  to  be  great- 
grandpa's,"  Nell  said. 

"All  right.  Just  thought  I'd  ask.  I  find 
it  hard  to  get  chairs  to  fit.  I'm  a  man  that 
likes  to  do  a  lot  of  sitting.  Don't  call  on  my 
people  as  much  as  Braddock  does.  Made  an 
exception  for  Tom,  here,  because  he  doesn't 
bore  me.  I  know  my  business  is  with  the  soul, 
but  some  souls  are  pretty  picayune  affairs — 
most  souls,  in  fact.  I  get  bored,  which  is  in 
the  way  of  a  confession.  .  .  .  Read  that 
thing  on  Savonarola  I  gave  you,  Tom?" 
Thomas  Pelletier  shook  his  head. 
"Read  it.  There's  a  nice  Jesuitical  touch 
to  it  that  will  intrigue  you.  I  wonder  what's 


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84 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


Wow  em  with  this  solid  salad 

...delicious  with  'MN\(U\imaJiht 


r/Zeidli'^i^- 


Ham  Salad— 2%  cups  cooked  chop- 
ped ham,  1  cup  grated  carrots, 
i/i  cup  chopped  celery,  Vi  tsp. 
salt,  1/4  tsp.  pepper.  Mix  with  1/3 
cup  Real  Mayonnaise. 

Potato  Salad— 5  cupfuls  of  your 
favorite  recipe  made  with  Real 
Mayonnaise. 

6  Tomato  Cups  filled  with  chopped 
cucumber  mixed  with  delicious 
Real  Mayonnaise. 

Your  choice  of  salad  greens. 


^Best 
Foods 


V 


IN  THE  WEST 

IN  THE   EAST  ^ 


jJ/Hl)*     ^'^  \\.2im  salad  ingre- 
/'  dients  together  and 

press  into  half  of  an  8-inch  ring  mold. 
Place  potato  salad  in  remaining  half 
of  mold.  Scoop  out  tomatoes,  fill  with 
chopped  cucumber  mixture.  Chill. 
This  is  a  grand  company  salad,  be- 
cause it  can  be  prepared  beforehand. 
When  you're  ready  to  serve,  just  un- 
mold  on  bed  of  salad  greens.  Next, 
arrange  tomatoes  and  sandwiches 
around  salad,  as  illustrated.  Those 
thin,  company  sandwiches  taste  won- 
derfully exciting  when  spread  with 
Real  Mayonnaise.  And  Real  Mayon- 
naise spreads  so  evenly  and  so  fast. 

Way  to  a  Man's  Heart 

Best  Foods  or  Hellmann's  Real  May- 
onnaise makes  a  real  contribution  to 
the  flavor  of  any  salad.  Men  love  the 
taste  of  it,  and  because  it's  so  rich 
and  pure— you  can  stretch  it  with 
milk  or  fruit  juice  and  it's  still  creamy- 
rich  in  texture.  Use  Real  Mayonnaise 
as  a  sauce  for  hot  vegetables,  and  in 
sandwich  fillings,  too.  Real  May- 
onnaise provides  almost  the  same 
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spoonful,  as  vitaminized  margarine, 
or  butter.. 


BEST  FOODS^HELLMANN'S 


odea 


ne^ 


become  of  style  in  writing.  I  must  confess  to 
liking  a  well-turned  sentence.  Chop,  chop, 
chop— that's  the  effect  of  most  books  now- 
adays. .  .  .  Your  mother  might  have  liked 
it.  You  know,  Tom,  I've  often  thought  that, 
despite  all  the  involvements,  it's  a  good 
thing  to  have  an  invalid  in  the  family.  To 
read  to,  I  mean.  You  get  a  lot  read  that  you 
wouldn't  read  otherwise,  and  get  yourself 
educated  in  spite  of  yourself.  I  can  never 
keep  Amy  still  long  enough  even  to  read  her 
my  sermons.  .  .  .  You  know,  Tom,  you're 
taking  death  too  hard  for  a  man  who's  no 
longer  a  child.  Your  mother  was  an  old 
woman.  She'd  been  ill  a  long  time.  It  was 
natural  for  her  to  die.  In  fact,  it  was  good 
for  her  to  die  this  time  of  year.  I  hope  I'll 
die  in  the  fall.  On  a  day  like  this,  when  the 
leaves  are  falling  without  effort,  just  drift- 
ing down  to  earth  as  if  it  were  their  rightful 
home.  No  sadness  in  it  then.  When  a  life  has 
reached  its  span,  fulfilled  itself,  then  there 
should  be  no  sadness.  It's  all  part  of  the 
pattern  of  living,  death  is.  You're  too  smart 
to  kick  against  the  inevitable,  Tom." 

He  was  puffing 
away  at  his  pipe,  but 
all  the  time  his  little 
eyes  probed  Thomas 
Pelletier,  took  in  the 
girl  sitting  so  stiffly, 
without  rocking,  in 
the  rocking  chair, 
took  in  the  room,  the 
crimson-and-yellow 
trees  of  the  yard  and 
thehillside.  Hetalked 
in  a  casual,  lazy  voice, 
but  there  was  a  cer- 
tain speculative  seri- 
ousness under  all  he 
said. 

Then  Thomas  Pel- 
letier surprised  him. 
He  had  been  lying 
there  quietly,  not 
talking  at  all.  But 
the  small  eyes  saw 
Tom's  glance  go  to 
the  girl  with  a  sud- 
den strange,  haunted, 
imploring  look.  It 
was  a  part  of  the  look 
he  remembered  from 
the  cemetery. 

Nell  said,  "I  think 
Mr.  Pelletier  is  too 
tired  totalk  anymore, 
Mr.  Deem.  The  doc- 
tor said  he  must  be 
very  quiet."  She 
stood  up  and  Deem 
found  himself  pulling 
his  bulk  from  the 
grandfather  chair, 
following    her    out 

through  the  kitchen,  out  to  the  back  porch. 
On  the  steps  he  chuckled,  amused  at  her 
firm  dispatch,  at  his  obedience. 

"I  declare,  you're  putting  me  out!"  he 
said. 

"He  has  to  be  quiet,"  she  said  with  only 
faint  apology. 

It  doesn't  hurt  anybody  to  listen,  you 
know,"  he  reproached  her.  "  I  was  doing  all 
the  talking,  wasn't  I?  I  wasn't  demanding 
anything  of  him.  He's  a  pretty  special  per- 
son, Tom  Pelletier  is — got  a  good  mind. 
Can't  have  him  cracking  up.  You  take  good 
care  of  him,  now.  How'd  he  ever  get  up 
here,  anyway?" 

"  I'll  take  care  of  him,"  Nell  said. 

At  that  moment  Pres  Adams'  flivver 
chugged  into  the  drive,  came  to  a  noisy  stop, 
as  if  Pres  had  pulled  on  the  reins  too  sud- 
denly. Pres  hopped  out,  like  the  little  ban- 
tam he  was.  "Hello,  Mr.  Deem!"  he  said. 
"Didn't  come  calling  on  me,  I  don't  sup- 
pose? Ministers  mostly  leave  me  alone, 
knowing  it's  no  use.  Comforting  the  sick, 
eh?  I  guess  Nell's  doing  comforting  enough, 
though  what  she  sees  in  a  man  most  as  old 
as  her  pa— no  accounting  for  women, 
though." 

The  small  eyes  came  back  to  Nell.  Nell 
hadn't  flushed.  She  stood  there,  one  hand 
on  the  post  of  the  porch  railing.  She  looked 


By  Ethel  Barnett  de  Vito 

They  took  their  leave  as  vanquished 

generals  do. 
Viewing  the  battleground  with 

heads  upright. 
Stony  and  stiff  and  painfully  polite, 
Eager  to  end  the  last  cold  interview. 
They  were  impatient  to  take  leave 

and  go 
Swiftly,  accepting  terms  of  their 

defeat; 
Quickly,  lest  their  averted  eyes 

should  meet, 
Lest  flags  should  fall  and  some 

emotion  show. 

They  took  their  leave  as  vanquished 

generals  do. 
Proudly  as  though  victorious  and 

free. 
Yet  each,  looking  back  upon  the 

love  they  knew, 
Wished  they  had  shown  their 

true  humility 
And  wept  or  stormed  or  clung  or 

struck  a  blow, 
Or  anything  but  let  the  other  go. 


very  young,  and  yet  not  quite  like  the 
Four-H  girl  who  had  shown  the  bull  calf. 

"Don't  be  silly,  pa,"  she  said,  but  without 
emphasis. 

Deem  got  himself  down  the  steps,  said 
good  day  to  them  both,  made  his  way  down 
to  his  car  at  the  roadside.  He  always  had 
something  of  a  problem  at  a  driveway,  not 
being  able  to  decide  which  was  harder,  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  drive  or  to  back  his 
car  out  if  there  wasn't  room  to  turn  around. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  rectory  Amy  had 
finished  the  dishes  and  was  lying  flat  on  her 
stomach  with  a  book  before  the  fire,  the  dog 
stretched  out  beside  her.  She  rolled  over. 

"Dignity.  Dignity,  Amy.  Staff  of  life  for 
a  minister's  wife." 

"Fiddlesticks.   Find  him?" 

"Yes.  Yes,  I  found  him.  Why  shouldn't  I? 

I  knew  where  he  was."  He  had  dropped  into 

the  chintz-covered  chair. 

"How  was  he?" 

"  I  wouldn't  know.  Didn't  get  a  word  out 

of  him.   He's  got  a  dragon  guarding  him— 

name  of  Nell  Adams. 

Pres'  girl.  Something 

funny  going  on.  Amy. 

Don't  understand  it 

"Then  it  must  be 
very,  very  funny." 

"Pres  was  imply 
ing  there  was  some^ 
thing  between  this 
girl  and  Tom.  Ridio 
ulous!  In  the  first 
place,  she's  nothing 
but  a  child.  In  the 
second,  she's  not 
Tom's  type  at  all 
just  a  healthy  coun^ 
try  girl  who  belonged 
to  the  Four-H's  not 
more  than  two  yeart 
ago,  calls  her  father 
'  pa, '  never  been  down 
here  to  the  Academy 
as  far  as  I  know.  Ii 
the  third  place,  he' 
never  had  any  chanc 
to  know  her.  H 
hasn't  been  out  for 
night,  except  ti 
school  affairs  or 
couple  of  times  her 
to  dinner,  in  years.  I 
doesn't  make  sense 
And  yet  she  actei 
just  as  if  he  did  be 
long  to  her,  as  if  shi 
had  a  right  to  put  mi 
out  of  his  room. 

Amy's  expressivi 
face  screwed  itsel 
into  a  grimace  of  de 
light.  "Put  you  ou\ 
Pinny!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  wonderful 
She  must  be  a  very  healthy  country  girl. 

"She  is,"  he  said  dryly.  "Raising  bui| 
calves  is  what  she  does  in  her  spare  time. 
"I  must  see  her." 

"Tom  looked  pretty  sick  to  me.  As  if  he'' 
just  given  up.  Worried  about  him.  Amy. 
"Is  she  pretty?" 

"Well,  not  what  I'd  call  pretty.  Health) 
tanned,  curly  rhair,  white  teeth.  Not  s 
civilized  as  I'd  fancy.  .  .  .  Perhaps  Prt 
was  just  talking.  He  has  an  eye  for  th 
women,  they  say — courting  two  at  the  mc 
ment  just  to  have  one  in  reserve.  But  she' 
a  child — Tom's  all  of  forty." 

"He  has  a  young  look,"  Amy  said  slowl) 

"Well,  he  looks  even  younger  in  bed.  Ha 

his  glasses  off.    Never  saw  him  with  hijait 

glasses  off  before.    Remarkable  blue  eyes, 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Amy  said. 

"You  do?  H'm!" 

Amy  laughed.  Then  she  rolled  over  on  he 

stomach  again,   propped  her  chin  in  he 

palms  and  stared  down  at  her  book.  "Pinnjlj 

I'm  still  frightened,"  she  said,  staring  at  th 

book.  "It's  all  so  unlike  Tom.  He  wouldn 

here — but    went    up    there    instea( 


DK 


come 

There  must  be  some  reason  he  went  there, 

"Yes.   It's  strange.   But  strange  in  an  ii 
teresting  sort  of  way.  Amy,"  he  confess© 

"Don't,"  she  said. 

(Continued  on  Page  86) 


K 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


No  place  like  home . . .  Have  a  Coke 


,,,or  let's  have  a  swing  session  at  our  house 


good  time  right  in  their  own  homes  is 
lething  young  folks  enjoy  with  all  their 
rts.  When  their  hobbies  are  welcomed, 

their  friends  are  made  to  feel  "just  like 
:  of  the  family"  — that's  about  all  they 
It.  And  refreshing  Coca-Cola  is  a  great 

part  of  the  picture.  Have  a  Coke  just 


naturally  means,  Be  one  of  our  gang — when- 
ever young  folks  meet.  Keep  Coca-Cola  in 
your  icebox  where  it  will  be  handy  when  the 
bunch  comes  over.  Coke  is  to  them  not  only 
a  delicious  treat— but  their  own  chosen 
symbol  of  companionship,  happy  hours,  and 
congenial  pals. 


"Coke"=  Coca-Cola 

You  naturally  hear  Coca-Cola 
i:  ailed  by  its  friendly  abbreviation 
["Coke".  Bo  thmeanthequality  prod- 
uct of  The  Coca-Cola  Company. 


COPYRIGHT  1945.  THE  COCA-COLA  COMPANY 


86 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194 


Before 


After 


'What  Happened  ^^^tt^^ 


"When  I  was  married,"  says  Ann 
Weir,  "I  weighed  127  and  had  a 
waistline  I  was  proud  of.  Hut  after 
I  had  my  fourth  child,  my  weight 
went  up  to  166.  I  had  what  men 
call  a  'bay  window.'  I  repeatedly 
tried  diets  and   reducing  exercises,  and 
thought  I  could  take  off  tliose  extra  pounds 
all  by  myself,  but  the  exercises  I  did  were 
just  putting  on  muscle. 

"I  kept  reading  about  the  DuBarry  Suc- 
cess Course,  which  you  follow  right  at 
home,  but  I  had  the  mistaken  idea  that  it 
was  too  expensive  for  me.  When  I  found 
how  little  it  cost,  my  husband  gave  it  to 
me  for  a  Mother's  Day  present,  and  with 
my  doctor's  approval,  I  started.  I  soon 
learned  why  tiie  Course  was  different 
from  anything  I'd  ever  tried.  In  six  weeks 
I  lost  22  pounds,  kept  on  and  lost  16  more. 
And  I  took  those  pounds  off  right  where  I 
needed  to  lose  them— 9  inches  off  my  abdo- 
men, 6  off  my  waist,  6V^  off  my  hips. 

"My  complexion  has  improved  100%, 
and  what  I  learned  about  make-up  has 
been  a  revelation.  My  husband  is  proud 
of  my  achievements;  and  I  feel  that  the 
Course  has  helped  me  to  stay  young  with 
my  family.  Far  from  being  expensive,  it 
has  been  an  investment  paying  wonderful 
dividends  in  health  and  happiness." 


/  regained  my  slender  waistline. 
I  ivear  my  clothes  tvith  assurance. 
I  have  more  energy. 
I  look  ten  years  younger.''* 

—Mrs.  Ann  W^eir,  East  St.  Louis,  III. 


HOW  ABOUT  YOU?  Perhaps  you, 
too,  have  wondered  why  this  plan,  fol- 
lowed faithfully,  is  so  successful,  when 
your  attempts  at  weight  adjustment  and 
personal  improvement  fail.  It's  because 
the  Success  Course  is  a  three-way  plan— 
"eating  as  a  beauty  eats,"  simple,  enjoy- 
able exercises,  and  the  proper  use  of  co- 
related  DuBarry  Beauty  and  Make -Up 
Preparations.  You  get  an  analysis  of  your 
individual  needs  — skin,  hair,  figure,  pos- 
ture, weight— a  goal  to  work  for,  and  a 
program  for  attaining  it.  You  follow  at 
home  the  same  methods  used  by  Ann  Dela- 
field  at  the  famous  Richard  Hudnut  Salon, 
New  York.  And  it  works!  The  experience 
of  more  than  190,000  women  and  girls  of 
all  ages  from  12  to  60  has  proved  that  this 
plan  can  help  you  to  look  better,  feel  bet- 
ter, have  the  vitality  and  energy  you  need 
for  social  and  business  success,  for  war 
work  and  strenuous  wartime  living. 

When  the  Success  Course  has  meant  so 
much  to  so  many,  why  not  use  the  cou- 
pon to  find  out  what  it  can  do  for  vou? 


RICHARD  HUDNUT  SALON 
NEW     YORK 


Accepted  for  advattisliiE  In  publications 
ot  the  Amiiican  Medical  Association 


I 

V/iih  your  Couthc  you  rC'  I 
ceive  this  Chest  containiny  I 
a  ffcntirouu  supply  of  Du-  . 
liar ry  Heauty  and  Makf^-np  I 
J'reparationa  for  your  ty  1)1'.  L 


Richard  Hudnut  Salon 
Dept.  SS-2,  693  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Please  send  the  booklet  telling  all  about  the 
DuBarry  Home  Success  Course. 

Miss 

Mrs 


Guaranteed  by  '^ 
tCood  Housekeeping  J 


Address- 
City 


_  Slate 


(Continued  from  Page  84) 

Up  in  the  little  room  with  the  poppies, 
Nell  stood  in  the  doorway.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  be  rude,"  she  said.  "But  he  was  staying 
too  long." 

"  I  wanted  him  to  go,"  Tom  Pelletier  said. 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"He's all  right.  I  just  didn't  want  to  talk." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  Nell  said  a  little  flatly. 
Then  she  turned  and  said,  "Pa,  you  know 
there  isn't  gas  enough  to  go  out  again. 
You'll  have  to  walk." 

"Oh,  I'll  get  there.  I'll  get  there!  Let  'er 
coast  down  the  hills — she'll  make  it." 

"You  have  to  get  up  the  hills  coming 
home.  We  might  need  the  car  for  something 
special." 

"  More  special  than  sparkin'  ?  "  he  chuckled. 
There  was  the  sound  of  the  car  in  the  drive. 

But  the  next  day  Pres  Adams  came  into 
the  room  and  sat  down.  He  had  his  overalls 
on,  and  a  bright  blue  shirt.  His  face  was 
creased  and  furrowed  and  hard,  but  his 
eyes  were  extremely  lively  and  shrewd. 

"Always  told  Nell  I  wouldn't  stand  in  her 
way  when  the  time  come,"  he  said  without 
preamble.  "Never  did  hold  with  these  folks 
that  tried  to  keep  their  young'uns  from 
living  their  own  lives.  I've  always  kept  a 
line  out  just  in  case  I  should  get  left  high 
and  dry  all  of  a  sudden,  like  it  looks  as  if  I'm 
going  to  get  left  now.  Looks  like  Nell's  really 
made  up  her  mind  this  time.  She's  had 
plenty  after  her,  but  Nell's  choosy.  Never 
saw  her  take  to  anyone  so  hard  before.  Well, 
I  just  wanted  to  say  I  haven't  got  any  objec- 
tions one  way  or  another.  Seems  like  you're 
too  old  for  her — you  been  teaching  down  t' 
the  Academy  must  be  fifteen  years,  ain't  you, 
now?  Don't  make  you  any  kid.  And  I'd 
hate  to  see  her  looking  after  someone  that's 
sickly,  but  doc  says  you  just  got  tired  out, 
that  it's  nothing  serious.  .  .  .  Nell's  a  good 
cook.  She  knows  how  to  keep  a  house. 
Seems  kind  of  peculiar  to  me  all  around, 
though — you  don't  look  like  the  kind  of 
fellow  would  fall  for  Nell.  Books  and  all 
that.  Nell's  not  a  great  reader,  more  of  a 
regular  farm  girl.  Don't  always  work  out, 
though,  that  you  fall  for  the  folks  J48t  like 
you.  Here's  Widow  Casey,  saving,  pinching 
pennies — seems  to  like  me  all  right,  but  I 
can't  save  a  cent.  Never  could.  .  .  .  Well, 
got  to  get  back  to  the  barn— just  thought 
I'd  tell  you  how  things  stood  and  that  it's 
all  right  with  me,  so  long  as  Nell's  suited, 
and  it  looks  like  she  is."  He  grinned  embar- 
rassedly  but  with  liveliness,  and  went  out. 

Thomas  Pelletier  lay  there  very  quietly 
for  a  long  time,  staring  at  the  trees,  his  mind 
rejecting  the  profound  relief  that  had  coursed 
through  him  as  Pres  Adams  had  made  his 
astounding  little  speech.  His  mind  knew  it 
was  all  very  ridiculous,  but  the  relief  stayed, 
wrapping  him  securely  round. 

"Nell,"  he  said  aloud,  as  if  trying  the 
word. 

At  once  she  was  in  the  room.  "Did  you 
call  me?"  she  said. 

"I  presume  so.  I  don't  know.  Nell,  did 
you  hear  your  father?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.   Just  that. 


OBEIIIENrE 

1^  Miss  Marguerite  W.  Johnson,  a 
^  member  of  the  faculty  of  the 
I'niversity  of  Michigan,  after  mak- 
ing detailed  observation  of  thou- 
sands of  children  of  all  ages,  has 
found  that,  without  exception,  it  is 
best  »o  tell  a  youngster  what  to  do 
instead  of  what  not  to  do. 

She  selected  forty  pairs  of  children 
ranging  from  two  to  eight  years  of 
age.  The  children  of  each  pair  were 
matched  as  nearly  as  possible  in  in- 
telligence and  personality  as  well  as 
in  age  and  sex.  One  child  of  each 
pair  was  then  given  an  order  that 
was  positive;  the  other  member  of 
the  pair  was  told  to  do  the  same 
thing  in  a  negative  way. 

A  majority  of  the  youngsters  who 
were  told  what  to  do  were  obedient. 
An»l  most  of  the  children  who  were 
given  instruction  in  a  negative  man- 
ner pervcr.scly  got  around  lo  dis- 
obeying. 

Taken  from  The  American  Weekly. 


There's   A  PARADISE  5^^ 
for    every    °^co,,^ 


*    The  Hee/-Morfe   fe//s 
you  of  o  g/once,  she 
o/fcs   in    PorodisQ. 


^tc€  S**«  of  Porodise  Foshions 
is  yours  on  request.  Write  todoy. . 


BRAUER  BROS.  SHOE  CO.  »  St.  Louis  8, 


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7}  Franklin  St- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


87 


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"Sit  down  here  beside  me,  Nell.  Put  your 
hand  on  my  head." 

She  sat  down,  but  she  did  not  touch  him. 

"I'm  forty-one  years  old,"  he  said  slowly. 

"That's  not  so  very  old,"  she  answered. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Twenty." 

"I  wish  it  were  true,  that  you'd  fallen  for 
me,  Nell.  I  know  it  isn't,  but  I  wish  it  were 
true.  I  don't  want  to  leave  you — it  seems  as 
if  I've  known  you  forever.  You  rest  me  so." 

"I  guess  I  have  fallen  for  you,"  Nell  said, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  heard  a  real  be- 
wilderment, young  and  desolate,  in  her  voice. 

"Nell,  you  couldn't." 

"I  guess  I  have,"  Nell  said  stubbornly. 
Her  hard  young  hands,  brown  and  firm,  were 
clasped  tight  around  her  knees,  too  tight. 

"You  mean  you  really  would  marry  me? 
Forty-one  years  old,  sick  and  all?" 

"You're  just  tired.  I  could  take  care  of 
you." 

"It  isn't  fair,"  he  said. 

"  It  seems  as  if — as  if  it's  meant  to  be  this 
way,"  Nell  said.  "'Tisn't  the  way  I  thought 
it  would  be,  but  seems  as  if  it's  meant. 
Seems  as  if  you  need  me  to  look  after  you." 
Her  voice  was  a  little  desperate  with  earnest- 
ness and  she  looked  at  her  clasped  hands. 

"God  knows  I  do,"  he  said.  His  voice  was 
as  lost  as  hers. 

"Mr.  Pelletier,"  she  began,  and  the  word 
hung  oddly  between  them,  then  she  went 
stumbling  on:  "I'm  not  trying  to  make  you; 
it's  just — it's  just " 


LITTLE   VICTORIES 

^  The  mother  of  the  most  charm- 
^  ing  children  I  know  said,  "I  give 
in  to  the  children  whenever  I  pos- 
sibly can.  I  think  it  strengthens 
their  characters  to  know  that  they 
influence  me.  It  gives  them  confi- 
dence. Think  how  bleak  the  world 
would  look  to  them,  how  despair- 
ingly immovable,  if  they  could  not 
win  me  to  their  way.  I  think  it 
teaches  them,  too,  that  one  may 
give  in  and  still  be  charming,  au- 
thoritative and  unbeaten.  1  try  to 
show  them  that  in  my  manner." 

MARGERY  WILSON. 


"It  seems  as  if  it's  meant,"  he  said  with 
gentle  mockery. 

But  whether  the  mockery  was  for  her  or 
for  himself,  he  did  not  rightly  know.  All 
through  this  incredible  conversation  his 
mind  had  mocked,  had  said  this  was  insane, 
that  he  had  no  right  to  do  this  even  if  she 
were  willing.  He  had  had  schoolgirls  fall  for 
him  before  now.  He  knew  how  to  deal  with 
that  sort  of  thing.  His  mind  said  that  never 
were  any  two  so  unfitted  to  marry.  And  at 
the  same  time,  his  weakness,  his  fear  cried 
out.  Let  it  be!  Let  this  happen!  Let  me  be  safe 
with  her!  Let  her  never  leave  me!  She  was  so 
preposterously  young — young  enough  to  be 
his  daughter.  And  yet  her  hand  was  a 
woman's  hand,  strong,  full  of  a  woman's  un- 
derstanding. Just  her  hand  on  his  head — 
but  how  silly,  to  marry  a  girl  because  her 
hand  felt  good  on  your  head!  How  mad! 
And  yet  he  felt  this  thing  happening,  being 
made  sure  and  inevitable,  and  he  was  willing. 
That  she  had  not  gone  beyond  the  eighth 
grade,  that  she  didn't  think  much  of  books, 
that  she  took  pride  in  raising  bull  calves  for 
the  fair — all  this  his  mind  comprehended  and 
then  blotted  out. 

The  truth  was,  and  he  half  knew  it,  half 
only  felt  it,  that  he  had  entrusted  her  with 
the  secret  horror  of  his  heart  and  that  he 
knew  the  secret  safe  with  her,  because  she 
refused  to  believe  it.  For  all  she  said  she  had 
her  fears,  he  knew  she  was  unafraid  of  any- 
thing. She  would  not  fear  even  going  into 
that  house  on  River  Street.  He  had  to  go 
back  there — there  seemed  no  reason  not  to, 
unless  he  closed  it  up  and  boarded  out 
somewhere — but  he  could  not  go  back  there 
alone.  He  could  never  put  in  nights  again 
such  as  those  right  after  his  mother's  death. 

But  all  this  made  only  half  thoughts  in  his 
head.   He  was  weaker  even  than  he  knew. 


OJ^cial  U.  S.  Signal  Corps  Photo 


the  guys 

who  walk  to  battle 


That's  the  Infantry.  The  boys  who  do  the  dirty  work.  The  boys 
who  are  asked  for  miracles  .  .  .  and  deHver.  Who  move 
forward  on  tired  feet  and  finish  the  job. 

Whenever  we  see  pictures  like  the  one  above,  we're  glad  that 
so  much  of  the  rubber  footwear  we're  making  is  going 
overseas  to  help  protect  the  feet  of  fighting  men  on  every  front. 

Incidentally,  rubber  footwear  is  important  here  at  home. 
It  protects  rationed  shoes,  safeguards  your  health  and  helps 
to  keep  you  on  the  job.  And  remember,  when  you  see  either 
Hood  or  B.  F.  Goodrich  stamped  on  rubber  footwear  (or 
canvas  footwear,  when  it's  available) — you  are  assured  of 
superior  materials  and  construction  .  .  .  resulting  in  complete 
foot  protection  .  .  .  comfort  .  .  . 
long,  economical  wear. 


FOOTWEAR  FACTORY 
WATERTOWN,  MASS. 


Hood  Rubber  Q). 


A  DIVISION  OF 


B.E  Goodrich 


PEACEtlMe     MANUFACTURERS     OF     "P.    F."     RUBBER-SOLED     CANVAS     SHOES 


88 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


EARLY  AHERICAH 


J 

4. 


— "H^ 


^iii> 


EXPRESSING   THE.  LANGUAGE    OF  THE  FLOWERS 

The  flowers  sing  in  this  bouquet, 

Pink  betokens  love  the^'  saj", 

The  violet  true  is  modestj', 

The  jasmine  amiability — 

A  provocative  garland,  lyric,  bright, 

That  weaves  its  witchery  day  or  night. 

FrienclsJiip's  Garden  Toilet  Water,  4  oz.  $1.00* 
Blossom-fresh  Dusting  Powder,  7  oz.  $1.00* 
Mist-light    Talcum,    51/2    oz.   50C',    10    oz.    $1.00* 

Each  a  Shulton  Original 


'  NURSES   ARE    NEEDED 

"  Take  home-nursmg  or  nurses   aide  course. 

Enlist  m   U.S;  Cadet  Corps    RegiitereJ  nurses^  join   US.  Army  Corps. 

•T   M    R.«.U.S    P...Off.    .  .SHULTON.    INC.    .    Rockefeller   Center    •    New  York  20,  N.Y. 


more  exhausted  by  the  long  years  of  nursing, 
the  infinite  coddling  of  an  old  woman  who 
only  seemed  placid  and  patient.  If  he  had 
been  stronger,  saner,  he  would  never  have 
even  considered  this  as  possible,  but  in  this 
curious  haze  that  had  enveloped  him  for  a 
week  anything  was  possible,  and  this  in 
particular  was  deeply  comforting  and  right. 
It  was  meant. 

There  was  a  day  when  he  got  up  and  put 
his  clothes  on,  another  when  he  sat  outside 
in  the  sun,  another  when  he  walked  about 
the  farm  and  helped  feed  the  chickens.  Then 
he  woke  one  morning  and  there  were  his 
shirt,  socks  and  underwear,  carefully  washed 
and  ironed,  lying  in  a  chair  by  his  bed.  He 
got  up,  put  them  on  and  had  breakfast.  And 
then  he  drove  with  Nell  Adams  in  the  old 
car— which  had  no  more  than  enough,  if 
enough,  gas  to  get  them  there  and  back — to 
the  county  seat,  got  a  license  and  was 
married. 

The  county  clerk  knew  him  and  looked 
at  him  with  surprise  and  interest.  "Well, 
well,  professor!  Thought  you  couldn't  be 
caught,"  he  said  genially. 

He  only  grinned  in  answer. 

They  were  married  by  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  one  Samuel  Hughes,  who  also  ran  a 
photography  shop  and  had  pretty  much  of  a 
monopoly  on  photographs  of  newly  married 
pairs.   He  didn't  know 

Pelletier,    but   he   did      

know  Nell. 

"You  aren't  run- 
ning away,  are  you, 
Nell  Adams?"  he  de- 
manded. "Your  father 
know  about  this?" 

"Yes,  he  knows," 
Nell  said.  She  was 
dressed  in  her  best 
dress,  which  was  of 
flowered  rayon  and 
which  did  not  become 
her  like  slacks  or  even 
the  plaid  skirt  and 
sweater.  But  there  was 
a  lovely  earnestness 
about  her  young  face, 
and  Pelletier  thought 
he  would  always  re- 
member   her    in    the 

cheap,     unbecoming      

dress,  would   always 

hear  her  young  voice  responding  so  steadily. 

"Now  you  ought  to  have  your  pictures," 
Samuel  Hughes  said  briskly  when  it  was 
irrevocably  done.  "I've  got  a  real  nice  size 
here  that  most  folks  take  to.  You  see,  I  get 
'em  coming  and  going,  ha-ha !  Want  to  have 
a  little  memento  of  the  day?  Everybody 
does." 

"No,  Sam,  we  don't  want  any  pictures," 
Nell  said  quickly.  "Mr.  Pellelier's  been  sick 
and  he  wants  to  get  home  right  away." 

"That  so?  That  so?  Thought  he  looked 
kind  of  pale,  but  most  of  'em  are  pale  or  else 
red  as  beets.  Well,  no  hard  feelings.  Good 
luck  to  you!" 

They  walked  down  the  steep  steps  and  up 
tlie  street  to  the  car,  got  in  and  Nell  started 
the  car  up. 

"You  know,"  Thomas  Pelletier  said  with 
a  trace  of  the  humor  for  which  he  was  so 
liked  in  school  and  the  town,  "it  wouldn't 
be  out  of  place  if  you  were  to  call  me  Tom, 
do  you  think?" 

There  had  been  a  queer  tension  in  Hughes' 
shop,  but  now  Nell  laughed  and  the  tension 
was  gone. 

"All  right,  Tom,"  she  said.  "Do  you  want 
to  go  home  right  ofif,  or  do  you  want  to  go 
back  to  the  farm?  I  brought  all  my  things, 
but  whatever  you  want.  I've  left  pa's  supper 
all  ready — there's  no  need  to  go  back  unless 
you  want  to.  He  can  walk  to  town  and  get 
the  car  tomorrow  sometime." 

"No,  we'll  go  home,"  he  said,  but  with 
difficulty.  So  she  drove  to  West  Ulster. 
"River  Street,"  he  said  tightly.  "The  third 
house  past  the  Baptist  church." 

And  there  they  were,  chugging  to  a  stop 
beside  the  small  white  house  with  the  green 
blinds  and  the  long  triangle  of  a  yard  that 
led  in  back  down  to  the  creek. 


"This  is  it,"  Thomas  Pelletier  said.  His 
dread  had  been  mounting  all  the  way  to 
town,  but  suddenly  it  eased. 

Nell  had  lifted  the  back  of  the  car  and 
pulled  out  a  big,  old-fashioned  suitcase.  "No, 
I'll  carry  it.  You  take  it  easy,"  she  sftid. 

He  opened  the  front  door  and  said, 
"Come  in." 

There  was  the  very  small  hallway  with 
the  old  walnut  bureau  and  its  oil  lamps  that 
now  had  electric  bulbs  in,  and  then  they 
were  at  once  in  the  living  room.  It  was  a  nice 
room,  with  some  of  his  mother's  old  Vic- 
torian chairs;  the  clock  that  struck  some- 
times twenty,  sometimes  not  at  all,  but 
which  had  a  skating  scene  on  the  glass  and 
two  clasped  wooden  hands  and  a  dove  on 
top;  a  painting  of  Doctor  Pelletier,  Thomas' 
father,  and  another  of  his  mother  when 
young;  two  etchings  that  Thomas  had 
bought  when  he  was  in  college;  ruffied  cur-  " 
tains  and  an  octagonal  stand  and  an  old 
flowered  Brussels  carpet. 
"Oh,  it's  nice,"  Nell  said. 
"We've  never  used  it  much,"  Thomas 
Pelletier  answered.  "  I  sat  in  the  dining  room 
more." 

He  opened  the  dining-room  door.  It,  too, 

was  a  pleasant  enough  room,  with  a  desk 

crowded  into  a  comer,  schoolbooks  strewed 

around  and  arranged  on  shelves  in  another 

comer,    a   big    round 

table   with  claw  feet, 

another  bureau  some- 
thing like  the  one  in  the 
hall  to  serve  as  a  side- 
board. The  rug  under 
one  side  of  the  table 
was  worn. 

'T  guess  you  did 
your  studying  here," 
Nell  said. 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to 
be  where  I  could  hear 
mother.  That  was  her 
room."  He  forced  him- 
self to  say  it  clearly. 

It  was  Nell  who 
walked  to  the  door  of 
the  room,  as  if  it  had 
no  fears  for  her,  stood 
in  the  doorway  and 
looked    around.     He 

didn't  need  to  follow 

her — and,  indeed,  could 
not  make  himself  do  so.  He  knew  every  de- 
tail of  that  room.  It  was  crowded  with  knick- 
knacks,  photographs,  little  stands  for  medi- 
cine and  books  and  vases  and  the  little  bell 
like  that  on  a  schoolteacher's  desk.  The  sills 
were  filled  with  small  plants.  On  the  bed 
was  a  spread  of  crocheted  lace  that  was 
taken  off  most  of  the  time  to  show  a  blanket 
of  light  rose  wool.  Standing  in  front  of  one 
window  was  a  tip  table  that  he  used  to  set 
his  mother's  meals  on,  though  she  did  not 
eat  from  this  table,  but  from  a  tray. 

Nell  walked  across  the  room  and,  careful 
not  to  upset  plants,  raised  a  window.  "It's 
stuffy,"  she  said. 

Yes,  it  was  stuffy.  He  found  he  couldn't 
breathe  easily.  "I  slept  in  a  little  room  off 
the  kitchen,"  he  said,  "but  there  are  good 
bedrooms  upstairs.  .  .  .  Somebody  must 
have  been  keeping  the  fire  going.  I  hadn't 
even  thought  of  that.  .  .  .  Want  to  see  the 
upstairs?" 

"I  want  to  see  everything,"  Nell  said. 
"I'll  take  this  up."  She  lifted  the  suitcase. 
He  wanted  to  take  it  from  her,  but  knew  he 
did  not  have  the  strength. 

He  had  a  woman  in  to  clean  once  in  a 
while,  so  all  was  tidy.  "This  is  the  best 
room,"  he  said  at  the  back  bedroom.  It  was 
long  and  low  and  looked  out  toward  the 
creek.  There  were  a  big  four-poster  ma- 
hogany bed  with  another  lace  spread  made 
by  Thomas  Pelletier's  grandmother;  dormer 
windows;  small  rugs,  mostly  braided,  on  the 
painted  floor;  white-painted  shelves  edged 
in  many  curlicues  on  the  wall,  and  bearing 
two  vases  of  milk  glass  and  an  inlaid  wooden 
box  on  one  shelf  and  books  on  the  other. 

"Can  we  have  this  room  for  ours?"  Nell 
asked. 

"Why  not?"  he  said. 

(Contintted  on  Page  90) 


SURPRISE 

^  A  comely  young  Wac  was  walk- 
^  ing  alone  on  a  dusty  road  when 
she  espied  a  shimmery  lake  in  a 
grove  of  beautiful  green  trees.  Not 
a  soul  was  in  sight.  On  an  impulse, 
she  took  off  all  her  clothes,  and  had 
a  fine  swim  and  sun  bath.  .Suddenly 
whe  saw  an  ofTicer  heading  purpose- 
fully in  her  direction.  She  made  a 
dive  for  her  clothes,  and  sighed  with 
relief  when  she  got  the  last  button 
closed  before  he  entered  the  glade. 

The  officer  walked  to  the  edge  of 
the  lake,  wheeled  about  and  barked, 
"Camouflage  battalion,  'tenshun! 
Forwaril  march !" 

Every  tree  around  the  lake 
marched  off. 

BENNEtr  CERF:  Try  ond  Stop  Me. 
(Simon  &  Schuster.) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


91 


MY  Don Juan 
^^  Lipstick 


STAYS  ON!" 


Says 

Paula  Stone 

FAMOUS  ON  SCREEN, 
STAGE  AND  RADIO 

. .,  "My  lips  stay  lovely 

hours  longer  without 

retouching . . .  That's  why 

Don  Juan  is  tops  with  ye." 


^e^^' 


See  what  they  do 
for  your  lips 

2  •  DON  JUAN  LIPSTICK  STAYS  ON  . .  . 

when  you  eat,  drink — yes,  even 
kiss — if  used  as  directed. 
2'  "PS  STAY  lOVElY  LONGER  .  .  . 

without  frequent  retouching. 
2  .  NOT  DRYING  or  SMEARY.  Creamy 
•^     smooth,  easily  applied — imparts 

appealing,  soft,    glamor    look. 
^.  STYLE  SHADES.  Try  Raspberry 
•^     shade,  rich,  glowing,  or  the  ever 

popular  Number  5,  a  medium  red 

shade,  flattering,  youthful  looking. 

Also  in  other 

shades. 
De  luxe  size  $1. 
Refills  6oc.  Junior  size 
Z5C.  Tax  extra.  Matching 
powder,  rouge,  and  cake 
make-up.  Trial  sizes  at  loc 
stores.  In  Canada,  too. 


DonJuan 


LIPS    LOOK    LOVELY 


STAYS  ON! 


MATERNITY  DRESSES//^ 

'  Smart, youthtalatrlesforMomine, street, or  ^  tai„/    I 

Spring  I  Altemoon.AlsoMatemityCorsets&Lingerie.      ^^-.2^ 
Styles  [  cBAWrOBD'SOg<ii./l-1233Balt.Ate.,Kansa»City,Mo. 

COMS 


revents  Corns,  Sore  Toes  From  Tight  Slioes 

kVyHEN  you  apply  Dr.  Scholl's  Zino- 
'''  pads  on  your  aching  corns  or  sore 
joes — you'll  marvel  how  tormenting  shoe 
liction  stops  and  painful  pressure  is  instantly  lifted. 
fo  soothing,  cushioning,  these  thin,  soft,  protec- 
ve  pads  prevent  corns,  tender  spots,  blisters,  in- 
:ep  ridges,  chafed  heels.  Take  the  pinch  and  "bite" 
ut  of  new  or  tight  shoes. 

acluded  with  Dr.  Scholl's  Zino-pads  are  separate 
'onder- working  Medications  for  speedily  removing 
orns.  No  other  method  does  all  these  things  for 
!ou.  Cost  but  a  trifle.  At  all  Drug,  Shoe,  Depart- 
ment Stores,  Toiletry  Counters.  Get  a  box  today! 


D'^Scholls  Zino-pads 


FEET  HURT.  BURN? 

Dr.  Scholl's  Foot  Balm  quickly  relieves  foot 
discomfort  caused  by  exertion, 
fatigue.    Soothing,   refreshing. 
Sind  it  to  boys  in  service.    35^. 


DrScholls  ^°°^ 


BALM 


''':) 


tains,  and  Nell  folded  the  lace  spread  care- 
fully, undressed  without  shame  and  climbed 
into  the  big  bed.  She  looked  very  young 
lying  there,  her  curly  hair  against  the  pillow. 
Thomas  Pelletier  felt  a  twinge  of  shame  that 
she  was  so  young,  and,  hardly  knowing  why 
he  did  so,  but  impelled  by  the  desire  to  make 
her  some  gift,  went  to  the  closet,  took  the 
Rose  of  Sharon  quilt  from  the  shelf  and 
spread  it  over  the  blankets.  Her  eyes  on  him 
were  suddenly  warm  and  shy  and  loving. 

In  the  night  he  cried  out  once,  being  sud- 
denly alone  and  sucked  back  into  his  dream. 
Then  he  felt  her  body  close  to  his,  her  cheek 
against  his,  and  heard  her  voice  saying 
softly,  "  It's  all  right,  Tom.  I'm  here."  And 
it  abruptly  was  all  right  and  he  slept  again. 

In  the  morning,  when  he  awoke,  it  was  to 
find  her  standing  by  the  bed,  tray  in  brown 
hands.  He  had  an  instant  of  seeing  her  as 
older,  grown  up  overnight,  then  she  grinned 
at  him  and  said: 

"I  couldn't  find  much  for  breakfast." 

"Look  here,  why  didn't  you  call  me?"  he 
said. 

"You  might  as  well  get  what  rest  you  can 
before  you  go  back  to  school,"  she  said. 
"And  I've  got  sort  of  used  to  bringing  you 
your  breakfast." 

The  coffee  was  hot  and  the  oatmeal  had 
salt  enough  in  it. 

She  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  said, 
"We  ought  to  have  some  eggs  and  butter 
and  things." 

"  Briggs'  place  is  open  today.  I'll  get  some 
groceries.  Where  did  you  find  the  milk?" 

"I  borrowed  it  next  door,"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  brows  and  said,  "Next 
door?  Not  from  old  Mrs.  Tennant,  I  hope. 
She's  very  stingy  and  never  gives  anything 
away." 

"Well,  she  was  old.  I  didn't  ask  her  what 
her  name  was.  She  measured  it  out  pretty 
carefully.  She — she  asked  me  who  I  was. 
When  I  told  her,  she  said,  'Jumping 
Jehoshaphat ! ' " 

Well,  we  won't  have  to  put  it  in  the  pa- 
per," he  said.  "But  she  must  have  had  a  sud- 
den softening;  I  tell  you,  she  just  doesn't 
give  anything  away,  even  to  a  neighbor." 

"Oh,  she  was  quite  friendly.  She  said  you 
were  just  like  her  own  boy." 

"Did  she!" 

Afterward  he  went  to  the  store.  Briggs 
seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  news.  He 
asked  him  how  he  was  feeling,  said  the  kids 
had  said  he  wasn't  at  school.  As  he  went  out 
the  door  Briggs  called  after  him,  "You  ought 
to  get  married  now,  prof." 

"And  be  a  bigamist?"  Pelletier  asked, 
closing  the  door  on  Briggs'  astonished  face. 

When  he  was  back  in  the  little  white 
house  Nell  said,  "Do  you  go  to  church?" 

"Not  often.  Sometimes.  I  used  to  have 
to  report  an  occasional  sermon." 

"JVIr.  Deem's?" 

"Yes.  I  wonder  why  you  don't  like 
Deem." 

"I  don't  know.  I  just  don't.  He's  snoopy." 

"Yes,  he  is.  But  I  like  him.  He's  got  a 
good  mind." 

"That's  what  he  said  about  you." 

In  the  afternoon  she  went  out  and  raked 
up  the  leaves  in  the  back  yard.  She  had  on 
the  plaid  skirt  and  sweater  today.  He  stood 
watching  her  from  the  low  back  porch. 
Finally  she  came  and  sat  on  the  one  low 
step  and  he  said: 

"Will  you  miss  the  farm?" 

"No,  I  won't  miss  it,"  she  said. 

It  was  when  they  were  eating  supper  that 
she  said,  "  Do  you  care  if  I  change  anything 
in  the  house,  furniture  or  anything?"  She 
looked  at  him  almost  anxiously. 

"No,  it's  your  house,"  he  said,  but  he 
thought  of  the  little-used  living  room  at  the 
farm  with  its  mail-order  furniture,  and  he 
made  a  small  inward  grimace. 

In  the  morning  she  waked  him  early.  "  Do 
you  really  feel  like  going  to  school?"  she 
asked  him.  "Do  you  have  to?" 

The  Academy  seemed  like  something  he 
had  known  in  another  life,  but  he  said,  "Yes, 
I  suppose  I  have  to.  It's  my  bread  and 
butter."  But  he  got  ready  slowly,  reluctant 
suddenly  to  leave  this  house,  this  safety, 
though  it  was  only  a  safety  he  had  somehow 


~fo  Wmk  \  ms  ^ 

X^mdm^  his  Tumud\ ! 


;I  love  John  so  much.  But  here  he  was  coming  home  on 
furlough  and  I  felt  so  tired  I  actually  dreaded  the  gay  parties 
and  fun  he  was  looking  forward  to.  Some  wife  I  turned  out  to  be! 
But  that  job  of  mine  really  takes  it  out  of  a  girl.  Then  one  of 
my  friends  told  me  she  used  to  get  tired  in  the  same  way  until  she 
got  her  Spirella.    I  decided  to  see  the  Spirella  Corsetiere  at  once. 


PRESS  DOWN 


Low  position  of  stomach 
with  ordinary  corset. 


Saine  stomach  raised  3 '] 
with  Spirella  support. 


2  Fortunately,  she  was  able  to  give  me  an 
early  appointment  at  my  own  home.  She 
showed  me  the  famous  Spirella  Press  and 
Lift  Test.  I  pushed  down  on  my  stomach. 
Wovvie !  That's  how  I  felt  in  my  old  garment. 
When  I  lifted  up,  I  felt  better  at  once!  "That's 
the  supporting  action  of  a  Spirella,"  she  said. 


A  "You  look  good  enough  to  eat," 
i  said  my  John  when  I  met  him  at 
the  station.  But  he  couldn't  know  that 
most  of  my  new  pep  and  energy  were 
due  to  my  Spirella.  That  natural  sup- 
porting action  gives  me  the  extra 
support  I  need  to  get  through  a  hard 
day's  work —  and  I  still  have  enough 
"go"  left  for  an  evening  of  lim.  Are 
you  tired  all  the  time'.'  'llicti  maybe 
you  ought  to  try  a  S|)ir(lla,  too! 


J  Then  she  went  on  to  show  me  the  doctor- 
approved  X-Rays  that  show  how  Spirella 
does  give  you  more  healthful  support.  And 
when  she  fitted  me  with  the  patented  Spir- 
ella Modeling  Garments,  to  get  the  accurate 
measurements  insuring  Spirella's  perfect  fit, 
I  knew  I  was  making  no  mistake! 


1 


KEEP  f'^ 


nOURt  SUPPORt 


P.  S.  Ifwern 

your  local  Spire 

h  tht  U.  S. 


I|i  hy  giving  you  the  name  of 
1   Retailer,  write   Dept.  J-22. 
In  Canada 

THE  SPIRELLA  CO..  INC.  THE  SPIRELLA  CO..  LTD. 
NIAGARA  FALLS.  N.  Y.       NIAGARA  FALLS.  ONT. 


92 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Juices  of  the  7^7^  Vegetables 
in  the^^^^^^Combination 

The  flavor  of  V-8*  Cocktail  is  universally  liked  because 
it  is  deliciously  superior.  The  individual  flavors  of  the 
"tastier"  fresh  vegetables  blended  in  V-8's  own  combina- 
tion create  that  tingling,  distinctive  zest.  So,  for  that  deli- 
cious flavor  and  weaitli  of  fresh-vegetable  goodness,  let 
children,  as  well  as  grown-ups,  enjoy  V-8  as  fully  as  they 
wish.  Remember — it's  frfcli  vegetables — the  tasty  way. 

Asfr  for  V-8  of  /our  foocf  store,  fountain  and  restaurant. 


imUCE  •  BEETS  •  CARROTS  •  WATERCRESS 


TOMATOES  •  SPINACH  •  CELERY  •  PARSLEY 


Contains   Vitamins  A. 
Bi.C.  calcium  and  iron. 


dreamed.  He  took  her  into  his  arms  and 
kissed  the  top  of  her  curly  head.  "Don't  run 
away."  he  said. 

"Silly!"  she  said.  "As  if  I  would!" 

It  was  strange  to  be  climbing  the  hill 
again,  walking  past  the  rectory  and  St. 
Paul's,  going  through  the  high,  worn  old 
doors  and  up  the  sagging  steps.  It  seemed 
to  him  he  had  been  gone  for  far  more  than 
a  week. 

Miss  Scott  sat  at  her  desk  on  the  raised 
platform.  He  stopped  in  her  doorway  and 
said,  "Well,  I'll  take  over  now.  Miss  Scott." 

She  looked  up  quickly.  "Oh.  Mr.  Pelle- 
tier!"  she  said.  "Are  you  well  enough?" 

"Yes,  I'm  fine.  Anything  been  happening 
around  here  that  I  ought  to  know  about?" 

"Bessie  Briggs  has  been  on  something  of 
a  tear.  On  account  of  Will  Jones,  I  guess. 
She'll  quiet  down.  .  .  .  The  books  came 
from  Macmillan's.  I  left  the  bill  on  your 
desk.  .  .  .  Miss  Redfield's  been  teaching 
something  that  sounds  like  Communism  in 
American  history.  A  couple  of  parents  are 
objecting.  Nothing  to  it.  except  that  Miss 
Redfield  doesn't  know  our  ways  of  thinking 
in  West  Ulster.  .  .  .  That  blackboard  in 
your  room  won't  see  you  through  the  term. 
It's  like  glass.  I'd  speak  to  the  board  about 
it,  if  I  were  you.  .  .  .  I  took  the  fourth-year 
English  class  and  Miss  Redfield  took  the 
third.  We've  kept  all  the  grades,  which 
weren't  too  good.  I  haven't  the  knack  for 
English.  Why,  they  don't  even  know  how  to 
spell,  most  of  'em." 

"  I  know.  Well,  thanks  for  helping  me  out, 
Miss  Scott.  I  did  need  a  rest,"  he  told  her. 

"Glad  to  do  it.  I 
hope  you're  not  up  here 
too  scx)n.  that's  all." 

"No,  I'm  fine." 

But  he  found,  when 


he  stood  before  his 
classes  and  looked  at 
the  young,  unformed 
faces,  that  he  was  not 
quite  so  fine  as  he  pre- 
tended, that  a  curious 
weakness  swept  over 
him  and  made  his  knees 
tremble.  But  he  had 
conducted  these  classes 
so   many    times  that 


II  Your  Copy  is  Late 


May,  194c 

her,  but  feeling  a  sudden  anger,  a  sudden 
wild  anger  against  her  insensitivity. 

"But  I  don't  want  that  room,"  he  said 
tightly. 

"Wail.  Wait  till  you  see  it,"  she  begged 
And  there  the  room  was,  the  ^-oom  thai 
had  imprisoned  him  so  long.  All  the  fussy 
tables  were  gone,  except  for  the  tip  table, 
which  stood  with  chrysanthemums  on  it 
now.  Most  of  the  plants  had  been  taken  to 
the  kitchen  or  dining  room,  and  his  desk 
stood  where  the  light  fell  on  it.  There  were 
all  his  books,  on  the  homemade  shelves  that 
had  housed  them  in  the  dining  room,  but 
somehow  changed  here  into  different  books. 
It  was  an  almost  plain  room,  with  all  the 
photographs  and  knickknacks  gone,  but  it 
was  a  rqom  to  work  in.  It  was  as  if  the  very 
spirit  of  the  room  had  been  exorcised. 

It  always  seems  to  me,"  Nell  said  with 
that  new  anxiety,  "that  you  oughtn't  to 
hoard  up  old  clothes  or  old  pictures.  When 
people  die,  I  mean.  I  mean,  you  ought  not 
to  be  bound  by  them,  like,  after  they're  gone. 
Maybe  'tisn't  just  like  you'd  like  it.    If  you 

want  to  change  anything "   Her  voice 

trailed  off. 

He  took  hold  of  her  hand  and  put  it  up 
against  his  face.  "No,  I  don't  want  to  change 
anything,"  he  said.  But  he  wanted  to  weep. 
He  knew  he  would  have  left  this  room  for- 
ever, never  entered  it.  and  now  this  child 
had  wiped  it  away  as  if  it  had  never  been. 
She  had  dared  the  pressure  of  the  dead.  She 
had  turned  death  into  life.  "I  don't  want  to 
change  anything  at  all,"  he  said. 

In  the  morning, 
when  he  went  to  school, 
Mrs.  Tennant  had  done 
her  work,  or  Pres 
Adams  had  done  his. 


I 


words  came  auto- 
matically, and  no  one 
seemed  to  notice  that 
anything  was   wrong. 

"I  find  that  your  grades  during  my  ab- 
sence leave  something  to  be  desired,"  he 
said,  smiling  a  little.  His  class  smiled  back 
at  him,  not  afraid  of  him. 

"Well,  gee.  Professor  Pelletier,  Miss 
Scott's  tough ! "  Bessie  Briggs  protested. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  get  tough  myself,  if 
that's  the  sort  of  work  you're  doing,"  he  said 
mildly.  "Today  we'll  run  over  last  week's 
work  so  I  can  see  what's  amiss." 

When  he  went  home  for  lunch,  he  found 
he  was  very  tired.  He  went  in  at  the  side 
door,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing.  The 
dining  room  was  in  great  confusion.  Nell 
had  a  great  pile  of  books  in  her  arms  and  she 
put  them  down  on  the  dining-room  table;  it 
seemed  to  him  she  looked  guilty. 

"Whatever  are  you  doing?"  he  asked. 

"I  wanted  to  change  things  a  little."  she 
said.  "I've  got  lunch  in  the  kitchen.  Is  that 
all  right?" 

"Yes,  but  what  an  upheaval!  I'll  never 
be  able  to  find  anything." 

"Yes,  you  will.  I'm  keeping  track  of 
everything.   .   .   .   Was  it  hard,  school?" 

"Yes,  a  little.'* 

But  when  he  came  home  a  little  after  four, 
he  found  greater  changes  yet.  The  desk  was 
gone  from  the  dining  room,  and  all  the  books. 
It  seemed  much  more  spacious,  a  room  to 
eat  in  but  not  a  room  to  live  in. 

"Tom,"  Nell  said.  Her  face  was  smudged 
and  she  looked  a  little  anxious.  "Tom,  you 
said  I  could  change  things.  It  seemed  as  if 
you  ought  to  have  a  study.  So — so  I  fixed 
your  mother's  room.  Pa  came  down  for  the 
car  and  I  got  him  to  help  me  move  the  desk 
and  things.  It— it's  real  nice."  But  she 
talked  a  little  quickly.  She  walked  to  the 
door  of  his  mother's  room  and  he  followed 


^  Because  of  tlie  uncertain- 
^  ties  of  wartime  transporta- 
tion, many  periodicals  will 
fre<jiientlv  l)e  late  arriving  at 
destination.  If  vonr  JoiR- 
NAi.  or  Reference  Library 
order  does  not  reach  yon  on 
time,  please  do  not  write  com- 
plaining of  delav.  The  delay 
is  caused  l»v  conditions  aris- 
ing after  your  copy  or  order 
has  left  I'iiiladelphia. 


In  any  case,  the  fact 
was  known. 

Miss  Scott,  flushing 
a  little,  came  to  him  in 
his  classroom.  "  Is  it  so 
that    you've    married 
the  Adams  girl?"  she 
asked  bluntly. 
"Yes,  it's  so." 
"Oh,"  she  said  only. 
Then,    "Well,    good 
luck,  Mr.  Pelletier." 
"Thank  you." 
The  young  people  in 
the   classes  eyed   him 
with  a  new  curiosity.  They  giggled  a  good 
deal  and  passed  notes  back  and  forth. 

One  of  the  parents  who  had  been  objecting 
to  Miss  Redfield's  liberalism  came  to  his 
office  between  classes.  "I  guess,  with  all 
you've  been  going  through,  you  haven't  no- 
ticed. Mr.  Pelletier.  But  Jennie  Redfield's 
filling  my  boy's  head  with  anarchy,  nothing 
more  or  less.  It's  all  very  well  for  us  to  ap- 
preciate what  the  Russians  are  doing  for 
us — but  when  it  comes  to  taking  over  their 

doctrines We  feel  something  ought  to 

be  done  about  it,  Mr.  Pelletier.  All  of  us." 
"Are  you  sure  you  know  just  what  Miss 
Redfield  has  been  teaching,  Mrs.  Holmes? 
I  don't  believe  she  is  teaching  anarchy,  or 
Communism,  or  any  ism.  She's  just  a  girl 
who  sees  that  there  is  Communism  in  the 
world  and  feels  Ft  doesn't  hurt  to  have  the 
children  know  it  too.  It  doesn't  hurt,  Mrs. 
Holmes.    Knowledge  never  hurts." 

"That's  plain  silly,  Mr.  Pelletier.  There's 
lots  of  knowledge  'that  hurts,  as  you  very 
well  know.  And  this  is  a  free  country  and  we 
intend  to  see  it  stays  free." 

"It  didn't  get  free  through  ignorance, 
Mrs.  Holmes.  I'll  talk  to  Miss  Redfield,  but 
I've  heard  her  teach,  and  I'm  sure  she's  not 
trying  to  pervert  the  children's  minds,  only 
wake  them  up  to  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world.  It's  a  free  country  for  her,  too,  you 
see." 

"Well,  there's  freedom  and  freedom.  I'm 
surprised  at  you.  Mr.  Pelletier,  and  that's  a 
fact.  I've  talked  with  your  mother  many  a 
time  and  I  know  she  didn't  approve  of  any 
such  nonsense." 

The  views  of  my  mother  do  not  necessarily 
reflect  the  views  of  this  paper— he  almost  said 
that,  but  did  not.  "Mrs.  Holmes,  how  would 
(Coulinued  on  Page  94) 


I 


\ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


GOOD    FOOD    BUT... 

Nothing  \vrong  with  the  food  flavors  —  pork,  potatoes 
and  onions  go  well  together.  But  they're  all  one  tone. 


MORE    INVITING    THIS    WAY 

BELOW — See  what  color  does!  Even  the  sprig  of  parsley  has  more 
meaning  when  it's  color  contrast  for  sweet  potatoes,  a  bright  blob 
of  jelly  and  the  happy,  sunny  color  of  Niblets  Brand  whole  kernel 
com.  The  world  needs  cheer — let's  put  it  in  meals! 


Compare  These  Two 

I  IClUIvS  .  .  and  see  what  color  does 


The  friendly  Green  Giant  has  been 
smiling  at  folks  from  grocers'  shelves 
for  many  a  season.  And  nearly  every- 
one knows  what  he's  promising — 
delicate  golden  kernels  of  Niblets 
Brand  whole  kernel  corn,  whose  ten- 
derness and  flavor  just  can't  be  beat. 
They  come  from  special  seed  (D- 1 38, 
exclusive  with  us)  grown  the  good- 
farmer  way  in  good  soil,  and  packed 
in  vacuum  to  keep  the  summer- 
fresh  flavor. 


N[iblets  wAo/e  j^er/ie/ Cotn 

BRAND 


NibI 


^^CHgO 


I 


feS  CORN 
'''^  THE  COB 


Packed  only  by  Minnesota  Valley  Canning 
Company,  headquarters,  Le  Sueur,  Minn., 
and  Fine  Foods  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  Tecumseh, 
Out.  Also  packers  of  the  following  brands: 
Green  Giant  Peas,  Kiblets  Mexicorn,  Del 
Aiaiz  Cream  Style  Corn  and  Niblets  Asparagus. 


94 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  V. 


y 


\n  pubUc? 
Sbme  enqueue  bo» 
"Yes,  mosv  ^^^^ 

But  the  ^^^''l^,^  They 
"Unnecessary- 

use  ^«"S-^t  upstick. 


HOW  MANY  COLORS 
N  TANGEE? 

Four !  Tangee  Red  -  Red  . . .  very 
exciting!  Tangee  Theatrical  Red 
...it  dramatizes  your  lips!  Tangee 
Medium-Red  andTangeeNatural. 


IS    SHE    OLD-FASHIONED? 

Yes,  her  dry  lips  are  out-of-date. 
Tangee   Satin-Finish   insures 
smooth-as-satin  lips  that  are  not 
"too  dry -not  too  moist. 


'^'^O  'S  SHE? 


Cr.  -   'a  5H£9 

Constance   T    t 

'"'hority  on  T  ^"^"'   ieadin„ 
tile  W  oeauty       ir     ,  "S: 

'"e  House  of  Tan„        ' '  ^^^^  of 

lipstick. 


u 


se 


jAhlQEE 


and  see  how  heautitui 


you  can  be 


(Cotitinued  from  Page  92) 
you  like  to  visit  Miss  Redfield's  class  right 
now?  Then  you  can  see  for  yourself." 

"Oh,  she'd  tone  things  down." 

"No,  I  don't  think  she  would.  She's  very 
independent.  Very  honest." 

He  sat  with  Mrs.  Holmes  in  the  back  seats 
in  Jennie  Redfield's  classroom.  Jennie's 
cheeks  reddened  at  the  presence  of  her  prin- 
cipal, but  she  went  on  with  her  lesson  as  if 
they  weren't  there.  She  was  talking  about 
the  early  Colonial  days.  When  she  said 
something  that  might  be  construed  as  criti- 
cism of  the  British,  he  saw  Mrs.  Holmes'  lips 
tighten  and  the  cords  of  her  neck  stand  out 
in  anger.  Mrs.  Holmes'  father  and  mother 
had  come  from  England.  He  could  almost 
see  her  thoughts:  How  dare  she?  Our  allies! 
And  he  had  a  tired  knowledge  of  the  im- 
penetrability of  a  prejudiced  mind.  What  did 
it  matter  if  the  Russians  were  allies  too? 
There  was  such  a  tight  little  society  of  the 
right  ones.  He  wondered  if  people  ever 
changed,  if  nations  ever  changed,  if  all  the 
struggle  was  worth  while,  people  being  what 
they  were.  He  had  almost  forgotten  the  war 
this  past  week,  but  now  it  pressed  on  him 
again  with  an  awful  heaviness.  It  had  been 
partly  the  war,  he  thought — it  hadn't  been 
only  his  mother — that  had  tired  him  so. 

He  had  never  had  anything  of  the  soldier 
in  him;  he  was  essentially  a  man  of  peace. 
And  yet  even  he  had  had  moments  of  feeling 
guilty  not  to  be  taking  some  more  active 
part  in  the  war.  He  had  had  to  convince 
himself  that  he  was  doing  his  part,  and  an 
important  one,  in  the  job  where  he  now  was. 
He  had  been  aware  that  his  hatred  of  war 
and  his  knowledge  of  its  ultimate  futility 
had  not  prevented  his  having  this  sense  of 
guilt.  And,  in  this  moment,  in  the  back  of 
Miss  Redfield's  classroom,  sitting  by  Mrs. 
Holmes,  he  felt  guilt  again,  but  a  new  sort  of 
guilt,  one  that  was  for  his  job  itself.  Had  he 
done  his  best  with  it?  Was  he  really  a  leader? 
Was  he  molding  these  young  minds  for  their 
future  responsibilities?  Or  could  you  mold 
them?  Would  they  turn  into  other  Mrs. 
Holmeses,  prejudiced  and  deaf?  Was  there 
any  hope  at  all?  Was  any  job  worth  doing? 

Then  he  thought  of  the  little  room,  made 
so  plain  and  workmanlike.  Something  re- 
laxed in  him.  Presently  he  got  up,  nodded  to 
Mrs.  Holmes  pleasantly  and  went  on  about 
his  work.  He  could  not  see  Mrs.  Tennant's 
spare,  stiff  little  old  figure  moving  up  the 
hill  against  the  wind,  turning  in  at  the  rec- 
tory. 

Amy  deem,  in  a  belted  camel's-hair  coat 
that  made  her  look  younger  than  she  was, 
cut  down  the  path  behind  the  church,  over 
the  footbridge  and  through  Mrs.  Evert's 
back  yard  and  out  into  River  Street.  She 
walked  along  briskly,  hands  thrust  into  her 
pockets,  for  it  had  turned  suddenly  colder. 
Her  face  was  its  usual  lively  self,  her  eyes 
bright  with  some  sort  of  excitement.  She 
Walked  up  onto  the  low  front  fX)rch  of 
Pelletier's  house,  rang  the  bell,  then  thrust 
her  hands  in  her  pockets  again.  The  door 
opened  and  Nell  stood  there  in  the  doorway. 

Amy  Deem  said,  "Hello!"  She  held  out 
a  hand  and  Nell  took  it  hesitantly.  "I'm 
Mrs.  Deem,"  Amy  said  quickly.  She  was  as 
startled  as  her  husband  had  been,  though 
she  had  been  told  what  to  expect.  Nell  wore 
slacks  and  had  a  ribbon  around  her  hair.  She 
looked  like  a  schoolgirl. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  Nell  said  a  little 
stiffly. 

"Of  course  I  will !  I've  come  calling.  I've 
just  thisminute  heard  that  Tom  was  married 
and  I  had  to  come  down  and  see  his  wife. 
'Tisn't  a  parish  call;  I'm  just  Tom's  friend — 
and  curious!"  Her  eyes  twinkled  at  Nell, 
but  there  was  no  answering  twinkle  in  Nell's 
eyes,  she  saw  with  a  faint  bewilderment.  Her 
usual  forthright  friendliness  seemed  to  come 
up  against  a  wall,  and  she  was  not  used  to 
that.  She  started  to  move  toward  the  dining 
room,  but  Nell  sat  down  gravely  in  the  sit- 
ting room.  Amy  Deem  laughed  and  said, 
"Excuse  me.  I've  been  so  used  to  going  out 
to  Mrs.  Pelletier's  room.  She  liked  people  to 
visit  in  there.  For  all  she  was  bedridden,  she 
had  an  enormous  interest  in  life.  She  was 
really  a  remarkable  old  woman." 


The  Fi/ut'Tkou^At 

UNBURNS 

FIRST,  because  it  relieves 
pain. 

SECOND,  because  it  is  anti- 
septic and  fights  infection. 
FINALLY,  because  it  pro- 
motes healing,  usually 
without  a  scar. 

UNGUENTINE 


In  tubes  and  jars  at 
all  drug  stores. 


A  Norwich  Product 


Vre/^/fi^  yw/^  ^yo/// 


The    lovely   Airflow    brewer,    an    exclusive 
Hall  China  design,  is  beaufifully  shaped, 
richly    colored,    and    decorated    wirh 
gleaming   gold!    Like   all   genuine   Hall 
Teapots,  it  will  not  stain  or  absorb  be- 
cause it  is  made  of  secret  process  china 

that   keeps   sweet  and  clean.    If  your 

f 
dealer  does  not  hove  the  exact  shape 

or  color  you  prefer  please  remem- 
ber that  the  needs  of  our  fighting 
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*    *    *    SOLD      BY     All 
LEADING      DEALERS 

J 


i 


LAJJIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


95 


Overdoing 
makes  your 

Muscles  Sore 


in  a 
ew  drops  of 

AbsorbineJr. 

•  Yes!  You  can  help  ease  the 
torment  of  muscle  soreness 
caused  by  too  much  exercise! 
Just  rub  those  muscles  with  a 
little  Absorbine  Jr.  as  thou- 
sands of  other  people  do. 
Famous  for  over  50  years, 
Absorbine  Jr.  is  cooling  and 
invigorating.  As  you  rub 
it  in,  you  feel  a  mild  "glow" 
—  pain  seems  to 
drift  away.  Keep 
Absorbine  Jr. 
handy  —  at  all 
drugstores,  $1.25  a 
bottle. 


W.  F.  Young,  Inc.. 
Springfield,  Mass. 


Wash  away  "invisible 


dirt" 


lou  clean  thoroughly  when  you  use 
sergeant's  Disinfectant.  This  pleasant-to-use 
;leaner  lifts  off  dirt,  disinfects,  deodorizes 
md  kills  many  germs  —  the  "unseen  dirt" 
langerous  to  health. 

Sergeant's  Disinfectant  in  warm  water 
-■leans  bathroom  and  kitchen  the  sanitary 
vay  —  and  leaves  everything  sweet,  doesn't 
rritate  the  hands.  L  se  it  for  floors  and 
voodwork.  Brings  a  pine-woods  freshness 
o  closets,  cupboards,  all  musty  places.  Won- 
lerful  for  garbage  pails,  sinks,  toilets,  all 
lifficult  cleaning. 

Make  your  cleaning  pleasant.  Get  some 
sergeant's  Disinfectant  today  — at  drug  or 
lepartment  store. 


Witii  tiie  cleaner 
tliat's  fragrant 
of  pine 

SerqeanVs 

DISINFECTANT 


"Was  she?"  Nell  said. 

Amy  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "Yes,  in- 
deed, she  was.  She  even  worried  over  what 
tie  Tom  should  wear  to  school!  This  is  a 
nice  room,  isn't  it?  I've  never  rightly  looked 
at  It  before." 

"I  guess  it  wasn't  used  much,"  Nell  said 
somewhat  awkwardly. 

Amy  Deem  looked  down  at  her  hands  an 
instant,  hiding  the  flash  of  amusement  in  her 
dark  eyes.  \\"hy,  she  was  just  a  farm  girl, 
nothing  else.  She  felt  a  quick,  angry  im- 
patience with  Tom  Pelletier.  ^^'hateve^ 
could  he  have  been  thinking  of? 

"We're  awfuUy  fond  of  Tom,  Mr.  Deem 
and  I."  she  said  quickly.  "We've  said  for  a 
long  time  that  he  ought  to  marry,  but  he  was 
so  devoted  to  his  mother — and  I  suppose  it 
would  have  made  it  hard  for  any  girl  he 
married.  But  I'm  cross  at  him  for  not  telling 
us.  You  must  both  come  to  dinner — how 
about  tonight?  It's  hash  night,  but  it's  good 
hash." 

'"Thank  you,  but  ,1  don't  know.  Mr. 
Pelletier's  not  very  well."  Nell  said. 

Again,  at  that  "Mr.  Pelletier"  from  the 
young  lips.  Amy  Deem  looked  downward  to 
hide  her  amusement.  "Oh,  you  needn't  stay 
late.  You  really  must  come." 

"I'll  ask  him  when  he  comes  in."  Nell  said 
with  a  certain  stubbornness. 

"Oh.  come  now !  You  mustn't  start  in  that 
way.  It's  a  bad  line  to  take  with  a  man. 
Just  say  'Yes' — it'll  do  Tom  good.  He's 
been  cooped  up  so  long  now,  he  needs  to  get 
out  and  see  people." 


.FALSE  THRIFT 

^  \X'hen  Li  Hung  Chang,  the  great 
^  Chinese  statesman  and  ex- 
premier,  visited  England,  a  distin- 
guished but  somewhat  prudish  lady 
who  collected  proverbs  asked  him 
at  a  party  if  there  was  a  Chinese 
equivalent  to  "Penny  wise,  pouna 
foolish."  .\fter  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, he  replied  through  his  inter- 
preter that  there  was  an  exact  one: 
"^  e  say  that  the  man  who  goes  to 
bed  to  save  his  candle  begets  twins." 
— Sunday  Times,  tondon. 


"I'll  ask  him,"  Nell  said  again. 

"  \\'hen'd  you  ever  meet  Tom?  I  must  say 
he's  been  secretive  about  you." 

"I  met  him  a  week  ago  Friday  night," 
Nell  said.  ^ 

For  once  Amy  Deem's  quick  wit  deserted 
her.  She  could  only  sit  and  stare  at  the  stub- 
bom  young  girl  sitting  there  awkwardly  in 
the  fine  old  chair.  "Why,  child  I"  she  said 
weakly  at  last. 

"I'm  not  a  child.  I'm  twenty,"  N:ll  said. 

"I'm  sorry.  You  startled  me.  I  just 
didn't  know  Tom  was  so  impulsive.  It 
doesn't  seem  very  long  to  have  known  him." 

Nell  didn't  answer.  There  were  two  red 
spots  in  her  tanned  face. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  e.\pect  you  tonight," 
Amy  said  more  briskly,  to  end  the  sudden 
awkward  silence.  She  stood  up.  "Mind  if 
I  go  out  the  back  way?  I  can  cut  down  to 
the  creek  and  go  up  the  hill— it's  much 
shorter."  She  walked  across  and  into  the 
dining  room.  The  door  into  the  new  study 
was  open,  and  she  could  see  the  desk  and  the 
windows  cleared  of  all  the  knickknacks  on 
the  sills.  She  went  over  and  looked  in. 
"\Miy,  how  nice!  And  how  sensible!"  she 
said.  "I  never  realized  what  a  big  room  it 
was — there  were  so  many  things  in  it  be- 
fore! .  .  .  Well,  I  must  run.  Don't  dare 
disappoint  me."  She  went  toward  the 
kitchen  door.  But  at  the  door  she  turned. 
She  hadn't  seemed  to  make  the  impression 
she  usually  did,  and  it  disturbed  her.  Some- 
thing else  disturbed  her,  too,  though  site  had 
not  had  time  to  anah'ze  the  source  of  it  as 
yet.  Nell  had  followed  her  politely  to  the 
door,  not  seeking  to  detain  her.  "Look  here," 
Amy  said  suddenly  and  with  warmth,  "let's 
be  friends,  you  and  I.  I  like  you  such  a  lot 
already,  and  I  hope  you'll  like  me." 

"I  like  you."  Nell  said  a  little  painfully, 
"but  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  come  to 


Here's  why  your  very  first  Halo  Shampoo 
will  leave  your  hair  aglow  with  natural  luster! 

1 .  Halo  reveals  the  true  natural  beauty-  of  your  hair  the  very 
first  time  you  use  it  .  .  .  leaves  it  shimmering  with  glorious 
dancing  highlights. 

2.  Even  finest  soaps  leave  dingy  soap-film  on  hair.  But  Halo 
contains  no  soap  .  .  .  made  with  a  new  type  patented  ingre- 
dient it  cannot  leave  soap-film  ! 

3.  Needs  no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse  ...  Halo   rinses 
away,  quickly  and  completely  ! 

4.  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant  lather,  in  hardest  water. 
Leaves  hair  sweet,  naturally  radiant! 

5.  Carries    away   unsightly   loose   dandruff   like    magic! 

6.  Lets  hair  dr>-  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curll  Get 
Halo  Shampoo  today  ...  in  lOi:  or  larger  sizes. 


REVEALS  THE  HIDDEN  BEAUTY  IN  YOUR  HAIR! 


I'VE  HAD  McKEE  GLASS  UTENSILS   FOR  A  LONG  TIME. 
A   LITTLE   CARE   MEANS   YEARS    OF   WEAR.     AND    IT'S 


GRAND  TO   BE  ABLE  TO   SEE  WHAT'S  COOKING. 


The  McKee   Glasbake   Casserole  —  so 

easy  to  clean,  makes   such   tempting  dishes. 


>W 


GLASBAKE 


OVEN   WARE    ,„7T" 


McKEE  GLASS  COMPANY 

JEANNEHE,  PA.    ESTABLISHED  1853 


QUIETS 

SWEEPERS 


A  few  drops  of  3-IN-ONE 
Oil    works    wonders    on 
carpet    sweepers.     Pro- 
tects household  equip- 
^meoc  —  makes  tbiags 
run  better. 


"3-lN-ONE"OIL 


FAR  ClUM^  WASHINGS 


Mrs.StEWAWS 


CfmerLca  s  finest 


UJPCnER 

KOMB-KLEANED    SWEEPER 
^eO&t.  Sa^ieft  "PICK-UP'' 

E.  R.  WAGNER  MFG.  CC.Oept.  J,  Milwaukee  9,  Wit. 


96 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


We  y  5  days  for  our  Honeymoon 


Our  first  day  — we  ioimd  the  loveliest  honeymoon  place.  "Loveliest  to 
remember—"  you  said,  "tlie  darling  softness  of  your  luinds."  (Oh,  thanks  for 
Jergens  Lotion.  Jcrgens  furnishes  softness-protection  most  hand  skin  needs. ) 


•S''    . 


Poetry  in  the  afternoons.  "  'Your  soft  hand  is  a  xooman  of  itself,"  you 
read.  "That's  true,  darling,"  you  said  — and  kissed  my  fingers.  (Oh,  poor  girls, 
who  let  their  hands  get  rough— when  Jergens  Lotion  hand  care  is  so  easy!) 


Lovely  New  York  Models  use 
Jergens  Lotion,  nearly  5  to  1. 

Ajre  sure  of  softer,  adorable  hands, 
using  Jergens;  wise  protection  against 
roughness.    Like    professional    hand 


care.  Two  ingredients  in  Jergens  are 
so  right  for  helping  even  harsh  sldn 
to  longed-for  smoothness  that  many 
doctors  prescribe  them.  No  stickiness. 
10^  to  $LO0,  plus  tax. 


For  the  softest,  mlorable  Hands,  USE 


JEROENS  LOTION 


supper.    It — Mr.  Deem — he  gets  so  tired 
talking  to  him." 

Amy  Beam's  eyes  widened,  first  in  amaze- 
ment, then  in  delight.  She  laughed  aloud. 
"I  don't  doubt  you!  I  don't  doubt  you  at 
all ! "  she  said,  on  a  little  crow  of  laughter. 
"But  I'll  try  to  hold  him  down." 

She  went  off,  still  laughing  to  herself,  but 
as  she  crossed  the  bridge  her  lively  little  face 
sobered  and  she  went  slowly  up  the  hill,  a 
frown  on  her  forehead.  Her  husband  sat  in 
his  usual  chair,  his  book  propped  up  on  the 
chair  arm.  She  unbuckled  her  belt  slowly, 
took  off  her  coat. 

"We're  having  company  for  dinner — I 
think,"  she  said  a  little  solemnly. 

"You  think?  Who?" 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pelletier." 

"Eh?"  He  turned  the  book  face  down 
and  his  small  eyes  squinted  up  at  her  in- 
credulously. 

"That's  who,"  she  said  flatly.  "He's 
married  to  Pres  Adams'  girl." 

"Preposterous!"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed.  "Preposterous."  She 
walked  over  to  the  bay  window,  sat  down 
with  one  foot  under  her. 

"What  on  earth  was  he  thinking  of?" 

"I  don't  know."  she  said  slowly.  "I  don't 
know.  Pinny.  But  I  think  he  was  thinking 
of  something,   all  right." 

"Explain  yourself.  Get-      

ting  rid  of  inhibitions?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she 
said  again.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve so.  .  .  .  You  were 
wrong.    She  is  pretty." 

"I  said,  'not  what  I'd 
call  pretty.'  Maybe  she  is, 
in  a  buxom  sort  of  way.  A 
little  crude,  wasn't  she?" 

"Yes.  Very  awkward, 
at  any  rate.  Crude,  I  pre- 
sume. But  I  see  how  she 
put  you  out.  She  thinks 
you  talk  too  much."  She 
gave  him  a  malicious  small 
smiile  which  quickly 
faded. 

"I?     Why,    the    chit! 

You  mean  she  told  you      

so?" 

"In  so  many  words.  Pinny.  .  .  .  You 
know,  when  I  first  went  in.  I  was  shocked. 
I  felt  sick  for  Tom.  And  then,  I  don't 
know — I  suddenly  felt  sick  for  her.  She's 
so  young.  Pinny." 

It  won't  last  a  year.  I  know  Tom— he's 
got  a  good  mind.  She  can  be  as  pretty  as  all 
get  out,  but  that  won't  satisfy  Tom  Pelle- 
tier, not  if  I'm  any  judge  of  men,  and  I  think 
I  am.  Where'd  she  ever  get  hold  of  him?" 

"I  don't  know  where,"  she  said  slowly. 
"But  I  know  when.  A  week  ago  Friday 
night — the  night  he  wouldn't  come  to 
supper." 

"That's  indecent!  I  had  a  premonition  he 
was  headed  for  trouble.  Lonely,  I  suppose, 
and  it  broke  out  that  way." 

"But  why? "  she  went  on  in  that  consider- 
ing, troubled  voice.  "Why  that  way?  He 
must  have  been  more  terribly  lonely  than 
we  knew.  I  thought  we  knew  him  quite 
well.  .  .  .  Pinny,  be  good  to  her.  I'm  afraid 
for  her.  I'm  afraid  you're  right — that  it 
won't  last." 

"Well,  despite  the  tenets  of  the  church, 
I  doubt  if  it  should,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know.  Pinny,  she's  an  ignorant, 
awkward  child,  and  yet — and  yet  she  made 
me  feel  incompetent.  I — I  don't  quite  know 
how  to  express  it,  but  all  of  a  sudden  it 
seemed  silly  to  be  subtle.  Only — well,  Tom 
is  like  us.  He  is  subtle.  He's  been  ill,  but 
after  a  while  he'll  be  well  and  then  he'll  see 
her  differently.  It  won't  work  out.  .  .  . 
We  must  give  them  a  present.  What?" 

"What?  How  should  I  know?  That  pair 
of  glass  candlesticks  that  you're  always  try- 
ing to  find  a  place  for  in  the  cupboard." 

"No.  It  must  be  something  very  spe- 
cial. ...  I  must  go  get  the  hash  started. 
Onions?" 

"Certainly.  Who  ever  heard  of  hash  with- 
out onions?" 

They  were  both  back  to  their  usual  quick 
talk,  but  both  were  troubled. 


COMPLIMEI^TTS 

^  We  should  pay  more  com- 
^  pliments  than  we  do.  We 
live  in  a  period  of  appalling 
ill  will  and  need  to  know-  and 
hear  every  charming  and  en- 
couraging thing  that  can  be 
said  about  us.  faying  com- 
pliments is  an  art  that  can  he 
learned.  Most  of  us  know  at 
least  one  person,  usually  old, 
who  always  says  the  warm, 
appreciative  thing.  This  is 
not  flattery.  Flattery  is  dif- 
ferent— the  counterfeit  coin 
that  is  accepted  only  by  the 
undiscerning. 

— AUCE  HOOPER  BOACK 


It  was  while  Amy  Deem  was  slicing  onions 
very  thin  that  she  remembered  the  room  off 
the  dining  room.  She  remembered  it  clearly, 
with  a  quick  shock  she  had  scarcely  felt 
when  she  had  seen  it.  That  was  a  queer  thing 
to  do,  right  off,  she  said  to  herself*  /  wonder 
why  she  did  that.  Or  did  Tom  do  it?  It  was 
very  pleasant — Tom  must  have  done  it.  Why? 
I  don't  think  Tom  did  change  it.  I  think  she 
did.  Why?  How  could  she  be  jealous  of  his 
mother?  She  couldn't  ever  have  known  her.  It 
isn't  as  if  it  were  a  first  wife  that  had  had  the 
room.  Sensible,  though.  Tom's  never  had  a 
place  to  work  in.  But  right  off?  It  was  odd  to 
do  it  right  off,  as  if  she  couldn't  wait.  She 
stood  still  an  instant,  forgetting  to  slice  the 
onion,  frowning  puzzledly. 

OHE  had  an  uncanny  knack  of  stabbing  to 
the  heart  of  a  problem,  for  recognizing  the 
nuances  in  human  relationships  and  acting 
accordingly,  but  she  knew  that  she  had  not 
touched  the  heart  of  this  problem,  and  the  I 
realization  confused  and  annoyed  her.  It 
was  as  she  had  said — she  found  her  subtlety 
suddenly  unavailing.  She  was  not  glad 
Thomas  Pelletier  had  married.  For  all  she 
had  fostered  friendships  with  new  teachers 
in  town  and  with  the  girl  in  the  jewelry  store, 
she  had,  she  realized,  never  believed  he 
would  marry  any  of  them. 

You'd  think  I  wanted  him 

and  Pinny,  too,  she  thought 
impatiently.  And  it  isn't 
that  at  all!  No,  it  wasn't 
that;  but,  still,  she  had 
liked  Tom  as  he  was, 
personable,  intelligent 
man,  free  except  for  his 
attachment  to  his  mother 
What  bothered  her  wae 
that  Tom  had  never  onct 
shown  that  he  was  not 
content.  It  made  a  kinc 
of  breach  in  their  friend- 
ship, in  her  own  respect 
for  her  own  jxiwers  ol 
analysis.  She  had  more 
pride  in  those  powers  than 
she  had  comprehended 

"I  know  what  I'll  give 

her,"  she  said  suddenly 

But  the  Pelletiers  did  not  go  to  the  rectory 
for  supper.  When  Tom  came  home  Nell  said 
to  him  at  once,  "Mrs.  Deem  called.  She 
wants  us  to  come  for  supper.  Do  you 
want  to?" 

"No.  No,  I  don't,"  he  said.  "Do  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Not  unless  you 
want  to." 

"I  suppose  we  ought  to.  They've  been 
very  kind  to  me.   I  just  don't  feel  up  to  it." 

She  went  to  the  phone  and  began  to  hunt 
in  the  phone  book. 

"F-one-two-four,"  he  said  absently. 

"Hello— is  this  Mrs.  Deem?  ...  I'm 
sorry,  but  I  guess  we  can't  come  tonight 
Mr.  Pelletier  is  pretty  tired.  Thank  you  just 
the  same,  and  I  hope  you  haven't  gone  t( 
any  trouble.  .  .   .  Yes,  we  will.  Good-by.' 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  Then  he  laughed 
"You  don't  beat  around  the  bush  any,  d( 
you?" 

"I  like  it  better  here,  too,"  she  said.  "I'c 
rather  sit  here  and  have  you  read." 

She  had  alrea'dy  set  the  table.  He  walkec 
over  to  it  and  absently  straightened  tht 
knives  and  forks,  which  had  been  put  on  anj 
old  how.  She  watched  him,  a  sudden  hur 
look  in  her  eyes.  He  looked  up  and  saw  hei| 
watching  him.  He  laughed  a  little  and  said 
"Mother  was  one  of  these  fussy  persons 
I've  got  the  habit."  But  the  look  stayed  ii 
her  eyes  for  some  time. 

The  next  day  Amy  Deem  came  again.  Sh( 
carried  something  carefully  in  either  banc 
arid  she  came  to  the  back  door,  not  knocking 
because  of  her  burden,  calling  out  "Yoo 
hoo ! "  at  the  door.  Nell  came  and  let  her  in 

"I've  brought  you  a  present!"  Amy  sai( 
gaily.  "Though  I  shouldn't  after  the  waj 
you  stood  us  up  for  dinner."  She  held  ou 
her  two  hands.  She  was  carrying,  un 
wrapped,  two  delicate  glass  swans.  "Fo 
you."  she  said.  "They're  the  very  bes 
possessions  I  had.  Pinny  gave  them  to  m 
for  an  engagement  present.  Venetian  glass.' 
(Continued  on  Page  98) 


I 


i^'fl^M&t,!^ 


^ 


\ 


HONOR  BRIGHT 


SADDLE  BROWN 


98 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


A4ore  beautiful  than  ever. . .  in 


So  easy  to  apply  and  quick  to  dry, 
Elizabeth  Arden's  leg  make-up 
stays  on  the  legs  and  off  the 
clothes.  Water-resistant.  Clings, 

until  deliberately  washed 
away,  with  a  blemish-concealing 
sheer  textured  beauty  that 

trims  the  ankle — slims  the  leg;  ^ 
Be  sure  to  wear  Velva  Leg  Film 
with  bathing  suits  or  shorts,  it 
makes  your  legs  look  sun-burnished    '' 
...  far  more  lovely. 


I 


175 


Approximately  20  pairs  in  the  5  oz.  bottle,  1.00 
Almost  50  pairs  in  the  12  oz.  economy  size,  2.00 

Sun  Beige,  light    •    Sun  Bronze,  medium    •    Sun  Copper,  dark 

SLEEK  .  . .  the  fragrant  cream  that  removes  hair  and  leaves 
the  legs  satin  smooth,  1.00 

VELVA  LEG  FILM  BUFFER ...  for  polishing  after  opplying 
Velva  Leg  Film.  Must  be  thoroughly  dry,  then  buff  lightly 
for  a  sheer-textured  finish,  .50 


/^^^^^eT^^/^AOfett^ 


prices  plus  Toxos 


.^^msm. 


(Continued  from  Page  96) 

Nell  took  them.  They  looked  more  fragile 
yet  in  her  brown  hands.  "But  they're  yours," 
Nell  said  reluctantly. 

"Not  any  more.  And  I  won't  keep  watch- 
ing them  to  see  if  they  get  broken,  either. 
Have  you  ever  noticed  how  some  people  do 
that?  They  give  you  something  and  then 
they  keep  on  guarding  it,  as  if  it  were  still 
their  own.  Pinny's  mother  was  that  way. 
You  always  had  to  have  everything  she'd 
ever  given  you  out  on  display  when  she  came 
visiting.  No.  I  love  the  swans  and  always 
have — but  that's  why  I  wanted  you  and 
Tom  to  have  them." 

"They're  beautiful,"  Nell  said  slowly. 
"I'll  take  good  care  of  them."  She  moved 
into  the  sitting  room,  swans  in  hand,  put 
them  on  the  whatnot  in  the  comer,  then 
said,  "No,  they  don't  show  there."  She 
moved  them  to  the  octagonal  table  instead, 
where  the  light  caught  their  delicate  color- 
ing, made  them  luminous  and  beautiful. 

"Let's  sit  in  the 
new  study,  shall  we?  " 
Amy  said  persua- 
sively. "Tom  isn't 
home  and  he  can't 
shoo  us  out.  I  want 
to  see  what  it  feels 
hke."  She  walked 
swiftly  through  the 
dining  room  and  into 
that  room,  with  Nell 
reluctantly  following 
her.  She  sat  down  at 
the  desk,  leaned  back, 
one  arm  over  the 
back  of  the  chair. 
"I've  been  in  this 
room  a  thousand 
times,"  she  said. 
"Everybody  used  to 
come  here.  Tom  was 
wonderful  to  his 
mother.  They  always 
say  that  a  man  good 
to  his  mother  makes 
a  good  husband— I 
don't  know  whether 
it  follows  or  not. 
Pinny's  mother  used 
to  bore  him,  but  he's 
been  a  good  enough 
husband.  .  .  .  Did 
Tom  do  all  this?  It's 
really  very  nice." 

"No,  I  did  it,"  Nell 
said. 

"Did  you?  What- 
ever did  you  do  with 
all  the  photographs? 
There  were  a  million 
here!" 

"  I  put  them  away . " 

"You'd  need  a 
storeroom!  Yes,  it's 
very    nice.    Perhaps 

Tom  will  do  his  textbook  now.  He's  always 
been  going  to  condense  some  biographies  for 
use  in  his  classes— though  I  think  he  might 
better  do  a  biography  himself.  He  ought 
not  to  waste  his  brains  on  somebody  else's 
work.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  meet  Mrs.  Pelle- 
tier?" 

"No." 

OHE  was  very  little,  very  delicate,  like 
a  Dresden  lady.  She  never  complained, 
though  I  suppose  she  was  in  pain  most  of 
the  time.  I  know  she  often  couldn't  sleep. 
Tom  used  to  read  to  her  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  In  the  winter,  when  the  leaves  are  off 
the  trees,  you  can  see  this  house  from  our 
bedroom  window,  and  so  often  late  at 
night — Pinny  and  I  are  regular  nighthawks — 
I'd  look  down  and  see  the  light  burning 
down  here  and  I'd  know  she  was  having  one 
of  her  sleepless  times.  .  .  .  But  I'm  glad 
her  room  is  gone.  I'm  really  glad.  When  my 
baby  died  I  kept  his  clothes  for  a  long  time, 
and  then  one  day  I  suddenly  wrapped  them 
up  and  sent  them  off  to  my  sister  to  be  used. 
It  was  better  so.  You  can't  help  a  certain 
sadness  sometimes,  but  it's  better  not  to 
mourn  and  mourn  and  mourn  like  the  dove 
on  the  mast  in  the  song  we  used  to  sing  in 
school.   .   .   .   But  didn't  Tom  mind?"  She 


had  been  playing  with  a  paper  knife  on  the 
desk  as  she  spoke  and  hadn't  looked  at  Nell 
much,  but  now  she  gave  her  a  straight,  in- 
tensely curious  look,  as  if  all  had  been  lead- 
ing up  to  that  question,  that  look. 

"No.  He  likes  it,"  Nell  said,  but  Amy 
Deem  felt  a  small  quiver  of  excitement*  for 
under  the  few  quiet  words  was  some  in- 
tensity of  feeling,  something  that  for  an 
instant  cried  out  as  against  intolerable  in- 
trusion. 

Well,  he  should.  It's  perfect,"  Amy  said 
cheerfully.  "We  really  were  disappointed 
last  night.  But  we'll  try  again.  Tom's  the 
only  one  in  town  that  Pinny  likes  to  talk 
over  books  with.  Tom's  a  bookish  man — as 
I  dare  say  you  found  out,  if  you  lugged  all 
these  in  here!  Oh,  I  must  run!  And  I've 
just  chattered  on  and  haven't  let  you  get  a 
word  in.  You'll  think  I'm  as  bad  as  Pinny, 
and  I  probably  am.  I  want  to  know  all 
about  you.  All  I  know  is  that  you  showed  a  • 
bull  calf  at  the  fair, 
and  that  isn't  much, 
is  it?  But  it'll  keep- 
it's  really  better 
when  you  don't  know 
everything  right  off,  I 
think.  Then  there  are 
surprises,  and  I  love 
surprises — I've  got  a 
feeling  that  you'll 
give  .me  a  lot  of 
them ! "  She  had  risen 
and  walked  to  the 
back  door. 

"The  swans  are 
lovely,"  Nell  said. "  It 
was  awfully  good  of 
you  to  give  them  to 
us." 

"Oh,  but  I  wanted 
to.  Good-by  now- 
come  see  me."  She 
flashed  her  a  smile 
and  Nell  smiled 
slowly  back. 

"You've  certainly 
been  gone  a  long 
time,"  Mr.  Deem  said 
to  her  when  she  came 
in. 

"Well,  you  could 
have  gone,  too,  if 
you  weren't  allergic 
tohills,"  sheanswered 
tartly. 

"  Want  to  know  my 
candid  opinion? 
You're  every  bit  as 
snoopy  as  I  am.  Ev- 
ery bit.  What  did  you 
find  out?" 

"Nothing.  Noth- 
ing at  all.  I've  never 
met  with  such  reti- 
cence and  I  don't  want  to  meet  with  it  again. 
Though  she  doesn't  look  reticent,  and  when 
you  ask  her  a  direct  question  she  answers 
with  a  directness  that  shocks  you  a  lit- 
tle. .  .  .  She  fixed  the  room.  I  found  that 
out." 

"What  room?" 
"Tom's  mother's  room.    She's  made  it 
into  a  study  for'Tom." 

"You  think  that  has  significance,  eh?' 
"Yes — but  what  significance?  I  chatterec 
like  a  magpie  too.  She'll  soon  know  all  aboul 
me,  certainly.  And  what  do  I  know  aboul 
her?    Absolutely  nothing,  except  that  sh< 
fixed  the  room  and  that  it's  very  nice  in- 
deed.  ...   I  gave  her  my  swans." 
"Your  swans?  Why,  you  traitor." 
"It  had  to  be  something  special — thej 
were  the  most  special  thing  I  had.    I  cai 
still  love  you  for  giving  them  to  me,  dar 
ling." 

He  filled  his  pipe,  his  eyes  small  dark  slits 
before  he  said,  "Sometimes  I'm  amazed  a 
my  own  remarkable  discrimination.  In  pick 
ing  you  out,  Amy." 

She  grinned,  came  and  perched  for  an  in 
stant  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  put  he 
gaminish  face  down  against  his  cheek,  the 
jumped  up  and,  getting  a  duster  from  th 
window  seat,  where  she  kept  it  so  she  couli 


BY  MARK  VAIV   DOREIV 

"Where  are  we  now?" 
Says  thistle  ball, 
And  so  say  I,  and  so  say  I. 

Me  and  my  body 
Went  off  together. 
But  who  cares  where,  but  who 
cares  where? 

Nobody  guesses 
That  here  we  are  yet. 
With  people  around,  with 
people  around. 

What  do  they  notice. 
My  body  or  me? 
And  which  of  us  cares,  and 
which  of  us  cares? 

One  of  us  changed, 

Yes,  but  he  did, 

Into  a  dancer,  into  a  dancer, 

And  whirls  the  other  one 

Oh,  so  lightly, 

Oh,  so  lightly,  oh,  so  lightly, 

Around  and  around, 
And  neither  will  ever, 
And  neither  will  ever, 
Be  tired  any  more,  be  tired 
any  more. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


99 


HAIR 

mttde  lovely  again 


You  can  do  much  more  with 
your  hair,  your  hair  can  do 
much  more  for  you  .  . . 


after  an   Admiracion  shampoo.  Good- 
bye hair  problem!     Dirt,   loose 
dandruff,  soap  film  float  away  .  .  . 
leaving    all    your    hair's 
natural,  shining    softness. 


hurriedly  slap  at  this  or  that  if  a  visitor  was 
seen  toiling  up  the  hill,  began  to  dust, 
quickly  and  rather  thoroughly. 

The  school  children  chipped  in  and  gave 
Professor  Pelletier  two  silver  vegetable 
dishes.  They  talked  about  a  reception,  but 
Miss  Scott  squashed  that  notion,  saying  that 
she  didn't  think  he'd  like  it,  so  soon  after  his 
mother's  death.  But  in  reality  she  wondered 
uncomfortably  as  to  the  suitability  for  an- 
other reason,  having  seen  Nell  Adams.  She 
was  still  shocked  at  Pelletier's  marriage. 
Her  conscience,  which  functioned  very  well, 
told  her  that  she  ought  to  go  down  and  call, 
but  she  had  not  been  able  to  do  so.  She 
tried  to  argue  herself  out  of  her  reluctance, 
saying  the  girl  was  presentable  and  compe- 
tent enough,  but  the  reluctance  remained. 
It  was  just  that  she  felt  it  completely  unsuit- 
able as  a  marriage  for  a  high-school  prin- 
cipal, and  it  spxjiled  something  in  her  esti- 
mate of  Thomas  Pelletier,  which  had  always 
been  high.  It  was  as  if  he  had  married  one 
of  the  girls  from  his  classes — he,  a  mature 
man,  with  a  mature  mind — and  that  would 
have  been  very  distasteful  to  her.  She  had 
lived  too  long  to  be  shocked  at  evidences  of 
passion,  but  she  would  never  live  too  long 
to  be  shocked  by  evidences  of  poor  taste  and 
judgment.  And,  though  this  she'  did  not 
quite  know,  she  still  had  a  sense  of  being 
snubbed  by  the  girl  on  that  visit  to  the  farm. 

When  Mrs.  Tollman  quizzed  her  one  day 
she  found  herself  saying,  "Well,  she's  Pres 
Adams'  girl.  She's  never  had  any  school- 
ing," and  knew  that  her  voice  held  dis- 
approval, and  was  ashamed  but  unable  to 
stop. 

"  I  just  can't  understand  it,"  Mrs.  Tollman 
said.  "Seems  as  if  his  inother's  death  must 
have  unhinged  him.  He  doesn't  seem  the 
same  at  all.  And  someone  so  utterly  different 
from  his  mother — I  don't  see  how  he  could 
have  done  it,  when  he  adored  her  so.  I  really 
don't.  Well,  he's  made  his  bed  and  I  suppose' 
he'll  just  have  to  lie  in  it,  but  it  seems  a 
pity,  with  all  the  fine  girls  we  have  here." 

"She  may  be  perfectly  all  right,"  Miss 
Scott  managed  to  say  stiffly.  "I  scarceh 
know  her." 

"Oh.  I  know  who  she  is,  all  right.  Being 
Pres  Adams'  daughter  is  enough  to  say. 
Everybody  knows  Pres  Adams  and  his 
goings  on!" 

She's  not  much  like  him."  Miss  Scott's 
conscience  was  pricking  her  now,  but  she 
knew  she  wasn't  undoing  any  of  the  damage 
she  had  already  done. 

So  Miss  Scott  didn't  call.  No  one  called, 
indeed,  except  Amy  Deem.  But  the  Pelle- 
tiers  seemed  not  to  mind.  Once  Tom  asked 
Nell  if  she'd  like  to  go  to  some  church  affaii 
but  she  said  no,  she  guessed  not,  and  he  dal 
not  insist.  He  seemed  relieved,  rather,  that 
she'd  said  no.  He  seemed  always  relieved 
to  be  at  home  with  her,  reading  to  her,  sit- 
ting at  his  desk  working  on  papers  or  writing 
letters.  And  the  little  house  was  always  clean 
and  Nell  cooked  well.  She  even  did  the 
washing. 

One  day  Tom  came  home  and  found  the 
clothes  blowing  on  the  line.  "Look  here,  you 
don't  have  to  do  the  washing,"  he  said. 
"I've  always  had  Mrs.  Nealy  do  it." 

"I  know.  She  came,  but  I  told  her  I'd  do 
it  from  now  on.  I  don't  mind.  Just  a  few- 
shirts  and  things.   It's  nothing." 

"But  you  don't  need  to." 

" I  like  to,"  she  said.  "Pa  says  I'm  a  good 
hand  at  ironing  a  shirt — I  like  to.  You've  got 
good  tubs  and  everything — there's  no  need 
to  spend  money  for  it." 

She  seemed  always  busy,  never  unhappy. 
She  took  great  pains  setting  the  table,  after 
that  one  time  when  Tom  had  straightened 
the  silver.  She  used  the  best  dishes,  though 
somewhat  gingerly.  She  made  quince  jell\-. 
And  Tom  seemed  happy  enough  too.  He 
quite  often  laughed  aloud  in  the  boyish  way 
that  so  pleased  her.  He  was  tender  with  her 
in  the  nighttimes,  he  sometimes  teased  her  a 
little.  But  once  in  a  while  he  would  look  up 
from  his  papers  and  look  around  the  room  in 
a  strange  way  that  frightened  her;  it  was  as 
if  he  were  looking  into  another  world  in 
(Continued  on  Page  101) 


GLORIOUSLY,  YOUTHFULLY 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


4i 


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'Oy^'x 


99 


" —  in  that  future  you're  fighting  for.  We'll  greet  it  with  confidence 
and  pride.  For  we've  agreed  never  to  compromise  with  our  ideals. 
.  .  .  Remember  ...  we  decided  we  couldn't  afford  not  to  have 
sterling  silver.  Remember  .  .  .  how  happily  we  selected  our  lovely 
Westmorland  pattern,  here  among  our  own  things  at  home  .  .  . 
How  right  we  were,  dear,  to  choose  Westmorland — because  of  its 
beauty  of  design — because  of  its  quality  and  craftsmanship — 


because  we  know  its  timeless  patterns  will  never  be  discontinued." 

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Westmorland  is  sterling  silver  at  its  finest — solid  silver  that  will 
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own  home — add  to  it  over  the  years,  just  as  it  suits  your  needs. 
The  availability  of  silver  is  war-limited  now,  but  you'll  be  wise  to 
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E] 


HE  Farmer's  Daughter 

(Continued  from  Page  99) 
hich  he  had  Hved  and  had  his  being,  and  it 
;emed  to  have  no  relation  to  this  quiet  Httle 
orld  at  all.  It  shut  her  out  in  the  oddest 
ay  and  made  her  feel  tight  all  over.  And 
lere  were  still  nights  when  he  sat  up  sud- 
pnly  in  bed,  shaking  and  sweating,  and 
Ihen  he  quieted  only  with  her  arms  about 
m,  her  warm  young  body  very  close.  He 
:emed  to  depend  on  her  deeply,  completely. 
They  did  go  to  the  Deems'  to  dinner  one 
ght.  She  wore  her  flowered  dress.  She 
liked  hardly  at  all,  though.  The  men  talked, 
ostly  about  philosophy.  Amy  Deem's 
jick  voice  spurred  them  on  and  Tom 
emed  interested  and  gay,  but  he  said  early 
lat  he  must  go  home  and  they  went  down 
le  hill  in  the  chill  autumn  wind  in  silence. 
e  didn't  say  if  he'd  had  a  good  time. 

But  the  dream  broke,  as  all  dreams  do. 
Dr  it  was  a  dream  that  Thomas  Pelletier 
id  been  living  in,  a  precious  warm  dream  of 
fety.  He  had  been  living  in  it  ever  since 
le  night  he  had  walked  off  Mrs.  Jones' 
jrch  and  seen  Nell  with  the  milk  pails.  It 
oke  in  an  odd,  disturbing,  just  fashion; 
lOugh  if  it  hadn't  ended  in  that  way,  it 
ould  have  ended  in  some  other. 
Nell  decided  to  clean  the  cupboards,  and 

among  the  boxes  of  cornstarch  and  spices 
id  the  like  she  came  on  a  small  box  marked 
Poison"  and  "Arsenic." 
"For  rats,  I  guess,"  she  said  aloud.  "It 
ightn't  to  be  in  the  closet  with  the  food." 
She  climbed  up  on  a 
lair  and  was  reaching 
ith  the  box  to  the  top 
elf  of  the  cupboard 
lien  Tom  came  in. 
t  once  she  felt  appre- 
nsion  and  realized 
at  she  didn't  want  to 

found  with  the  poi- 
n  in  her  hands,  for 
e  was  infinitely  sen- 
tive  about  Tom's 
oods  and  she  didn't 
er  want  him  to  think 

poison  again.  She 
led .  to  put  the  box 
lickly  back  on  the 
elf,  but  her  hand 
ruck  the  wooden 
ece    between   the 

elves,    knocked    the       

X  from  her  hand  and 

wn  to  the  floor.    She  stood  on  the  chair, 
iring  down  at  it  with  stricken  eyes. 
"What's  the  matter?"  Tom  asked.    He 
iched  over  and  picked  up  the  box  and 
en  he,  too,  stared  at  it.  "What's  this?" 

asked  in  a  voice  she  had  not  heard  from 
■n  before. 
"Rat  poison,  I  guess,"  she  said  confusedly. 

thought  I'd  better  not  leave  it  in  the 
ttom  cupboard  with  the  food." 
"You  thought  you'd  better  put  it  where 
vouldn't  see  it,  eh?" 

"Oh,  no,  Tom!  I  didn't  think  anything — 
ly  what  I  said." 
"Afraid  I  might  use  it  on  you?" 

'Oh,  no.  Tom!  No!" 

'You  protest  too  much,"  he  said. 

UT  it  was  done  and  she  could  not  undo  it. 
le  dream  was  over.  He  was  awake.  He 
w  himself,  a  studious,  introspective  man, 
mding  here  in  this  kitchen  with  a  stranger, 
hard,  brown  country  girl,  awkward,  un- 
tered.  He  knew  he  had  been  a  sick  fool, 
d  that  his  sickness  went  past  even  this 
redible  marriage  to  this  stranger.  But  she 
IS  a  stranger  who  knew  his  secret,  and  such 
Granger  can  be  only  an  enemy.  It  is  al- 
)st  always  certainly  so,  that  we  have  some- 
ing  like  hate  against  those  who  know  our 
epest  shame,  our  ultimate  secret.  All,  all 
t  that  we  can  tell.  But  that  we  must  keep 
iden  forever. 

In  that  moment  he  saw  himself  as  the  town 
w  him,  as  Miss  Scott  and  old  Jonas  and 
e  Deems  and  the  Tollmans  and  Mrs. 
;nnant  Saw  him :  a  man  who  as  an  antidote 
grief  had  married  the  first  girl  he  had  seen. 
Igirl  who  said  "I  guess"  or  "It  seems  like 
if"  a  dozen  times  an  evening.  A  girl  who 
ed  to  do  the  washing.  A  girl  who  had  taken 


SELF-ABASEMENT 

^  While  Thomas  Mann  was  on  his 
^  first  extended  visit  in  the  United 
States,  ".  .  .  one  of  Hollywood's 
literati,  meeting  Mann  at  a  party 
for  the  first  time,  abased  himself  be- 
fore the  celebrated  novelist,  saying 
he  Avas  nothing,  a  mere  hack,  his 
writings  not  to  be  mentioned  in  the 
same  breath  with  the  works  of  the 
master.  Mann  listened  to  all  of  it 
with  innate  patience  and  courtesy. 
But  when  the  party  was  over,  Mann 
turned  to  his  host,  an  old  friend, 
and  said,  'That  man  had  no  right  to 
make  himself  so  small.  He  is  not 
that  big.' " 

—  From  the  April  17,  1939,  Ufe  Close-up  of 
Thomas  Mann,  by  Marquis  Childs. 


101 

advantage  of  his  illness  to  get  herself  a  hus- 
band. At  that  thought,  something  pricked 
protestingly  against  his  new  consciousness; 
the  memory  of  her  hand  on  his  head,  per- 
haps, of  his  own  pleading  voice  saying, 
"Don't  leave  me!"  He  hardened  his  mind 
against  the  prick.  For  he  was  well  now, 
physically  well,  and  his  mind  was  strong 
enough  to  subdue  the  horror  of  his  fears,  to 
put  them  aside  as  ridiculous.  Only — only 
he  had  confessed  those  fears,  and  to  this  girl, 
this  stranger.  And  she  had,  after  all,  believed 
in  them. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  be 
ashamed."  But  her  voice  was  lost. 

She  began  hurriedly  to  get  lunch  on,  but 
her  hands  trembled  on  the  dishes  and  pans. 
You  would  have  had  to  be  in  that  little 
white  house  for  these  past  weeks,  to  have 
comprehended  the  tragedy  of  this  moment. 
For  Nell  Pelletier  had  been  lent  grace  and 
beauty  by  her  love  and  by  his  acceptance  of 
her  love.  There  had  been  a  warmth  there,  a 
sweet  security  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  outside  world.  And  now  it  was  too 
abruptly  cold  and  there  was  nothing  there 
at  all  any  more,  except  an  ugly  enmity. 
The  grace  went  out  of  Nell,  the  bright 
laughter,  the  easy,  direct  speech.  She  looked 
suddenly  uncouth  and  almost  homely. 
"Lunch  is  ready,"  she  said. 
"I'll  just  have  a  glass  of  milk,"  he  said. 
He  poured  the  milk  himself,  though  she  had 
gone  for  a  glass.  He  drank  the  milk  arid  went 
out  without   touching 

anything  else. 

She  did  not  eat, 
either.  She  left  the  food 
on  the  table,  went 
slowly  upstairs.  She 
stared  at  herself  in  the 
mirror  over  the  old 
bureau.  She  looked 
ugly  to  herself.  Then 
she  turned  and  threw 
herself  down  beside  the 
bed,  pressed  her  face 
against  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  quilt.  "Oh, 
Tom!  Oh,  Tom!"  she 
said  aloud. 

But  she  had  courage, 
Nell  Pelletier,  and  pres- 
ently she  rose  from  be- 

side  the  bed,  went  down 

and  made  a  beautiful 
cream  pie  for  supper.  She  didn't  finish  the 
cupboards,  though.  She  polished  all  the  furni- 
ture and  she  put  the  little  violet  plant  that 
had  begun  to  bloom  in  the  middle  of  the  table. 
But  when  Tom  came  home,  very  late,  and  sat 
down  to  the  good  meal,  he  ate  almost  noth- 
ing. He  was  polite  enough,  but  in  a  distant 
way.  Nell  found  her  cup  making  a  clatter 
against  the  saucer,  and  her  hands  were 
clumsy  on  her  knife  and  fork.  But  she  tried, 
she  tried  for  the  old  relationship,  knowing  it 
useless,  but  trying. 

She  carried  the  dishes  out,  brought  in  the 
pie.  Tom  sat  looking  at  it,  his  hand  on  the 
handle  of  his  coffee  cup.  She  didn't  touch 
the  pie  either.  She  looked  up  at  him  sud- 
denly with  pleading. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "please  don't  look  like 
that.  You  have  to  believe  me,  Tom." 

"I  didn't  know  I  looked  any  particular 
way,"  he  said  quietly  enough.  "It's  nothing 
you're  to  blame  for,  Nell.  You're  not  at 
fault  in  any  way." 

"  But  nothing's  any  different,  Tom.  Noth- 
ing at  all.  I — I  love  you  just  like  always. 
Don't  you  know  I  do?" 

"Do  you  mind  if  we  don't  talk  about  it, 
Nell?" 

"Yes,  I  do  mind,"  Nell  said  stubbornly,  a 
little  desperately.  "You're  spoiling  every- 
thing by  believing  something  that  isn't  so." 
"Perhaps  you're  not  even  aware  of  what's 
going  on  in  your  subconscious,"  he  said. 

She  clasped  her  brown  hands  tight  to- 
gether under  the  table  to  hide  their  trem- 
bling. "I  know  what  I  feel,  if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  she  contradicted  him. 

"No,  that  isn't  exactly  what  I  mean,"  he 
answered  carefully.  "And  if  you'll  forgive 
me  for  saying  so,  I  don't  think  you  do  know 
what  you  feel.   I  think  you're  too  young  to 


^<sm^ 


'^  a 


*9« 


Owning  The  Cory  means  owning  the 
best!  The  best  in  coffee  flavor  .  .  .  nothing  but 
taste -free,  spotless  glass  touches  your  coffee 
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clear,  hand-decorated,  high  lustre  glass. 

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A  patented  Cory  feature.  Insures  delicious  coffee  every 
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^  Czea^cc^ie^pC  J^o^^e^-^-u^n^ 


Thars't  only  ONE 
PRESTO  COOKER  and 
PRESTO  U  tha  only 
prtsiure  saucepan 
with  tha  palanled 
HOMEC  teal. 


Wanted  most  by  millions  of  homemokers,  everywhere 
(and  extremely  worfhv/hile  v/aifing  for)  ore  PRESTO 
Cookers.  For,  Presto  Cooking  is  the  most  modern 
method  ever  discovered  for  the  preparation  of  more 
nourishing  and  appetizing  foods. 

rhCiw  Cooking  saves  up  to  300  kitchen  hours  in 
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/n  J  to  5  mmuiez,  with  garden-fresh  colors  and  flavors, 
and  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  natural  vitamin 
and  mineral  content,  retained.  Pot  roost  h  cooked  to 
delicious  tenderness  in  30  minutes;  fried  chicken  in  15 
minutes;  date  pudding  in  10  minutes,  etc. 

r/UMC  Cookers  are  of  superior,  heavy  construc- 
tion, cast  of  a  special,  easy-to-clean,  alloy,  which 
provides  on  even  distribution  of  heat,  best  suited  for 
greatest  cooking  efficiency.  A  mere  turn  of  the  handle 
closes  the  cover  and  forms  the  exclusive,  pressure- 
tight  HOMEC  seal.  The  clever  indicator  weight  shows 
and  controls  the  pressure,  and  tells  when  to  start 
counting  cooking  time. 

rfttM^  Cooking  saves  money  by  saving  fuel.  It  re- 
lieves kitchen  drudgery  and  mokes  cooking  a  pleasure. 
Ask  YOUR  DEALER.  (Meanwhile,  buy  War  Bonds.) 


rP^\       FOR  EFFICIENCY  IN  WAR  PRODUCTION 


/'tee  While  waifing  for 
your  PRESTO,  write  for  illus- 
trated booklet,  ''Your  Best 
Kitchen  Helper...  A  PRESTO 
COOKER."  Address  PRESTO, 
Dept.  91,  Eou   Claire,  Wis. 


^yj^^z^ 


PRESSURE    COOKER 

The  U.  S.  Department  of 
Agriculture,  and  all  other 
leading  food  authorities, 
recommend  pressure  cook- 
ing as  the  ONLY  safe  method 
for  processing  non-acid 
foods.  For  home  canning 
success,  (and  for  cooking, 
too)  use  the  scientifically  de- 
signed, perfectly  constructed 
National  Pressure 
Cooker. 


.w  PRESSURE  COOKER  CO.,  EAU  ClAIRE,  WIS. 


102 

know.  And  I'm  at  fault  for  not  realizing 
that.   I'm  sorry,  Nell." 

"Sorry  for  what?  For  marrying  me?" 

"Yes,  for  marrying  you,"  he  said,  though 
quietly.  "I'm  afraid  I  was  too  ill  to  know 
just  what  I  was  doing." 

She  sat  there  very  still  for  as  long  as  a 
minute.  Her  hands  were  not  trembling  now, 
but  they  were  cold.  When  she  spoke,  the 
passionate  life  had  gone  out  of  her  voice. 
"You  sound  as  if  you  thought  I'd  tricked 
you  into  marrying  me,"  she  said  flatly. 

"No,  not  consciously,"  he  said  in  that 
polite  voice. 

"I  didn't.  I  didn't,  though,"  she  said. 
"You  wanted  it  too." 

"Yes.  I  said  you  weren't  to  blame  for 
anything.  Let's  let  it  go  at  that,  Nell." 

After  supper  he  went  to  his  desk  and 
worked  on  papers  for  a  long  time.  She 
didn't  come  and  sit  near  him,  as  she  usually 
did.  She  washed  the  dishes  and  then  went 
into  the  sitting  room  and  sat  down.  She 
didn't  read.  She  just  sat  there  looking  at  the 
swans  sitting  there  in  their  delicate  perfec- 
tion under  the  old  lamp  on  the  octagonal 
table.  After  a  long  time  she  went  out  to  the 
dining  room  and  Tom  said: 

"Don't  wait  up  for  me,  Nell.  I've  a  lot  to 
do  tonight.  I'll  sleep  down  here  so  I  won't 
disturb  you." 

She  couldn't  speak  for  the  tight  lump  in 
her  throat.  She  went  upstairs,  undressed 
and  got  into  bed.  But  she  did  not  sleep. 

Maybe,  in  a  way,  I  did  trick  him,  she 
thought  at  last  out  of  her  misery.  /  fussed 
over  him  so — /  wanted  him  so.  But  he  did 
want  me  too.  He  did.  He  did.  I'm  just  the 
same.  I  haven't  changed  any.  Maybe  I  never 
was  Hood  enough  for  him,  but  he  did  want  me. 
I  could  have  learned.  I  could  have.  I  could 
have  learned  to  talk  like  Mrs.  Deem.  Not  like 
her,  but  something  like  her.  He  didn't  seem  to 
mind  the  way  I  talked  before.  He  doesn't  even 
like  me  any  more.  He  doesn't  even  like  me — 
I'm  no  different. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  she  got  up,  put 
on  the  flannel  robe,  went  down  the  stairs 
and  back  to  the  little  room  with  the  single 
bed  that  had  been  his  bedroom.  She  went 
directly  to  the  bed,  knelt  down  beside  it. 

"Oh,  Tom ! "  she  whispered.  "  You  mustn't 
do  this  to  me.  I  love  you  an  awful  lot,  Tom. 
You've  got  to  believe  I  love  you  a  lot." 

He  was  awake  too.  He  said,  very  tiredly, 
"I'm  not  trying  to  be  cruel,  Nell.  I  just 
want  to  be  by  myself  a  while,  to  think  things 
out." 

"Think  what  things  out?  There's  nothing 
to  think  out,  if  you  love  me." 

He  was  silent.  She  rose  rather  abruptly, 
stood  there  an  instant  by  the  narrow  bed. 
Her  curly  head  showed  in  outline  quite 
plainly  against  the  light  from  the  window. 
She  turned  and  went  out  and  up  the  stairs. 
It  was  a  chill  night,  but  she  sat  on  the  floor 
by  the  dormer  window,  her  arms  along  the 
low  sill,  staring  out  into  the  night,  frightened 
and  very  much  alone. 

"He's  still  sick,"  she  whispered  once.  "He 
still  needs  me,  only  he  doesn't  know  it  any 
more.  He  used  to  know  it,  but  he  doesn't 
know  it  any  more.  His  mind's  sick." 

But  his  mind  had  been  sick  before  and  she 
had  eased  it.  She  knew  she  had  eased  it, 
that  it  was  not  a  dream  that  he  had  wanted 
her  to  stay  with  him.  Then  what  had 
changed  it  all?  It  had  been  so  sweet  here, 
alone  with  him,  doing  for  him,  loving  him, 
the  sweetest,  Tightest  thing  that  had  ever 
happened  to  her.  It  had  been  right.  It  just 
wasn't  right  any  more.  He  had  believed  her 
up  on  the  farm  when  she  had  laughed  at  his 
bad  dream  about  the  pills;  why  didn't  he 
believe  her  now?  But,  in  a  way,  she  knew 
why.  Dimly  she  knew  why.  It  had  been  be- 
cause she  had  looked  so  stricken  and  guilty 
when  she'd  dropped  the  poison.  She  couldn't 
take  back  that  look,  she  knew.  But  it  had 
been  only  because  she  loved  him  so;  because 
she  knew  how  bad  it  had  been  with  his 
mother  who,  everyone  thought,  was  so  won- 
derful, but  who  hadn't  been  wonderful  at 
all ;  because  she  couldn't  bear  to  have  him  so 
hurt  about  all  that  bad  time,  because  she 
wanted  to  keep  him  from  so  much  as  think- 
ing of  it.   Hadn't  he  ought  to  have  known 


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_  'ou  may  not  be  able  to  find 
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SANFORD   INK   COMPANY 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


103 


I  MUST  M/IKE  THESE 
LfNENS  l/iSTLO/)/GERl 


THATS  EASyf 

useCLOROX 

,..  IT  LESSENS 
RC/BB/A/a. 
CONSERVES 
FABRfCSf 


;.\-:; 


Solved!  Three  common  house- 
hold problems.  (1 )  making  white 
cottons  and  linens  snowy-white, 
(2)  making  them  last  longer,  (3) 
making  them  sanitary.  Clorox, 
used  in  laundering,  is  the  an- 
swer to  all  three.  It  also  brightens 
fast  colors,  removes  stains  . .. 
even  scorch,  mildew.  What's 
more,  Clorox  deodorizes  and 
disinfects  ...  an  added  safe- 
guard to  health.  Simply  follow 
directions  on  the  label. 


AMIRICA'S  rAVO«lti  BUACM 
AND  HOUSIHOIO  DISINFICTANT 


THM- 


FREE   f«OM  CAUSTIC 


1SM!f:mf\ 


DEODORIZES  t'BlEACHES 
REMOVES  STAINS 


W/ien^fsClOROX-ClEA/if... 

^^/fs  f/ygien/ca/Zy  C/eanf 


T hey' re   new / 


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HANDY  HELPER'S 


What  mends  a 

dollar  when 

it's  torn, 

Or  reinforces 

papers  worn? 

What  holds 

the  pieces 

where  they're 

matched 

Without  ob-J 

scuring  what 

is  patched.'* 


QU/ZA/2  7 


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At  Stotionery  Department*  Everywhere 


that?  She'd  changed  the  room  and  that  was 
the  same  thing,  wasn't  it?  Wasn't  it?  He'd 
understood  about  that  and  liked  it  and  loved 
her  more  for  it.  Couldn't  he  see  that  this 
was  the  same?  Just  exactly  the  same? 

"He  acts  as  if  I  were  a  child,"  she  whis- 
pered to  the  chill  night.  "I'm  not  a  child. 
I'm  grown  up.  Some  ways,  I'm  more  grown 
up  than  he  is.  Some  ways  I  am.  He  doesn't 
even  like  me.  He  acts  like  it's  just  some  ac- 
cident I'm  here." 

In  the  morning  she  dressed  and  went 
downstairs  very  early.  Her  eyes  were  tired 
with  their  sleepless  night,  but  she  got  the 
breakfast  ready.  Tom  got  up  and  went  up  to 
the  bathroom  to  shave.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  not  slept  either.  He  was  still  very 
polite,  but  away  from  her.  She  made  no  re- 
proaches. She  talked  hardly  any.  Her  own 
speech  had  changed  to  herself,  become  some- 
thing to  keep  back,  lest  it  offend  him. 

He  went  off  to  school  with  books  under 
his  arm.  She  didn't  wash  the  dishes.  She 
went  into  his  study  and  sat  down  at  his  desk. 
Presently  she  began,  with  a  passionate  sort 
of  eagerness,  to  hunt  among  the  books  on  the 
shelves.  She  found  what  she  wanted,  a  blue 
book  that  said  "English  Grammar"  on  the 
cover.  She  sat  down  at  the  desk  again  and 
opened  the  blue  book.  But  it  didn't  make 
sense  to  her,  not  much.  "I  don't  believe  I 
could  learn  to  talk  out  of  this.  I'll  just  have 
to  listen  to  him  and  her,"  she  said.  She 
shoved  the  book  away,  as  if  it  had  in  some 
way  betrayed  her,  just  sat  there,  her  quick 


IVOMAl^'S  POWER 

^  Here  are  ten  things  which  an  ob- 

^  servant  Frenchman  says  women 

can  do  faster  than  men: 

Dress  lightly  without  catching  cold. 

Avoid  an  argument  by  a  smile. 

Cry  at  the  right  moment. 

Choose  a  present. 

Write  a  long  letter  and  say  nothing. 

Take  very  hot  drinks. 

Choose  underwear  for  the  opposite 

sex  without  embarrassment. 
Obtain  a  special  dish  for  a  dog  in  a 

restaurant. 
Remove  a  speck  of  dust  from  the  eye. 
Disturb   twenty   people  in  a   movie 

before  finding  a  seat. 

— Adapted  from  Everybody's. 


young  mind  suddenly  frozen  to  a  numbness 
of  despair. 

She  was  still  sitting  there  when  Amy 
Deem  came  in,  without  knocking,  the  back 
way.  Her  quick,  dark  eyes  took  in  the 
strange  silence  of  Nell,  the  tragedy  in  the 
slumped  young  figure  by  the  desk,  and  she 
thought.  It's  happened  already — so  soon.  But 
she  said  cheerfully: 

"Hi!  What  do  you  mean  sitting  there 
with  your  dishes  not  even  done !  You  always 
put  me  to  shame  by  having  everything  so 
sparklingly  clean — and  here  it's  past  ten  and 
your  dishes  on  the  table." 

"I  just  hadn't  got  to  it,"  Nell  said. 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  city 
with  me?  I  feel  the  urge  to  buy  a  new 
dress — maybe  you'd  like  to  buy  one  too. 
Come  on — we'll  take  the  eleven-o'clock  bus 
and  be  back  before  dinner." 

For  an  instant  Nell's  eyes  lighted  with 
hope,  as  if  she  saw  herself  dressed  in  elegance 
and  coming  back  a  different,  more  accept- 
able girl,  then  the  hope  died.  "I  couldn't. 
Not  today,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  do!  If  you  haven't  cash  enough  on 
hand,  I've  got  plenty." 

"No,  I  couldn't  today,  Mrs.  Deem." 

Amy  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  flat  desk. 
She  felt  a  deep  compassion  for  the  girl,  but 
something  about  Nell  held  her  sympathy 
back,  as  it  always  did.  Pride?  No,  it  didn't 
seem  quite  pride,  though  it  might  be  a  form 
of  it.  She  picked  up  the  grammar  idly,  just 
for  something  for  her  hands  to  do.  When  she 
saw  what  it  was,  she  couldn't  seem  to  let  her 
frank  eyes  look  up  at  Nell.  Poor  child.  Poor 
child! 

"English  grammar — a  subject  I  always 
hated,"  she  said  too  quickly.  "We  used  to 
diagram  sentences  and  that  was  rather  fun, 


r 


the  G-E  Automatic  Toaster 


Pops  toast  up  .  .  .  OR  .  . .  keeps  it  warm 

vntil  you  want  it  I  Exclusive  G-E  snap-in 

crumb  tray  for  easy  cleaning! 

You  can  see  how  beautifully  designed  it  is!  Now  get  acquainted  with 
what  this  streamlined  G-E  Toaster  can  do  .  .  . 

Toasts  10th  slice  as  perfectly  as  the  1st!  A  brand- 
new  automatic  control  on  the  new  G-E  Toaster 
makes  every  slice  (no  matter  how  many)  the  same 
golden-brownness.  Fhck  a  button,  and  you  get  just 
the  degree  of  toasting  you  want.  No  watching.  No 
burning! 

Set  it  to  pop,  or  stop  and  keep  warm!  G.E.  brings 
you  the  feature  you've  ahvays  wanted.  Toast 
automatically  pops  up  when  it's  just  right.  Or 
can  be  set  to  keep  warm  until  you're  ready.  And 
for  quick-as-a-wink  cleaning,  there'll  be  a  snap-in 
crumb  tray — exclusively  G.  E.!  When  war  demands 
permit,  this  shining  G-E  Automatic  Toaster  can  be  yours.  It's  worth 
waiting  for!  General  Electric  Co.,  Bridgeport,  Conn. 

TUNE  IN:  "The  G-E  House  Part\s"  every  afternoon,  Monday  through 
Friday,  4  p.  m.,  E.  W.  T.,  CBS.  "The  G-E  All-Girl  Orchestra,"  Sunday, 
10  p.  m..  E.  W.  T.,  NBC.  "The  World  Today,"  news,  Monday  through 
Friday,  6:45  p.  m.,  E.  W.  T.,  CBS. 

FOR  VICTORY.  .  .  BUY  AND  HOLD  WAR  BONOS 


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GENERAL  m  ELECTRIC 


104 


L.\DIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


MISS  LAURA  COBB,  of  Wichita,  Kansas,  has  l-cen 
aicaraea  the  A.von  ^Icaallion  oj  Honor  jot  Women  of 
Acnlevemeni. 

Miss  Coon,  Lieutenant  (j.g.)  or  tne  Nurse  Corps, 
United  States  Navy,  was  tne  senior  nurse  in  cliar^e  or 
a  group  or  Navy  nurses  wno  were  taken  prisoner  by  tne 
Japanese  at  Manila.  Tne  spirit  ana  fortituac  with  wnicn 
she  continuoa  her  work  among  lellow  prisoners,  ana  tiie 
unselrishness  or  the  group  in  volunteering  to  start  a 
hospital  at  a  uistant  internment  camp  where  conditions 
were  known  to  he  lar  worse,  is  typical  or  the  tortituae 
or  our  nurses  everywhere. 

These  nurses  used  great  ingenuit)'  to  keep  up  their 
personal  appearance  under  adverse  conditions.  ^  ou, 
who  are  so  lortunate,  have  the  privilege  or  using  the 
finest  accessories  to  personal  daintiness  and  heauty... 
the  exquisite  Avon  cosmetics.  Welcome  your  Avon 
Representative  when  she  calls  ana  enjoy  the  conven- 
ience or  making  your  selection  or  Avon  heauty  req- 
uisites in  the  comiort  and  privacy  or  your  own  home. 

BE    HOSTESS   TO    LOVELINESS 


IB  awaxaea  to  women  ot 
acnievement  cnosen  ty 
tne  following  committee 
or  prominent  women: 

FANNIE  HURST, 

jamous  nmelist 
CUDYS  SWARTHOUT, 

Metropolilan  Opera  star 

C.  MILDRED  THOMPSON, 
Dean  oj  Vassar  ColUge 


like  a  puzzle,  but  I  understand  they  don't 
even  do  that  any  more.  Too  bad.  Do  you 
like  It?" 

"I  never  studied  it  much,"  Nell  said.  "I 
guess  it  would  be  nice  if  you  could  talk  like 
Mr.  Burke." 

•Mr.  Burke?" 

"The  one  that  didn't  want  to  let  America 
be  free." 

"Oh,  Conciliation  Burke — I  know.  Well, 
that  would  take  some  doing.  You  set  your 
goal  high."  The  compassion  was  like  a 
steady,  all-encompassing  ache  now.  She 
wanted  to  offer  to  help,  but  somehow  could 
not.  She  slid  off  the  desk.  "  I  do  wish  you'd 
come  with  me,"  she  said  again.  "  I  hate  going 
shopping  alone." 

Nell  shook  her  head.  "Some  other  time 
maybe  I  will."  she  said. 

"Then  I'd  better  run.  I'll  come  show  you 
my  new  dress,  if  I  get  one."  And  that  was  all 
the  comfort,  all  the  help  she  could  bring 
herself  to  give. 

\\'hen  she  got  on  the  bus,  she  found  she 
was  crying.  She  kept  her  face  turned  to- 
ward the  bus  window,  to  hide  her  tears. 

Nell  went  out  and  washed  the  dishes,  made 
the  beds.  Then  she  walked  around  the  little 
house  in  which  she  had  had  such  pride,  such 
human,  warm  happiness.  It  was  cold  to  her, 
it  thrust  her  out.  It  was  not  her  house  any 
more.  She  had  always  been  one  to  do  some- 
thing about  a  situation.  But  she  scarcely 
knew  what  to  do  now.  At  last  she  went  into 
the  sitting  room,  walked  over  to  the  table 
and  picked  up  the  glass  swans,  held  them  in 
her  hands.   But  she  put  them  down. 

Then  she  went  and  got  her  coat  and  little 
felt  hat.  put  them  on.  But  before  she  went 
out  of  the  little  house  she  went  in  to  Tom's 
desk,  sat  down  and  wrote  him  a  letter.  She 
wrote  in  a  round,  young  hand  and  she  formed 
her  letters  with  great  care: 

Dear  Tom:  I  guess  it's  better  if  I  don't  stay 
liere  any  more.  It  wouldn't  be  right,  with  you 
not  loving  me  like  you  did.  I  guess  I'm  not  the 
kind  of  girl  you  ought  to  have  married,  even  if 
it  did  seem  as  if  you  needed  me.  I  wish  you'd 
have  beleived  me,  for  I  haven't  ever  lied  to 
you,  Tom.  I  love  you  a  lot.  I'll  be  all  right,  so 
you  don't  need  to  worry  about  me  any.  Take 
care  of  yourself. 

That  was  all  she  could  say.  She  didn't 
even  sign  her  name.-  She  left  the  letter  there 
on  the  desk.  She  went  up  and  got  the  old 
suitcase,  put  her  few  clothes  in  it,  but  not  the 
quilts  or  the  silver  spoons,  went  out  of  the 
house  and  took  the  road  to  the  country  and 
her  father's  house. 

Pres  Adams  had  already  married  the 
Widow  Casey.  She  was  a  penny-pincher,  as 
he  had  said,  but  she  had  a  sense  of  fun,  too, 
and  even  made  light  of  her  own  parsimony. 

Pres  had  just  finished  his  midday  meal 
when  Nell  came  in  at  the  back  door  and  stood 
there  with  her  suitcase. 


May,  1945 

"Well,  what  brings  you  up  here,  Nell?" 
he  demanded  in  astonishment.  "What's  the 
suitcase  for?  You  ain't  left  the  professor, 
have  you?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  Nell  said.  "Hello,  Bessie." 

"What's  the  matter?    Treat  ycu  bad?" 

"No.  No,  pa,  he  didn't.  I  don't  want  to 
talk  about  it.  pa.  I  just  want  to  stay  here  a 
few  days.   I'll  get  a  job  somewhere." 

"Gosh,  I  can  give  you  a  job.  Can't  get 
help  for  love  nor  money.  Only  Bessie  here's 
liable  to  charge  you  board — she'd  charge  me 
board  if  she  thought  she  could  get  away 
with  it ! " 

Bessie  laughed  heartily,  but  she  didn't 
contradict  him. 

"  I'll  just  stay  a  few  days,"  Nell  said. 

"Well,  set  down,  set  down  and  eat.  Guess 
we  can  spare  you  a  potato,  eh,  Bessie?  What 
does  that  professor  think  he's  doing,  any- 
<^ay?  Knew  he  was  the  wrong  one  for  you, 
but  you  both  seemed  set  on  it.  If  he's  mis- 
treated  you,  I'll  break  his  neck,  though- 
even  if  he  is  a  puny  thing  and  not  worth  the 
trouble." 

"He  hasn't  mistreated  me,  pa.  I  just 
ought  not  to  have  married  him,  that's  all, 
I  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"Thinks  he's  better'n  you.  I'll  bet !  Young  : 
snob,  that's  what  I  set  him  down  as.  and 
that's  what  he  is.    Don't  know  enough  to 
know  a  good  wife  when  he's  got  one."   He 
was  trying  in  his  rough  way  to  comfort  her. 

Bessie  laughed  and  said,  "These  qui:' 
matches,  they  never  work  out.  You're  \> 
out  of  it,  Nell — he  was  too  old  for  you.  any- 
way. Don't  know  what  you  saw  in  him.  I 
guess  he  was  all  right,  for  a  teacher,  but 
a  husband's  something  else  again!" 

Pres  winked  at  Nell  cockily.  But  Nell 
didn't  wink  back. 

"I  guess  I'll  get  into  some  old  clothes  and 
be  comfortable."  she  said.  She  went  upstairs 
with  her  suitcase  and  came  down  presently, 
looking  more  familiar  in  slacks  and  khaki 
shirt.  "I'll  do  the  dishes,  Bessie."  she  said. 

That  night  Pres  tried  to  quiz  her.  "Ini 
going  down  and  see  that  high-and-mighty 
feller."  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  tell  him  what 
I  think  of  him." 

"You  leave  him  alone,  pa.  It's  my  busi- 
ness." 

"Well,  you're  my  girl,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  pa,  but  it's  my  business.  I  want 
you  to  leave  him  alone.  He  didn't  put  me 
out  or  anything.  I  went  of  my  own  accord." 

He  scowled,  but  she  was  so  final,  so  with- 
out hysterics  or  even  dramatics,  that  he 
found  nothing  to  get  his  teeth  into. 

In  bed  with  Bessie,  he  said,  "Can't  make 
head  nor  tail  of  it.  He  was  hell-bent  to  have 
her.  Couldn't  bear  her  out  of  his  sight  for  a 
minute.  Couldn't  understand  it  then— ca: 
now.  She  looks  all  broke  up,  the  kid  doe> 

"Oh,  maybe  it's  just  a  quarrel.  When 
you're  young,  you  quarrel  easy,"  Bessie  said 
(Continiud  on  Page  106) 


071^ 


COSMETICS 

AT   RADIO    CITY   •    NEW   YORK 


Uavk  and  Oilier  V !<>%%-•(.  Sizes 

and  I'riees  of  Holl>Mn-4M»d  l*at> 

lernsi  on  Pages  :t4  and  35. 

1539.  Blouse,  waistcoat,  slacks.    12  to  20;  30 

to  38.    25c 
1580.   Dress  and  bolero.    10  to  18:  28  to  36.    23c 
1383.    Blouse,  waistcoat  and   skirt.    (The  blouse 

of  this  pattern  is  not  illustrated.)   12  to 

20:  30  to  38.    25c 

1586.  Jacket  and  skirt.    12  to  20;  30  to  38.    25c 

1587.  Dress  and  jacket.    (The  skirt   of  this  pat- 

tern   is  not   illustrated.)   12   to  20;    30  to 
38.    25c 

1.588.  rwo-pie<.e  suit-dress.  12 

to  20:  30  to  38.    23c 

1.589.  One-piece  dress.     12  to 

20;  30  to  38.  23c 
Buy  HoIIvmimhI  Patterns  at 
I  he  store  which  sells  them  in 
vuur  city.  Or  order  them  by 
mail,  |K>sta^e  prepaid,  direct 
from  Hollywood  Pattern 
Service.  Putnam  Avenue, 
(»reenwi4'h.  <'«inn.  Oinadiun 
readers  ortler  frt>iii  2  Duke 
Street,  Tf»ri»nlo,  Ontario, 
Clanadu.  Please  ^i\e  size  and 
enclose  money    with  order. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Ghtj,  ^^  wj^  —  ^  (AmeAju  W^  wj^l 


'he  story  of  a  Navy  wife  who  transformed  her 
iuli  house  with  Singer's  IHome  Decorating  Lessons 


"No  wonder  Jim  hardly  recog- 
nized the  old  place! 

"I'd  been  unhappy  about  it  for  a  long  time, 
ingy  chairs.  Wrong-color  davenport.  Unin- 
ired  draperies.  Yet  Navy  pay  wouldn't  stretch 
decorators'  prices! 

"With  Jim  away,  I  had  time  to  look  for  an 
swer.  And  my  Singer  Sewmg  Center''  had  it  — 
3me  Decoratmg  Lessons! 

"Those  Singer  experts  helped  me  plan  my  color 
heme  and  pick  m\  fabrics.  They  showed  me 
.  the  professional  tricks  about  slip  covering — 
jr,  it's  easy  when  you  know  how!  And  they  were 
11  of  wonderful,  different  ideas  about  draperies. 

"Myself — /  could  scarcely  believe  it  was  the 
me  house,  when  I  got  the  bright  new  slip  covers 
I  and  the  handsome  draperies  up.  And  the  nice 
ing  is  that  the  expensive  look  didn't  take  much 
aney  at  all!" 


>ee  How  Little  the  Lessons  Cost!  Personal  instruc- 
jn  only  31.50  for  2  hours.  310  for  8  2-hour  lessons. 
,ater,  I'm  looking  into  Singer's  lessons  in  Home 
ressmaking!)" 


Bought  my  Sewing  Notions  at  Singer!  It  was  news 
me — that  wonderful,  complete  Notion  Counter 
ty  have  in  every  Singer  Sewing  Center!" 


"SJmpleat  is  a  magic  invention  for  getting  perfect 
pleats  in  your  draperies!  It's  at  Singer's  Notion 
Counter — also  cable  cord,  weighted  tapes,  etc." 


SINGER 


SEWING    CENTERS    EVERYWHERE 

Singer  Sewing  Machine  Company 


GoPTTtEbC  U.S.A. 1945,  b7  The  Slorer  ManufacturtoK  Co.  All  rlKhta  reserved  for  all  coantries. 


"The  power  behind  all  this  magic  is  my  Singer  Sew- 
ing Machine.  I'm  lucky  to  own  onel"  Uo  yon  need 
a  machine?  See  your  local  Singer  Sewing  Center!  If 
you  can't  obtain  a  new  Singer,  ask  about  a  recon- 
ditioned one — or  rent  a  Singer  by  the  month. 

*FOR  YOUR  PROTECTION:  Singer  Sewing  Ma- 
chine Co.  continues  its  long-time  policy  of  selling 
its  machines  only  through  Singer  Sewing  Centers 
identified  by  the  famous  Red  "S"  trade-mark  on 
the  window — never  through  department  stores 
or  other  sewing  machine  dealers. 


106 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


to 


an 


Sad  Irons 
Glad  Irons. . . 


dhow 
Proctor 
helped  / 


PROCTOR  gave  you 
heat  control  with  the 
first  adjustahle  elec- 
tric iron  thermostat. 


Ever  realize  how  much  proctor  has  con- 
tributed to  the  development  of  the  modern 
automatic  iron?  For  instance: 


PROCTOR  gave  you 
the  first  Fabric  Dial  so 
you  could  match  the 
heat  to  the  fabric. 


PROCTOR  gpve  you 
the  first  even  heating 
"Pressure  Sealed" 
heating  element  to  pre- 
vent dragging,  scorch- 
ing and  waste  effort. 


PROCTOR  gave  you 
the  first  quick  heating 
1000- watt  iron. 


...AND  PROCTOR 

made  ironing  easier  with 
the  first  self-lifting,  self- 
standing  Never-Lift 
Iron. 

A  Postwar  miracle ...  for  quicker,  easier  ironing  . . .  this  iron  that 
lifts  itself  at  a  finger  touch  .  .  .  stands  alone  without  awkward 
tilting  .  .  .  instantly  lowers  to  resume  ironing. 

Mean whi/e  ...  BUY   AND   HOLD  WAR   BONDS. 


It's  nevir...its 
exclusive...its 


PROCTOR  ELECTRIC  COMPANY.  DIVISIOS  OF  PROCTOR  &  SCHWARTZ.  I.NC.  PHILA.40.  PA. 


(Continutd  from  Page  104) 
out  of  the  ease  of  long  experience.  "He'll  be 
around  to  make  it  up  with  her  tomorrow, 
like  as  not." 

But  Tom  Pelletier  didn't  come  the  next 
day. 

He  had  always  had  a  clear,  concise  way  of 
thinking.  Tom  Pelletier.  That  was  why  he 
had  stayed  on  in  West  Ulster  so  long.  His 
students  had  passed  their  examinations  and 
they  had  had  pride  in  so  doing.  He  had  made 
Rameses  II  as  real  to  them  as  General  Lee. 
He  had  never  been  too  busy  to  try  to  under- 
stand the  affairs  of  j-outh.  and  had  straight- 
ened out  many  confused  youngsters.  Since 
the  war  began  he  had  been  troubled,  but  he 
had  stated  his  \-iews  plainly.  He  hated  war. 
but  he  recognized  the  necessity  of  fighting  it 
hard  now  we  were  in 


May.  19«S  I 

was  Nell's  note  on  the  desk.  He  stood  ho! : 
ing  it  in  his  hands,  feeling  at  first  an  en : 
mous  relief,  as  if  some  kind  god  had  with 
touch  wiped  out  all  his  mistakes.  And  tr.- 
the  relief  passed  and  he  felt  something  e'.s 
It  was  as  if  the  god  had  laughed %ently  ar 
said.  ■"Oh,  it's  not  so  easy  as  all  that,  rr 
little  man."  .\nd  he  knew,  looking  down  a; 
the  pitiful  little  letter,  at  that  somehow  sac 
'■  beleived."  that  it  was  not  easy  at  all.  That,    ^ 
even  if  it  had  been  a  dream  to  him,  it  had 
not  been  a  dream  to  her. 


xlE  HAD  never  avoided  responsibility, 
had  never  wanted  to  hurt  anyone.  And 
he  knew  that  he  had  wanted  to  hurt  Nell 
night,  he  had  wanted  to  hurt  her  terribly. 
He  had  lied  when  he  said  he  did  not  want  to 
be  cruel.  Hehad  wanted  just  this  to  happen; 
he    had    wanted    to 


3 


it.  He  tried  to  teach 
his  pupils  that  certain 
values  did  not  c  hange , 
war  or  no  war.  and 
he  believed  that  the 
teaching  of  ancient 
historj-  was  as  impor- 
tant as  the  arts  of 
mechanics  in  the  long 
run.  He  had  done 
his  best  to  make 
youth  look  ahead  into 
the  time  when  lessons 
would  have  to  be 
learned  from  the  war. 

For  a  brief  mad 
time  he  had  stepped 
out  of  his  own  like- 
ness, had  thought  not 
concisely  and  sanely 
at  all.  had  moved 
with  a  tide  he  did  not 
understand.  But  ab- 
ruptly he  had  become 
himself  again,  or  what 
he  considered  him- 
self. He  went  through 
the  streets  and  was 
aware  again  of  the 
town's  opinion,  of 
himself  as  a  member 
of  the  community.  He 
had  never  been  ridi- 
culed, for  he  had  a 
great  deal  of  dignity, 
for  all  his  boj-ish  look. 
Now  he  saw  amuse- 
ment taking  the  place 
of  respect.  He  was 
filled  with  a  shame 
and  an  anger,  but 
both  centered  in  him- 
self. 

He  went  into  his 
classroom  and  saw  on 
the  board  one  of 
those  ridiculous  can- 
cellations that  have 
amused  school  chil- 
dren for  generations,  that  had  amused  him  a 
thousand  years  ago  when  he  had  been  a  boy : 

/^/^  -^^y-y  ^^4^         ^^ 

He  went  to  the  board  and  erased  the 
words,  feeling  more  deeply  the  anger  and 
shame  of  a  man  who  has  been  a  fool  and  laid 
himself  open  to  laughter.  He  said  nothing 
about  it,  however,  and  only  kept  seeing  the 
silly  words  in  his  mind  all  morning. 

He  tried,  for  he  had  always  endeavored  to 
be  just,  to  see  Nell's  side.  And  that  try  had 
kept  him  awake  last  night  till  very  late.  But 
all  that  came  of  his  thoughts  was  the  surer 
conviction  that  she  had  pretended  to  trust 
him  when  she  had  not.  That  that  was  all  he 
got  out  of  his  hours  of  thought  should  have 
been  significant  to  him.  but  was  not. 

\\'hen  Miss  Scott  came  to  ask  him  some- 
thing, he  found  it  difficult  to  look  at  her, 
knowing  suddenly  just  what  scorn  for  him 
she  was  concealing. 

He  went  home  at  noon,  the  dull  shamed 
circle  of  his  thoughts  unchanged,  and  there 


•     •••••••.• 


no. 


voff?f  tp)'^//e?iUi'e 


drive  her  from  him,r 
to  be  alone  again.    ' 

The  house  was  very  | 
still.   He  had  driv~ 
her  away,  but   s_ 
denly    she    was    rtui 
gone  at  all.   She  was ' 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  i 
singing  over  the  dishh  i 
pan;    she    was    run- 
ning down  the  stairs, 
quickly,  like  a  child; 
she  was  curled  up  on 
the  sofa  in  the  sitting 
room,  her  eyes  on  him 
steadily,  gravely,  as 
he  read  dull  books  to 
her;  she  was  holding 
him  close  at   night; 
she   was  putting  on 
the    ugly    flowered 
dress  to  go  see  the  ^ 
Deems;  she  was  iron-  : 
ing  his  shirts;  she  was 
putting  paper  covers 
on  top  of  quince  jelly. 
She  was  there,  in  ev- 
erj'  room. 

He  tried  to  make 
his  mind  clearly  ob-  ~ 
jective,  to  say,  "It's 
better  so.  She  will  get  : 
over  it  quickly: 
enough.  She  wouldn^  ' 
ever  be  happy  with  \ 
me.  no  matter  how  I   ^ 
tried.     And   I   don't  ''■ 
want    even    to    try,  = 
There's   no  good  in 
trjing  to  fix  up  mis-   l 
takes  like   this  one.   I 
The   whole   town  is 
laughing  at  me.  and 
rightly.    I  have  beoj 
a  fool.    She  said  she  ' 
wanted  to  get  mar- 
ried.   That's   all  she 
wanted — she     didn't 
want  to  be  married  to 
me."  But  some  inner  voice  kept  laughing  at 
him  a  little  scornfully  and  sadly. 

He  went  back  to  school,  came  home  again. 
The  house  was  his  again  and  he  could  brood 
there  in  peace.   But,  he  confessed,  once  he 
had  wanted  something  quite  different.  Once 
he  had  not  been  able  to  bear  the  house. 
That  was  what  had  brought  the  whole  thing  • 
to  this  disastrous  point.  \Miy  did  he  want  | 
now  what  he  had  run  away  from  before?  He  I 
went  to  the  sideboard  bureau  to  get  some  ' 
sih'erware  and  there  the  six  spoons  lay.  with  *^ 
their    thin   handles   marked    with    U'   for  [^ 
Walters.  He  stared  at  them,  shut  the  drawer  ; 
quickly,  forgetting  what  he  had  come  for. 
The  phone  rang  and  he  lifted  the  receiver. 
"Hello,"  he  said  dully. 

"Hello,  Tom.  Amy  Deem.  WTiy  don't  yoU 
and  Nell  come  up?  Tell  her  I  got  the  new 
dress  and  I  want  to  show  it  to  her." 
"Nell  isn't  here  just  now.  Amy." 
"Isn't  there?" 
"No." 

"Well,  I'll  run  down  tomorrow." 
He  hung  up  slowly.  He  tried  to  read,  but 
found  he  could  not.  Soon  he  went  to  bed. 

The  ne.xt  day  Amy  Deem  came  down,  as 
she  had  said  she  would  do.  The  back  door 


BY  l'AROLI.>E   HE>'R¥ 

I  am  a  sylph  with  languid  eyes 
And  a  dainty  foot  of  a  fairy's  size; 
I  am  a  sylph  with  a  slim,  brown 

hand 

Down  by  the  rocks 
On  the  sea-worn  sand. 
(  Weep,  pretty  dishcloth,  weep  with  my 

tears. 
Knell,  shining  kettle,  for  no  one 

hears!) 

I  am  a  lady,  I  am  Elaine, 

Helen  and  Cleo,  proud  and  vain; 

And  I  have  a  love  at  my  slightest 

command 

Down  by  the  rocks 
On  the  sea-worn  sand. 
(  Taller  than  you,  broom,  warmer  by 

-far 
Than  the  sun-soaked  clothes  in  the 
back  yard  are!) 

And  I  have  a  ring (Seaweed, 

you  say?) 
Turquoise  and  amber!    (Seaweed? 

Nay!) 
He  calls  me!   (An  echo?)  He 

kneels  where  I  stand! 
Down  by  the  rocks 
On  the  sea-worn  sand! 
(Fly,  feather  duster!  Sweep,  broom, 

sweep! 
Remember  he  said,  "If  I  crash,  don't 

weep!") 

•     •••••••• 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


107 


■H*y  lady- 


sio^M. 


You  don't  need  all  that  equipment 
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PULVEX 

FLEA  POWDER 


was  unlocked,  as  were  most  of  the  back  doors 
in  West  Ulster.  She  went  in,  calling  out 
with  a  cheer  she  did  not  feel,  but  there  was 
no  answer.  She  walked  through  the  kitchen 
and  dining  room  into  the  study.  "Hi,  Nell!" 
she  called  at  the  stairway.  But  there  was  no 
reply. 

She  was  not  surprised.  She  had  somehow 
known  from  Tom's  voice  that  something  had 
happened.  But  she  was  surprised  to  realize 
how  deeply  she  felt  the  whole  thing,  how 
she,  who  had  liked  Tom  Pelletier  so  much, 
had  so  wanted  the  best  for  him  and  had  felt 
so  distressed  over  his  unsuitable  marriage, 
now  felt  this  deep  and  personal  distress  for 
Nell.  The  marriage  was  certainly  wrong, 
unsuitable,  and  yet — and  yet 

She  walked  through  the  rooms  slowly,  see- 
ing the  swans.  Then  she  thought,  quite  by 
chance,  of  a  book  she  had  been  going  to 
borrow  from  Tom  before  his  mother  had 
died.  He  had  been  reading  it  to  his  mother 
and  she  had  been  waiting  for  him  to  finish. 
She  went  into  the  study  and  began  absently 
to  look  for  it.  Her  mind  was  not  really  on 
the  search.  She  was  still  thinking  of  Nell, 
of  her  stubbornness,  of  her  reticence,  of  the 
way  she  had  fixed  this  room  so  quickly,  so 
amazingly  quickly,  as  if  it  had  to  be  done 
at  once. 

OHE  found  the  book,  stood  with  it  in  her 
hands,  turning  the  pages  absently.  They 
opened  almost  at  once  to  a  sheet  of  paper 
with  fine  Spencerian  writing  filling  it.  For 
all  she  had  an  insatiable  curiosity,  she  was 
not  one  to  read  another's  letter.  That  was 
not  in  Amy  Deem.  But  she  read  this  one, 
for  her  own  name  caught  her  eye  immedi- 
ately and  she  could  not  help  reading: 

This  is  the  end,  Tom,  and  I  want  you  to 
know  how  I  feci  before  I  go.  I  am  a  useless  old 
woman  and  I  know  it,  but  I  do  not  think  I  have 
deserved  a  son  so  grudging  and  undutiful  as  you. 
You  have  thought  I  didn't  see  through  you, 
but  I  am  not  a  fool.  You  have  grudged  every 
mouthful  I've  ever  eaten,  you've  grudged  every 
minute  you've  taken  care  of  me.  You  couldn't 
even  spare  a  few  years  while  you  were  still 
young  to  looking  after  your  own  mother,  who 
spent  a  good  many  years  bringing  you  up  de- 
cently and  in  comfort,  but  you've  had  to  go 
lusting  after  that  Amy  Deem,  who  has  en- 
couraged you  in  a  way  indecent  to  a  Christian 
woman.  Oh,  I've  seen  her  looking  at  you,  pre- 
tending she  was  here  to  visit  mc !  You're  still  a 
very  young  man  and  could  certainly  have 
waited  for  your  sick  mother  to  die.  Everybody 
in  town  thinks  you're  so  wonderful,  but  they 
don't  know  you.  I  know  how  you've  pretended 
to  work  on  a  book  so  you  wouldn't  have  to  read 
to  me,  the  only  pleasure  I  have  any  more.  But 
you've  begrudged  that  to  me  too.  And  you 
haven't  even  cared  about  my  chairs  that  were 
my  Grandmother  Everett's  and  that  need 
crude  oil,  as  you  know.  No,  all  you've  ever 
wanted  was  your  own  way.  Well,  Tom,  I'm  not 
going  to  live  any  more  and  you'll  have  driven 
me  to  it  because  of  your  selfishness  and  I  hope 
it  will  lie  on  your  conscience,  on  yours  and  that 
Deem  woman's. 

That  was  the  end  of  it.  There  was  no  sig- 
nature. Amy  Deem  stood  there  staring  down 
at  the  fine,  delicate  writing.  The  book  was  a 
little  unsteady  in  her  hands.  "Why,  she  was 
mad!"  she  whispered.  She  walked  out  of 
the  house  at  last,  the  book  still  under  her 
arm,  up  the  hill  to  the  rectory.  There  was 
a  cold  wind  and  it  felt  like  snow. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  Deem  was  getting 
ready  to  conduct  a  funeral  service.  "I  hope 
I  die  in  the  fall,"  he  said  as  he  had  often  said 
before.  Then  his  small  eyes  saw  her  in  the 
mirror,  standing  there  silent  and  white,  no 
sparkle  in  her  dark  eyes.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter?" he  asked  quickly. 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  though  there  had 
never  been  evasion  between  them. 

"You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost." 

"I  have."  Then  she  laughed  and  said, 
"Don't  bury  him  too  fast  just  because  the 
cemetery's  on  a  hill  and  gets  all  the  wind ! " 

He  gathered  up  his  prayer  book  and  hat. 
He  gave  her  a  sharp  but  loving  look  as  he 
went  down  the  stairs.  "Feel  all  right?"  he 
asked  at  the  door. 

"Of  course." 

But  after  he  had  gone,  she  curled  up  on 
the  window  seat  as  if  she  felt  sick  and  chilled. 
She  stayed  there  a  long  time.  It  had  really 


It's  SO  hard  to  get 
service  on  anything 

these  days, 
/lYonder  about"    / 


HOOVER  ?i  ' 


04-^1^ 


Not  only  that,  but  it  provides  genuine  replacement  parts  for  Hoover 
Cleaners  as  old  as  2.5  years!  This  service  is  available  all  over  the 
United  States  and  Canada.  It  provides  the  only  source  of  genuine 
Hoover  replacement  parts,  made  in  the  Hoover  factory  for  your 
Hoover  model,  young  or  ancient. 

Remember,  all  work  carries  the  Hoover  factory  guarantee.  No 
one  else  can  service  your  Hoover  Cleaner  as  it  should  be  serviced, 
at  any  price,  yet  Hoover  Service  is  priced  economically  low. 

For  example.  Hoover  is  now  featuring  a  "Nationwide  Service 
Special"  which  gives  your  Hoover  basic  servicing  for  as  little 
as  $2.84.  (25^  higher  in  some  areas.) 

You  can  get  genuine  Hoover  Service  only  at  Hoover  Factory 
Branch  Service  Stations,  Authorized  Hoover  Dealers  and  Author- 
ized Hoover  Dealer  Service  Agencies  (consult  classified  phone 
directory  under  "Vacuum  Cleaners").  If  there  is  no  Hoover  list- 
ing, write  us.  When  serviceman  calls,  insist  that  he  show  you  his 
Hoover  credentials. 

IHE  HOOVER  COMPANY,  North  Canton,  Ohio 

Hamilton,  Ontario,  Canada 


The  Army-Navy  "£"*'  award 
received  four  times  for  high 
achievement  in  the  production 
of  essential  war  equipment. 


HOO¥ER 


\mATS..,ASll  %VIBi?S...Mn  CliAHi 


108 


LADIES'  UOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194 


coMMUNrrY_cfiyr^' 


Sense  that  saves  dollars 

She  will  not  buy  above  ceiling  prices.  She  knows  that  as  prices  go  up  the 
value  of  a  dollar  goes  down,  drains  the  value  out  of  real  property,  threat- 
ens the  future  of  our  country.  She  and  thousands  of  other  loyal  Ameri- 
cans are  cooperating  with  retail  stores— fighting  the  battle  against 
inflation.  To  them,  Canada  Dry,  "the  Champagne  of  Ginger  Ales",  an 
old  family  friend,  says:  "Keep  up  the  good  work! " 


Just  as  soon  as  conditions  permit,  we  hope  to  be  able  to  fully  meet  the  ever- 
increasing  demand  for  Canada  Dry  Ginger  Ale.  ..and  again  make  "The  Cham- 
pagne of  Ginger  Ales''  available  to  you  in  the  handy  5f  individual  bottle. 

CANADA^))RY 

''The  Champagne  of  Ginger  Ales'' 

so  DELICIOUS,  SO  PURE,  SO  REFRESHING. ..ENJOYED  THE  WORLD  OVER 


begun  to  snow  now  and  she  stared  out  at  the 
sharp  small  flakes,  her  face  white.  But  sud- 
denly she  got  up,  went  to  the  phone  and 
called  the  Academy. 

"Is  Mr.  Pelletier  there?"  she  asked 
quickly. 

"He's  having  a  class  right  now,"  someone 
said. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  it's  important.  I'll  only 
detain  him  a  moment.  Would  you  call  him, 
please?" 

"Yes?"  Tom's  voice  said. 

"Amy  Deem,"  she  said  almost  coldly. 
"Tom,  will  you  come  up  to  the  rectory  right 
after  school?  It's  important  that  I  see  you." 

"Why,  yes.  What's  wrong?"  Then,  as 
she  did  not  answer,  "Is  Nell  there?" 

"No.    I'll  see  you  at  four,  Tom." 

She  had  lighted  a  fire  in  the  grate  and  was 
trying  unsuccessfully  to  warm  herself  at  it 
when  he  came.  She  saw  he  looked  anxious 
and  tired. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said. 

But  he  remained  standing  and  said,  "What 
is  it.  Amy?   Is  it  something  about  Nell?" 

"In  part.  Not  wholly.  Nell's  left  you, 
hasn't  she?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  glad  or  sorry?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Please  sit  down,  Tom.  I  want  to  ask  you 
some  questions.  I  want  you  to  answer  me 
truthfully.  Will  you?" 

"Why,  yes,  if  I  can.  If  you  ought  to  be 
asking  them,"  he  finished  a  little  more  stub- 
bornly. "You  look  awfully  upset,  Amy." 


THE  KI'«;4;ED  MFE 

■k  All  acqiiaiiilanrc  of  niin«',  sonie- 
'f  what  Kiveii  lo  ihe  bizarre,  as- 
.•>iir«-.s  me  that  ihesceret  »»f  a  li<>li<lay 
is  to  make  it  as  iineonifortalile  as 
possible.  He  ko<'s  for  a  walking:  tour, 
sleeps  niiieh  ill  tbt"  open,  and  denies 
himself  all  but  the  minimum  in  the 
«ay  of  food  aii<l  <lrink.  'I'he  result,  he 
says,  is  to  eonie  bark  in  ru<le  health 
anil  enj«>y  for  th<-  remainder  of  the 
y«'ar  the  true  pleasures  of  life,  one 
of  >vhi«'h  is  shc-els  to  slee|>  in. 

—VISCOUNT  CASTLEROSSE:  Love,  Life 
and  Laughter.   (Mellifont  Press,  Ltd.) 


"I  am.  I'm  frightened.  I  thought  I  knew 
something  about  people  and  I  find  I  don't." 

"The  state  of  the  world  has  made  most  of 
us  feel  like  that." 

"I  don't  think  it's  the  state  of  the  world. 
Or  maybe  it  is." 

"Amy,  what  are  you  trying  to  say?" 

"Tom,  was  your  mother'smind  affected?" 

"Her  mind?  No,  I  don't  think  so.  Why?" 

"You're  sure?" 

"Reasonably  sure.  She  always  seemed  to 
know  exactly  what  she  was  doing,  and  why." 

"Are  you  stingy?  That's  the  next  ques- 
tion. And  please  be  honest,  Tom.  I  know 
you  don't  seem  to  be,  that  you've  been  very 
generous  to  your  friends.  But  is  it  hard  for 
you?   Do  you  dislike  being  generous?" 

"That's  a  queer  question.  Amy.  I  don't 
know  what  you're  getting  at — but  I  don't 
think  I'm  stingy.  I  don't /ee/ stingy.  I  never 
save  anything,  that's  sure.  Do  you  think  I 
might  be?  "  He  tried  to  smile  at  her,  but  she 
was  more  serious  than  he  had  ever  seen  her 
and  he  sobered  at  once. 

"  I  don't  know,  Tom.  I  don't  know.  .  .  . 
Nell's  not  had  any  new  clothes  since  she  was 
married.  She's  done  everything,  even  the 
washing." 

He  flushed  and  said,  "  I  didn't  think  about 
clothes.  It  wasn't  because  I  didn't  want  her 
to  have  any.  That  was  an  ugly  thing  to  say. 
Amy.  .  .  .  She  insisted  on  doing  the  wash- 
ing." 

"Yes,  it  was  an  ugly  thing  to  say,"  she 
admitted.  "And  she  didn't  complain,  you 
may  be  sure.  It's  just  that  I've  got  to  have 
some  things  clear  in  my  mind.  I've  got  to 
know  what  someone's  really  like.  Myself  or 
someone.  I've  prided  myself  on  being  sensi- 
tive, more  sensitive  than  most  people  in 
West  Ulster,  and  it's  something  of  a  jolt  to 
find  I've  been  as  blind  as  a  bat." 


A  "KING'S  DISH" 
Yours  to  enjoy  often 

No  longer  think  of  mushrooms  for  "special 
occasions"  only.  Now  B  in  B  brings  you 
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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


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"Something's  happened.  Amy,  that  you 
aren't  telling  me.  You  wouldn't  ask  me  here 
for  a  little  analysis— something's  happened." 

"How  do  you  keep  those  nice  old  chairs  in 
your  living  room  so  beautiful?"  she  asked 
with  a  sudden  irrelevance. 

He  frowned.  "With  crude  oil,"  he  an- 
swered almost  angrily.  "That's  the  only 
thing  mother  ever  wanted  used  on  them. 
And  no  skimping  on  the  rosebuds,  either!" 
he  went  on  with  a  certain  grimness.  "I 
rubbed  'em  where  she  could  watch  me." 

"Oh,"  she  said  quietly.  She  was  silent  for 
a  moment,  looking  at  the  fire.  Then  she 
looked  up  at  him  and  said,  "This  is  the 
hardest  one.  Did  you  ever  like  me,  I  mean 
like  me  too  much — 'have  a  passion'  for  me, 
as  the  saying  is?  Did  you  ever  think  I  'had 
a  passion'  for  you?" 

"Good  heavens!"  He  stared  at  her,  his 
face  crimson.  "Good  heavens,  no.  Amy !  No, 
to  both.  Are  you  crazy?  Has  some  old  hen 
been  gossiping?  Of  course  I  like  you — but 
you  and  Pinny — why,  I  always  think  of  you 
as  one!" 

"We  are  one,"  she  said  gently,  but  pain- 
fully too. 

"Some  fool — Mrs.  Tennant,  probably — 
has  upset  you." 

"No,  I'm  not  upset  any  more,"  she  said. 
"  I  was,  but  I'm  not  any  more.  I  just  had  to 
hear  you  say  certain  things.  .  .  .  Where's 
Nell?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?  Maybe  you're  like 
me,  T"om,  and  don't  know  where  you  do 
stand.  But  you  ought  to  know  where  Nell  is. 
She  knows  the  way  better  than  we  do,  Tom." 

"The  way?"  he  said  slowly. 

"The  true  way.  We  tie  ourselves  up  in 
psychological  knots,  but  she  gets  there  with- 
out tying  any  knots  at  all.  We  live  by  doubt; 
she  lives  by  faith.  We  don't  know  how  to  be 
direct  any  more,  you  and  Pinny  and  I.  I've 
tried  to  be  direct  this  afternoon  and  it's  been 
agony,  and  I  find  I've  gone  all  round  Robin 
Hood's  barn,  after  all."  She  got  up  and  went 
to  the  table,  picked  up  the  book,  opened  it, 
took  out  the  sheet  of  paper.  She  handed  it  to 
him  and  said,  "I  found  that  and  read  it. 
And  I  suddenly  didn't  know  you  or  your 
mother  or  anyone  any  more.  It  was  rather 
awful.  I  wasn't  ever  going  to  show  it  to  you, 
but  I  don't  believe  it  will  hurt  you  to  grow 
up  a  little  too.  I'm  ashamed,  but  I  wondered 
if  it  were  true." 

Ihe  color  drained  away  from  his  face  as  he 
read.  He  sat  down  suddenly,  with  the  letter 
still  in  his  hands.  He  didn't  look  up  for  a 
long  time.  When  he  did,  his  face  was  steadier 
but  older. 

"  It  has  some  truth  in  it,"  he  said  carefully. 
''It  may  be  essentially  true.  I  did  care  for 
the  chairs.  I  did  read  to  her  whenever  she 
wanted  me  to,  I  didn't  begrudge  her  any 
food,  I  didn't  lust  after  anyone.  But  it  has 
some  truth  all  the  same.  She  wasn't  always 
easy  to  be  with,  and  I  think  I  resented  the 
way  she  clung  to  me  sometimes.  But  I  don't 
think  I  showed  it  on  the  outside.  Perhaps 
the  outside  doesn't  matter.  It  seems  she  saw 
the  inside.  As  a  matter  of  fact.  Amy,  I  didn't 
even  know  what  was  inside,  till  after  she'd 
died." 

"And  that's  why  Nell  did  the  room  over." 

"Part  of  it,"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  know  all  of  it.  I 
really  don't,  Tom.  I  know  that  I  would  hate 
anybody  that  tried  to  know  what  my  per- 
sonal relationship  with  Pinny  was.  And  you 
can  take  that  for  progress  in  me,  because  it 
is  a  little  progress.  I  don't  want  to  know.  But 
I'm  sorry  I  didn't  know  what  your  mother 
was  like,  for  I  might  have  made  it  easier  for 
you  lots  of  times.  Pinny  too.  I  just  didn't 
know.  All  these  years,  and  I  just  didn't  know. 
But  it  maybe  just  as  well,  because,  if  we  had, 
you  wouldn't  have  found  Nell,  and  Nell 
knows  all  the  answers.  All  of  them." 

He  stared  at  her.  Then  he  picked  up  his 
hat  and,  without  a  good-by,  went  out  of  the 
rectory. 

It  was  suppertime  again  when  he  stood 
on  the  back  porch  of  Pres  Adams'  place. 
Not  autumn  now,  but  early  winter,  and  the 
(Continued  on  Page  111) 


b.scuif,    ,^    I  ^f'eof  J^^  ''Ofi  ^ 

'»enf     I         P'-ovid^    .,         "^  info   a-. 

.Jl  ^^       '-orn.n^    ,^    '^J  you    | 


110 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1 


^rs.  X  said  her  KeJettes  were  still  in  active 
service — peaallin^  her  own  delivery  service  on 

the  days  she  markets  .  .  .  still  rontforlable,  a  little 
worn  perhaps,  hut  still  getting  compliments 

in  spite  of  their  age. 


ff^ mnf  iooMnffforX^deies 

. . .  ana  not  in  snop  windows.    Fne  Keaettes  tnat  w^ould  nave  oeen 
there  w^ent  to  w^ar. 

But  w^nat   about   tne   last   crop,  w^e   wonaerea  —  last  seen   cliniDin^  in 

and  out  ol  station  w^a^ons,  decorating  terraces,  and  sw^in^in^ 
over  stone  w^alls,  summer  oi    41  f 

w^e  ^ot  out  and  ran^  doorbells,  asked  c^uestions  and  ^ot  answers . . . 

Only  tney  turned  tne  tables  on  us!    1  ney  asked  us  cjuestions.    l  ne 
w^anted  to  know^  w^ben  Kedettes  w^ould   be  back . .  .w^bat  tbey  d 
be  like  wben  tbey  w^ere  . .  . w^ould  tbe  soles   be   made  oi  syntnetic  rubbers 

,  We  told  tbem.    Kedettes,  after  tbe  w^ar,  w^ill  be  lull 
OI  surprises — in  improved  making  and  in   all  tbe 
equalities  you  liked  so  mucb:  smart  coolness, 
comlort  and  variety  of  color... 
to  fit  into  a  dozen  places  in  your  lile. 


Mrs.    Y's  Kedettes  are 
rehabilitated — she's  proud  of 
the  way  she  patched  them 

herself.  She  wear*  I  hem 
to  complement  her  blue 
Jeans  when  there's  spade 
work  to  he  done. 


Aeaettt 


es 

REG.  U.S.  PAT.  OFF. 

Ameneas  famrite  casual  shoe 


Mrs.  Z  s  Kedettes  are  thoroughbreds  turned 

work  horse.  She  was  her  own  furnace 
man  this  winter.  Her  version  of  what  the 
well-dressed  stoker  wears  is  Kedettes  and  her 
oldest  housecoat — and  she  dropped  her 
reducing  classes! 


«M^^  ^W'\ 


t*^^^"'^"'^     anAH"^""'    ^^^^^^^^ 


WHICH    RUBBER    FOR    KEDETTES,    POSTWAR?    Wtiot    »/    itese    rubber,    will    jive    yo.,    lb. 
best  Kedettes?  Frankly  we  don't  know  wbick — for  all  can  be  used  successfully,  as  demon- 
strated in  various  war  products  made  witk  eacb  kind  of  rubber.  Wbat  we  do  know  is  tbal  Kedettes 
will  be  made  of  tbe  rubber  wbicb  proves  best  for  tbe  job — assured  by  our  100  years'  experience  of 
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Farmer's  Daughter 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


111 


(Continued  from  Page  109) 
svas  spitting  a  sharp,  bitter  snow.   Pres 
ms  came   to   the   door.    He   grinned, 
igh  half  angrily,  and  scratched  his  head 
n  he  saw  who  it  was. 
Is  Nell  here?"  Tom  asked. 
Sure,  she's  here.  She's  here." 
May  I  come  in?" 

res  opened  the  door  and  let  him  in,  but 
ctantly.  "I'll  tell  you,  professor,  I  don't 
k  she  wants  to  see  you." 
Will  you  tell  her  I'm  here,  please?"  It 
not  a  sick  boy  talking,  but  a  quiet,  sure 
I. 

Okay!  Okay!  But  it's  on  your  own 
1.  Told  you  I  thought  you  were  too  old 
ler — wouldn't  listen." 
om  didn't  answer,  stood  there  in  the 
rien.  It  was  warm  there  and  there  was 
smell  of  potatoes  frying, 
essie  came  in  from  the  shed,  took  a  little 
v\  off  her  head  and  hung  it  up.  "Didn't 

the  door,"  she  said. 
es  let  you  in?  " 
Ves,"  he  said, 
hen  Nell  came  down 
stairs.   She  came  di- 
y  to  the  kitchen. 
Hello,  Nell.  Have  you 

your  visit  out?"  he 
d  quietly  but  almost 

le   stood    looking    at 

not  speaking.     She 

not  look  pretty.    She 

;d    curiously  lifeless. 

get  my  things,"  she 

She  went  out  and 
;  back  with  her  coat 
hat  on,  but  with  no 
ase. 

Vhere's    your    spirit,       

"  Pres   Adams   said 
ly.  "Jump  and  run  just  because  he 
so!    You're  still  welcome  home,  you 

even  if  Bessie  does  think  we're  bound 
le  poorhouse." 

know,  pa,"  she  said.  Then  Tom  opened 
oor  and  she  went  out  with  him  into  the 

leaving  Pres  muttering  angrily. 
ou  don't  have  to  come  with  me,"  Tom 
It  the  end  of  the  drive. 
do  have  to,"  she  said.  "I  have  to  be 
you.  I  guess  pa's  right.  I  don't  have 
pirit  any  more.  I  know  you  don't  need 
ly  more,  but  I  want  to  be  with  you  just 
ame." 

>o  you,  Nell?"    His  voice  was  oddly 
)le. 
es. 


REAL    FRIEI¥DSHIP 

^k  In  Reading,  Pennsylvania, 
^  Superintendent  Jacobs,  of 
the  Reading  Hospital,  has  de- 
veloped the  gift  technique  for 
sympathetic  friends,  with  a 
guest  card.  This  card  entitles 
any  friend  of  a  sick  person  in 
the  hospital  to  pay  for  one  day 
of  the  patient''s  hospital  bill, 
instead  of  flowers.  The  card 
delivered  to  the  patient  states: 
"Dear  :  This  card  indi- 
cates that  you  are  my  guest  in 
the  Reading  Hospital  for  the 
day.  I  wish  you  a  speedy  re- 
covery. Your  friend " 

— Hospital  Topics  and  Buyer. 


"Are  you  warm  enough?" 
"Yes." 

"You  ought  to  have  a  fur  coat." 
"Tom — you've  been  eating  enough?  You 
look  tired." 

"  I'm  fine.  I  don't  think  I've  been  eating, 
but  I'm  fine.  I  am  right  now,  anyway.  Now 
you're  with  me  again." 
"Oh,  Tom!" 

They  walked  along  the  road  to  town  in  a 
strange  silence.  It  was  not  a  cold  silence.  He 
had  many  things  to  say  to  her,  but  could  say 
none  of  them.  They  came  at  last  to  River 
Street,  to  the  little  house.  He  stepped  in 
and  turned  on  the  lights. 

He  walked  through  the  rooms,  turning  on 
lights  everywhere.  Just  why  he  didn't 
know,  unless  it  were  that  he  was  aware  that 
the  house  had  seemed  very  dark  since  Nell 
had  gone  away. 

He  came  back  to  the  sitting  room  and  Nell 

was  standing  looking  at  the  swans.  She  had 

such  a  look  of  relief  on 

her  face  that  he  had  to 

say  something  to  check 
the  tears  that  suddenly 
pressed  at  his  eyes. 

"Glad  to  be  home?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes.  Oh,  yes,"  she 
said.  "It  was  all  wrong, 
going  away.  Even  if  for 
a  while  you  didn't  want 
me,    it    was    wrong.     It 

seems — it  seems " 

He  took  her  young 
body  in  his  arms,  held  her 
very  close.  "It  seems  like 
as  if  it  were  meant,"  he 
said  gently. 


I 


do.  You  might  need  me  again 
time.  Maybe  you're  ashamed  of  me 
but  I  can  learn,  Tom.  I'm  not  stupid." 


Up  in  the  rectory  Amy 

Deem  stood  in  her  win- 
dow and  saw  the  lights  come  on  all  over  the 
little  house.  "I  think  Nell's  home,"  she 
said. 

"Home?  Has  she  been  away?"  the  Rev- 
erend Doctor  Deem  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Where?  You  didn't  tell  me." 

"Where?  I  don't  know.  But  she's  home. 
That's  what  matters." 

"You've  been  keeping  something  from 
me." 

She  pulled  the  curtains  together  with  an 
odd  finality,  came  over  and  sat  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair. 

"I  love  you,  Pinny,"  she  said  without 
any  laughter,  and  as  if  that  were  the  final 
answer  to  everything. 

(THE  END) 


FATHERS   MAKE   BETTER   SOLDIERS 

(Continued  from  Page  31) 


>m  the  next  bunk.  Chuck  said,  "Are 
11  right?" 
es.  I'm  all  right." 
bu  scared  me." 

scared  myself."  He  laughed.  It  was 
and  yet  he  had  a  sensation  that 
I  not  leave  him.  He  huddled  down  in 
:d.  The  pound  of  the  engines  was  a 
f  restlessness,  and  the  frame  of  the  ship 
■ed.  He  felt  helpless  and  small  in  the 
He  wanted  more  than  anything  else 

the  arms  of  his  wife  around  him,  and 
K  the  world  assume  small  size  in  the 

privacy  of  his  own  home.  It  seemed 
sible  to  him,  suddenly,  that  he  was  the 

of  a  child.  And  as  this  feeling  came 
im,  he  strove  to  picture  its  face.  But 
ild  remained  a  fabrication,  a  small, 

object  seen  over  unconquerable  dis- 

agment  of  the  dream  that  had  made 
y  out  came  back  to  him.  A  dream  that 
5  dead,  and  could  never  see  the  face  of 
Id. 

ship  rolled  on  the  sea.  The  dark 
i  him  was  so  deep  that  he  could  see 

Ig.  He  felt  buried  in  some  far,  evil 
from  which  he  would  never  escape. 
e  at  home  was  ended.   He  was  on  a 


He  closed  his  eyes  against  the  dark.  He 
was  so  lonely  that  it  was  a  cold  sickness 
within  him.  After  a  long  time,  the  clear  light 
of  morning  came  into  the  cabin. 

The  train  crossed  flat  areas  of  meager  des- 
olation, and  he  knew  he  was  in  a  foreign 
place.  The  brown  earth  and  crude  farm- 
houses were  alien  to  his  eyes.  The  train  was 
filled  with  soldiers,  but  he  felt  alone.  Chuck 
was  no  longer  with  him  now. 

They  passed  a  village.  The  houses  were 
broken,  and  looked  as  though  they  had  been 
devastated  in  some  ancient  barbaric  age. 

Next  to  him  was  an  artillery  captain. 
Lean,  with  pinched  cheeks  and  pale  eyes. 
His  fingers  were  long,  brown  and  nervous, 
and  drifted  often  to  his  brushlike  mustache. 
He  turned  his  head  and  said,  "France 
doesn't  look  so  romantic  to  me." 

"It  doesn't,"  he  replied.  "At  least  here." 

"Going  up?"  asked  the  captain. 

"Yes.  A  replacement  in  a  medical  unit." 

"You're  not  a  doctor?"  said  the  captain, 
looking  for  his  insigne. 

"No.  Medical  administrative.  I've  got  a 
litter-bearer  unit." 

"They  take  it  hard  sometimes." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

(Continued  on  Page  113) 


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AMERICAN     DINNERWARE     OF     DISTINCTION      •      SALEM.     OHIO 


<1 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 


0&^  /(S^ea^  a^t<s^ /ic?  A^6?a^, 


>/- 


One  of  the  reasons  why  our  work  keeps  us  happy  is  the 
host  of  unsolicited  letters  like  this  one  from  Mrs. 
Charles  E.  Cobun  of  Pittsburgh,  Pennsylvania,  which 
popped  up  in  our  mail  recently: 


*'I  bought  my  1929  General  Electric  Refrigerator  15  years  ago. 
I  never  had  any  repairs  since  the  day  I  bought  it . . . 

*'I  built  a  new  home  four  years  ago.  I  had  all  kinds  of  salesmen 
wanting  me  to  buy  a  new  refrigerator.  I  knew  a  newer  model  would 
look  nicer  in  my  kitchen,  but  I  feel  as  though  my  General  Electric  is 
an  old  friend  .  .  .  and  I  cannot  praise  it  too  much." 


Here,  m  a.  G-E  All-Electric  Kitchen,  is  the  General  Electric  Two-Temperature  Refrigerator  providing 
relatively  high  humidity  for  day-to-day  storage, /j/us  a  zero  temperature  compartment  for  frozen  foods. 


A    MILLION    IN    SERVICE 
TEN    YEARS    OR    LONGER 


^^ 


GENERAL  «  ELECTRIC 


l^=f 

pffi^mi 

H 

, 



\ 

i 

- 

J 
1 

-T 

This   is   the   1929   General   Electric   Refrigerator  that  has  run  witho, 
attention  for  15  vears  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Cobun. 


Today,  more  than  ever,  surh  refrigeration  service  is  vital! 


For  food  is  precious  in  wartime.  And  new  civilian  refrig- 
erators cannot  be  manufactured. 


Years  ago,  recognizing  that  your  refrigerator  is  the  hardest- 
working  mechanism  in  your  home,  G-E  engineers  pioneered  ! 
the  unique  "sealed-in-steel"  refrigerating  unit.  It  made  pos- 
sible lower  operating  cost,  increased  freezing  capacity,  and 
reliable  year-after-year  refrigeration!  Oil  is  sealed  in;  dust 
and  dirt  sealed  out.  Result:  a  million  G-E  Refrigerators  ha'v ' 
served  ten  years  and  longer  in  American  homes! 


The  Refrigerator  in  your  future. 

After  the  war,  you'U  find  still  finer  General  Electric  appli- 
ances for  happier  homes.  There's  the  G-E  Two-Tempera- 
ture Refiigerator,  for  instance — really  two  refrigerators  in 
one.  The  lower  compartment  keeps  fresh  meats,  fruits,  and 
vegetables  in  prime  condition.  Tbe  upper  compartment 
maintains  a  zero  temperature,  for  long-time  storage  of 
frozen  foods.  For  your  own  home  freezing,  and  for  storage 
of  many  months'  supply  of  food,  G.  E.  will  manufacture 
Home  Freezers  in  a  variety  of  sizes.  General  Eleqtric 
Company,  Bridgeport,  Connecticut. 

TUNE  IN:  "The  G-E  House  Party,"  every  afternoon  Monday  through 
Fri.lay,  4  p.  m.,  E.W.T.,  CBS.  "The  G-E  All-Girl  Orchestra,"  Sunday 
10  p.  III.,  E.W.  T.,  NBC.  "The  World  Today,"  news,  Monday  through 
Friday,  6:45  p.  m.,  E.W.T.,  CBS. 

BUY  AND  HOLD  WAR  BONDSI  KEEP  ON  BUYING  THEMI 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


113 


(Continued  from  Page  111) 
The  captain  paused,  staring  out  at  the 
)wn  fields,  barren  with  fall.   "Are  you 
irried?" 

'That's  right.  You?" 
Fhe    captain    nodded    quickly.    "Eight 
irs.  And  with  two  kids." 
'I  have  one,"  he  said  softly.  "A  boy." 
'Mine  are  fine  kids,"  said  the  captain, 
loth  girls." 

Fhere  was  an  almost  imperceptible  smile 
his  face  as  he  thought  of  this  imall  son  of 
in  the  world.  "I've  never  seen  him.  But 
1  going  to." 

rhe  train  click-clacked  over  the  rails.  The 
all  smile  stayed  on  his  face,  but  his  lips 
re  tightly  closed.  He  was  going  to  make 
e  that  he  saw  his  son. 

t  is  easier  to  look  upon  death  and  pain 
er  two  months  of  it  than  it  is  the  first  two 
jks.  It  becomes  impersonal,  like  the  men 
Iking  forward  into  battle  and  the  roar  of 
nes  overhead,  and  the  ceaseless  thrum- 
nm  of  artillery.  A  job  becomes  only  a  job, 
le  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  wounded 

brought  from  the  field,  even  while  the 
rtars  and  machine  guns  of  the  enemy 
tinue  to  pit  the  ground  and  snap  against 
;s  and  stone  walls  of  houses.  Some  of  the . 
er  bearers  return  on  their  own  stretchers; 

that  is  not  an  un- 


al  sight  orespecially 
ched  with  meaning. 
3  all  a  play  of  white 
1  dark  against  a 
nk  background,  like 
ickering,  disordered 

I  conceived  in  night- 
'e.  And  then,  sud- 
ly,  the  head  raises, 
i  passing  tanks  and 
':ks  assume  propor- 
is  against  the  tur- 
1,  and  the  helmets 

dark  green  battle 

hes  going  by  are 
It   is   to   wake 

n  numb  sleep,  feel- 
tangible  danger 

■sing  against   your 

res.  That  is  the  way 

appened  to  him.  A 

:k  cold  reality  com- 

into  focus. 

;    happened    when 

ead  the  letter  from 

wife.  Enclosed  in  it 
a  snapshot  of  her, 

^ing  their  son.  The 

II  face,  looking  up       ■^^^■■■■■H 
is  wife,  and  her  ten- 

less  as  she  looked  back  down  at  the  baby 
.  waves  of  emotion  through  him.  It  felt 
hough  tears  were  going  to  come  into  his 
!  when  he  saw  the  tiny  fingers  curved 
md  one  of  hers.  He  hastily  blinked  back 
threatening  tears. 

!e  heard  the  terrible  outcry  of  battle  and 
afraid. 


KINDIVESS  THAT  KILLS 

^  We  adults,  in  the  kindness  of  our 
^  hearts,  are  too  apt  to  interfere 
with  children's  learning.  We  want 
children  to  find  life  pleasant  and 
easy,  and  so  we  do  things  for  them. 
We  pick  them  up  when  they  fall 
down,  we  take  away  the  stick  or 
block  or  chair  over  which  they  may 
stumble,  we  dress  and  undress  them, 
we  feed  them,  we  give  them  ready- 
made  toys,  we  anticipate  their 
wants  and  see  that  they  have  every- 
thing the  heart  could  desire  almost 
before  they  know  themselves  that 
they  want  it.  But  if  we  do  this,  there 
is  one  desire  of  a  little  child's  heart 
which  we  are  not  granting:  the  de- 
sire to  grow  more  powerful  every 
day.  Nothing  gives  a  human  being 
greater  joy  than  to  feel  his  power 
growing.  And  how  does  it  grow? 
By  learning.  There  is  in  every  child 
a  wish  to  do  new  and  more  difficult 
things.  So  let  us  give  him  a  chance 
to  fail  and  to  succeed. 

—ABIGAIL  A.  EUOT: 
In  National  Parent-Teacher. 


late  that  day,  the  Germans  found  what 
I'  thought  or  hoped  was  a  weak  spot  in 
American  line.  Their  artillery  hammered 
sector,  and  then  tanks,  followed  by  in- 
ry,  poured  into  the  momentary  breach. 
ir  furious  and  concentrated  assault  drove 

Americans  back.  Tanks  and  troops 
ed  forward  from  rear  areas  to  block  the 
St.  As  dusk  began  to  settle,  the  enemy 
lery,  blasted  by  air  power,  became  inter- 
ent  and  then  silent.  But  tanks  and  Ger- 

infantry  were  stubbornly  resisting  re- 
ry  of  the  hard-won  area. 

i^SE  enough  to  need  cover  from  enemy 
the  litter  bearers  went  into  the  field  and 
vered  the  wounded.    In  endless  relays, 

carried  men  to  the  medical  tent,  hidden 
lefilade  surrounded  by  trees.  The  bearers 
ed  the  walking  wounded  down  natural 
ks  in  the  terrain,  leading  to  the  tent. 
;  the  wounded  received  minor  treat- 
and  were  placed  in  gray-green  field 
ulances  shuttling  back  to  larger  medical 
nations, 
hen  dark  came,  the  fighting  slackened. 

area  was  still  heavy  with  German  re- 


sistance and  would  have  to  be  cleared  in  the 
morning. 

His  litter  bearers  were  staggering.  They 
had  ranged  the  battlefield  for  wounded. 
Now  it  was  time  to  withdraw  and  find  rest. 
He  passed  word  to  the  section  corporals  to 
head  back,  maintaining  interval  against  ob- 
servation. Keeping  to  the  shadows  on  the 
sides  of  the  road,  the  platoon  started  for  the 
rear. 

Then  a  breathless  voice  in  his  ear: 
"Lieutenant!  Lieutenant!" 

He  stopped,  and  the  two  staggering  lines 
stopped  too.  It  was  the  platoon  sergeant. 
By  the  bluish  light  of  the  rising  moon,  he  was 
able  to  see  the  strain  in  the  sergeant's  face. 
Hard  lines  drew  his  cheeks,  and  blood  lines 
were  in  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it,  sergeant?" 

Ihere  are  about  four  or  five  men  back 
there,"  said  the  sergeant,  his  voice  wavering, 
tired  and  unsure — "under  a  small  ridge. 
They  were  knocl^d  out  early  this  afternoon 
and  have  been  kept  pinned  down  by  machine 
gunners.  We  couldn't  get  to  them." 

"The  Germans  still  have  the  position?" 
"They're  there  all  right,  and  wide  awake." 
The  sergeant  waited,  standing  close  to 
him,  light  and  shadow  on  his  face  in  strange 
marks  that  made  it  appear  like  a  wild,  dis- 
torted mask.  He  stared 
^■■■■■^■■i       into   the   face*  of   the 
sergeant,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  he   himself  was 
waiting,  as  if  the  whole 
night   stood   still   and 
listened    for  what    he 
was  going  to  say. 

Surely  only  moments 
passed,  seconds  per- 
haps. But  he  was  mak- 
ing his  choice,  and 
there  was  much  in- 
volved. He  looked 
away  from  the  mask 
that  was  the  sergeant's 
face,  and  into  the  shad- 
ows of  the  wood.  He 
heard  the  rustling  of 
the  men's  bodies  as 
they  waited,  and  the 
small  sound  of  their 
feet  moving  restlessly 
on  the  sandy  ground. 
He  saw,  then,  the 
smile  on  the  face  of  his 
wife,  as  he  always  re- 
membered it.  The  ten- 
derness, passion  and 
■■■■^■^■■i  faith  that  had  been 
their  mystery  and  now 
belonged  to  him.  He  listened  for  a  memory 
of  her  voice  and  laughter. 

The  picture  of  his  son  was  in  his  pocket- 
only  a  snapshot,  not  really  the  face  of  his 
son.  Ahead  lay  the  road,  sloping  slowly 
down  to  safety.  If  he  intended  to  see  that 
son  of  his,  to  be  happy  with  his  wife  once 
more — there  was  the  road. 

Far  off  was  the  hollow  thiing  of  enemy 
mortars,  and,  closer,  the  quick  barking  of 
heavy  machine  guns.  Beside  him  were  his 
men,  tired  and  stumbling,  their  feet  crunch- 
ing the  leaves.  One  man  coughed. 

He  looked  upward  and  saw  the  moon, 
calm,  cool  and  clear.  Remoteness,  shining  on 
other  worlds  than  this. 

"We'll  get  them  out,  sergeant.  Find  the 
men  who  want  to  go  with  me." 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  colunjn  turned  back 
and  headed  for  the  enemy  outposts. 

Morning  was  breaking.  Their  work  for  the 
moment  done,  his  men  were  sleeping  in  a 
defilade  behind  the  tent.  He  was  standing 
over  them.  They  lay  curled  up  like  children. 
A  great  tenderness  crossed  his  face.  From 
his  musette  bag,  he  took  pencil  and  paper. 

My  darling  wife:  It  is  early  morning  and  soon 
there  will  be  much  to  be  done.  But  I  shall  do  it 
all  the  better  if  1  have  talked  to  you  first.  It 
seems  that  I  see  the  son  you  have  given  us  very 
clearly  this  morning.  I  love  him  as  I  love  you, 
better  than  my  life. 

He  wrote  his  letter  while  the  gray«^reen 
ambulances  shuttled  along  the  shell-pitted 
road,  carrying  the  wounded  to  the  rear. 


fi^ 


'If^"^" 


. . .  said  the  master 
of  7  languages 


"I  CAN  ORDER  COFFEE  IN  SEVEN  LANGUAGES,"  said  the  linguist, 
"but  what  does  that  get  me?  I  want  a  perfect  cup  of  coffee!"  "Try  tliis," 
said  a  friend,  quickly  stirring  up  a  cup  of  Nescafe.  The  linguist  tasted  it... 
and  shouted  "Groot!  Que  Gusto!    Eh  bien!  I'm  —  I'm  lost  for  words!" 

You'll  feel  the  same  way  about  it.  For  here's  how  Nescafe  brings  you  a  real 
high  in  coffee  enjoyment.  In  a  way  that  only  Nestle's  knows,  an  extract  is 
made  from  fine  coffees  fresh  from  the  roaster  . . . 
then  instantly  its  flavor  is  sealed  in!  You  release 
this  locked-in  freshness  by  just  adding  hot  water. 

So  easy  to  prepare... no  coffee  maker  to  get  ready 
or  clean  up... no  grounds.  A  teaspoonful  of  Nes- 
cafe makes  a  cupful — for  only  about  1<^.  No  waste 
...you  make  exactly  the  amount  you  need — and 
the  strength  you  like  best. 

*  Temporarily  the  Armed  Forces  are  taking  all 
the  Nescafe  we  make.  Soon,  we  hope,  Nescafe 
will  again  be  available  at  your  grocer's. 

A  teaspoonful  """N^  in  a  cup  ^> 
Add  hot  water  ^^L  •''*  ready  <^^ 


NESCAFE  (PRONOUNCED  NES-CAFAY)  1$  A  NESTLE  PRODUCT,  COMPOSED  OF  EQUAL  PARTS  OF  SKILL- 
FULLY BREWED  SOLUBLE  COFFEE  AND  ADDED  CARBOHYDRATES  (DEXTRINS,  MALTOSE  AND  DEXTROSE) 
ADDED  SOLELY  TO  PROTECT  THE  FLAVOR  *  •  *  NESTLe's  MILK  PRODUCTS,  INC.,  NEW  YORK,  U.S.A. 


114 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1' 


How  those. Queens  of  Beauty - 


Wash  TAeir  Hai 


You,  Too,  Can  Give  Your  Hair  This 
'10-Miiiute  Glamour-Balh'  Right  At  Home! 

Just  leave  it  to  these  "million  dollar'  Powers  Models  to  find  a  way  to  make 
their  hair  look  even  more  ravishingly  beautiful.  These  smart  Powers  girls 
wash  their  hair  with  Kreml  Shampoo. 

Kreml  Shampoo  not  only  thoroughly  washes  hair  and  scalp  'spick-and- 
span'  clean— but  it  actually  brings  out  the  hair's  natural  sparkling  high- 
lights and  lustrous  sheen— it  leaves  hair  so  much  softer,  silkier  and  easier 
to  set  in  a  stunning  hair-do. 

So  buy  a  bottle  of  Kreml  Shampoo  today  at  any  drug  counter  and 
'glamour-bathe'  yuur  hair  like  beautiful  Powers  Models  do!  Just  see  if  you 
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Advises  Beautifying  Kreml  Shampoo 
For  Children's  Hair 

John  Robert  Powers,  a  foremost  authority  of 
feminine  beauty,  advises  even  his  child  Powers 
Models  to  use  only  Kreml  Shampoo.  This  re- 
markably beautifying  shampoo  positively  con- 
tains no  harsh  chemicals— it  never  leaves  any 
excess  dull  soapy  film.  Instead,  its  beneficial  oil 
base  helps  keep  hair  from  becoming  dry  or 
brittle.  This  makes  it  especially  fine  for  sham- 
pooing children's  hair. 


rem 


ISEAMPOO 


FOR  SILKEN-SHEEN  HAIR-EASIER  TO  ARRANGE    ('c„'d"Z«k«pW; 

MADE  BY  THE  MAKERS  Of  THE  FAMOUS  KREMl  HAIR  TONIC 


THE   GUVGERBREAD   MAX 

(Continued  from  Page  24) 


determined  females  had  ever  employed  to 
outwit  him  flashed  through  his  mind. 
"What?"  he  said  carefully. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  the  fire.  He 
couldn't  help  noticing  the  delicate  line  of 
her  chin  and  throat,  but  he  was  not  in  the 
mood  to  be  intrigued.  For  a  moment  he 
scarcely  heard  what  she  was  saying,  his  forces 
were  mobilizing  so  quickly  for  counter- 
attack. Then  the  words  sunk  in. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  done  an  unforgivable 
thing  to  you,  Randy.  I  haven't  the  slight- 
est intention  of  marrying  you.  You  see,  I — 
I'm  married." 

Randy  just  looked  at  her,  trying  to  grasp 
it.  He  felt  like  a  fool.  He  felt  like  a  gen- 
eral who  has  bombarded  and  encircled  a 
town,  only  to  move  in  and  find  it  evacu- 
ated. "Well,"  he  said.  "Well." 

He  waited  for  the  enormt)us  relief  he  was 
sure  should  be  flooding  him.  Instead,  he 
realized  with  surprise  he  was  more  than  a 
little  bit  angry.  Suppose  he  had  fallen  for 
this  girl?  Suppose  he  had  come  here  with  a 
trip-hammer  heart  and  a  blue-white  dia- 
mond? What  a  note!  He  looked  at  the 
table,  the  fire,  the  velvet  hostess  gown.  So 
it  hadn't  been  for  him,  after  all.  His  mouth 
turned  up  with  self-derision. 

"Were  you  married  all  the  time,  then?" 
he  said  at  last. 

Her  eyes  widened.  "Oh,  no.  Just  a  short 
time  ago.  Just  before  my  husband  went 
overseas." 

"I  see."  Randy  couldn't  think  of  any- 
thing else  to  say. 

"Believe  me.  Randy.  Nobody  could  hate 
me  more  than  I  hate  myself  for  doing  this  to 
you." 

Randy  managed  a  tight  grin.  "Cheer  up. 
I  don't  hate  you."  And  that  was  true. 
He  didn't  hate  her,  but  someiiow  he  had  an 
itch  to  grab  that  lovely  white  throat  and 
teach  her  that  there  were  some  guys  who 
didn't  like  to  be  played  fast  and  loose  with. 
If  his  affections  had  been  involved,  he  really 
might  have  done  it.  He  rose  uncertainly. 

"Just  between  you  and  me  and  the 
marriage-license  bureau,"  she  said,  mischief 
flickering  across  her  face,  "you  don't  care 
a  bit,  do  you?" 

Kanuy  couldn't  restrain  a  slow  smile.  "No 
fair.  A  man  must  keep  his  mystery." 

"But  you  really  didn't  intend  to  go 
through  with  it,  did  you?" 

"Are  you  sure  you  don't  want  a  slice  of 
noble  renunciation?" 

"No,  just  the  truth." 

"Well,  I  did  have  my  doubts.  But  how 
did  you  know?" 

"I  have  a  divining  rod.  It  tells  me  when 
my  so-called  fiance  doesn't  write  me  a  single 
letter."  Then  suddenly  she  was  laughing. 
Randy  found  himself  laughing  too.  "The 
mortgage  is  lifted,"  she  said.  "You're  free 
and  clear."  She  handed  him  his  hat. 

Yes,  he  was  free  and  clear.  His  whole 
leave  lay  before  him  as  empty  as  Ration 
Book  No.  2,  and  he 
suddenly  didn't  know 
quite  what  to  do  with 
it.  It  didn't  seem 
sporting  of  her  to  have 
dangled  this  nice  fire, 
this  tempting  table  be- 
fore him  and  then  deny 
them  to  him. 

He  tried  to  look  like 
Old  Mother  Hubbard's 
dog.  "  I  suppose  you're 
expecting  someone  else 
to  dinner,  then?" 

With  a  slight  start 
of  surprise  she  glanced 
at  the  table  as  if  it 
had  been  put  out  by 
elves.  "Oh,  that.  I 
always  set  a  place  for 
my  husband.  If  he 
should  walk  in  today, . 
tomorrow,  the  next  day, 
he  would  find  every- 
thing waiting  for  him." 


Sounded  pretty  good,  Randv  thought 
little  enviously.  Her  husband  was  a  luc 
guy,  if  she  went  to  that  trouble  night  afi 
night.  He  shifted  from  one  foot  to  t 
other.  He  twirled  his  hat.  He  was  conscio 
of  an  insane  desire  to  prolong  the  visit. 

"What's  your  husband's  name?" 

She  hesit^ed  a  moment.  "Bill." 

"What's  he  like?" 

"Oh,  short  and  round  and  jolly.  Refres 
ingly  normal.  But  heavens,  you  don't  wa 
to  hear  me  rave  about  him."  She  empti 
an  ash  tray  with  an  air  of  finality. 

"Well  "    Randy  went  to  the  doc 

Hester  was  right  there,  holding  it  open.  S 
certainly  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  hii 
"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  casting  one  last  lingt 
ing  look  at  the  table,  "that  Bill  would  d 
approve  of  your  doing  war  work  for  po 
deserving  pilots?" 

"I  don't  know" — indifferently.  "I  real 
don't." 

Only  a  blind  woman  could  fail  to  see  th 
he  was  hungry.  Randy  told  himself  reser 
/ully.  Would  it  hurt  this  cool,  self-sufificie 
creature  to  offer  him  a  little  nourishmen 
"Is  it  too  late  to  ask  you  out  to  dinner'' 
he  said  broadly. 

"I'm  afraid  it  is."    There  was  nothi! 
else  to  do  but  go.  And  then,  unbelieving! 
he  heard  her  say,  "You  wouldn't  care 
take  potluck  with  me?" 

Randy  wheeled  and  tossed  her  his  h; 
"You  get  A  in  hint-taking  after  all." 

"I  didn't  dream  you  would  want  to.  B 
stay,  by  all  means,  if  you  like." 

This  time  when  Randy  sat  down  in  t 
easy  chair  he  stretched  his  long  legs,  let  ba, 
his  head  and  relaxed.  No  need  to  be  on  ed' 
now,  to  guard  his  tongue.  This  was  gran 
If  only  he  could  spend  the  rest  of  his  lea- 
like this,  in  comfort,  in  good  company  an 
above  all,  in  perfect  safety.  But  it  wou 
probably  take  some  doing.  He  couldn't  he 
being  amused  that  ten  minutes  ago  he  h< 
been  scratching  at  the  door  and  now  he  w 
scheming  how  to  curl  up  on  the  hearthru 

Filled  with  a  sense  of  well-being  and  fe( 
ing  suddenly  reminiscent,  he  said  withi 
grin,  "How  come  you  sent  your  wire?" 

She  looked  at  him  sidelong.  "How  con 
you  sent  yours?" 

"Ah,"  he  said.    "Ah.    It's  a  long  story 
He  had  a  sudden  urge  to  confide  in  her, 
tell  her  all.    But  she  was  doing  enough  t 
taking  him  in  without  listening  to  his  trc 
bles. 

"How  did  we  happen  to  meet  in  the  fir 
place?  "  she  was  saying.  "  It  slips  my  mind 

It  had  slipped  his  mind,  too,  but  he  wi 
a  little  bit  piqued  that  she  hadn't  remer 
bered.  That  was  a  woman's  job.  "Wasn't 
at  a  wedding  reception?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.  You  were  encircled  by  wome 
and  in  your  magnificent  rear-guard  actk 
you  stepped  on  my  toe.  And  of  course  I  r 
member  our  dates.  There  were  three  of  ther> 
weren't  there?" 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


115 


"Four,"  said  Randy,  a  trifle  hurt. 

"Just  one  of  those  temporary  wartime  at- 
xactions." 

"But  you  were  attracted?"  asked  Randy 
:autiously. 

"In  a  way.  It  seemed  to  me  that  under- 
leath  the  boyish  appeal  you  were  ideahstic. 
ntelligent  and  capable,  and  just  didn't  have 
I  chance  to  be  yourself  when  women  were 
iround.  But  we  really  didn't  know  a  thing 
ibout  each  other.  It  wouldn't  have  worked 
It  all." 

"No,"  said  Randy  thoughtfully.  "No,  I 
luppose  not." 

He  rose  to  help  her  light  the  candles  and 
)ut  the  food  on  the  table,  and  they  sat  down 
o  dinner.  For  potluck  it  was  a  much  bet- 
er  meal  than  he  might  have  expected.  There 
vere  ham,  macaroni  and  cheese  and  a  tossed 
;reen  salad.  It  was  plain  and  hearty,  and 
^andy  polished  up  the  whole  big  casserole. 

"I  might  have  guessed  you  liked  unem- 
)roidered  food,"  said  Hester,  smiling. 

"What  made  you  think  so?" 

"In  my  profession  we  learn  to  size  peo- 
)le  up." 

"That  must  give  you  a  big  advantage." 

Her  eyes,  almost  lost  in  the*  shadows, 
eemed  dark  with  ancient  wisdom.  But  her 
'oice  was  crisp  and  modern  and  uncom- 
nunicative.  "Sometimes  it  does.  Sometimes 
t  doesn't." 

The  dishes  done  companionably,  back  in 
lis  chair  by  the  fireplace,  a  haunting  sadness 
rept  over  Randy.  "Look,"  he  said.  "This 
uy  Bill  wouldn't  be  stuffy  enough  to  object 
0  your  taking  in  a  homeless  flier  now  and 
hen?" 

"Of  course  he's  not -stuffy,  but  he'd  hardly 
ke  competition." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  see  any  men  until  he 
omes  back?"  asked  Randy  wonderingly. 

"  I  see  lots  of  men.  I  have  my  profession, 
till  appreciates  the  fact  that  it's  absolutely 
ecessary  for  my  patients  to  transfer  their 
xations  to  me." 

Randy  pricked  up  his  ears.  A  tiny  spring 
f  hope  was  beginning  to  bubble.  "Patients? 


Couldn't  you  fit  me  into  that  category?" 
he  asked. 

Her  green  eyes  appraised  him.  "You  in- 
terest me.  From  a  purely  professional  point 
of  view,  of  course." 

"I  never  interested  a  girl  in  that  way  be- 
fore," he  said  plaintively.  "From  a  purely 
professional  point  of  view  you  don't  think 
I'm  crazy,  do  you?" 

"No,  but  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  you 
had  a  complex  or  two." 

"I'm  all  laced  up  in  complexes,"  said 
Randy  eagerly.  "And  dreams!  You  should 
see  my  bright  red  one  with  insets  of  Irish 
lace.  How  long  would  it  take  to  be  psycho- 
analyzed? " 

A  smile  pulled  at  her  lips.  "You  don't 
need  that.  And  certainly  you  wouldn't  want 
to  spend  your  leave  here  with  me  every 
night.  Think  of  all  the  nice,  young  girls " 

Randy  groaned.  It  was  a  groan  from  the 
heart.  "That's  exactly  what  I  am  thinking 
of.  Quick,  show  me  the  couch,  let  me  lie 
on  it!" 

She  looked  undecided.  "It's  too  short  a 
time — but  I  might  be  able  to  give  you  a  lit- 
tle help.  It's  my  usual  practice  to  charge  a 
fee,  but — well,  perhaps  you  can  be  a  charity 
case." 

"Or  maybe  comic  relief,"  said  Randy. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "We'll  skip  the 
couch.   How  about  some  coffee  instead?" 

Randy  had  no  complaints  about  that. 

"If  at  any  time  you  want  to  discontinue 
the  treatment,  you  are  perfectly  free  to  do 
so."  She  put  a  large  cup  of  steaming  coffee 
beside  him  and  sat  down. 

How  did  she  know  he  didn't  want  a  demi- 
tasse.  Randy  wondered.  He  looked  at  her 
with  a  stirring  of  excitement.  Sibyl,  he  asked 
himself,  or  sorceress? 

"Why  are  you  a  flier?"  she  was  asking. 
"There  are  other  branches  of  the  service." 

"Lots  of  men  are  fliers." 

"Yes,  but  not  quite  in  such  a  large  way. 
Weren't  you  with  the  RCAF,  and  then  the 
Bomber  Command  and  the  Ferry  Com- 
mand?   Before  that,  Spain?    The  struggle 


IT^ latter  your  appearance 
with  the  sheer  lovehness  of 
Berkshire  Full-fashioned 
Stockings.  They're  stylishly 
smart  and  they  fit 
better.  So  always 
ask  for  Berkshire 
Stockings. 


^, 


^^ier  wes^r 


hii-e  / 


iotco  cu 


Ttvice  as  smart  to  wear  Vitality  Shoes  because  they're 

smart  tivo  ways.  First  in  the  styles  clever  women  demand. 
Second,  because  Vitality's  heel-gripping  fit  gives  real 
/'      >         walking  comfort.  Same  inner 

construction  that  assures  comfort 
keeps  Vitality  Shoes  shapely. 


Tudceas  smart  to  wear  Vitality  Shoes 
and  to  vary  one  basic  suit  with  dickies. 
k\  Wear  a  tailored  dickey  to  work, 

~    '       1  "frilly  front"  after-hours.  Smart  ticice! 


FAY  RE  •  White 
calf  lie.  Smooth  filling, 
all-purpose  shoe  wit/i 
cooling  culouls  and  perforations. 


BERKSHIRE  KNITTING  MILLS    •    READING,  PENNA. 


NICKI  •  Open  toe, 
sling-back  speclalor 
in  white  suede  kid 
with  Tvrf  Tan  coif  trim. 
New  Vitaplastic  sole. 


Vilatily  Open  Road  Shoes 

for  Outdoor  and  Campus  Wear 

$5.50  and  $6.00 


Complete  Range  of  Sizes  and  Widths 


VITALITY  SHOE  COMPANY.  DIVISION  OF  INTERNATIONAL  SHOE  COMPANY.  SL  LOUIS,  MO. 


116 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


HERE'S  HOW  TO 
GIVE  YOUR  GRAVY 


Hicff 


gf^^ 


Cocofi 


No  matter  how  weak-look- 
ng  and  pale  your  gravy  is 


Want  to  be  known  as  a  champion  Gravy  Maker? 
Here's  all  you  do. 

Simply  add  Kitchen  Bouquet — blended  of  i  3  vege- 
tables and  choice  spices.  It  adds  that  deep  brown 
appetizing  color.  It  brings  out^magnifics — enhances 
the  true  rich  taste  of  the  meat. 
It's  magic — for  gravy,  stews,  meat  pies,  croquettes, 
hash,  etc. 


Note:  To  minimize  shrinkage  when 
roasting  meat,  keep  oven  "LOW."  Mere- 
ly "wipe"  roast  with  Kitchen  Bouquet 
and  add  a  little  to  the  gravy  —  to  give 
both  a  gorgeous  "brown." 


KiTCHEn 
BOUqiJET 


KiTCHen 

BOUOUCT 

'  —RICH,  BROWN,  DELICIOUS! 


GROCERY      STORE       PRODUCTS       SALES       COMPANY, 


for  liberty  seems  to  have  a  personal  aspect. 
I  think  you  have  an  escape  complex." 

"And  what  can  I  do  about  it,  doctor?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  yet.  We'll  have  to 
examine  your  problem  before  we  find  a  solu- 
tion. We'll  have  to  go  back  to  your  child- 
hood." Her  head  fell  against  the  chair,  her 
hair  a  shining  patch  against  the  gold  up- 
holstery. She  said  dreamily,  "It  reminds 
me  of  something.  Oh,  I  know.  .  .  .  Once 
upon  a  time  a  little  old  woman  baked  a 
Gingerbread  Man  for  a  little  old  man  and 
put  it  on  the  window  sill  to  cool.  But  the 
Gingerbread  Man  decided  to  run  away. 
Run,  run  as  fast  as  you  can.  You  can't  catch 
me,  I'm  the  Gingerbread  Man.  .  .  .  That's 
it!  You're  the  Gingerbread  Man.  And 
women  keep  rurming  after  you  because 
you're  good  enough  to  eat." 

Randy  felt  a  fiery  blush  soar  straight  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  You  didn't  have  that 
reaction,"  he  reminded  her. 

"We'll  have  to  keep  personalities  out  of 
this,"  she  said  coolly.  "Unless  you'd  rather 
drop  the  whole  thing  right  now?" 

"No,"  Randy  said.  "Go  ahead  and  stick 
some  more  pins  in  me.  See  if  I  care." 

"Another  cup?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said. 

"Well,  now" — she  curled  up  in  her  chair 
again — "perhaps  we'd  better  have  your 
childhood.  Your  parents.  .  .  .  I  ran  away 
from  the  little  old  woman,  and  the  little  old 
man,  and  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can,  I 
can.  .  .  .  Or  wasn't  it  that  way  at  all?" 

"By  golly."  Randy  looked  at  her  with 
dawning  respect.  "My  parents  were  little 
old  people,  and  I  did  run  away  from  them. 
As  far  as  I  could  go — Spain." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Hester  softly. 

OHE  faded  out  until  all  he  could  see  of  her 
was  the  blur  of  her  face  and  the  shining  blob 
■of  her  hair.  He  forgot  that  this  was  just  a 
game  to  provide  him  with  company  for  a 
week.  He  began  to  pour  out  things  he  had 
'never  poured  out  to  anyone. 

"I  was  an  only  child  and  they  were  old 
when  I  was  bom.  I  loved  them,  but  boy, 
did  they  get:  in  my  hair!  My  mother 
wrapped  me  in  mufflers  and  rubbers  and 
kept  me  on  a  diet  of  cough  medicine.  My 
father  wouldn't  let  me  play  football." 

"How  long  did  you  stick  it  out?" 

"All  through  college— and  they  didn't 
send  me  away  to  college.  They  picked  one 
close  to  home.  But  when  they  picked  out  a 
wife  for  me,  too,  I  finally  ran." 

"Your  first  escape,"  Hester  murmured. 
"I  don't  believe  you've  ever  told  me  what 
college  you  went  to." 

"Schoffield  Tech." 

"Schofifield  Tech!"  She  leaned  forward. 
"This  is  silly,  but  you  couldn't  possibly  have 
known  Weasel  Wallace,  could  you?" 

"Weasel!"  he  almost  shouted.  "Well, 
blow  me  down,  do  you  know  Weasel?  Isn't 
that  something?" 

"Were  you  there  at  the  time  that  Weasel 
swiped  the  clapper  from  the  bell  in  Bingham 
Tower?" 

"You  bet  I  was.  And  did  you  ever  hear 
about  his  swinging  from  the  chandelier  in 
the  Senior  Dining  Room?" 

"I'll  never  forget  the  way  he  told  that 
story,"  Hester  said.  "Well.  Well." 

"Well.  Well,"  said  Randy,  "imagine  your 
knowing  Weasel." 

They  talked  excitedly  of  Weasel  until 
finally  a  happy,  musing  silence  fell.  The  fire 
crackled  in  a  pleasant  obbligato  to  Randy's 
memories. 

Hester  said,  at  last,  "Did  you  go  back 
home  eventually?" 

"Yes,  I  went  back.  But  I  never  felt  tied 
again."  He  added  a  little  wistfully,  "I  was 
fond  of  them,  but  sometimes  I  longed  for  a 
different  kind  of  family.  A  big  family  where 
the  parents  were  too  busy  to  smother  the 
children.  Did  you  have  a  big  family?" 

"Yes.  Still  have." 

"Was  it  fun?" 

"Grand  fun.  A  family  of  individualists. 
Everyone  was  allowed  to  go  his  own  way. 
My  mother  and  father  are  the  kind  who  let 
boys  play  with  dolls,  if  they  want  to,  and 
girls  with  hammers  and  nails.  And  that's 
about  what  happened.    Now  one  of  my 


Men  like  'em 
FRESH  r 


"HARDIePLEASE? 

And  how!  But  he 
sure  goes  for  his 
lunches.nowthat 
I'm  wrapping 
everything  in 
Cut-Rite  Waxed 
Paper!" 


"IT'S  DIFFERENT  from 
the  ordinary  waxed 
paper.  Super  -  cal- 
endering helps  to 
keep  all  foods  super- 
fresh.  And  double- 
waxing  makes  Cut- 
Rite  clear  and  really 
transparent!" 


"IT'S   WONDERFUL, 

i-  '^Ia  the    way    it    saves 

time,  saves  work, 
saves  money.  For 
me,  there's  only 
one  waxed  paper. 
)Thafs    Cut-Rite!" 


CUT-RITE 

WAXED     PAPER 


IN  THE 
BLUE  AND 
WHITE 
CARTON, 
AT  YOUR 
GROCER'S 


Automatic  Paper  Machinery  Co.,  Inc., Hoboken,  N.J. 


Eg 


ITED  NUMBER  AVAILABLE 

Disc  Cutting  "Geared"  Swing- 
A-Way  Can  Opener.  Opens 
all  sized  cans  quickly  and 
efficiently — minimum  moving 
parts — easy  to  keep  clean.  If 
your  local  dealerdoesn't  carry 
—send  us  %2.1bl'S2.40  Westof 
RockiesJ  .  .  .  we'll  forward  to 
nearest  dealer. 

SWING-AWAY  STEEL  PRODUCTS 

:=^  1439  Mdse.  Mart.  Dept.  J5 
ChicBRO  54.  ill. 


PARCHMENT  •KALAA\AZOO  99-MICHieAt 


ll 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


117 


Their  Slow  Day-long 
Baking  Is  Why 
You  Like  'Em  Best 


Always  ask  for  B  &  M 
Brick-Oven  Baked  Beans. 
They're  actually  baked 
(not  steamed)  slowly  .  .  . 
all  day  long  ...  to  give 
you  that  famous,  extra- 
deUcioujs,  real  New  Eng- 
land flavor.  Whenever 
yoiu-  Grocer  is  out,  re- 
member it's  this  long, 
s-l-o-w  baking  that  pre- 
vents our  hurrying  these 
Down  East  treats  to  you. 
Burnham  &  Morrill  Com- 
pany, Portland  2,  Maine. 


1 


They  sin qf 

SPAM  BIROS 

Toothpick  thin  ^^^^^^IZ^^. 
around  your  favonte  stuffing 

brown  in  ^ot  ov\n^  Serv^^^,,,. 
vitamins  Bi  and  B2- 


COLD  OR   HOT        SP|^|^ 

SPAM     r^" 

HITS  THE   SPOT!   « 


brothers  is  a  puppeteer.  Maybe  you've  seen 
some  of  his  puppets  in  department-store 
windows  at  Christmas.  And  my  sister  turned 
into  an  aeronautical  engineer.  My  other 
brother  is  studying  to  be  a  doctor  too." 

"Do  you  ever  get  together?" 

"All  the  time.  They  live  in  Connecticut." 

An  overwhelming  desire  seized  Randy  to 
see  this  family  in  action.  To  join,  for  even  a 
short  time,  in  their  casual  fun.  And  then  he 
realized  that  perhaps  it  wasn't  out  of  the 
question  at  all.  Visiting  a  girl's  family  had 
always  been  Setup  No.  2.  When  you  visited 
a  girl's  family  the  banns  were  as  good  as 
published  then  and  there.  But  it  was  dif- 
ferent this  time.  Quite  different. 

He  gave  her  a  shy  smile.  "You  couldn't 
drag  me  along  sometime,  I  suppose?  It 
would  be  too  much  work  for  your  mother." 

Hester  laughed  lightly.  "She  wouldn't 
even  know  the  difference.  But  "—she  looked 
at  him  shrewdly — "I  can't  imagine  why 
you'd  be  interested." 

"  I  am  interested.  Cross  my  heart." 

"Maybe  sometime,  then."  Her  glance 
went  to  the  clock  and  Randy's  followed.  He 
rose  in  a  hurry,  annoyed  at  his  selfishness. 
He  had  a  nerve  keeping  her  up,  a  working- 
woman  too! 

"May  I  come  again,  tomorrow?"  he 
asked. 

"Tomorrow,"  she  said.  "But  if  you  can't 
make  it,  don't  worry." 


PEOPLE   PREArH 

^  Every  time  you  acquire  a  new  in- 
^  terest — even  more,  a  new  accom- 
plishment— you  increase  your  power 
of  life.  INo  one  who  is  deeply  inter- 
ested in  a  large  variety  of  suhjects 
can  remain  unhappy.  The  real  pes- 
simist is  the  person  who  has  lost 
interest.  — WIUIAM  LYON  PHELPS: 

Encyclopedia  of  Creative  Thought. 
Edited  by  Martha  Lupton.  (Maxwell  Droke.) 

The  world  is  divided  into  people 
who  do  things  and  people  who  get 
the  credit.  Try,  if  you  can,  to  helong 
to  the  first  class.  There's  far  less 
competition.  —DWIGHT  MORROW: 

Encyclopedia  of  Creative  Thought. 
Edited  by  Martha  Lupton.   (Maxwell  Droke.) 

When  a  man  is  no  longer  anxious 
to  do  better  than  well,  he  is  done  for. 

—  BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON: 

Encyclopedia  of  Creative  Thought. 

Edited  by  Martha  Lupton.    (Maxwell  Droke.) 


He  was  there  on  the  dot  of  six.  His  morn- 
ing had  been  spent  browsing  in  the  children's 
section  of  a  bookstore,  where  he  had  tri- 
umphantly fallen  upon  a  copy  of  The  Gin- 
gerbread Man.  He  saw  now,  aided  by  full- 
color  illustrations,  that  the  Gingerbread 
Man  had  not  only  escaped  from  the  old 
woman  and  old  man,  but  from  an  assort- 
ment of  animals  who  also  had  a  yen  for 
gingerbread.  He  figured  that  he  might  be 
able  to  string  this  racket  out  quite  a  while. 

His  study  of  the  story  had  given  him  a 
preview  of  the  evening's  program,  and  he 
knew  that  the  big  white  rabbit  was  next  on 
the  list.  All  day  he  had  cast  around  in  his 
memory  for  someone  to  double  for  a  big 
white  rabbit  and  had  come  up  with  Louise. 
He  didn't  intend  to  be  caught  napping  by 
the  astute  Doctor  Dealman. 

She  was  wearing  a  black  street-length 
dress  this  night,  and  he  saw  with  interest 
that  the  table  was  again  set  before  the  fire. 
Dinner,  to  his  immense  gratification,  con- 
sisted of  steak  and  French-fried  potatoes. 

"And  now,"  Hester  said  to  him  over  their 
coffee,  "the  Gingerbread  Man  runs  through 
a  field  of  clover  containing  a  big  white  rab- 
bit. Slop,  stop,  says  the  rabbit.  .  .  .  Do 
you  have  a  candidate?" 

He  had  never  discussed  one  girl  with  an- 
other. He  hadn't  thought  it  was  quite  the 
thing  to  do.  But  now  he  felt  no  such  com- 
punctions. He  couldn't  wait  to  get  it  off  his 
chest.  "Her  name  was  Louise.  She  was 
pale,  with  pale  blond  hair." 

"What  was  the  matter?" 


^tiirnA    *^ 


Pleasure  with  a  Purpose 


TTThen    pleasure   can    be    com- 
'  ^  bined    with    renewed    energy 
— in  exercise  or  eating — you've  really 
got  something. 

And  that's  what  the  Kellogg  folks 
in  Battle  Creek  make  possible  for  you 
with  their  famous  breakfast  cereals. 

Take  Kellogg's  Rice  Krispies  — as 
delicious  and  delicate  a  tidbit  as  you 
ever  raised  to  your  mouth.  Through 


the  skill  of  the  Kellogg  people,  these 
dainty  morsels  of  goodness  are  made 
the  equal  of  the  whole  ripe  grain  in 
nearly  all  the  food  elements  declared 
essential  to  human  nutrition. 

Which  is  a  good  reason  for  serv- 
ing Kellogg's  Rice  Krispies  to  your 
family  often.  Try  them  tomorrow,  for 
breakfast. 


For  Variety,  and  to  suit  the  taste  of  every 
member  ofyourfatnily,  try  all  the  famous 
Kellogg's  cereals — Rice  Krispies,  Corn 
Flakes,  Pep,  All-Bran,  40%  Bran  Flakes, 
Shredded  Wheat,  Krumbles,  Raisin  40% 
Bran  Flakes.  They're  all  good  to  eat. 
They're  all  good  for  you. 


The  Grains,  a  re 
Great  Foods"— 


}(^M> 


W' 


118 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


4»M^' 


2iLi.~i^BtlkJUii 


/.  >> 


iili'Mltti' 


■^*,5i*r 


Slo 


'oflh 


6R4 


ccm 


NEW... a  CREAM  DEODORANT 

which  Safely  helps 
STOP    tinder-arm     PERSPIRATION 


1.  Does  not  irritate  skin.  Does  not  rot 
dresses  and  men's  shirts. 

2.  Prevents  under-arm  odor.  Helps  stop 
perspiration  safely. 

3.  A  pure,  white,  antiseptic,  stainless 
vanishing  cream. 

4.  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 
after  shaving. 

5.  Arrid  has  been  awarded  the  Approval 
Seal  of  the  American  Institute  of 
Laundering  —  harmless  to  fabric.  Use 
Arrid  regularly. 


.^"i^w^     - 


^^  ^f  *    pfus  fax 

(Also  59(!-  size) 

At  any  store  which  sells  toilet  goods 

MORE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  USE  ARRID  THAN  ANY  OTHER  DEODORANT 


ARRID 


"Her  ma  and  pa.  The  first  time  I  set  foot 
in  the  door  I  felt  that  I  was  already  pasted 
in  the  family  album.  Her  father  had  a  place 
for  me  in  the  dry-goods  business.  Her 
mother  thought  I  needed  to  put  on  flesh. 
Louise  never  opened  her  mouth.  She 
Couldn't  make  a  decision  of  her  own.  She 
didn't  once  say  to  me,  'Let's  get  out  of  this 
firetrap.'  A  dead  weight,  that  was  Louise.  I 
couldn't  help  but  think  that  I'd  never  be 
able  to  step  out  by  myself  some  night.  And 
I  knew  she  would  never  do  anything  inde- 
pendently. She  wouldn't  even  go  to  the 
movies  by  herself." 

"Um-m-m,"  said  Hester.  "So  you  want 
a  wife  who  can  go  out  without  you,  and  you 
want  to  do  the  same." 

"Once  in  a  while,  at  least."  He  grinned. 
"How  am  I  doing,  doctor?" 

"Not  bad,  at  all.  I've  never  had  such  a 
co-operative  patient." 

"Is  it  going  to  take  long  to  unravel  me?" 
he  asked  anxiously. 

"Not  too  long." 

"But  long  enough,"  he  pleaded. 

She  picked  up  the  coffee  cups  and  went 
into  the  kitchen.  She  was  back  in  an  in- 
stant, looking  at  the  watch  on  her  wrist.  "I 
guess  our  session  tonight  is  about  over,"  she 
said.  "I  have  to  attend  a  meeting." 

"You  do?"  It  was  absurd  how  disap- 
pointed he  suddenly  felt.  Empty.  Let  down. 
"Could  I — couldn't  I,"  he  said,  like  a  four- 
year-old,  "come  with  you?" 

She  disappeared  into  the  bedroom  and 
came  out  with  the  kind  of  hat  that  has  ideas 
of  its  own.  She  quickly  adjusted  it  by  the 
mirror  over  the  mantel.  "You  wouldn't  be 
interested,"  she  said.  "Just  shop  talk.  A 
symposium  on  abnormal  psychology." 

"  I  would  be  interested,"  he  insisted.  "You 
know  that  I  am." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "Some  other  time, 
then,  when  it  isn't  so  technical.  You're  per- 
fectly welcome  to  stay  here  if  you  like. 
Don't  bother  about  the  dishes." 

Before  he  knew  it  the  door  had  clicked 
softly,  and  Randy  was  alone.  The  apartment 


still  held  her  essence — a  small  white  hand- 
kerchief in  the  chair,  a  pair  of  gloves  lying  on 
the  table.  Idly  he  picked  up  the  gloves  and 
matched  them  against  his  long  hands.  Funny 
how  tiny  they  were,  and  sort  of  curved  as  if 
they  remembered  her  fingers.  He  snapped 
them  down  angrily.  In  a  rush  of  martyrdom 
he  strode  into  the  kitchen  and  washed  and 
dried  all  the  dishes.  He  even  scrubbed  the 
broiler. 

But  when  he  was  through  at  last,  she  still 
wasn't  home,  and  loneliness  plucked  his 
heartstrings.  Suddenly  he  was  filled  with 
fright.  They  hadn't  made  a  date  for  the  next 
night.  Perhaps  this  was  the  brush-off.  He 
paced  the  floor  of  the  apartment  while  the 
clock  malignantly  stood  still.  Finally  he 
left,  to  spend  a  wretched  night.  The  first 
thing  in  the  morning  he  telephoned,  but  she 
had  already  left.  He  knew  she  was  con- 
nected with  some  hospital,  but  for  the  life 
of  him  he  couldn't  recall  which  one.  He 
cursed  his  stupidity. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  show  up  at 
the  usual  time  and  hope  for  the  best.  He 
wanted  to  take  her  something.  Orchids? 
Gardenias?  No,  he  leaned  to  violets.  Violets 
were  soft  and  velvety  and  deep — like  Hester. 
He  almost  cquldn't  believe  it  when  he  found 
her  home.  Silently,  haggard  with  worry,  he 
handed  her  the  box. 

"Oh,  Randy,"  she  said  warmly,  "violets. 
How  awfully  nice." 

Her  calm  composure  was  definitely  irri- 
tating. "I  suppose  you're  all  agog  to  hear 
about  my  adventures  with  the  gentle  brown 
cow,"  he  said  sharply. 

Her  eyes  twinkled,  she  buried  her  nose  in 
the  flowers,  and  his  irritation  went  up  in 
smoke.  "I  got  away  from  the  little  old  man  and 
the  little  old  woman  and  the  big  while  rabbit 
and  the  gentle  brown  cow.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  gentle 
brown  cow  is  in  order.  Was  her  name  Bossie  ?  " 

"Bessie."  After  dinner  he  told  her  about 
it.  "Placid  and  bovine,"  he  concluded. 

"The  maternal  type,"  she  said.  "Good  at 
wiping  children's  noses  and  running  the 
house  efficiently." 


Pointers  for  Skin  Problems 

See  hovi  nurses'  discovery  can  help  YOUl 


'  CHAPPED  HANDS!  Noxzema  not 
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Actual  tests  show  definite  im- 
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quickly  Noxzema  helps  heal  ex- 
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/"DIAPER  RASH."  Give  your  baby 
quick,  soothing  relief  from  chaf- 
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Greaseless;  won't  stain. 


[minor  burns.  Quick  application 
of  cooling  Noxzema  brings  relief 
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Hi 

is 


Pt 
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il 

\^ 

avt 
il 


Nurses  were  among  the  first  to  use  Medicated  Noxzema  for  these 
skin  troubles.  Try  it,  too,  for  chapped  lips,  windbiu-n,  chaf- 
ing, tired,  burning  feet.  It's  greaseless,  non-sticky,  vanishes 
almost  at  once.  See  how  much  it  can  do  ioi  you  ixad  your  family ! 
At  all  drug  counters;  100,  350  and  500  (plus  tax). 


"Everything  in  its  place,  including  the 

sband.    She  was  so  efficient  she  would 

ver  have  needed  me  for  anything  but  a 

t.  A  man  likes  to  think  he's  a  little  bit  im- 

rtant  in  the  scheme  of  things,  you  know." 

"And  a  man  is  important,"  Hester  said 

ietly.  "You've  no  idea  how  helpless  I  am 

Lhout  one.  Not  only  in  the  big  things,  but 

the  little  things  as  well."  She  laughed  dep- 

atingly.  "My  accounts,  for  instance,  are 

the  most  awful  mess.  Wouldn't  you  think 

voman  like  me  could  keep  track  of  such 

ngs?" 

'Let  me  look  them  over  for  you,"  he  of- 

ed. 

'Oh,  no.  I  couldn't  let  you  do  it." 

'I  want  to  do  it.  Please." 

'Indeed  not." 

'I  insist.    Tell  you  what  you  do.    Put 

:m  out  for  me  and  tomorrow  when  you're 

,ie  I'll  look  them  over.  Won't  you?" 

i' Randy — well,  that's  awfully  sweet " 

ie  was  filled  with  triumph.  He  felt  larger 
in  life.  He  settled  back  in  his  chair 
jpped  in  a  warm  glow.  Her  next  words 
ckly  and  horridly  dispelled  it. 
'And  now — the  little  bear  cub,"  she  said, 
rhe  little  bear  cub ! 


119 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  appropriate  gravity. 
"And  along  comes  a  fox  who  graciously  oiifers 
to  take  him  across.  Jump  on  my  tail,  says 
the  fox.  Then  the  water  gets  deeper.  Jump 
on  my  back.  Jump  on  my  head.  Jump  on  my 
nose " 

"Then  snap,  snap,  gobble " 

"Yes."  Her  hands  were  clasped  tightly  in 
her  lap.  She  looked  down  at  them.  He 
looked  too. 

"Where's  your  wedding  ring,  Hester?  "  he 
asked. 

On  a  chain  around  my  neck,"  she  said 
promptly.  "So  you  see,  unless  you  carry  the 
pattern  to  its  logical  conclusion,  you  may 
develop  a  severe  psychosis." 

"I  don't  like  it,"  Randy  said  sorrowfully. 
"I  don't  like  it  a  bit." 

"When  it  happens,"  said  Hester,  "you 
won't  feel  any  pain.  And  think  how  grand  it 
will  be  to  have  it  all  over !  To  have  only  one 
woman  to  worry  about  instead  of  dozens. 
You  can  enjoy  life  for  a  change." 

It  was  getting  harder  and  harder  to  keep 

on  with  the  old  light  touch.  "  It's  too  late," 

Randy  managed.  "One  of  my  worst  fears  has 

materialized.    I    met 


had  been  saving 
;t  for  the  next 
ht.  They  were  al- 
st  at  the  end  of 

story,  and  now 

was  rushing  it 
n  more.  A  cold 
st  of  ice  began  to 
n  round  his  heart. 
Idenly  he  didn't 
e  two  figs  for  the 
lie  bear  cub,  or  for 
'  of  the  rest  of  it. 
'Didn't  you  run 
jy  from  the  little 
I  cub  too?"  she 
sisted. 

Margie  could  be 
'    bear   cub,"    he 
1  reluctantly,  and 
Dped. 
Yes?" 

le  tried  to  think, 
couldn't  seem  to 
p  his  mind  on  it 
all.  All  he  could 
ik  of  wasthe  warm 
tve  of  Hester's  lips, 
smile  in  her  eyes. 
I  crust  of  ice  was 
ning  rapidly  into 
fty-cent  cake. 
'Margie  never 
w  up,"  he  said. 
^e  wanted  to  play 
;hetime.  Dancing 

ry  night."  A 
ught  struck  him 

he  leaned  over  and  grabbed  her  hands, 
tiaven't  yet  taken  you  out  to  dinner,"  he 
I  with  self-reproach.    "I've  never  taken 
I  dancing.    E>o  you  like  to  dance?" 
I  love  to — not  all  the  time,  of  course, 

now  and  then." 

When  can  we  go?" 

Jently  she  drew  her  hands  away.  "Some- 

e-" 

jometime.  All  at  once  Randy  realized  that 
te  would  never  be  a  Sometime.  No  Some- 
e  when  he  would  see  her  family,  no  Some- 
e  when  he  would  accompany  her  to  a 
iposium  on  abnormal  psychology  that 
sn't  too  technical,  no  Sometime  when 
y  would  go  dancing.  He  felt  so  sick  he 
id  hardly  breathe.  He  wished  that  he 
n't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him, 
I  he  was  desperately  afraid  that  he  did. 
Aren't  you  interested,"  she  was  saying, 
>  hear  my  solution?" 

.  LREADY?"  he  cried   in  dismay.    Well, 
[  ybe  it  was  better  this  way,  he  told  him- 
I .   If  it  was  going  to  end,  it  might  as  well 
I  now.    No  use  holding  back  the  tide, 
iiting  the  inevitable.  "Okay— shoot." 
'  "^'ou  won't  break  the  habit  formation  of 
:ipe  until  you've  met  the  fox.  Remember 
end  of  the  story?" 
|Ie  knew  it  word  for  word.    "The  Ginger- 
xad  Man  comes  to  a  stream " 


•     •••••••• 

BY  BARREN   BASSETT 

The  lilacs  nod  again,  and  bridal 
wreath 
Spills  its  white  lace  along  the 

garden  wall; 
I  sometimes  think  its  snowy 
waterfall 
Is  loveliest  of  all  spring's  flower  and 
leaf. 

Again  and  yet  again  the  spring 
returns 
To  lift  our  hearts  with  beauty  and 

birds'  song; 
Again  we  feel  the  way  is  not  too 
long, 
That  somewhere  is  the  goal  which 
each  one  earns. 


Look  well  upon  the  magic  of  this 
hour. 
Drink  deep  the  beauty  which  you 

see  today. 
The  golden  sun  upon  this  leaf,  this 
flower. 
For  once,  and  only  once,  you  pass 
this  way. 


the  right  girl,  but  I 
was  running  so  fast  I 
let  her  get  away." 

"Oh,  that's  too 
bad,"  said  Hester 
softly.  "That  is  too 
bad.  Are  you  very 
sure?" 

"Sadly  enough,  I 
couldn't  be  surer  of 
anything.  I  love  her. 
This  girl  has  every- 
thing. She's  just  won- 
derful, that's  all.  And 
i  didn't  have  the 
sense  to  know  it 
while  there  was  still 
time." 

"The  world  is  full 
of  girls,"  said  Hester. 
"Or  perhaps  you 
know." 

"  Not  girls  like 
you."  He  couldn't 
help  himself.  His 
acrobatic  heart  was 
in    two     places    at 


•    •••••••• 


once — m  his  mouth 
and  on  his  sleeve. 
"Hester,  this  Bill- 
it  couldn't  possibly 
have  been  a  ghoul- 
ish mistake,  could 
it?"  He  sat  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair  and 
gripped  her  shoul- 
ders. "Hester,  tell 
me." 
Hester  turned  her  head  away.  He  couldn't 
see  her  face.  "You're  a  very  interesting  case. 
Randy,"  she  murmured.  "Suppose  I  wasn't 
married?  Suppose  there  was  no  Bill? 
Wouldn't  that  old  debbil  flight  seize  you 
once  more?" 

Prayerfully  his  finger  went  to  her  neck, 
explored  it,  circled  it.  There  was  no  chain 
there.  No  chain  at  all.  "Hester — don't  play 
games  with  me  any  more." 

She  looked  directly  into  his  eyes.  "No, 
I'm  not  married,"  she  told  him.  "But  that 
needn't  make  the  slightest  bit  of  difference. 
It  just  happened  to  be  easier  that  way  to 
establish  the  essential  rapport  between  doc- 
tor and  patient." 

He  had  never  thought  it  would  be  so  easy 
to  say  it.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  he. 
Randy  Maine,  would  be  falling  all  over  him- 
self to  say  it.  "  Darling,  I  love  you.  Do  you 
love  me?" 

"Yes,  but " 

That  was  all  he  needed  to  hear.  He  kissed 
her  quickly.  Then  he  drew  away.  He  gave 
the  old  panic  a  chance  to  seize  him.  He 
waited  for  the  wings  to  sprout  on  his  sandals. 
And  there  was  nothing.  Nothing  but  com- 
plete and  utter  happiness.  His  hands  went 
to  her  red-brown  hair.  He  looked  into  her 
demure  green  eyes. 

"Now  I  know  you,"  he  cried.  "Why,  you, 
you're  the  fox,  you  vixen!" 


COLOGNE 


^  '   Among  Lucien  Lelong  s 

I 

galaxy  of  Perfumes,  one  of  the  most 

renowned  is  JABOT,  whose  precious 
fragrance  is  now  captured  in  a  radiant  Cologne. 
Wear  it  proudly,  to  heighten 
your  spirits  and  add  generously  to  beauty's  bounty. 


plus  tax. 


LUCIEN  LELONG 


Reef  wUh  terrific  impact.  Explosive  as  the  new 
bore  hack,  bare  midriff,  bare  toe  fashions. 
That  real  red-red  in  Nail  Enamel  and  Lipstick  you 

dreamed  about,  knew  could  exist  — yet  never  could  find .  . . 
Here  it  is  .  .  .  just  plain  dynamite! 
{And  with  it  "Sheer  Dynamite"  Face  Powder.) 


't^^^^^Mt- 


UJAii 


^.R 


r' 


•■%-, 


■w 


^s^.. 


s 


A 


DRESS  »r  AOELE  SIMPSOK 

PHOTO  «1  iOfnifSOVit  $TUC!lpS 

COpyMiaHT,   tf*l  HEVLOM  ^ROftUCTt -P0M^> 


'■''**''I15 


^ 


Pinfe  parasol  to  match  a  pink  af- 
ternoon dress;  both  with  ruffles. 


Full- skirted  plaid  trimmed  with  white  eyelet; 
right — two-piece-effect  eyelet  peplum  dress. 


THE  FAIREST  OF  THEM  ILL 

Flowers  for  sale!  Lemonade,  five  cents  a  glass!  Buy  your  tickets  here!  Dressing 
for  your  job  this  summer  will  be  just  as  important  as  dressing  for  your  best  beau! 
Select  a  plaid  cotton  trimmed  with  white  eyelet  ruffles  because  it's  the  prettiest 
dress  in  town — buy  it  because  you  know  it  will  live  trimly  through  an  eight -hour  work- 
ing day.  The  face  value  of  a  chintz-and-linen  sunback  is  as  colorful  as  your  flower 
stand — the  basic  value  is  that  it's  washable,  workable,  wearable.  Keep  a  cool  head 
while  you're  choosing  your  warm-^veather  fashions — your  dresses  should  be  as  light- 
weight on  your  budget  as  they  are  on  your  back!    •    •    •    BY  DAWK  CROWELL 


V-"«fttf'a: 


w^ 


(  lovely  way  to  spend  an  evening:  crisp  pique  with 


,■4*^ 


Girl  in  gingham:  red-and-white  check  with  The  dress  that  dreams  are  made  of:  qff-the-shoul- 


122 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194,- 


A  dress  for  darn  ing  on  a  New  Yi>rh  roof:  oj  sill:  murquiscltv, 
shadowed  ivilh  Clianlilly  lace.  An  Alice  Orovan  original. 


On  the  ro;zislcr  of  a  New  York  hotel 
sonic  day  soon  ihi-ie'll  bf  tht;  names 
of  "Colonel  and  Mis.  Lillle  of  New 
Jersey!'  It  will  be  in  celebration  of 
the  Colonel's  return  from  active 
duly. ..and  for  it,  Mrs.  Little  wants 
to  look  her  loveliest. 

So  some  new  clothes  are  on  Mrs. 
Little's  list.  And  a  fresh  new  com- 
plexion for  which  she's  thanking 
DuBarry  Beauty  Preparations  and 
the  DuBarry  Success  School. 

She  says  her  skin  now  has  a  radi- 
ance it  never  had  before  she  learned 

Dd  BARRY 

BEAUTY  PREPARATIONS 


about  DuBarry  Beauty  Prepara- 
tions. So  effective  have  these  prepa- 
rations proved  that  in  the  Success 
School  Course  alone  over  19(),()()() 
women  have  used  DuBarry  Beauty 
Prej)arations  exclusively. 

Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  what 
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do  for  you?  Then  ask  at  your  favorite 
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DnBnrry  Beauty  Preparations  contain 
no  ingredients  known-  to  cause  common 
skin  allergies.  Accepted  for  advertising 
in  iniblications  of  the  .American  Medi- 
cal Association. 


'jy 


-l\id(//>4  f^^itmt 


OUR  READERS  WRITE  US 

(Continued  from  Page  13) 


Joyce,  who  lives  up  Battle  Lane,  had  hers 
removed  in  August  last.  It's  not  back  yet. 
Lots  of  talk  about  war  gratuities,  and 
decorations,  and  who  is  to  get  what.  Per- 
sonally, I  feel  there  is  no  justice  in  this 
world,  if  someone  does  not  decorate  Spam. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  underrate  the  value 
of  munitions  and  tanks — but  if  it  is  true 
that  an  army  marches  on  its  stomach,  I  do 
not  believe  we  would  ever  have  won  the 
war  without  Spam.  It  was  the  cornerstone 
of  our  A.R.P.  cupboard — the  last  shot  in 
the  housewife's  locker.  Only  those  who 
have  eaten  it  at  dawn,  toasted  on  the  end 
of  a  knitting  needle  at  a  bomb  fragment, 
amongst  debris,  can  really  know. 
Love  to  you  all, 
DOROTHY  BLACK. 

My  dear  Bruce:  All  month  I  have  been 
laboring  mightilj'  at  the  How  England 
Lives  article,  for  Beatrice  and  Mary  Cook- 
man.  I  have  found  it  grand  fun,  but  some- 
thing quite  novel.  Never  before  have  I 
been  bounded  on  the  north,  south,  east 
and  west  by  hard  facts.  You  will  never 
know  what  trouble  I  had  not  to  have  all 
the  English  family  going  off  and  making  a 
good  plot. 

The  wall  is  finished.  It  is  six  feet  high. 
Wm.  Port  is  not  very  kind  about  it.  He 
stood  and  looked  it  over  and  all  he  said 
was  "Terrible!"  You  have  no  idea — at 
least  I  don't  suppose  you  have — how  hard 
it  is  to  keep  a  brick  wall  the  same  width  all 
the  way  up.  It  broadens  out  toward  the 
end  of  its  life,  like  the  female  seat.  I  can- 
not say  why.  Never  mind.  It  keeps  the 
wind  out  of  the  garden. 

Later.  Daughter  Mary  writes  that  she 
hope.stocomeand  settle  in  her  own  cottage. 
I  am  full  of  hopes  of  being  able,  one  day,  to 
get  hold  of  one  of  the  American  wooden 
houses  I  hear  are  coming  over  this  way. 
Anyhow,  I  have  already  started  making  a 
nice  little  garden  to  put  it  up  in. 

Love  to  all, 
DOROTHY  BLACK. 


Civilians  Also  Die 

Old  Albuquerque,  New  Mexico. 

Dear  Editor:  I  am  getting  just  a  little 
tired  of  hearing  about  service  wives  and 
war  widows.  There  are  so  many  of  us 
whose  civilian  husbands  are  gone,  and  a 
benign  Government  isn't  worrying  about 
us  in  the  slightest  degree. 

I  am  a  widow — have  been  for  nearly  a 
year.  I  have  a  baby,  too,  born  a  week  be- 
fore his  daddy's  death.  I  have  no  medal 
or  citation  to  look  at. 

I  cannot  tell  my  son  his  daddy  died 
a  hero's  death,  or  did  anything  that  was 
patriotic.  His  daddy  was  a  good  man, 
and  a  genius  of  a  kind.  He  was  a  mechan- 
ical wizard.  He  was  minus  a  foot  through 
a  civilian  accident. 

Following  the  birth  of  my  son,  and  the 
death  of  my  husband,  I  tried  to  pick  up 
the  pieces.  He  was  unable  to  get  insur- 
ance, a  growing  business  had  taken  all  the 
cash  we  could  get  together,  and  I  faced  a 
future  with  a  baby,  no  home,  and  about 
SIO  in  the  bank. 

However,  the  first  year  is  over.  We 
still  continue  to  eat  and  pay  the  rent,  but 
somehow  I  must  make  a  surplus  that  will 
provide  the  down  payment  on  a  home.  I 
do  wish,  though,  that  widows  and  orphans 
of  Little  People  could  find  some  source  of 
moral  support — even  if  it  is  only  from 
knowing  there  are  others  struggling  along. 
Sincerely, 

B. 

►  As  Joseph  Mitchell  said,  "There  are  no 
little  people"  in  this  world.  "They  are 
just  as  big  as  you  are,  whoever  you 
are."    ED. 

.Site  Lilies  Large  Families 

Savanna,  Illinois. 

Dear  Editor:  Most  of  your  correspond- 
ents who  write  against  having  many  chil- 
dren seem  to  forget  that  there  is  a  long 
view  to  this  subject,  as  to  all  others. 

I  once  knew  a  woman  whose  children 
came  so  fast  that  she  was  pitied  or  blamed 


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in  fabrics  and 
in  workmanship! 

If  you  can't  find  youl 
style  at  first,  try  again!  Deaien 
get   supplies   monthly.   Send   for  Style 
and  Conservation  Folders:   Maiden  Form 
Brassiere  Company,  Inc.,   New  York   16.  N.   Y, 

"There  is  a  Maiden  Form  for  EvuryType  of  Figure!' 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


123 


by  almost  ever\'one.  After  a  lapse  of  a  few- 
years.  I  again  visited  the  town  in  which 
she  had  lived.  To  my  surprise,  some  of  the 
wealthier  jjeople  of  the  town  now  openly 
envied  this  woman.  Her  children,  you 
see.  had  grown  up  used  to  economy  and 
competitive  family  life,  and  they  seemed 
to  get  along  better  than  children  who  had 
been  indulged  from  babyhood.  Their 
mother,  as  envious  neighbors  told  me, 
had  an  income  now  of  seven  hundred  dol- 
lars a  month,  including  her  husband's 
salar>-  and  the  generous  amount  that  each 
of  the  children  insisted  ujxin  her  taking. 
She  was  free  now,  in  her  early  forties,  to 
enjoy  the  social  pleasures  that  she  had 
given  up  during  her  twenties  and  thirties. 
One  of  her  sons  became  a  famous  surgeon, 
one  of  her  daughters  a  newspaper  colum- 
nist, and  later  seven  of  her  grandchildren 
went  into  their  countr>-'s  ser\-ice.  From 
an  ordinary-  little  woman,  she  has  blos- 
somed into  a  person  of  importance  and  pres- 
tige in  her  community  because  of  her 
children's  attainments. 

This  is.  perhaps,  an  extraordinary-  case, 
but  I  always  like  women  with  big  families 
an>-\vay.  Xot  one  of  them  has  ever  bored 
me  with  neurotic  complaints. 

Vours  truly, 
COLLETTE  M.  FISHER. 

XothinC  to  Fear  Bat  Fear 

Encinitas.  California. 
Dear  Editor :  I  agree  with  Doctor  Bun- 
desen  about  The  Needless  Fear  of  Child- 
birth. And  before  a  great  many  women 
get  ready  to  jump  dow-n  my  throat,  let  me 
add  that  the  birth  of  my  first  child  was  a 
frightful  experience,  and  it  took  me  al- 
most four  years  to  get  up  nerve  enough 
to  go  through  it  again.  Then  a  chance  re- 
mark by  a  neighbor  gave  me  hojje.  In  my 
desperate  state  of  mind.  I  clung  to  her 
words,  and  tried  to  "accept  and  relax — 
accept  and  relax."  And  no  one  could  have 
been  more  surprised  than  I  when  my 
second  baby  was  bom  without  a  moan 
from  me.  I  hope  to  have  a  third  within 
the  next  year  or  so,  but  this  time  I  know 
that  I  have  nothing  to  fear  but  fear  itself. 
Sincerely, 
MRS.  ALBERT  W.  THOMAS. 


No  5lan  Can  Know^! 

Chicago,  Illinois. 

Dear  Editor:  I  don't  agree  w-ith  Doctor 
Bundesen.  I  had  no  labor  pains  whatso- 
ever w-ith  my  first  baby.  Consequently.  I 
approached  the  second  birth  with  no  fears 
and  completely  relaxed.  I  labored  almost 
two  days  with  my  second  child  and 
screamed,  though  half  of  the  time  I  didn't 
know-  it.  I'd  call  my  third  child  an  aver- 
age birth.  I  had  pains,  but  made  not 
a  sound — I  didn't  haie  to  scream. 

Xo  man.  doctor  or  not,  can  know  w-hat 
childbirth  pain  is.  We  can  read  about 
many  things,  but  until  w-e  experience 
them,  there's  no  comparison.  I  fully  in- 
tend to  have  tw-o  or  three  more  children; 
in  fact,  we're  having  our  fourth  in  June. 
I  never  had  any  fears  and  I  don't  have 
now-,  but  I'm  curious  as  to  what  Nature 
has  in  store  with  my  fourth  child. 
\'erj-  sincerely. 
MRS.  JOSEPH  DUBENIC. 

Doe  Daze 

Plainfield,  New  Jersey. 

Dear  Editor:  Did  you  know  that  there 
are  thirty-one  references  to  cocker  span- 
iels, including  four  pictures,  in  a  recent 
issue  of  the  L.  H.  J.?  I  didn't  count 
carefully  and  no  doubt  missed  a  few. 
Cockers  w-ith  goulash,  cockers  with  sailors, 
cockers  with  marines !  I  picture  your  office 
as  being  full  of  dog  hair,  smelly  w-ith  tar 
soap  and  a  rubber  bone  under  ye  editorial 
chair. 

From  careful  perusal  of  your  pages,  it 
also  seems  that  no  American  family  can 
be  called  typical  w-ithout  a  horse.  For  the 
luvai)ete.  give  us  a  family  now  and  then 
that  keeps  a  ptarmigan,  or  at  least  a  pig, 
for  variety.  Yr.  gentle  reader, 

M.  B.  D. 

P.  S. :  Can  you  give  me  the  address  of 
that  farrier  w-ho  shod  the  Bolinvar  horses 
that  went  from  Virginia  to  New  Jersey? 
I  can  throw  some  business  his  way. 

Our  farrier  friends  assure  us  that  the 
Bolinvars'  feat  was  quite  possible  in 
those  days.  But  w-e  are  afraid  a  black- 
smith of  1815  would  not  be  interested 
in  business  today.    ED. 


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CHARGE 


Left,  Style  A— 1 -inch  Belt 


ght.  Style  B — 'A -inch  Beit 


Left,  Style  C— '/i-inch  Belt 


JW1..A  •^T\Mt-fmi*  Self-Fobric  Belt  Goaronleed  to 
nder  and  dry  clean!  Each  Belt  complete  with:  Self- 
/ered  rust-proof  buckle;  Embroidered  self-motching  eye- 
s;  Six  rows  stitchings  for  added  smartness;  Choice  of  3 
les.  .  .  .  Marilyn  Self-Fobric  Belts  con  be  woshed  or 
□  ned  by  some  method  os  garment.  ...  To  order,  simply 
:ce  in  any  envelope  a  strip  of  your  dress  material  2'-i 
hes  wide  and  5  inches  longer  ttion  waist  measurement: 
:iude  5  X  7-inch  scrap  for  buckle.  Give  woist  measure- 

-  d  style  wanted Write  or  use  coupon  below.  Prompt 

-   ..    Guoranteed  satisfaction  or  one  dollar  refunded. 

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Process,  our  License  No.  lH. 

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t 

AWWr»c«                       .                                                                                                 ^ 

r.fy 

7e\r\t» 

.^#nfP 

c 

rTTiriii,»,..iiiiii..Tfi 

■  ■■■■111 nil 

vfTirnV; 

^^•^^/p'^^-1 


WASHABLE  jf  ; 


FINISHED 


COTTONS 


Dresses  mode  of  "Everfiloie"  Finished 


« 

Fabrics  ore  a  pleasure  to  behold.  You  and   ^ 
your  (tiildren  ore  not  o^ly  pretty  in  them,  bjt 
you  enjoy  the  mony  benefits  the  "Everglote" 
Finish    provides.  It  iihports  to  cottons  o  .crisp, 
lustrous  finish  that's  durable  through  ripeoted 
washings  .  .  .  soil-jesistont,  which  mea»s  fewer 
lounderings.    Look'for   the    'Everglaie*  trade 
mark  on  the  dressy  or  yord 
goods  you  buy  tj  your 
favorite  store.  It's  your 
assurance  of  roditf^it, 
long-wearing  cot»ns. 

/  r 


'KtS.  1).  S.  P«r.  OFF.  '    "  V 

"Patents  moke  Jobs" 


The  MILITAIRE 
around  55 


TREAT  YOURSELF  TO  SOME  NEW  COLORS 

hrtqhiasa  rainbow 


Aqua  Green  . . .  Shocking  Pink  . . .  Chartreuse.  These  are 

some  of  the  bright,  flattering  Daniel  Green  colors  that 

are  new  this  year.  They're  gay.  Thev  re  frivolous  .  .  . 

and  the  slippers  are  unrationed. 

So  treat  yourself  to  a  pair  or  two  and  add  new  charm 

to  your  leisure  moments.    You  will  get  your  money's 

worth  in  relaxation,  comfort  and  the  long  wear  that 

Daniel  Green  Comfy  slippers  are  famous  for. 

Due  to  wartime  restrictions  your  dealer  may  ask  you  to  select  some 
other  Daniel  Green  style  if  he  doesn't  happen  to  ha\-e  your  favorite. 


The  DIDO 

around  $4 


Uaniel^een 

COMFY  SLIPPERS 

D.w^EL  Green  Comp.xny  •  Dolceville  •  New  Yohk 
BUY    MORE    M  \R    BONDS 


wr" 


f§ 


hv^ 


} 


The  look  every  mother  knows 

The  look  that  says  plain  as  day,  "Ah,  food — bring  it  on!"  Mothers  who  serve 
Gerber's  get  to  know  that  look  very  well.  Because,  Gerber's  is  famous  for: 
(1)  Extra  good  taste.  (2)  Cooked  the  Gerber  way  by  steam  to  better 
retain  precious  minerals  and  vitamins.  (3)  Uniform,  smooth  texture. 
(4)  Every  step  in  the  making  laboratory-checked.  Do  as  thousands  of  mothers 
do — get  Gerber's,  with  "America's  Best-Known  Baby"  on  every  package! 

What's  this — iron  for  babies? 

Many  babies,  your  doctor  will  tell  you,  need  extra  iron 
after  the  age  of  three  months  or  more.  Both  Gerber's 
Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal  have  gener- 
ous amounts  of  added  iron  and  Vitamin  Bi.  Serve  both 
cereals— variety  helps  baby  eat  better.  Both  cereals  are  pre- 
cooked— just  add  milk  or  formula,  hot  or  cold,  and  serve. 


Jvtee  set'mple 


erber's 

FBEMONT.  MICH  OAKLAND.  CAL 


My  baby  is  now  months 

old,  please  send  me  samples  of 
Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 


J^^Mto 


C«r*oU         Stroinvd  Foodt        Chopped  Foods 
Address:   Gerber    Products    Company,   Depi.   85-5.   Fremont.    Michigan 


Name 


City    and    Statt 


124 


May,  1945 


PHOTO  BY  HAROLD  M.  LAMBERT 


Watchfulness    on    the   part    of   mothers    may   help    prevent   an 
iinsiffhtly  and  unpleasant  infection  tthich  attacks  children's  hair. 

Ringworm  of  the  Scalp 

UY   »R.  HERMAN    1%.   BlNDESEiN 


I'restdeitty  (Chicago  tittard  of  Health 


IN  epidemic  form  of  ringworm  of  the 
m  scalp  is  spreading  swiftly  among  school 
/I  children  in  many  American  cities.  For- 
n  tunately,  the  infection  does  not  injure 
the  children's  general  health.  But  ringworm 
is  unsightly  and  unpleasant;  and  it  is  so- 
persistent  that  the  only  wholly  effective 
treatment  makes  loss  of  the  hair  necessary. 

Plainly,  mothers  will  want  to  do  every- 
thing they  can  to  prevent  this  ugly  affliction 
from  attacking  their  homes  and  their  com- 
munities. Often  the  infection  gains  headway 
in  spite  of  all  that  is  done.  But  watchfulness 
on  the  part  of  mothers  may  help  to  prevent 
it,  and  prompt  co-operation  with  the  doctor 
brings  best  results  in  treatment. 

Never  before  has  ringworm  appeared  in 
the  United  States  to  such  large  extent.  The 
epidemic  started  in  our  Eastern  cities,  and 
has  moved  steadily  across  the  country. 

Once  it  appears  in  a  community,  the  in- 
fection spreads  with  such  wildfire  speed  that 
it  is  extremely  difficult  to  control;  in  some 
school  groups,  for  example,  as  many  as  80 
per  cent  of  the  children  are  affected.  Chiefly, 
ringworm  spreads  from  one  child  to  another 
during  intimate  indoor  play,  especially  when 
children  are  wrestling  or  roughhousing.  The 
infection  is  also  carried  by  combs,  brushes, 
towels,  caps  and  other  objects  touching  the 
head.  Unless  strict  sanitary  rules  are  en- 
forced, barbers'  scissors  may  carry  the  ring- 
worm. Ringworm  often  appears  on  the 
back  of  the  head,  so  it  may  be  deposited  by 
infected  children  on  the  backs  of  movie  seats, 
then  picked  up  when  other  youngsters  rub 
their  heads  on  the  seats.  Several  outbreaks 
have  been  traced  to  this  source. 

The  ringworm  is  caused  by  a  fungous  type 
of  organism.  This  particular  fungus  is  never 
seen  except  on  the  scalp.  The  fungus  spreads 
outward  in  a  circle  from  the  initial  point  of 
infection,  and  upward  along  the  hair  shafts 
in  the  affected  area.  Soon  each  involved  hair 
becomes  dry,  dull  and  brittle,  then  breaks  off 
near  the  scalp,  leaving  a  hard,  ugly  stump. 
The  scalp  skin  becomes  ashy-gray  in  appear- 
ance and  may  scale,  but  inflammation  and 
swelling  do  not  commonly  occur. 

More  important  from  the  standpoint  of 
treatment  is  the  fact  that  the  infection  also 


spreads  downward  along  the  hair  shafts, 
deep  into  the  hair  follicles  under  the  surface 
of  the  scalp.  This  burrowing  growth  beneath 
the  scalp's  surface  makes  the  affliction  stub- 
bornly resistant  to  treatment.  Fungicidal 
applications  on  the  scalp  surface,  no  matter 
how  effective,  are  inadequate,  because  they 
simply  do  not  reach  all  the  infectious  or- 
ganisms. Mothers  must  remember  this  fact: 
When  ringworm  appears,  home  remedies  are 
not  dependable. 

Unchecked,  the  fungus  may  continue  to 
grow  until  .the  whole  scalp  is  covered  with 
evil-looking  patches.  Even  when  he  is  under- 
going treatment,  a  child  so  affected  is  a 
menace  to  his  family  and  his  schoolmates 
unless  he  is  fitted  with  a  protective  skullcap 
(Continued  on  Page  126) 


(jRATEFUL  young  mothers 
from  Maine  to  California  tell 
us  that  Doctor  Bundesen's 
haby  booklets  have  been  of 
the  greatest  help  to  them  in 
caring  for  their  own  babies. 
The  first  ^ight  booklets  cover 
your  baby's  first  eight  months. 
They  sell  for  50  cents.  The 
second  series  of  booklets  cov- 
ers the  babv's  health  from 
nine  months  to  two  years — 
seven  booklets  for  50  cents. 
The  booklets  will  be  sent 
monthly;  be  sure  to  tell  us 
when  you  want  the  first  book- 
let. A  complete  book  on  the 
care  of  the  baby,  a  ne«H»«- 
sarti  »upplewnent  to  the 
monthly  booklets,  Olr  Ba- 
bies, No.  1345,  is  25  cents.  A 
booklet  on  breast  feeding,  A 
Doctor's  First  Dlty  to  the 
Mother,  No.  1346,  sells  for 
6  cents.  Address  all  requests 
to  the  Reference  Library, 
l,Ai)iE,s'  Home  Journal.  I'hil- 
adel[)hia  5,  Fennsylvaiifa. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


[FmiB^mmwom...m' 


> 


BABIES 
SVVAA/  BATHS 
BVERY  PAY 


I  "  "fet-^* 


They'd  pass  a  great  big  law  to  say 
All  babies  get  a  bath  a  day 

^ith  gentle  Swan.  So  pure !  So  mild ! 
(It's  simply  perfect  for  yoxir  child ! ) 


They'd  tell  the  world  what  doctors  know — 
Swan's  mild  as  fine  castiles!  And  so 

Its  suds  are  safe  for  tender  skin. 
Just  right  to  dunk  a  baby  in! 


fy  n 


/   / 

Then  watch  the  babies'  mamas  beam 
'Cause  Swan  complexions  are  a  dream. 

So  soft!  So  smooth!  So  very  fair! 

(Why  don't  you  try  Swan's  pure,  mild  care?) 


Then  see  the  babies'  daddies  grin 

'Cause  Swan  agrees  so  well  with  skin. 

They  like  that  lather  .  .  .  creamy!  Thick! 
Swan's  one  pure  soap  that  lathers  quick ! 


While  pretty  duds  stay  fresh  and  bright 
With  Swan's  pure  suds  to  treat  'em  right. 

Yep,  babies  know  what  grownups  should — 
For  every  job.  Swan's  mighty  good ! 


miPiffiiiiii 

So  doesn't  it  seem  pretty  siiiarl 

To  use  pure  Swan  right  from  the  start? 

For  baby!  Bath!  For  dishes!  Duds! 
Buy  Swan!  Get  baby-gentle  suds! 


They'd  splash  in  tubs  so  happily 

With  snowy  Swan  that  folks  will  see 

That  Swan's  the  bestest  soap  by  far 
For  baths — no  matter  who  you  are! 


In  kitchens  and  in  laundries,  too. 
There's  lots  for  baby's  Swan  to  do. 

Dishwashing  with  this  grand,  mild  bar 
Leaves  soft  hands  lovelier  by  far! 


A  CAKE  OF  SWAM 
TO  EVERV  BAB/ 
BORN  IN  19451    _ 

.c<  yOUR  DEALER  FOR    f 
^ffteeBABV  COUPON       \ 


r»Sf  To  all  new  babies  that  arrive 
Sometime  in  1945 
We'll  send  a  pure,  free  cake  of  Swan! 
Just  ask  your  dealer  for  coupon. 

(Offer  good  In  U.  S.  only.  Expires  Dec.  .3Ist,  1946) 


15  PORB  A$  FINE  ^^TILES 


TUNE  IN:  George  Bums  &  Gracie  Allen,  CBS,  Monday  Nights 


126 


LADIES"  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


How  long  since  you 
rode  in  one? 


Ill 


\  / 


3.  "i^? 


Once  upon  a  time,  mother,  you 

were  a  bouncing  baby  yourself. 

And  we  mean  bouncing.  If  you  could 
recall  how  you  were  bounced,  bumped 
and  side-swayed  in  an  old-fashioned 
baby  carriage,  you'd  really  know  how 
lucky  jou/-  baby  is  —  he  can  ride  in  the 
dreamlike  smoothness  of  a  de  luxe 
THAYER  Folding  Coach! 

Xiny  babies  are  not  jitterbugs. 

The  bumping  and 
swaying  of  an  or- 
dinary carriage  is 
distressing  to  tiny 
tummies  full  of 
milk  .  .  .  and  tiny 
bones.  So  Thayer 
banished  the 
bumps  with  a  won- 
derful shock-absorbing  chassis  .  .  . 
and  an  ingenious  Body  Stabilizer 
which  ends  side-sway,  too !  A  Thayer 


baby  rides   as   smoothly  as  floating 
on  a  feather. 


1  HAYER  Coaches,  in  gleaming 
aluminum  or  steel,  have  the  famous 
Feather-Touch  3-Position  Back  Rest, 
adjustable  aluminum  push  handles, 
bicycle-type  wheels  with  rubber  tires, 
squeak-proof  self-oiling  bearings,  safety 
brakes,  lu.\urious  upholstery,  two-tone 
colors,  and  .  .  .  well,  just  see  for  your- 
self at  your  favorite  store!  Baby  will 
never  forgive  you  if  you  show  him  off 
in  anything  less  elegant! 

^^'ritc  to  us  for  "primer  for  pare.nts". 
It's  amusing,  helpful,  and  free. 
Thayer  Company,  Dept.  LH-51, 
Gardner,  Massachusetts. 


THE  FOLDING  CARRIAGE 
WITH  THE  3-POSITION  BACK  REST 


PROTECT     YOUR     BABY'S     FUTURE.  ..BUY     WAR     dONDS 


(Continued  from  Page  124} 
and  his  activity  is  closely  supervised.  Other- 
wise, he  is  almost  certain  to  leave  some  of  the 
fungus  where  it  will  be  picked  up  by  others. 
Thus,  a  child  may  bring  the  ring%vonn  home 
from  school  and  infect  a  younger  brother  or 
sister,  although — because  of  the  number  and 
nature  of  their  contacts  with  others — the 
disease  is  seen  preponderantly  in  school-age 
rather  than  in  preschool-age  children. 

Even  if  treatment  is  not  undertaken,  the 
fungus  disappears  spontaneously  when  a 
child  reaches  puberty  or  adolescence.  At 
this  time  the  sebaceous  glands  in  the  scalp 
secrete  a  lubricating  substance  which  has  the 
ability  to  kill  the  fungus.  The  unaided  cure 
of  ringworm  in  adolescent  children  is  due  to 
this  ability;  when  these  glands  begin  to 
function,  any  fungous  organisms  which  have 
survived  are  quickly  destroyed. 

This  fungus  glows  in  ultraviolet  light.  In 
a  darkened  room,  the  doctor  directs  ultra- 
violet rays  from  a  special  type  of  lamp  onto 
the  patient's  head,  and,  if  the  ringworm  is 
there,  bright  round  patches  shine  luminously 
through  the  hair — proof  that  the  busy  fungus 
has  found  a  \'ictim !  Closer  inspection  under 
the  ultraviolet  lamp  shows  each  affected  hair 
shining  like  a  tiny  incandescent  wire. 

For  effective  treatment  of  the  disease,  all 
these  infected  hairs  must  be  removed  by  the 
roots;  otherwise  the  hair  follicles  provide  a 
refuge  in  which  organisms  may  escape  from 
medications  applied  to  the  scalp,  and  from 
which  they  will  spread  over  the  scalp  again 
as  soon  as  treatment  is  discontinued. 


FA.HHIOX*«!>  WHIRL 

^  During;  the  life  of  a  dress  it  will 
^  l>e:  Indecent  10  years  before  its 
time:  shameless  5  years  before  its 
time;  daring  1  year  before  its  time: 
smart  tlnring  its  time:  dowdy  1  year 
after  its  time:  hideous  1(1  years  after 
its  time;  ridiculous  20  years  after  its 
time:  amiisini:  .30  years  after  its 
time;  cjuaiiit  .50  years  after  its  time; 
<'liarmiiiK  70  years  after  its  time;  ro- 
mantic 100  years  after  its  time: 
beautiful  150  years  after  its  time. 

—JAMES  LAVER. 

A  woman's  guess  is  much  more  ac- 
curate than  a  man's  certainty. 

—  RUDYARD  KIPUNG. 


Detected  earh-  by  an  alert  mother  who 
takes  her  child  at  once  to  the  doctor,  the 
disease  can  often  be  treated  successfully. 
The  physician  must  painstakingly  remove 
each  affected  hair — plucking  it  out  whole, 
root  and  shaft.  Happily,  this  is  not  painful; 
diseased  hairs  are  loosened  and  come  out 
effortlessly.  Unless  healthy  hairs  are  acci- 
dentally plucked,  too,  the  child  will  not  even 
feel  the  plucking.  Fungicidal  medication  is 
then  applied  to  the  infected  area  over  a 
period  of  weeks.  If  the  doctor's  instructions 
are  followed  faithfully  and  continued  until 
he  is  satisfied  that  a  cure  has  been  com- 
pleted, and  if  the  child  is  super\-ised  so  that 
reinfection  does  not  occur,  this  method  of 
treatment  is  often  successful. 

In  some  cases,  however,  even  this  pro- 
longed, laborious  procedure  may  fail.  \Mien 
this  happens,  the  physician  sometimes  offers 
another  method:  The  child's  head  is  sub- 
jected to  X-ray  treatments.  In  this  form  of 
treatment,  the  child  will  be  completely  bald 
for  about  three  months.  While  hair  so  re- 
moved grows  in  again,  most  mothers  reject 
this  treatment,  feeling — perhaps  understand- 
ably, in  the  case  of  little  girls  especially — 
that  the  treatment  may  be  worse  than  the 
disease. 

Usually,  mothers  who  are  informed  and 
watchful  escape  the  necessity  of  making  this 
difficult  decision.  If  the  child's  head  is  kept 
scrupulously  clean  and  examined  regularly, 
the  fungus  will  be  detected  before  it  has 
spread  over  the  scalp.  Conser\'ative  treat- 
ment, if  started  promptly,  is  usually  satis- 
factory-. Mothers  who  rela.x  their  vigilance 
may  be  asking  their  children  to  pay  this  hard 
price :  long-continued  infection  or  temporary 
baldness. 


GIVE  THIS  FAMOUS  BAlY  BOOK 

SYte 


OUR  BABY'S 

FIRST  SEVEN 

YEARS' 

«^  PRICELESS  RECORD  of  a 
child's  growth,  and  a  beautiful  gift — 
with  valuable  scientific  records  and 
guides  for  child  care.  Filled  with 
charming  illustrations  in  full  colors — 
just  the  gift  for  new  mothers! 
In  pink  or  blue  cloth.      ONLY 


S250 


Siv  in  12th  EJiL 


riiO.OOO  Copiei  S^Uf 


II  Your  Dealti  Cinnol  Supply  You  — Order  Direct  Fro 

MOTHERS'  AID-CHICAGO 
LYING-IN  HOSPITAL 

Sa4S   MAITIANO  AVE     -    CHICAGO.  III. 


UNDERWEAR 

for  INFANTS 


uC 


Here's  a  new  idea  in  buying  baby's 
shirts  I  Each  E-Z  label  is  marked 
with  the  ueight  of  the  infant  for 
which  it  was  made.  All  you  need  say 
is,  "My  baby  weighs  so-and-so- 
much,"*  and  you  are  assured  of  the 
proper  size  and  fit  for  your  baby. 
E-Z  baby  shirts  come  in  tie-around 
or  pull-over  styles— no  buttons  to 
bother  with.  There  are  E-Z  under- 
wear styles  for  older  children,  too. 

E-Z  Mills.  Inc.  57  Worth  Street.  New  York  13 

•Send  for  booklet  ■"Don't  Let  the  Sosles  Scare  Tou" 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


127 


•BITI  ARY  FOR 
CERMA.W 

(Comlimkii  from  pAtc  6 1 


\  voea  Q«s  faii^  and  fierce  Ifte  those  of 
hiHieiy  aninals;  the  nutd  is  d^tackd 
to  fear,  sbncnng  <imM^»  dnD  apadiy.  and 
die  body  to  fauoeer  Iflce  a  em*»M<e  i3t  in 
the  bowels.  Tbe  hnrfsrapp  bas  dfefeuiwed  io 
explosun  after  explosnn,  ohhtEcatsig  every 
fewniHarsign — gmyiiit>fale.ofasGeneandiiiel- 
andnly  l&e  tbe  wild  volcamc  mouDtains  of 
MiBili'injBiu.  yawning  aatasi,  a  deadness 


bo'ix  be  deligiitedl  at  the  speed  with 
•hkh  open-weave  Cority  Diapeis  dry. 
hey're  vaAj  for  baby  again  almost 
Efore  you  can  believe  ic  And  that's 
nfy  one  <^  five  reasons  why  Cority 
*iapeis  are  ptefeiied  by  moiheis. 

.  Easier  to  wash  —  c re-n  weave 

Ukes.' 

K  Highly  absorbent  —  5  ;--::, 
eave  ir? :  :r  5  ~  :  re  :;     :      ,. 

.  Foldline,  :  . ;..  r..  r  :vin- 
>  -ibric,  makes  it  easy  ::    ^^  _^:  ::  7 

id  to  gro^ir;:  b^bie; 

.  Have  r»o  hems  ::  -..v.-.t  ri-rv  s 
oder  «An>i 

Faster  drying  srer^j   ^.^rr: 
jndering.  ice      r^   : :   ;  _: 

others,  rr;.:.  :_:r.; :  r.ci.  ii^c 
idingtj  :  :  >  U5r  ^..z  endorse 
itity  r     rv:;     r_     C-:.:     Diapers 

yoc:  fi.      :.  r  .:_.-:>    itcre. 

aiDAU.  >^;:_         _.;     ;  MassKcfinseos 


RSEBY    PADS    -    BIBS    •    MASKS    -    COrTON 


>  T-pud  Dreaimgs  at  dn^  stmns 


like  tbe  moan  is  idieie  those  dtis  stood. 
Tbe  severs  qaD  oat  tbeir  Stfa;  the  cats 
streak  tbtou^^i  die  luius.  Ihe  tns^lp  y^juih  is 
decimated,  the  poivenaed  stones  btsry  faon- 
dreife  at  thiwisaiids  of  vmmen  and  cfaiUnen. 
There  is  no  escape  east  or  west,  nottb  or 
south;  tbe  son  B  a  menace,  tbe  moon  a  flarae. 
And  there  b  only  one  imfcistiy,  one  activity, 
one  last  bmrikmuug  Ihhihh  utgauixation: 
tbe  destiojcr  of  human  oijgauiaatian — war. 
Soon  tbe  run-down  wheels,  tbe  shattered 
OOTmmifatinnB,  tiie  empty  tanks  and  the 
great  luuvetgiog  annies  wiD  stop  dot  too. 
Then  die  victors  will  take  over  the  wilder- 
ness.  which  w31  be  Germany's  peace. 

Civilizatians  have  anmfaled  bdbie.  There 
was  (keeoe  with  its  Tories,  and  Rome  with 
itsgrandems.  Bat  never  bdiove  in  the  whole 
of  famnan  bistoiy  has  a  hii^  dvilizatiQn  per- 
ished within  dke  lifetime  of  a  dnld.  desttoy- 
ing  before  it  and  taking  down  widi  it  a  laige 
part  of  that  great  EuiupeaucivSiiationfian 
which  it  fhew  its  own  stiengdi.  to  which  it 
has  and  oouM  have  given  its  own  enugy — if 
it  had  eschewed  war. 

Lookiqnn  its  end  with  awe.  Consider  it 
with  prayer.  Leam  its  fesson. 

Generatians  finm  now.  I  suppose,  persons 
calbng  themselves  Germans  wdl  sdU  live  in 
that  place.  Bat  never  again  will  that  Ger- 
many, which  Lust  for  Power  stal^  on  a 
wantxn  tfaaow  of  dice.  Wrysnm  on  the  old_ 
stalk,  the  ancient  stem.  QtieswiDsonKtime 
be  lefaoilt.  nodoabt.  bat  never  the  cities  of 
stoned  legend,  carrying  in  their  stones  tbe 
leooid  at  a  pnnd  cultme.  Population  wil] 
renew  it?flf,  but  not  with  die  previous  vital- 
ity. Soch  as  are  vigoroiB  may  be  carried  oS 
to  work  at  lefauilffiag  die  lan^  of  others  they 
have  destroyed;  there,  g"*"*^  alien  00m, 
they  wiD  plant  their  seed.  Those  who  can 
escape  to  some  new  world  wiD  seek  to  forget, 
nor  win  they  remind  dieirduhlren  of  Aeir 
ongiiis. 

.And  palia|K,  twmpd  in  iqmn  itself,  in  oon- 

rntrated  seU-esamination,  after  long  and 

vc^getative  g'wliaigta^inn^'^fig*  German  sool  wiQ 

9B^  to  press  out  at  the  gieat  fell  of  thai 

^:^r^d  the  deepest  meaning^  of  Life,  the  roie 

...  and  die  purposes  of  God. 

~  ~-  cannot  favesee,  nor  know. 

^«  know  whether  aD  the  world 

:   e  lesson:  tbe  terrible  lesson  of 

::  dviUzations  in  the  modem 

1  yidd  to  Lust  for  Povrer  and 

._:   :.  >T  ::.r  1   ;;  of  war. 


TELL  THE   MEX 

iCamtimmed  from  Aec  6) 

This  story  could  happen  in  the  .American 
nav>-.  tbe  Britisfa  navy,  and  the  vavy  of  any 
real  democracy,  and  such  stories  do  bajqjen 
in  them  aO  the  time.  They  oould  not  happen 
in  the  navies  fA  Germany  and  Japan. 

In  the  dark  winter  of  V^aOey  Forge,  back 

in  1778.  GesL  Baron  Frederick  William  von 

^  '>ing  arrived  from  Europe  to  voi- 

>::rv-ices.  became  the  driUmaster 

.      .-i.'V  and  restk^  levies  of  the  Coo- 

:     ,:  •.:!]  .Army,  with  the  result  that  be  trans- 

:o  tbe  steadfast  troops  of 

.    Yorktovm.     Baixm    von 

•.  :■.  ...-.f-  .^Lmerica  so  much,  its  freedom. 

-r  settled  here  and  becan>e  an  Amer- 

'---".-  and  he  said,  with  astonishment 

lion,  "Yoii  do  not  order  these 

7    ..  ^'.i  lell  them  the  reason  for  a  thirig. 

rv  doit." 

.^ju  that  is  demociacy:  and  that  is  scme- 

tlung  no  tyrant  can  understand. 


These  PoU-Parrots 

do  everything-  lut  talk  1 


They'll  race  like  the  \vind...or  dawdle  along, 
leap  like  a  frog.  . .  or  splash  like  a  boat. 

They'll  play  with  the  youngsters  . . .  forget 
about  school . . .  but  never  forget  to  protect! 
They'll  fit  like  a  glove  and  wear  like  "iron". . . 
because  of  the  Brand  name  thev  carr\'. 


the  Brand  ^e^^^^' 


Youngsters'  shoes  have  im- 
portant differences  in  vital 
materials  and  construction 
...  but  you  can  V  see  them . . . 
they're  hidden  inside.  So 
choose  a  Brand  you  can 
trust. . .  Poll- Parrot  or  Star 
Brand.  Ever>'  pair  upholds 
a  long  tradition  of  rugged 
wear,  and  comfort  that 
allows  young  feet  to  grow 
strong  and  straight.  That's 
vital  to  foot  health,  now. . . 
and  later  on! 

ROBERTS.  JOHNSON  A    RAND 

ST.  LOUIS.  MO. 
DtvicKMi  c{  lalernational  Shoe  CompanT 


Pol  I -Parrot 


AND 


STAR  BRAND  SHOES 

A/?^  BU/ir-//V  F/r^  3i^s  a*td  tri^  '■' 

-  £F.ARy 


128 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194 


J 


"We  wear  qukk-on  Carter's" 

Sing  a  song  of  Carter's  for  long  and 
happy  wear!  Their  — >■  Nevabind*  un- 
derarms with  JifFon*  seamless  shoulders 
prevent  binding  or  chafing  .  .  .  make 
dressing  quick.  The  soft,  non-irritating 
fabrics  wash  beautifully  .  .  .  keep  their 
shape  . . .  are  more  often  outgrown  than 
outworn.  Of  course,  a  good  brand  name 
like  Carter's  is  your  best  guide  to  qual- 
ity. Stork  through  school-age  styles — 
sold  by  good  stores  everywhere. 


NURSES    ARE    NEEDED 

Enlist  in  the  U.  S.  Army  Nurse  Corps. 
Or  help  in  your  home  hospilciis  to  re- 
lease trained  young  nurses  fur  tnilitary 
duty.  Inquire  at  your  local  lied  Cross. 


A.  Jiffon-Nevabind  gowns.  Open  or 
closed  backs.  Birth  to  1  yr $1.15 

B.  Jiffon-Nevabind  shirts.  Easy-on, 
easy-off.  Birth  to  3  yrs 35f^  to  75(( 

C.  Knitted,  bow-tied  kimonos.  Pink, 
blue,  white.  Birth  to  1  yr $1.15 

D.  Tyke  and  Tyke  Top  training  sets. 
1  to  8  yrs 55f(  to  $1  a  garment. 

E.  Panties  and  vests  for  big  "Sis." 
Sizes  4  to  16 45p  to  $1  each. 

Write  for  Carter's  DRESS  FACTS  booklet— 

The  William  Carter  Company,  Needham 

Heights  94,*Massachusetts. 


'H'- 


JifPon-Nevabinds,   Pleose 


-s-s-t!  .  .  .Carter's  Make  Fine  Underwear  for  all  the  Family! 


^  ^  «  ^ 


faurouM? 

BY   CLIFFORD   R.  ADAMS 

IF  YOU  were  going  to  have  a  baby,  what  would»you  name  it?  Every 
year  the  parents  of  some  three  million  new  babies  in  this  country  face 
that  question.  One  thing  certain  is  that  names  popular  a  generation  ago 
may  not  be  popular  now.  Many  of  the  good  old  names  for  boys,  like 
Homer  and  Horace  or  Cornelius  and  Ulysses,  are  vanishing,  to  be  replaced 
by  names  such  as  Jeffrey  and  Craig  or  Gary  and  Leslie.  Our  grand- 
mothers may  have  been  named  Prudence  and  Purity  or  Abigail  and 
Agatha,  but  their  great-granddaughters  will  be  called  Karen  and  Donna 
or  Carol  and  Sandra.  Many  of  the  once  sturdy  names  are  now  on  their 
way  out.  So  are  the  names  carried  by  comic  characters,  especially 
the  sissy  or  vapid  ones. 

Tlicse  trends  were  indicated  when  four  hundred  juniors  and  seniors 
of  Pennsylvania  State  College  were  asked  to  list  the  names  they  expect 
to  give  their  children,  as  well  as  the  ones  they  would  not  give  them. 
Both  boys  and  girls  felt  that  a  mother's  wishes  should  carry  more  weight 
than  a  father's;  however,  they  were  agreed  that  a  father's  wishes  should 
have  a  little  more  wcught  if  the  child  was  a  boy.  The  names  they  most 
liked  and  disliked  are  shown  in  order  of  choice. 


•/" 


S5» 


Craig 

Stephen 

James 

Hichartl 

Keith 

.Jeffrey 

Bruce 

Miehael 

Kenneth 

Lawrence 

Alan 

Terry 

Leslie 

Peter 

Paul 

Ronald 

William 

David 

Douglas 

Robert 

Gregorv 

John 

Clifford' 

Mark 

Gary 

17    ^i^ 

h-U 

n 

V*        Pereival 

Ebenez.er 

Casper 

Oscar 

•Felix 

Algernon 

Ethelbert 

Archibald 

Hiram 

Horace 

Francis 

Oswald 

Wilbur 

Homer 

Mortimer 

Kzekiel 

Clarence 

Elmer 

Adolph 

Isadora 

L'lysses 

Ezra 

Isaac 

Aloysius 

Cornelius 

^0 


.UKEP 


Gl^^ 


lU^^«> 


*•• 

Susan 

A> 

r 

Tillie 

Karen 

Janet 

^o'' 

Hepzibah 

Anastasia 

Dianne 

Ellen 

^ 

Mehitabel 

Olive 

Linda 

Pamela 

Zenobia 

Hortensc 

Donna 

Jacqueline 

Minerva 

Purity 

Suzanne 

Kathleen 

Matilda 

Pansy 

Sandra 

Margot 

Mamie 

Agatha 

Joanne 

Marianne 

Abigail 

Petunia 

Lynne    ~ 

Katherine 

Lula 

Beulah 

Carol 

Constance 

Gussie 

Alvira 

Barbara 

Marcia 

Melvina 

Esmeralda 

Gail 

Marilyn 

Eula 

Bridget 

Nancy 

Elizabeth 

Fanny 

Prudence 

I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


J^  looking  f^^ 

f  j(Pl  .member 


v^^*^e«^«' 


,-f, . 


Whether  it's  dress  shields,  baby  pants,  hospital  sheeting,  sani-scants,* 

or  shower  curtains— Mjfcenerer  you  need  "dependable  waterproof  protection"— it  will  pay 
you  to  insist  on  Kleinert's.  Even  today,  when  variety  and  quantities  are  very  limited, 

Kleinert's  products  are  being  made  with  meticulous  care  to  insure  your  satisfaction. 


."^ 


> 


/ 


130 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


,^,  ^^  feet  i 


'^^ 


This  is  a  lamb.  Its  fleece  is 
finest  wool.  It  likes  young 
tender  grass,  pink  woolly  clouds, 
flowers  —  especially  pink  ones 
—  and  babies.  All  babies.  Its 
biggest  ambition  in  life  is  to 
grow  finer  and  finer  wool,  to 
make  more  and  more  Vanta 
garments  for  the  very  best  babies. 


■<•• 


YES,  a  lot  goes  on  between  lamb  and  layette  . . .  and 
that's  our  department.  To  achieve  fine  smooth  tex- 
ture  and  perfecfelasticity  we  knit  our  garments  ourselves, 
just  as  we  dye  them  ourselves,  to  insure  a  perfect  match. 
That  way  we  make  sure  the  finest  wools,  cottons  and 
rayons  are  used  each  in  the  best  way  ...  in  garments 
scientifically  designed  and  carefully  made.  We've  been 
winning  recognition  from  baby  specialists  for  over  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  Because  we  like  babies  too! 


lm& 


GARMENTS 


FOR  INFANTS  &  CHILDREN 


And  this  is  a  baby.  Its  skin 
is  pink  and  soft  atid  its 
fingers  and  toes  curl  cJiub- 
bily.  It  likes  its  mother,  and 
toys,  and  the  comfortable 
softness  of  its  Vanta  shirts 
and  bands  and  Knities.  It 
likes  to  eat  and  learn  and 
grow.  And  it  thinks  life  is 
just  wonderful! 


PASSING  THE  LOVE  OF  WOMEIV 

(Continued  from  Page  28) 


In  the  Gurkha  lines  they  greeted  her  with 
cries  of  admiration.  The  Httle  brown  men 
squatted  round  her,  now  and  again  putting 
out  a  brown  finger  to  touch  her  lily-white 
wing.  Looking  completely  at  home,  the 
goose  squatted  down  among  them.  She 
might  have  been  born  and  bred  in  the  regi- 
ment, for  all  she  cared. 

It  did  not  appear  to  be  difficult  to  feed  her. 
She  ate  anything  and  everything;  and  when 
there  was  no  organized  meal  around,  she 
amused  herself  cropping  the  short  stiff  grass 
that  grew  here  and  there  in  patches. 

The  little  brown  men  from  Nepal  put 
their  heads  together,  scheming.  They  fixed 
her  a  box  inside  a  lorry  that  was  driven  by 
one  of  them.  A  tarpaulin  was  rigged  up  that 
could  be  drawn  across,  if  the  colonel  was 
around.  One  and  all  they  decided  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  with  the  captain;  and 
the  major,  being  dead,  could  no  longer  pry. 
Captain  Peter  was  young — so  young  that  it 
wasn't  long  since  he  himself  had  kept  things 
in  boxes.  Captain  Peter  could  be  relied  on 
never  by  any  chance  to  see  what  it  was  hoped 
he  would  not  see.  For  he  remembered  how 
his  headmaster  had  never  come  round  the 
studies  without  coughing.  But  the  colonel 
was  old  and  embittered  with  much  cam- 
paigning. If  he  ever  had  kept  pets,  it  was 
long  ago. 

In  due  course  Ishnow  White  laid  an  egg. 
And  the  naik  carried  it  to  the  sentry  in  his 
hat.  "You  tell  Nobby  sahib,  leave  my 
goose — I  bring  more  egg,"  he  promised. 

After  that,  the  sentry  would  tip  them  a 
wink  if  rations  were  scarce  and  the  cooks 
marauding.  Then  Ishnow  White  would  be  se- 
cured in  the  lorry,  while  on  the  back  of  it, 
cleaning  his  equipment,  would  sit  one  of  the 
six  Gurkhas  from  the  same  village  in  Nepal. 
Bland,  his  dark  face  split  by  a  white  grin. 
His  kukri   beside  him.   The  Gurkha  is  a 


friendly,  childlike  soul,  but  horrible  when 
roused.  * 

Life  had  been  empty  and  comfortless  in 
the  unfamiliar  world  in  which  the  naik  had 
found  himself.  He  was  a  hillman.  He  hated 
the  flat  drab  plain.  But  now  he  and  his  five 
companions  were  happy.  They  had  some- 
thing to  love  and  protect.  They  would  sit  in 
the  sun — when  there  was  any  sun — polishing 
up  their  equipment,  sharpening  their  kukris. 
And  with  them  Ishnow  White  would  squat. 
one  of  them,  polishing  up  hers.  She  had  a 
charming  way  of  polishing  the  back  of  her 
head  between  her  wings  that  never  failed  to 
bring  cries  of  admiration  from  her  compan- 
ions. 

It  was  the  wettest  spring  in  the  memory 
of  man.   It  rained  without  ceasing.   Ishnow  • 
White  would  swim  placidly  about,  in  the 
shell  holes  that  so  soon  filled  with  water,  afid 
at  intervals  she  laid  an  outsized  egg. 

The  regiment  moved  to  Burma  in  the  cold 
weather.  Ishnow  White  went  too,  secreted  in 
the  back  of  one  of  the  lorries.  The  six 
Gurkhas  took  it  in  turn  to  visit  her  and  feed 
her,  and  squatted  on  deck  rigging  up  a  spe- 
cial kind  of  Mae  West  for  her,  just  in  case. 

The  rains  were  drying  up  when  they 
landed.  The  paddy  fields  looked  like  sheets 
of  corrugated  cardboard.  Even  the  rivers 
were  beginning  to  shrink. 

The  war  in  Italy  had  been  a  childish  game, 
compared  with  what  they  ran  into  now.  The 
Zeros  zoomed  over.  Guns  from  concealed 
posts  opened  up  on  them  in  the  dark.  Today 
there  would  be  a  fresh  gun  post  where  yes- 
terday none  had  been.  Japane?  snipers, 
painted  green,  hung  in  the  trees,  or  dropped 
out,  picked  off  by  some  skilled  shot — like 
caterpillars  falling  from  the  boughs. 

Going  round  the  camp  after  dark,  at  the 
end  of  an  air  raid,  the  colonel  fell  over  some- 
thing large  and  soft  and  white,  that  bit  him. 


STRAIGHT^OM   THE  SHOULDER 

^^^^       D/IC/C  TALK 


Baby's  back  really  benefits  from 

KANTWET'S  new  Firmbak*  high  chair 

'/"T*^         pad.  Its  vertical  quilting  provides 

firm,  straight  support  .  .  .  and  its 

^^r\  cushiony  soft  seat  gives  up- 

in-the-clouds  comfort. 

Firmbak,  like  every  KANTWET 

pad,  has  a  satiny-smooth, 

easy-to-clean  wetproof  covering. 

When  shopping,  lool:  for  this 

better  KAN'^i^^acl. 


II  you  are  going  to  have  a  baby,  send  10  cents  for  Vanta's  famous  book,  "Baby's  Oufflf",  80 
pages  of  up-to-date  help  for  expectant  mottiers.  Address:  Earnshaw  Knitting  Company,  Depf.  1-5, 
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/  ^  ^l^^f  TRAVELS  BEST 
/  IN  A  CUDDLE-NEST'^* 

\\    Thij,  dainty    combination    coverlet-pad- 
•v,    an^^How  of  quilted  rayon  satin  with 
wetproof  lining  keeps  baby  cozy  and  out 
of  drafts.  Perfect  for  carriage  or  carry- 
ing, indoors  or  out.  A  lovely  gift. 

To  avoid  substitutes,  look  for  the  Kantivet  lal>el 
ROSE-DERRY  CO.,  Newton  58,  Mass. 


vv 


.^^^^ 


CRIB   MATTRESSES  •   CUDDLE-NEST  •  NURSERY   FURNITURE   PADS 


•Trade  Mark  Registered 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


131 


'eter,"  he  yelled,  "come  here.  Bring  a 
ch." 

Zaptain  Peter  peered  through  the  gloom, 
ooks  like  a  goose,  sir,"  he  said  innocently. 
'A  goose !  How  the  blazes  did  it  get  here  ?  " 
'I  expect  it — sort  of— came  along,  sir." 
'Well,  see  it's  removed.  We  don't  want  a 
myard  accumulating.  Send  it  along  to 
;  cookhouse.  They'll  be  glad  of  it.  We 
in't  get  many  convoys  through  for  a  bit." 
\t  the  word  "cookhouse,"  a  sort  of  gasp 
sigh  went  round.  It  told  Captain  Peter 
Gurkhas  were  present.  In  the  darkness 
could  never  find  his  men,  unless  they 
iled.  He  called,  softly: 
'Hi,  naik!  You  there?  Take  your  con- 
mded  bird,  and  keep  it  out  of  my  sight, 
lerwise  you  heard  what  the  colonel  said." 
Vfter  that  Ishnow  White  was  not  allowed 
join  the  troops  in  the  open  until  the 
onel  was  reported  in  his  bath,  or  in  bed, 
safe  out  of  the  way.  An  inveterate  bather, 
3  the  colonel.  He  carried  a  small  tin  tub 
h  him  everywhere,  and  by  hook  or  crook 

body  servant  managed  to  get  it  filled, 
ce  in  his  bath,  he  could  be  relied  on  to  re- 
in there  for  some  time,  though  it  fitted 
person  like  a  glove. 

rhen  the  naik  would  let  down  the  duck- 
ird  of  the  lorry  and  give  the  familiar  low 
sing  whistle,  and  Ishnow  White  would  hop 
vn  and  squat  with  the  rest  of  them,  round 
wood  smCke  made  to  keep  the  mosquitoes 

She  always  looked  immensely  engrossed 
1  intelligent  when  they  sang  the  strange 
ttalgic  chants  of  their  own  land.  But  try 
they  would,  they  never  managed  to  teach 

to  say  anything. 


Ihe  Full  Moon  of  Tabaung  rose,  like  a 
golden  tea  plate  among  the  stars.  Now  even 
what  had  once  been  a  river  was  shrunk  to  a 
trickle  of  green  sludge.  Ishnow  White  be- 
came suddenly  restless.  The  naik  knew  noth- 
ing at  all  of  the  habits  of  geese.  They  bred 
none  in  his  country.  Food  was  scarce,  for 
they  were  sometimes  cut  off  for  weeks.  Wa- 
ter was  desperately  scarce,  but  the  Gurkhas 
shared  their  meager  ration  with  Ishnow 
White,  served  up  in  a  cigarette  tin.  When  she 
knocked  it  over,  they  thought  it  meant  she 
was  not  thirsty.  How  could  they  know,  who 
did  not  understand  geese,  that  she  was  trying 
in  vain  to  sit  in  it?  They  thought  her  merely 
lavish  and  wasteful,  and  gave  her  rather  less. 

Now  one  afternoon  the  colonel  came  in, 
hot  and  cross.  All  the  way  back  down  the 
dusty  road  he  had  dreamed  of  his  bath. 
Water,  translucent,  if  lukewarm,  awaited 
him  in  his  tin  tub.  It  had  just  been  refilled 
from  the  radiator  of  a  derelict  lorry. 

In  his  tent  he  cast  off  his  clothing,  and 
donned  a  towel.  It  was  only  then  that  sub- 
dued splashings  told  him  someone  was  there 
before  him.  He  burst  into  the  bath  tent,  and 
stopped  short.  He  had  long  suspected  one  of 
the  subalterns  of  surreptitious  bathing  when 
his  back  was  turned,  but  he  was  wrong.  In 
his  bath  sat  a  large,  bland,  white  goose. 

The  colonel's  roars  of  rage  brought  people 
running,  and  foremost  among  them  was 
Captain  Peter,  who  had  been  fast  asleep  and 
dreamed  someone  had  sat  on  a  cobra. 

"Look  at  this!"  roared  the  colonel.  "This 
is  the  second  time.  Where  does  this  con- 
founded bird  come  from?  Peter,  this  has 
got  something  to  do  with  you!" 


ANEW  baby  coining  to  your  house?  Or  perhaps 
1.  next  door?  Knit  him  a  cap,  or  a  whole  carriage 
set.  Or,  if  knitting  is  not  your  forte,  make  him  a 
stuffed  animal.  Journal  patterns  for  knitted  wear 
iand  toys  are  listed  below.  Choose  those  best  suited 
jto  your  talents  and  welcome  the  newcomer. 


OURNAL     REFERENCE     LIRRARY 

\use  oj  ihe  uncertainties  of  wartime  transportation,  booklets  may  be  late  arriving  at  destination.    J f  your  order 
not  reach  you  on  time,  please  do  not  write  complaining  of  delay.  The  delay  is  caused  by  conditions,  arising 
after  your  order  has  left  Philadelphia,  beyond  our  control. 

KNIT  FOn  THE  BABY 


RIAGE  Set:  2066. 

45.  Knitted  Sweater.  Crew  neck,  long  sleeves, 
buttons  up  front.  Sizes  6  months,  1  and  2 
years.   Sc.  1906. 

46.  Leggings  With  Feet.   5c. 

47.  Helmet  and  Mittens.   5c.  1505. 
.  Infant's    Set    to    Knit.     Sack,    cap,    longer 

bootees,  thumbless  mittens.    5c.  2065. 

.  Outdoor  Set  for  Infants.   Knitted.   Double- 
breasted  sweater,  helmet  cap,  long  leggings      1908. 

with  feet.   Size  1  year.   5c. 
Cap,  Sweater  and  Carriage  Robe.  Crocheted 

of  heavy  yarn.    For  infants  only.    10c.  1907^ 

Cardigan  Sweater.   Knitted  in  raised  pattern 

to  give  checked  effect.   Sizes  6  months,  1  and       1912. 

2  years.    5c.  2144. 

.  Striped  Cardigan.    Knitted.   Size  1  year.   5c. 
Slip-On    Sweater.      Knitted    in    stockinette      1915. 

stitch  with  a  decorative  yoke.    Flower  em- 

•broidered.   Size  1  year.   5c. 
Double-Breasted  Infant's  Sweater.  A  per-      1506. 

feet  gift  for  the  new  baby.   5c. 


Infant's    Surplice    Sweater.     Knitted    in 

stockinette    stitch    with    a    narrow    border. 

Sizes  6  months  and  1  year.   5c. 
Sack-and-Bonnet  Set.   Knitted  in  stockinette 

stitch  with  a  border  design.   Size  1  i'car.   5c. 
Sack  and  Bonnet.    Knitted  in  a  fancy  stitch. 

Infant's  size  only.   5c. 
Sun  Suit  and  Matching  Coat.   Knit  this  in  a 

soft  white  cotton  yarn.   Size  1  year.   5c. 
Slip-Over    Romper.     Knitted    in    stockinette 

stitch  with  buttons  on  the  shoulder  and  snaps 

at  the  crotch.    Sizes  I'/i  to  2  years.    5c. 
Tie-Sack  and  Bootees.   Knitted  in  stockinette 

stitch  with  a  border  design.   Size  1  year.   5c. 
Knitted  Soakers  for  B.^bies.   5c. 
Carriage  Roue.   Knitted  in  the  same  checked 

design  as  sweater  2143.    5c. 
Carriage  Robe.  Jiffy-knit,  satin-ribbon  bound. 

The  original  was  knitted  of  a  pink,  blue  and 

white  variegated  yarn.    5c. 
Carriage  Cover.    Knitted  in  a  lacy  design. 

Can  also  be  used  for  crib.   5c. 


YOU  CAIV  MAKE  A  TOY 


Jerry  the  Giraffe.    Make  this  long-necked 

animal  of  polka-dot  fabric  or  oilcloth.    Sc. 
Loopy  the   Lion.     Fierce  and   funny   with  a 

bushy  mane  of  looped  yarn.    5c. 
Elue  the  Elephant.    An  appealing  animal 

with  large  ears  and  a  curly  trunk.   5c. 
Tommy  the  Tiger.    Use  a  striped  material  to 

make  this  ferocious  animal.   5c. 
Jack  and  Judy.    Rag-doll  twins.   Sc. 
HuMPTY  Dumpty.  a  fine  fat  fellow  who  can 

stand  a  lot  of  tumbles.   5c. 


2120.  Mother  Kangaroo  and  Twins.  The  babies 

can  be  stowed  in  mother's  pouch.    5c. 
2071.  Toy  Pattern  Sheetj    Contains  patterns  for 

calico  baby  blocks;  felt  .squirrel;  6  bean-bag 

Service  dolls;  dress  for  a  small  peasant  doll; 

stuffed  toy  giraffe  and  a  bib  to  match.    10c. 
1905.  Salvage  Sam  and  Sally.  Twin  rag  dolls  with 

clothes.  About  IS"  liigh.    10c. 
1840.  Scrappy;  A  cowboy  doll  witlj  two  faces — one 

smiling,    one    scowling.     Stands    30"    higli. 

Make  him  of  scraps.    10c. 


FREE  LISTS  OF  BOOKLETS  AN»  PATTEBIVS 


List  of  Departmental  Booklets.  About  the 
home,  the  garden,  child  care  and  training, 
beauty,  entertaining. 
.  Sub-Deb  Booklet  Library.    Booklets  about 
■    everything  a  Sub-Deb  does  and  dreams  of. 
List  of  Journal  Handicraft  Patterns.  Use- 
ful and   beautiful   things   to  make   for  your 
home,  your  garden,  your  children  and  your- 
self. 


1660.  List  of  Journal  Hat  and  Bag  Patterns. 
Turbans,  berets,  halos,  pillboxes.  Make  them 
of  fabric,  knit  them,  crochet  them.  Patterns, 
too,  for  a  variety  of  bags. 

1571.  Check  List  of  Patterns  for  Journal  Knitted 
AND  Crocheted  Articles. 

2076.  Things  to  Wear.  A  liandy  pocket  guide  to 
Journal  patterns  for  gloves,  aprons,  neck- 
wear— accessories  galore  I 

Ttiilt  gladly  send  any  of  these  booklets  if  you'll  order  by  name  and  number.  They  will  be  mailed  anywhere  in  Ihe 
'■  ed  States  and  Canada  upon  receipt  of  stamps,  cash,  check  or  money  order.  Do  not  send  stamped,  addressed  en- 
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'I  post  office.   Please  address  all  requests  to  the  Reference  Library,  Ladies'  Home  Journal.  Philadelphia  5,  Penna. 


The  Reception  Committee— 


(KNOW  ANYBODY  HERE?) 


The  Greeter.  He's  a  one-man  brass 
band  when  it  comes  to  welcoming  a  vet- 
eran. '"Nothin9.'s  too  good  for  Our  Boys!" 
he  always  says.  And  that's  exactly  what 
he  gives  them.  Nothing,  except  a  big  hello 
and  empty  words.  Help?  That's  the  Gov- 
ernment's job. '"Don't  vets  have  bonuses?" 
he  asks,  "Pensions?  Job  agencies?" 


The  Patriot.  He's  practically  win- 
ning the  war  single-handed.  Always 
talking  about  all  the  things  he  goes 
without.  Mentions  the  War  Bonds  he 
buys  as  though  he  were  doing  the  Gov- 
ernment a  favor.  This  makes  veterans 
(who've  been  buying  plenty  of  Bonds 
themselves)  wonder  whether  we  had 
the  right  people  in  foxholes. 


The  Bloodhound.  "It's  OK. 
Sailor,  you  won't  shock  me!"  This 
shock-proof  stalwart  is  after  the 
details.  How  does  it  feel  to  be 
bombed?  Ever  knife  a  Jap?  The 
War's  just  one  big  adventure  to  him. 
But  it  hasn't  been  for  the  sailor. 
He  wants  to  forget  li  —  fast.  Not 
talk  about  it. 


The  Rock.  He's  nervt-less.  The 
Iron  Man.  War  hasn't  affected  liim. 
Can't  understand  why  discharged 
veterans  are  allowed  90  days  to  re- 
lax before  going  back  to  their  old 
jobs.  Can't  understand  why  they 
should  need  time  to  get  over  the 
War.  He  doesn't. 


Prepared  by  the  War  Advertising  Council, 
Inc.,  in  Cooperation  wiik  the  Ofjui'  of  IVar  In- 
formation and  the  Retraining  and  Reemploy- 
ment Administration. 


Blue  Ribbon  Citizen.  Like  all  good 
people,  siie  asks  no  (luestions,  weeps  no 
tears,  doesn't  stare  at  disabilities.  To  her,  a 
returned  veteran  is  an  abler,  more  aggres- 
sive and  resourceful  citi/en  than  the  boy 
who  went  away.  She's  proud  of  him,  proud  to 
know  him.  Anxious  to  be  of  real  help  to  him. 
She's  the  kind  of  person  we  should  all  be. 


PUBLISHED  IN  COOPERATION  WITH  THE  DRUG,   COSMETIC  AND  ALLIED   INDUSTRIES  BY 

GLhV-MMI^  castoria 

The  laxative  made  especially  for  children 


132 


LADIES'  601ME  JOURNAL 


In  Actual  Tests 


DUTCH  CLEANSER 
CLEANED  34  MORE  DATHTURS 

per  can  than  any  other  leading  cleanser* 


Old  dutch 

.       CLEANSER 

>^    W.TM    SI. SMOf'V 


Cleans  fast... Yet  contains  no  scratchy  grit 

If  you  have  a  little  busybody  in  your  home,  you'U 
be  especially  thankful,  too,  for  this  quick  cleanser 
that  goes  so  far  and  cleans  so  fast! 

'Actually  Old  Dutch  went  farther  than  any 
other  cleanser  in  recent  tests!  Outperformed  all 
the  cleansers  in  the  U.  S.  and  Canada  which  ac- 
count for  over  90%  of  the  cleanser  sold!  In  tests 
on  bathtubs  in  daily  use  cleaned  34  more  bath- 
tubs per  can  than  any  other  cleanser  tested! 

And  here's  why.  Today's  Old  Dutch  cuts  grease 
with  a  fast  grease  dissolver  and  removes  dirt  with 
famous  Seismotite — does  both — easily — quickly 
— without  scratching.  For  tubs,  washbowls,  sinks, 
pans,  tile,  linoleum  .  .  .  for  all  your  cleaning  .  .  . 
switch  to  America's  favorite  cleanser!  Get  2  cans 
of  Old  Dutch  Cleanser  today! 


'^O.  p.  CO 


Tune  in  laughable,  lovable 
•TEN A  AND  TIM"  .  .  Coast- 
lo-Coast  CBS  network  .  .  . 
every  weekday  11:45  A.M. 
Check  your  local  paper  for 
lime  and  station. 


Guaranteed  by^^ 
Good  Housekeeping  j 

^  W  MriOnf  0«        ^ 


GET  THE  CLEANSER  USED  BY  MORE  WOMEN  THAN  ANY  OTHER 


"Yes,  sir.  I'm  sorry,  sir.  I'm  afraid  it  be- 
longs to  some  of  my  chaps,  sir.  but  they  are 

so  attached  to  it  I  hadn't  the  heart " 

He  coughed  discreetly.  "I'm  sorry  about 
your  bath,  sir.    I'll— I'll  see  it's  refilled." 

"How?"  said  the  colonel  unkindly.  "Do 
you  think  you  are  Moses?  Here,  take  this 
bird  away,  and  if  I  can't  trust  you  to  see 
its  neck  is  wrung,  I'll  do  it  myself  next  time 
I  see  the  thing  about." 

Captain  Peter  said  faintly,  "Yes.  sir." 
He  picked  Ishnow  White  up.   She  was  soft     The  naik  had  been  out  all  day,  and  th( 
and  damp,  and  her  fluffiness  touched  his     best  part  of  the  night.   His  eyes  were  blood 


May,  194 

It  was  nothing  much  of  a  wound.  Bad 
in  his  own  country,  he  would  have  clappe< 
a  handful  of  mud  onto  it  quite  simply,  anc 
left  it.  But  he  had  to  go  along  to  the  dressini 
tent,  and  wait  there  till  the  worse  case 
had  attention.  The  tea-plate  ^moon  lia( 
rolled  up  clear  of  the  palm  trees  before  hi 
got  back  to  his  own  lines. 

Hubbub  reigned  there.  Ishnow  White  ha( 
disappeared. 


heart  with  dear  memories  of  bygone  loves 
of  his  own:  his  guillemot  and — still  longer 
ago — a  dear  little  owl  he  had  found  blown 
down  by  a  gale,  and  kept  in  a  box.  "Trou- 
ble is,  sir,  my  chaps  look  on  her  as  a  kind  of 
mascot,  you  know.  They  call  her — ahem— 
Ishnow  White.  It  will  upset  them  if  she  is 
taken  away." 

The  colonel  looked  at  Captain  Peter,  who 
stood  there  looking  tenderly  at  the  goose. 
Maybe  some  memory  stirred  in  the  colonel's 
hirsute  bosom,  for  his  voice  was  less  harsh. 
"Mistake  to  let  them  have  pets.  Great  mis- 
take. On  active  service,  it's  best  not  to  get 
attached  to  anyone,  or  anything.  Otherwise, 
there's  an  accident  and  you  have  men  going 
to  pieces." 

Captain  Peter  said,  "Yes,  sir,"  and  went 
miserably  away.   He  was  fond  of  the  naik 
and  his  five  friends  from  the  same  village. 
He    knew    quite    well 
he  wouldn't  have  the 
courage   to  tell   them 
Ishnow  White  must  die. 
He  handed  her  over  to 
the  naik, saying,"Don't 
let    me    ever  see    her 
again.    She  was  found 
in  the  colonel's  bath. 
You  know  what  that 
means." 

After  that  the  naik 
got  a  piece  of  stout 
rope.  He  got  one  of 
the  mechanics  to  weld 
him  a  ring  for  Ishnow 
White's  leg.  When  they 
went  out  to  action,  or 
on  patrol,  they  felt  she 
was  tied  up  securely. 
It  was  the  only  way 
they  could  have  any 
peace  of  mind.  For  now 
they  were  often  cut 
off  for  days  at  a  time, 
and  food  was  scarce, 
nosed  around. 

The  naik  had  a  flat  stone  he  carried 
around  with  him.  and  used  to  put  an  edge  on 
his  kukri.  A  razor-blade  edge,  which  he 
used  to  test  thoughtfully  with  his  thumb. 
He  had  a  respect  for  the  white  men's  weap- 
ons. They  were  cunning,  and  required  skill. 
But  in  a  last  resort  it  was  his  kukri  he 
trusted.  You  shot  at  a  man — he  maybe  shot 
back  at  you.  But  the  naik  had  never  yet 
known  an  enemy  who,  receiving  that  upper- 
cut,  with  the  wrist's  swift  flick,  had  ever 
had  anything  more  to  say  at  all. 

On  a  hot  April  morning,  when  without 
any  warning  whatever  all  the  trees  in  the 
jungle  about  them  were  covered  with  cloth 
of  gold,  and  the  scented  air  was  almost  too 
solid  to  breathe,  the  reconnaissance  party 
came  tumbling  in  to  tell  them  the  road  to 
their  base  had  been  breached  once  more,  and 
an  artful  gun  post  erected,  somewhere  up  on 
a  hillside  in  the  jungle,  that  kept  it  covered. 
All  one  breathless  day  they  sought  it.  in 
small  parties,  eeling  themselves  through  the 
undergrowtli,  listening.  And  green  snipers 
picked  off  many  good  men  and  true,  and 
then  fired  on  the  stretchers  that  endeavored 
to  bear  them  in. 

Ihe  naik  was  out  from  dawn  to  dusk 
with  the  men  from  his  own  village.  The 
green  parrots  screeched  their  warnings — for 
they  had  located  the  gun  post.  But  they 
could  not  tell  the  little  brown  men  in  the 
grass  where  it  was.  When  the  sky  behind 
the  tamarisks  turned  saffron  yellow,  the 
tired  men  turned  for  home.  And  a  Japanese 
sniper  got  the  naik  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his 
thigh. 


TALE  FEATHERS* 

^  A    woman    went    to   a    priest,    to 
^  confe.s.s  her  sins. 

"Father.""  she  said.  "I  have  spread 
ahroad  tales  al>oiit  my  neighbors.  I 
wish  that  I  had  never  said  them. 
)S  hat  penanee  shall  I  do?" 

"do  to  the  market.""  direeted  the 
priest.  "Buy  two  fowls,  and  as  you 
slowly  w  alk  home  plurk  the  feathers 
and  let  them  fly  in  the  wind.  Then 
eonie  baek  to  me."" 

In  due  eourse  the  woman  re- 
turned. "I  plucked  the  feathers." 
said  she.  "and  threw  them  to  the 
wind.  Is  there  anything  else  I  must 
do?"" 

"Yes."  said  the  priest  sadly.  "Go 
baek — and  gather  up  all  the  feathers 
that  you  threw  to  the  wind." 

—SIDNEY  F.  WICKS:  Stories  for  Speakers. 
(F.  Muller,  Ud.) 


and  the  mess  cook 


shot,  his  brown  face  fallen  in.  so  that  hi 
teeth  were  exposed  in  a  grin  that  had  nothini 
friendly  about  it.  Barefoot,  without  his  shirt 
he  picked  up  his  kukri,  and  arrived  at  thu. 
cookhouse  in  the  British  lines,  running 

Tired  men  sat  there  patiently  awaitiiij' 
a  brew-up.  They  were  unarmed,  and  weari 
ing  only  their  shorts,  when  the  naik  burs 
upon  them. 

The  English  sentry  who  was  his  frieni 
was  among  them.    He  sat  there  chewing 
grass.    He   said,   without   moving,    "Hey 
what's  bitten  you?" 

"My  goose,"  crowed  the  naik  hoarsely 
'  ■  My  goose — gone. 

"Nobby!"  called  the  sentry,  raising  hi 
voice.  "You  seen  this  bloke's  goose?" 

Nobby  came  out,  perspiring,  carrying 
jug  of  tea.  He  went  round  pouring  it  int 
the  billy  cans.  He  did  not  altogether  like  th 
look  of  the  little  browi 
man  brandishing  th' 
long  bright  knife.  H 
knew  about  Gurkha; 
who  are  friendly  an 
kind  of  heart,  but  tei 
rible  if  roused. 

"You  go  right 
and  look.  There's  n 
goose  there.  Not  a 
much  as  a  feather.  I' 
tell  you  something  now 
I'll  tell  you  just  wher 
it's  gone.  To  look  fo 
water,  see?  A  goos 
can  live  without  fooc 
and  without  love,  lik 
the  rest  of  us.  See 
But  it  can't  live  with 
out  water.  I  used  t 
be  a  farmer  once.  See 
I  know." 
The  naik  stood  hes 

fating,  as  if  not  certai 

whether  Nobby  wa 
to  be  believed  or  not.  .^nd  as  he  stoo 
there,  faint  and  far  off  through  the  jungi 
silence  there  came  a  cry.  A  loud,  unmis 
takable  strident  cry,  of  a  goose  in  extremi 
A  goose  up  against  it,  and  finding  life  ui 
bearably  hard. 

The  naik  stood  for  a  moment  transfixet 
Then  he  turned  with  an  answering  cry  an 
disappeared,  running  barefoot  through  tl 
night. 

"Coo,"  said  the  cook,  shocked.  "Can  yc 
beat  it !  Went  off  without  his  rifle  and  wit) 
out  his  boots.  That's  the  end  of  him,  and 
real  nice  little  fellah  too.  You'd  'a'  best  Ii 
me  take  her  long  since  like  I  wanted.  Mai 
a  good  meal  for  us  all,  she  would,  and  sou 
to  foUer. 

"And  you'd"  'a'  had  six  of  them  kukri 
in  your  inside,  before  you'd  a  chance  to  thin 
again."  said  the  sentry. 

"She  went  looking  for  water,  and  som 
thing  got  her."  mused  the  cook.  "A  snak 
maybe,  or  a  Jap.  Coo ! " 


The  naik  heard  her  at  intervals.  51 
guided  him  in  the  right  direction.  He  ra 
noiselessly  through  the  night,  a  part  of  I 
save  when  the  blade  of  his  bared  kuk 
caught  the  moonlight. 

Some  little  time  previously  one  of  tl 
Japanese  snipers,  dropping  from  his  tn 
after  watching  the  last  of  the  stretchers  di 
appear  down  the  track,  almost  trod  on 
stout  white  goose  that  was  purposeful 
making  her  way  west-sou'west.  as  if  on  u 
gent  private  affairs.  He  would  have  shot  he 
only  he  feared  that  his  shot  might  give  tl 
position  of  the  well-hidden  gun  post  aws 
So,  instead,  he  threw  himself  on  her,  a| 
{Continued  on  Page  134) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


L>howers  and  cooler 


nerican  kids  are  like  that.  Comes  hot  weather, 
".y'll  roll  on  the  lawn  under  the  hose  or  leap 
looping  into  ponds  and  pools  to  keep  cool.  And 
^ines  are  just  like  people,  that  way.  Keep  'em 
>/,  and  they'll  he  more  vigorous  and  energetic, 
tai's  why  General  Motors  creates  good  weather 
■  them  to  work  in,  right  inside  them.  Mere's 
?  story: 

-\ 

Lhe    minute    an    engine    starts,    a   cooling 

item  must  start  right  with  it. 

le  temperature  has  to  be  brought  to  the 
int  where  the  engine  operates  best,  and  kept 
;re. 

lat's  why  General  Motors  engineers,  always 


working  to  make  more  and  better  things  for 
more  people,  studied  and  tested  radiators  and 
cooling  systems  for  so  many  years. 

They  devised  radiators,  oil  coolers  and  air 
coolers  for  all  kinds  of  engines.  Your  own 
General  Motors  car  benefited  enormously  from 
their  research  —  at  the  same  time  they  were 
finding  out  how  to  liquid-cool  a  2000-horse- 
power  airplane  motor  before  it  was  even  built. 


Xhen   came   a   war  of  machines 
against  engine. 


engine 


And  the  cooling  systems  General  Motors  men 
had  developed  met  the  test  fairly.  They  helped 
those  LST's  and  LCI's  to  swarm  up  to 
the  beaches  on  D-Day.  They  helped  to 


keep  subs  cool  and  livable.  They  helped  to 
keep  airplane  engines  singing  their  long  song. 
This  very  minute,  our  fighting  men,  earnest 
and  intent^  are  bent  over  the  gauges  and 
indicators  that  tell  of  tip  top  weather  inside 
their  engines. 

Here  again,  peacetime  experience  and  re- 
search helped  turn  the  tide  of  war.  The 
American  w^ay  of  throwing  open  the  doors  of 
opportunity  to  men  of  enterprise  once  more 
proved  its  value. 

And  in  the  fertile,  productive  years  ahead  it 
will  make,  in  even  greater  measure,  its  contri- 
bution to  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  all. 


General  Motors 

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134 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


(^ 


A  tlien  Goldilocks  sai^ 

■  'u*^5  led  is  just  n^ht!  ^ 


^r  >>^— _3^'0  YOU  KNOW  WHY  Goldilocks  thought  the  little 
bear's  bed  was  the  one  that  was  "just  right"  for  a  good  night's 
sleep?  We  like  to  think  that  it  must  have  had  springs  of  Premier 
Wire  and  that  Goldilocks,  being  a  smart  little  girl,  knew  that  "the 
softest  thing  you  can  sleep  on  is  steel." 

Surveys  show  that  the  majority  of  people  prefer  "inner- 
spring  comfort."  Good  mattress  and  upholstered  furniture  con- 
structions made  with  springs  of  Premier  Spring  Wire  are  the  last 
word  in  comfort — lasting  comfort.  Six  weeks  or  six  years — later 
the  right  spring  construction  will  still  be  giving  you  comfort. 

The  machinery  that  made  Premier  Spring  Wire  is  still  needed 
for  war  production.  But  Premier  will  be  back  —better  than  ever. 
When  you  buy  your  future  furnitui'e  and  sleep  equipment,  re- 
member to  look  for  the  famous  Premier  Tag.  It's  the  key  to 
"hidden  values" — solid  comfort,  long  life  and  better  service. 


Losting-comfort  and  long  service  depend  upon 
good  construction  and  the  kind  of  wire  used  in 
the  springs.  That's  why  it  will  pay  you  to  look 
for  the  U-SS  Premier  Tag.  It  will  tell  you  at 
a  glance  that  the  springs  ore  made  with 
the  finest  steel  spring  wire  obtainable. 


you  can  M 


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UNITED    STATES    STEEL 


(Continued  from  Page  132) 
carried  her,  fighting  and  shrieking,  back  to 
the  post. 

Hei  shrill  lamentation  not  only  reached 
the  naik,  far  off.  It  brought  several  other 
snipers  dropping  out  of  their  trees,  and 
crowding  into  the  post,  to  see  what  was 
afoot.  Snow  White,  set  down  in  the  midst 
of  them,  flapped  around,  hissing  horribly. 
They  caught  at  her,  but  she  broke  away, 
leaving  them  with  a  handful  of  feathers.  She 
ran  between  the  legs  of  the  lookout  man, 
who  fell,  with  the  gunner  on  top  of  him.  The 
man  on  the  gun,  hearing  the  hubbub, 
thought  devils  had  got  in,  and  lert  his  post 
to  investigate.  He  slashed  at  the  goose  with 
his  rifle  butt,  and  hit  one  of  his  pals  by  mis- 
take. 

That  was  why  nobody  heard  or  saw  the 
naik  coming.  He  was  on  them  and  among 
them  before  they  realized  there  was  a 
stranger  in  their  midst.  There  were  eight  of 
them,  half  choked  and  blinded  with  goose 
feathers  which  Snow  White,  with  the  mad 
whirl  of  her  large  wings,  kept  moving  around. 

The  naik  gave  a  loud  triumphant  battle 
cry  that  froze  the  blood  and  numbed  what 
wits  remained.  This  was  the  sort  of  fighting 
he  liked  and  understood!  With  dreadful 
skill  he  wielded  his  kukri.  He  was  pleased  to 
find  he  had  lost  none  of  his  ancient  art.  He 
had  not  gone  stale,  through  lack  of  practice, 
on  that  brisk  uppercut  of  the  long  curved 
blade,  that  flick  of  the  wrist  that  clinches  the 
matter  once  and  for  all. 

Six  men  fell  in  a  flurry  of  blood  and  white 
feathers.  The  two  others  ran  away.  The  naik 
kept  his  head,  and  turned  their  own  machine 
gun  on  them  as  they  reached  the  road  they 
had  so  cunningly  kept  covered  with  it. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  goose.  She  came  to 
him,  hissing  angrily,  as  if  telling  him  all 
about  it,  with  oaths  of  her  own.  The  naik 
stumbled  back  through  the  empty  moonlit 
jungle. 

Captain  Peter  was  in  his  own  tent,  finger- 
ing his  ciiin.  It  had  long  been  his  ambition 
to  grow  a  beard — a  large  ferocious  coal-black 
beard  like  the  colonel's.  To  date  nothing  had 
happened,  but  it  suddenly  struck  Captain 


May,  1945 

Peter  there  was  a  new  stubble  sprouting. 
Hope  revived.  He  was  examining  it  carefully 
by  light  of  a  candle  and  a  small  pocket 
mirror,  when  a  noise  made  him  turn. 

The  naik  stood  in  the  opening.  Under  his 
arm  was  a  seminude  goose.  Capt«in  Peter's 
first  thought  was  it  had  been  in  the  colonel's 
bath  again,  and  the  worst  had  happened. 
Then  he  saw  that  the  two  of  them  were  cov- 
ered with  dust,  and  blood,  and  feathers. 

"Salaam,  sahib,"  said  the  naik  politely. 
"Enemy  gun  post,  sahib,  all  finished.  Jap- 
anese all  gone  bust."  Then  he  swayed  and 
would  have  fallen  if  Captain  Peter  hadn't 
caught  him. 

"If  he  doesn't  get  the  V.C.  for  this,"  said 
the  colonel,  "there  is  as  little  justice  in  this 
world  as  I  have  always  felt."  The  citation 
read,  "The  naik  showed  exceptional  courage 
and  initiative,  and  singlehanded  silenced  a 
very  troublesome  enemy  gun  post  that  had 
closed  the  road." 

The  colonel  was  in  a  better  temper  than 
usual.  Supplies  were  coming  through  regu- 
larly, the  wounded  had  all  been  evacuated 
safely,  and  someone  had  filled  his  bath  anew. 
So  Captain  Peter  ventured  a  pleasantry  he 
otherwise  would  not  have  risked. 

"I  can't  help  feeling,  sir,  we  ought  to  dc 
something  about  that  goose." 

The  colonel  fixed  him  with  a  jaundicec 
eye.  "Do  you  want  me  to  recommend  the 
birdforanO.B.E.?" 

"Not  exactly,  sir.  But  if  you  coulc 
see  your  way  to — ahem — grant  her  a  tern 
porary  honorary  commission,  sir,  with  th( 
Gurkhas " 

The  colonel  twisted  himself  sideways,  am 
regarded  his  captain  sourly.  "From  thit 
start,  Peter,  you  have  been  obstinate  as  tht 
devil  about  this  bird.  Again  and  again 
ordered  you  to  have  it  put  down,  disposec 
of,  destroyed.  Have  you  ever  made  the 
slightest  effort  to  obey  orders?  " 

Captain  Peter  tugged  at  the  collar  of  hi; 
battle  dress,  and  gulped.  "It  was  very  dififi 
cult,  sir.  I  fancy  they  got  the  idea  she  was— 
sort  of — a  reincarnation  of  Snow  White 
They  have  so  little  out  here  that  I  thought  i 
best  not  to  see." 


HIS  \S  A 
BED -SNEAKER 


-A   A^ 


By  3iunro  I^t'tif 

Ihis  stupid  creature  crawling  out  of  bed  when  nobody  is 
looking  is  a  Bed-Sneaker.  It  is  sick  and  would  get  well  if 
it  did  what  the  doctor  and  its  mother  told  it  to — that  is, 
to  stay  in  bed.  But  oh,  no,  it  just  won't  stay  in  bed,  and 
you  can  bet  this  Bed-Sneaker  is  going  to  feel  a  lot  worse 
and  have  to  stay  there  much  longer  just  because  it  thinks 
it  knows  better  than  others  and  sneaks  away. 

WERE  YOU  A  BED -SNEAKER  this  mowthP 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


135 


"  What  do  they  know  about  Snow  WTiite?  " 
lid  the  colonel,  incredulous. 

"I  took  some  of  my  chaps  to  the  pictures, 
r.  On  our  way  down  through  Calcutta." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  we  have  been 
irting  that  bird  round  ever  since  Calcutta?  " 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  the 
aik  picked  her  up  in  Italy,  sir.  I  fancy  she 
lUSt  have  been  somebody's  pet.  She  is  in- 
edibly  tame.  That  was  why  it  was  so  diffi- 
ilt  to — eat  her,  sir.  After  all,  sir,  she  may 
;  a  descendant  of  the  original  Roman  geese, 
r,"  Captain  Peter  continued  hopefully. 

"Those  consecrated  geese  in  orders 
That  to  the  capital  ivere  ivarders 
And  being  then  upon  patrol 
With  noise  alone  beat  off  the  Gaul." 

Memory  stirred  in  the  colonel's  mind,  like 
stone  dropped  in  a  very  deep  well.  Long, 
ng  ago  he  had  had  to  write  out  those  very 
les,  oh — umpteen  times.  He  could  no 
nger  remember  just  how  many.  But  he 
membered  with  frightful  clarity  what  he 
)t  the  imposition  for.  It  was  for  keeping  a 
intraband,  prolific  and  very  smelly  white 
ouse  in  a  box,  in  the  locker,  in  his  play  box. 
nd  Lally,  the  headmaster's  wife,  had  found 
when  on  the  prowl.  Let  no  one  say  there 
nothing  in  a  classical  education ! 
The  colonel  laughed  suddenly.  "All  right, 
;ter.  This  time  you  win.  Under  the  cir- 
imstances,  I  have  to  own  it  is  a  good  thing 
)u  did  not  have  the  brute  roasted  and 
uffed.  Provided  you  continue  to  choose 
ith  such  delicacy  and  discretion  the  right 
oment  for  applying  your  blind  eye  to  the 
lescope  and  admiring  another  view,  I  see 
)  reason  why  one  day  you  should  not  be  a 
:neral.  But  remember  one  thing.  If  I  find 
lat  goose  in  my  bath  again,  I  shall  shoot 
"  He  coughed.   "Otherwise — let  it  stay." 

The  naik  was  squatting  on  his  cot  in  the 
!ld  hospital,  trying  to  find  room  for  eight 
ore  nicks  on  the  scabbard  of  his  kukri.  The 
ea  was  slightly  congested.   He  looked  up 


when  Captain  Peter  entered,  and  grinned 
his  pleasant  white  grin.  Beside  him,  on  the 
box  that  served  as  a  table,  the  scanty  luxuries 
available  there  had  been  brought  by  friends 
from  the  camp.  A  packet  of  chewing  gum 
from  an  American  airman.  Two  small  oranges 
in  wizened  coats.  A  bright  handkerchief  cov- 
ered with  horses'  heads,  which  Captain 
Peter  knew  had  once  belonged  to  one  of  the 
English  sergeants.  There  was  also,  best  of  all, 
the  mess  phonograph,  a  battle-scarred  con- 
traption, standing  at  the  ready,  needle 
poised. 

"Salaam,  sahib,"  said  the  naik,  politely 
touching  his  forehead  with  bandaged  hands. 

Beside  him,  perched  in  the  door  of  the  tent 
on  a  box  of  hay,  sat  Ishnow  White.  She,  too, 
looked  battle-scarred,  and  was  slightly  nude 
in  parts.  Loving  hands  had  fashioned  a  sort 
of  bath  for  her,  out  of  an  oil  tin.  It  was  full 
of  brackish  water. 

Captain  Peter  could  not  say  why,  but 
seeing  the  two  of  them  sitting  there  for  some 
reason  gave  him  a  lump  in  his  throat,  though 
he  wasn't  at  all  an  emotional  person.  There 
was  something  so  childlike  about  the  little 
brown  man,  pleased  as  Punch  with  his  goose, 
and  quite  unaware  he  was  a  hero. 

"Everything  O.K.,  sahib,"  said  the  naik. 
"Ishnow  White,  too,  O.K.  Feathers  will 
come  back,  you  think?  On  behind,  sahib?" 

"I  expect  so,"  said  Captain  Peter.  He 
fingered  his  beard.  Most  things  grow,  in 
time.  "Where  did  you  get  the  phonograph?  " 

"Mess  cook  is  lending,  sahib.   Listen." 

With  a  wheeze  and  a  rasp  the  needle 
jerked  into  its  groove.  The  thin  tune  crept 
out. 

"I'm  wishing,  I'm  wishing, 
For  the  one  I  love 
To  find  me — to  find  me — again." 

"Ishnow  White  song,  sahib,"  said  the 
naik  solemnly.  He  sat  there  happily,  forget- 
ful of  the  heat,  the  flies,  the  danger.  Sol- 
emnly nodding  in  time  to  the  tune.  Captain 
Peter  couldn't  be  sure  if  he  imagined  it,  but 
Ishnow  White  seemed  to  be  nodding  too. 


;  r^  -4-^)  V 


c 


Makes   it  soft  for  Junior  — 

Not  a  thing  to  do; 
We  make  Northern  Tissue 

Mighty  soft  for  you  ! 


Migfffy  Soft... 

/VORTHBRN  TtSSUE 


Cupr.  1945.  Nortln-rn  Paper  Mills.  Green  Bay,  Wis 


Tip  onTSays- 


When  junior's  cavdhQaxd.  taxik  or  plane 

Gets  "bent  in  two  or  tears. 
You'll  find  thcit  haxidy  Texcel  T^e 

Makes  s^rdy,  nest  repairs . 


{Texcel  mends  securely  — 
the  "stickum's"  bonded  on!) 


And,  when  you  -want  to  leave  a  no^e 
Tha^  folks  oan't  fail  to  see. 

Some  Texcel  holds  it  so  it  won^ 
•Blow loose  orwrig^e  free. 

{Texcel  holds  and  holds  - 
the  "sfickum's"  bonded  on! 


In  home  or  office,  school  or  store, 
YouU  haxdlY  find  a  thing 

That  Texcel  wotit  hold  hetter  than 
Old-fashioned  glue  or  string . 


(Texcel  means  no  gummy 
edges  -  the  "stickum's^ 
bonded  on!) 


^s,%xcel  is  an  imptoved  ta.'ge 
Whose  's^ick-um's"  'bonded  on . 

It  Wont  come  off,  it  wont  dry  out 
Before  the  yidgment  da.wn. 


^dB,y  most  Texcel  Tkye  tha.t's  raade 

Is  feeing  used  for  -wax. 
Buy  Bonds  and  Stamps  'til  Victory 
Returns  it  to  jour  store. 

TexcdTape 

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other  shamixK)  ...  not  a  soap  in  the  world can  make  your  hair 

look  so  lovely! 

Reveals  far  more  lustre  than  any  cake  Roap  or  liquid  soap  shamj>oo. 

For  Drene  never  leaves  any  dulling  film,  as  all  soaps  do,  to  rob  your 

hair  of  ils  lustrous  beauty!   Drene  reveals  up  to  33%  more  lustre  than 

any  kind  of  soap. 

Leaves  hair  so  manageable!   Now  that  the  new,  improved  Drene 

contains  a  wonderful  hair  conditioner,  it  leaves  hair  far  silkier,  smoother, 

easier  to  manage  .  .  .  right  aflcr  shampooing. 

Removes  every  hit  of  flandruff  the  very  first  time  you  use  il!  So 

insist  on  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioner  .  .  . 

or  ask  your  beauty  shop  to  use  it! 


-< 
-< 


TH.s   t.  F--^trkTarirn.odel 
glamorous  >evv  „^^^^^  G.rl  • 

^..  "Cover  G.r      and   ^^^^^^,,ir-do 
FrancinesayB  .he  ^^^^,,1.1  easily 

probU-n.,becauseher^^_^^^^.^„,,,,ickB 
looktoobroad,.  .^^....pa- 

touarrow.t    Th.s  ^^.„j,,.To 

•^--^'^"'r'hS  looks  Its  loveliest 
...ake  sure  her  ha.r^^^p^„,,^h 
,he  always  uses  Dre,^^^^^^^^,^   ,^,, 
Hair  Conditioner.  ^^^   j,^,, 

no    other    shampoo  lea^  ^^  ^^,^„^^,,. 
so  lustrous,  yt-t 


<» 


i^T, 


^ 


»:««**  "TP 


MAKE    A     DATE 


WITH 


[MnOU^ 


\V 


Tonight  .  .  .  don't  put  it  off  .  .  .  shampoo 
your  hair  the  new  glamour  way!  Get 
the  combination  of  beauty  benefits 
found  only  in  Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair 
Conditioner !  1^ Extra  lustre  ...  up  to 
33%  more  than  with  soap  or  soap  sham- 
poos !  ^  Manageable  hair  .  .  .  easy  to 
comb  into  smooth  shining  neatness ! 
*^  Complete  removal  of  dandruff  !  Ask  for 
Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair  Conditioner ! 


When  Francine  wears  her  hair  ilown, 
she  avoids  flat  tops  and  width  at  the 
sides.  "It  takes  long,  narrow  lines  or 
height,"  says  Francine,  "to  narrow 
your  face."  And,  she  adds,  for  shin- 
ing-smooth, manageable  hair,  remem- 
ber that  there's  no  shampoo  like 
Drene  with  Hair  Conditioner! 


„""°f«'-  part  and  I  ''^I^^Eep,  ,,;..    . 

^^"-s  ^ranefneWr  ^>  ^^^'»'-  Puff     '''"^^ 

!Z^'^'  '"Strops  .     ''  ^'Sh  and"!  '"""^«"«  ^er 
r^  ^"''  ffair  Co  !'"'>'■«  due  To  n'"'""'''   "^^-t 


^/umjl 


2:-=tt.7)WITH    HAIR    CONDITIONER 

I'rii/liirl  uf  I'ludci  X  (.iinilil'- 


t  ' 


\w^i 


""^l^ 


■  ssmBPmm^'ii-jmna^- 


■HOIO   BY   MUNKACSI 


/¥tm^  uetenoH  "PAiUfi.  <^na^  fU^  <f  coUt^  educatioH  <it  t^^oennmeMt 


BY  C  S.  FORESTER 


FOR  the  christening  of  his  son  Gary,  ex-Corp.  Philip 
Gray  splurged  the  last  of  his  Army  mustering-out 
pay  on  a  watermelon-red  wool  suit  for  his  twenty- 
one-year-old  wife  Mary.  That  was  fifteen  months 
ago,  and  she  hasn't  worn  it  since.  Not  because  it  isn't 
infinitely  becoming  to  her  soft  dark  hair  and  blue  eyes, 
but  because,  she  explains  in  her  soft  Oklahoma  drawl, 
she  "can't  hardly  feature  an  occasion  to  wear  it." 

Cotton  slacks  and  saddle  shoes  are  her  year-round 
garb  as  a  housewife  in  Berkeley,  California,  where  her 
twenty-three-year-old  veteran  husband  is  a  student  at 
the  University  of  California.  She  rarely  leaves  their 
room  in  the  shabby  yellow  rooming  house  at  21,S2 
Haste  Street,  except  perhaps  for  an  afternoon  stroll 
with  the  baby  down  the  eucalyptus-shaded  paths  of 
the  campus.  If  the  Grays  should  go  into  San  Francisco 


for  a  Saturday-night  movie,  getting  back  home  well 
after  midnight,  baby  goes  along,  too,  as  he  has  been 
doing  ever  since  he  was  five  weeks  old  and  tiny  enough 
to  sleep  on  the  seat  beside  them. 

His  parents  may  look  thin  as  a  couple  of  underfed 
sparrows,  but  Gary  is  as  fat  and  saucy  as  a  pampered 
heir  to  millions.  He  has  never  had  a  day's  sickness, 
except  for  a  cold,  in  his  life;  he  is  always  fed  on  time 
and  sweetly  clean;  and  he  revels  in  all  of  his  mother's 
attention  all  of  the  time.  There's  no  other  way  to  man- 
age—not when  three  of  you  are  living  in  one  room  on 
$109.25  a  month. 

As  far  as  he  knows,  Phil  Gray  is  the  only  student 
veteran  at  the  University  of  California  who  has  chil- 
dren, but  at  least  six  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  veterans 
studying  there  are  married.  Most  of  them  are  getting  a 


32.7%  of  AmerlcMB  f amlllea  bave  Incooiea  of  from  91000  to  93000  a  y«»ar. 

137 


^.^ 


aptf^^ 


fft^A 


.^•1%%^ 


free  college  education  under  the  G.I.  Bill  of  Rights;  fifty- 
eight  of  them,  like  Phil,  are  entitled  to  the  more  eenerous 
benefits  of  the  Disabled  Veterans  Bill.  The  G.I.  Bill  of  Rights 
allows  a  married  veteran  his  books,  tuition  and  S75  a  month 
subsistence,  no  matter  how  many  dependents  he  may  have. 
Philip,  mustered  out  of  the  Army  Air  Forces  after  two  and  a 
half  years  with  an  impaired  knee  and  punctured  eardrum,  re- 
ceives a  base  subsistence  of  $103.50  a  month,  plus  S5.75  for 
the  baby.  A  second  child  is  expected  in  the  Gray  menage 
this  May,  which  will  raise  their  income  to  exactly  S115  a 
month. 

No  family  of  four  can  live  adequately  on  that  income,  espe- 
cially in  a  college  town  like  Berkeley,  which  is  bursting  at  the 
seams  with  a  population  of  103,300  people  in  an  area  less 
than  ten  square  miles,  an  increase  of  over  18,000  people  since 
.  1940,  with  rents  and  food  costs  knocked  disproportionately 
cockeyed.  But  when  you  are  twenty-two  and  twenty-three, 
you  are  willing  to  tr>'  anything,  and  it  doesn't  take  too  much 
work  on  the  part  of  a  willing  wife  or  a  determined  husband  to 
raise  that  income  above  the  level  of  extreme  poverty. 

Getting  along  on  a  dime  is  nothing  new  to  Phil  Gray — he 
has  felt  the  sharp  spur  of  poverty  all  his  life.  His  father,  al- 
ternately an  auto  mechanic,  forester  and  logger,  moved  his 
family  from  Minnesota,  when  Philip  was  five,  to  a  small  com- 
munity near  Puget  Sound.  An  only  son  surrounded  by 
women,  Phil  never  got  along  too  well  with  his  four  sisters, 
and  when  he  was  fourteen  the  death  of  his  mother  broke  up 
the  family.  This  was  in  1936 — a  desperate  time  for  a  child 
of  fourteen  to  be  thrown  on  the  world.  To  get  through  high 
school,  he  hired  out  at  a  chicken  ranch  in  Snohomish,  Wash- 
ington, where  he  received  board  and  a  dollar  a  week  for 
gathering  eggs,  scraping  out  the  coops  and  sawing  firewood. 
With  this  money  he  bought  all  his  clothes  and  school  sup- 
plies. Forest-fire  fighting  and  shovel  work  on  roads  took  up 
the  idle  summer  months,  when  he  joined  up  with  a  CCC 
camp  near  Seattle. 

Whatever  way  you  look  at  it,  Phil  had  a  miserably  lonely 
and  hard  childhood,  one  which  might  have  started  a  kid 
with  less  gumption  on  the  road  to  delinquency.  But  he  dis- 
misses these  years  simply  and  pathetically  with  "Friendship 
is  one  thing  I  never  did  take  much  part  in."  Since  his  mother 
died,  his  father  has  remarried  and  moved  to  Long  Beach, 
California,  where  he  now  drives  a  cab.  The  two  older  sisters 
are  married ;  the  third  girl,  Pat,  now  fifteen,  is  already  married 
and  divorced ;  and  the  youngest  child  is  in  boarding  school  near 
her  father. 

It  was  character  as  well  as  ability  that  carried  Phil 
through  high-school  graduation  at  Snohomish,  where  he 
even  found  time,  aside  from  cleaning  chicken  coops  and 
stud>ing,  to  sing  a  fine  tenor  in  the  glee  club,  play  the  trumpet 
in  the  school  band  and  learn  how  to  take  a  radio  apart  and 
put  it  together  again.  But  he  never  had  a  girl. 

After  high-school  graduation,  Phil  signed  up  with  the 
CCC  again,  for  lack  of  anything  better  to  do,  but  soon  left 


Mustered  out  of  the  Army,  Phil  entered  L.  of 
Cal.  Grays  lived  off  campus  in  beehive  room- 
ing house  with  36  other  tuhills  iintl  If)  hids. 


One  bedroom  in  Berkeley  rooming  house  cost  Grays 
$42  monthly.  Tlie  seven-o^clock  scholar  tries  to 
shaie  lit  ihe  corner  sink  uitlioiit  itakiiiU  the  baby. 


"ioK  can't  hardly  feature  if,"  says  Mary(lioldin^ 
coffeepot),  "\ineteen  families  ritshin''  tioun  to  fix 
breakfast  at  just  one  kitchen  stoi^aiul  one  sinkT 


if^:^  ^^-^ 


;lp  out  at  his  brother-in-law's  filling  station  at  Barstow, 
hem  California.  For  $12  a  week  Phil  worked  close  to 
lours  a  day,  seven  days  a  week,  until,  fed  up  with  this, 
pplied  for  maritime  radio  training  with  the  National 
:h  Administration.  Three  months  later,  immediately 
the  first  draft  law  of  October,  1940,  he  voluntarily  en- 
1  in  the  Army,  hoping  to  make  it  his  career, 
le  two  and  a  half  years  that  followed  were  a  dreary 
d;  dreary  as  far  as  I  know— Gray  would  not  admit  that, 
twenty-four  months  he  remained  a  buck  private,  an 
nificant  unit  in  the  vast  organization  of  the  Army,  the 
Die  servant  of  the  incalculable  whims  of  the  powers 
e,  shifted  in  the  seemingly  motiveless  fashion  that  char- 
izes  the  Army — any  army.  First  six  months  in  radio 
)1,  then  eight  months  in  Albuquerque,  New  Mexico, 
ing  his  soldier's  trade  while  living  the  drab  life  of  a 
Hess  young  soldier  in  a  new  camp  outside  a  strange 

le  day  while  attending  a  Methodist  church  service  in 
querque,  he  heard  the  minister  inquire  if  any  of  the 
regation  would  like  to  step  up  and  be  baptized.  Phil, 
thought  it  was  a  friendly  kind  of  church,  and  less  formal- 
than  the  Presbyterian  service  he  was  accustomed  to, 
iptly  walked  up  to  the  altar.  He  didn't  notice  nineteen- 
old  Mary  Baker,  sitting  in  a  pew  with  her  family,  and 
[ling  him  with  all  her  eyes.  She  had  noticed  him  often 
wandered  aimlessly  around  Albuquerque,  and  yearned 
introduced.  But  no  one  knew  the  name  of  the  serious- 
.  young  soldier.  Months  later  they  were  introduced  at 
irch  picnic— it  is  refreshing  to  find  that  future  husbands 
vives  still  meet  at  church  parties  in  the  way  past  gen- 
ms  did— and  two  months  after  that  they  were  married 
;  same  church  where  he  was  baptized.  He  had  his  Army 
)f  $50  a  month;  she  had  her  secretary's  salary  of  $100 — 
wait? 

iry's  mother  had  always  made  all  her  clothes,  but  a 
ing  dress,  Mrs.  Baker  announced  firmly,  must  be  the 
iest  one  they  could  buy.  It  was,  too — a  teal-blue 
teen  that  fitted  Mary's  slight  five-foot-two  figure  beau- 
y,  with  matching  hat  and  black  accessories, 
was  a  very  grown-up  thing  to  do,  being  married  at 
een,  in  wartime,  to  a  soldier  of  twenty-one.  It  made 
feel  so  solemn  and  shaky  that  a  blowing-off  of  energy 
regular  bobby-socks  shivaree  seemed  very  much  in 
.  The  young  folks  of  the  church  gave  them  a  formal 
tion  at  the  Wesley  Clubhouse — "real  nice"  says 
' — with  fruit  punch  and  cookies  and  a  three-tier  wedding 
provided  by  Mrs.  Baker.  Then  the  wedding  pair  piled 
in  old  Ford  roadster  with  four  friends  and  drove  wildly 
t  the  streets  of  Albuquerque,  yelling  and  blowing  the 
The  best  man  stood  them  all  to  refreshments  at  a 
-in;  Phil  and  Mary  each  had  the  biggest  sundae  on  the 
I,  then  followed  it  up  with  hamburgers  and  vanilla  milk 
;s.   Then  on  to  the  furnished  three-and-a-half-room 


TVAat  fi'uce  colUfc  ^    0^  it  UAa%i  ff£^H^ 


■\':^',sj<     gJBa  .       .v> 


PHOTOS   BY   MUNKACSI 


'iOoming-house  kitchen  had  no  ice  box,  only  three 
mall  tables.  "We  wives  mostly  stood,^^  says  Mary, 
while  the  men  fed  their  sixteen  hungry  babies." 


Mary  tries  to  keep  Gary  quiet  us  Phil  struggles  tvilh  college  math  in  their  one  crowded 
room.  He  will  graduate  a  research  chemist,  "If  we  live  through  seven  more  semesters," 
says  Mary.  Another  baby  is  expected  in  May,  tvhich  will  add  $5.7.1  a  month  to  PhiVs  income. 


en^ut^  0^  t^U^  ctA^n.  tutCef 
26.600  <vie  ^c^  at 
^eAa&i  at    (^WAen^tmettt 


'0**1 


BY   COLOR    PRODUCTIONS 


With  Army  veteran  Jack  Hawley  (also  married)  Phil 
picks  up  spare  cash  working  in  campus  radio  shop. 


"When  we  step  out,"  says  Mary,  "baby  goes  too 
He  saw  his  first  movie  when  he  was  five  weeks  old. 


Grays  now  live  in  five-room  bungalow  tvilh  two 
other  families,  pay  $35  monthly  for  one  room. 


apartment  Phil  had  rented,  where  eight  of  the  wedding 
couple's  high-spirited  friends  remained  until  five  the 
following  morning,  playing  the  radio  and  consuming 
quantities  of  sandwiches  and  ginger  ale. 

After  seven  months  of  marriage,  during  which  Phil 
was  transferred  from  Albuquerque  to  Oklahoma  City 
to  Kansas,  and  back  to  (Oklahoma  City  again,  came  the 
unexpected.  Phil  had  been  having  trouble  with  one 
knee  he  had  twisted  while  fighting  a  forest  fire  in  the 
CCC,  and  one  of  his  eardrums  was  bad.  He  has  always 
been  deaf  in  his  left  ear  for  as  long  as  he  can  remember — 
baby  pictures  show  him  with  his  head  cocked  anxiously 
to  one  side — now  the  ear  was  draining.  Doctors  looked 
him  over,  medical  boards  discussed  his  case,  and  he 
suddenly  found  himself  honorably  discharged  from  the 
Army,  for  medical  reasons,  with  a  new  life  to  make,  a 
new  civilian  life,  a  new  civilian  married  life. 

There  were  more  aptitude  tests;  this  time  not  to  find 
out  what  kind  of  soldier  he  would  make.  Do  aptitude 
tests  really  find  things  out?  I'm  old-fashioned  enough, 
and  enough  of  a  believer  in  free  will,  to  have  doubts 
about  it.  The  tests  showed  Phil  would  be  good  at  teach- 
ing science,  or  at  production  management — a  strangely 
ill-assorted  pair  of  aptitudes,  in  my  opinion.  If  he  had 
been  an  ancient  Greek  he  might  as  well  have  consulted 
the  Oracle  at  Delphi  and  obtained  as  much  satisfaction. 

And  at  the  moment  there  could  be  no  question  of 
managing  production  or  teaching  science,  and  there  was 
a  very  urgent  reason,  a  reason  which  would  grow  more 
urgent  as  the  months  went  by,  why  he  should  work. 
For  Gary  Newton  Gray  was  making  his  approach  to 
this  vale  of  tears,  prompting  Mary  to  give  up  the  job 
she  had  taken  as  a  swing-shift  typist  in  a  shipyard  in 
Long  Beach,  where  they  had  moved  to  be  near  Phil's 
grandparents.  Phil  had  a  job  here  and  there,  doing 
overhauling  at  the  Alameda  Air  Station  and  in  a  radio 
factory.  It  began  to  look  as  if  the  new  and  undeclared 
ambition  that  was  growing  in  his  mind  would  never  be 
gratified  and  as  if,  as  in  many  similar  tragedies,  his 
early  marriage  and  early  fatherhood  would  keep  him 
down  in  the  ranks  of  day  laborers. 

That  mechanical  ability  of  his  which  had  started  him 
tinkering  with  radios  in  high  school  was  the  mainspring 
of  the  new  ambition.  Gray  wanted  to  be  a  research 
scientist  and  he  had  already  explored  the  possibilities 
of  working  his  way  through  the  University  of  California, 
taking  a  degree  in  science;  but  it  seemed  a  hopeless 
dream.  He  might  have  a  little  time  to  spare  away  from 
his  studies,  but  not  long  enough  to  earn  a  living  for 
three  people,  not  even  in  war  work.  The  dream,  it 
seemed,  must  remain  a  dream. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Gray  discovered  that 
Uncle  Sam  was  prepared  to  make  the  dream  a  reality; 
that  any  veteran  of  promise  could  claim  the  right  to 
complete  his  education  at  the  expense  of  the  Federal 
Government.  There  was  considerable  delay  at  the  start; 
for  two  months  after  he  matriculated  at  the  University 
of  California,  Phil  received  no  allowance.  To  tide  them 
over,  he  borrowed  the  considerable  sum  of  $250  from 
the  bank;  they  will  be  paying  this  off  at  the  rate  of  $22 
a  month  until  next  September. 

The  only  place  that  Phil  could  find  for  his  wife  and 
baby  to  live  in  Berkeley  was  at  an  incredible  beehive 
rooming  house,  an  old-fashioned  white  clapboard  house 
that  fairly  sagged  under  the  weight  of  nineteen  families, 
sixteen  of  which  were  young  couples  with  a  child  each. 
One  bedroom  there,. with  kitchen  privileges,  cost  $10  a 
week  plus  a  $2  utility  fee  monthly.  "  Kitchen  privileges" 
were  exercised  (and  still  are)  in  a  long  grubby-looking 


galley  that  could  be  reached,  rain  or  shine,  only  from 
out-of-doors.  There  was  no  refrigerator  or  icebox,  so 
that  the  baby's  milk  had  to  be  wrapped  in  wet  cloths  in 
summer,  perishable  foods  bought  sketchily  from  day  to 
day.  Young  service  brides  and  war-workers'  wives  from 
Massachusetts  and  Utah  and  Lxjuisiana  rubbed  their 
knuckles  raw  washing  sheets  and  towels  in  a  common 
tub;  the  back  yard  was  continually  camouflaged  with 
madly  crisscrossing  lines  of  drying  laundry.  Two  sailor 
buddies  moved  in  next  door  to  each  other;  their  wives 
were  instant  enemies,  and  their  two  infant  sons  had  to 
be  forcibly  pulled  apart  before  they  scratched  each 
other's  eyes  out.  Otherwise,  the  beehive  was  astonish- 
ingly congenial:  mothers  looked  after  other  babies  in- 
discriminately with  their  own;  or  stood  stoically  in  line 
to  use  the  one  sink  or  stove,  while  nineteen  husbands 
tried  to  keep  sixteen  infants  from  becoming  too  restive 
under  the  spur  of  appetite. 

About  two  months  ago,  Phil  found  a  cheaper  and 
quieter  place  to  live,  still  within  a  mile  of  his  college 
classes.  Only  seven  people,  including  two  babies,  live 
in  this  two-bedroom  bungalow  next  to  a  service  station 
and  a  dog-and-cat  hospital  in  downtown  Berkeley.  A 
young  marine  sergeant  back  from  Guadalcanal  occupies 
the  front  downstairs  living  room  with  his  Alabama  wife 
and  four-year-old  daughter.  The  Grays  live  in  the  front 
bedroom  above  them,  which  contains  a  big  double 
brass  bed,  a  cot,  the  baby's  play  pen  and  crib,  and 
which  will  soon  contain  a  bassinet  for  the  fourth  member 
of  the  family.  The  landlady  lives  in  the  other  upstairs 
bedroom.  There  is  one  bathroom,  one  sink  and  stove, 
and  a  perfectly  good  dining  room  which  nobody  uses, 
so  it  is  not  inconceivable  that  an  additional  family  of 
two  or  three  might  move  in  there  any  day. 

For  their  one  bedroom,  and  kitchen  privileges,  the 
Grays  pay  $25  a  month  rent  plus  about  $10  for  utilities, 
including  a  telephone.  They  are  paying  off  their  bank 
loan  at  the  rate  of  $22  a  month,  and  they  are  also  pay- 
ing $12.50  a  month  on  a  bedroom  suite  purchased  a  year 
ago  when  they  lived  briefly  (Coniinued  on  Page  163) 


HOW  THE  GRAYS 
SPEND  THEIR  MONEY 

Rent  ($25  a  month)   ....  $300.00 

Utilities 120.00 

Food  ($10  a  week) 520.00 

Bank  loan 264.00 

Payments  on  furniture    .    .  150.00 

Clothes 60.00 

Baby  doctor 40.00 

Recreation 50.00 

Life  insurance  ($1000  for 

Phil,  $500  for  Gary)   .    .    .       67.20 

*$1571.20 

*The  Grays'  present  subsistence  pay  from  the 
Veterans  Administration  is  $1311.00  yearly.  Phil 
manages  to  earn  about  $5  a  week  during  the 
school  year,  but  will  probably  earn  a  good  deal 
more  than  this  during  vacations. 


Phil  and  Mary  horroucd  S 100  from  bank  to  pay 
for  Gary,  don^t  know  how  to  pay  for  next  one. 


*  •  *  •  *  "^ou^ /i^ptencc€i  ^CM^  *  *   *  *  * 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


iNSl 


\U  S^^^^  •  • 


[here's  a 


in  your  future! 


i  Some  day — when  America's  biggest 
job  is  done — peace  will  return.  And 
th  it  will  come  a  new  Ford  car  that's 
I,  roomy  and  stm-dy. 

.  Then  you'll  have  the  kind  of  gentle 
le  you've  always  hoped  for.  So  smooth. 

packed  with  comfort.  In  front  seat  or 
ck,  you'll  find  yourself  at  ease,  relaxed. 


.  .  .  But  that's  not  all!  Many  other  re- 
finements will  be  found  in  this  new  Ford. 
Smart,  improved  styling  that  will  have  a 
youthful  air.  A  new  richness,  both  inside 
and  out.  And,  of  course,  the  famous 
thrift  and  reliability  that  have  always 
been  traditional  with  Ford  cars. 
.  .  .  When  the  time  comes,  we'll  be  ready 


to  start  production  plans.  Meanwhile, 
however,  the  full  Ford  resources  are 
being  used  to  help  bring  Victory  closer. 

FORD     MOTOR     COMPANY 


"STARS  OF  THE  FUTURE".  Listen  to  the  new  Ford  musical  program  on  ali  Blue  Nctworlc  stations.  Every  Friday  nieiit— 8:00  E.W.T.,  7:00  C.W.T.,  9:00  M.W.T.,  8:30  P.W.T. 


142 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 


VITAMINS 


Are  you  older  than  your  years? 


The  candles  on  your  birthdaj'  cake  may 
add  up  to  the  sum  of  your  years.  But  you 
can  take  it  from  science  that  in  many  cases, 
"birthday"  age  differs  from  "physical  con- 
dition" age.  Very  seldom  do  the  two  ages 
coincide. 

A  good  many  persons  unknowingly  are 
prematurely  senescent.  Tliey  are  physi- 
cally older  than  their  span  on  the  calendar. 
Under  varying  conditions  of  diet  and  living, 
certain  chemical  changes  occur  which  often 
render  humans  "older  than  their  years." 

Such  conditions  as  these  are  especially 
prevalent  among  adults  whose  health  and 
food  routines  are  more  often  guided  by 
"likes"  than  by  "needs." 

Mistaken  identity 

Many  tissue  changes,  generally  regarded 
as  characteristics  of  approaching  old  age. 


Vitamin  research 

. . .  eyes  reveal  Vitamins  A  and  B^  deficiencies 

are  often  actually  indications  of  chronic 
nutritional  deficiencies.  Slowly  developing 
changes,  for  example,  in  vision  and  in  the 
skin  .  .  .  gradual  loss  of  muscular  strengtii 
and  energy,  general  aches  and  pains. 

Some  of  these  changes  are  so  prevalent, 
especially  in  their  milder  forms,  that  thej- 
have  come  to  be  regarded  as  usual  or 
normal ...  a  natural  part  of  "just  growing 
old."  But  pinned  down,  they  may  be 
identified  simply  as  dietary  deficiencies, 
tending  to  shorten  man's  youth. 

An  "early"  old  age 

Viewed  in  the  light  of  the  widespread 
inadequacy  of  the  national  diet,  as  evi- 
denced in  U.  S.  Government  surveys  and 
other  unbiased  studies,  it  would  seem  that 
many  Americans  are  eating  their  way  to 
an  early  old  age.  For  these  surveys  .show 
that  literally  millions  of  American  families 
aren't  getting  enough  vitamins  and  min- 
erals from  their  meals. 

Nor  are  dietary  rleficicncics  confined  to 
lower  income  groups  only — for  these  sur- 
veys included  rich,  poor  and  in-between. 

Thus,  foresighted  indeed  arc  those  who 
regularly  take  a  dietary  sup{»leui<,'nt  tliat 


assures  their  getting  all  the  vitamins  known 
to  be  essential  in  the  diet  and  the  com- 
monly lacking  minerals  as  well. 


Youth-Like  Energy 

. .  .dcinandti  snfficicnl  vitamins  and  minerals 

Complete  coverage 

Developed  to  protect  against  nutritional 
deficiencies,  the  Vimms  formula  supplies 
all  the  vitamins  that  Government  experts 
and  doctors  recognize  as  essential  in  the 
diet. 

In  addition,  Vinuns  .supply  the  min- 
erals most  commonly  lacking  .  .  .  Iron 
neces.sary  for  good  red  blood,  Galciinn  antl 
Phosphorus  for  strong  bones,  teeth  and 
body  ti.ssue.  These  minerals  are  needed 
not  only  to  help  in  various  body  processes, 
but  also  to  enable  certain  of  the  vitamins 
to  play  their  full  role. 

Now,  .scientists  found  that  if  all  the 
vitamins  and  minerals  in  three  Vimms 
were  made  into  a  single  tablet,  it  would 


^Si>r^^ 


Three  Daily  At  Breakfast 

. .  .full  hciirfits  ihroiitjhoiit  the  entire  day 

be  too  big  to  .swallow  easily.  That  is  why 
Vimms  come  in  3  small  tablets  to  be 
taken  daily— preferably  at  breakfast.  Ac- 
tually, no  onc-per-day  product  gives  you 
all  tlie  vitamins  and  minerals  you  get  in 
Vimms.  Moreover,  Vinuns  are  plea.sant- 
tasting,  have  no  aftcrta.ste. 

Three  Vimms  daily  will  raise  the  aver- 
age diet  up  to  or  above  the  Ilccominended 
Daily  Allowances,  as  adoijled  by  the  Na- 
tional Jtesearch  Council. 

cmcnt) 


Which  Mmm  Should  Go  to  Collegi 


BY  MILLARD  1»VALLER 


THE  so-called  G.I.  Bill  of  Rights  pro- 
vides generously  for  the  college  educa- 
tion of  younger  veterans.  The  Govern- 
ment will  pay  for  tuition  and  books, 
and  will  contribute  $50  a  month  for  the  ex- 
penses of  a  single  man,  $75  for  the  veteran 
with  dependents.  It  is  estimated  that  at 
least  600,000,  and  perhaps  many  more,  will 
avail  themselves  of  the  offer. 

Many  deserving  boys  will  now  be  able  to 
attend  college  who  would  never  have  had 
such  an  opportunity  if  there  had  been  no 
war.  That  is  excellent.  No  one  will  be- 
grudge them  the  opportunity  they  have 
gained,  with  their  blood,  sweat  and  tears. 
And  we  know  that  for  the  right  man  educa- 
tion is  the  finest  kind  of  rehabilitation. 

But  not  every  boy  can  profit  from  college 
training,  and  it  may  be  that  many  thousands 
of  veterans  will  break  their  hearts  trying  to 
absorb  a  kind  of  education  that  was  never 
meant  for  them.  College  has  a  certain 
glamour  that  attracts  the  fit  and  the  unfit 
alike.  In  spite  of  the  best  efforts  of  the  ad- 
missions officers,  there  are  always  some  stu- 
dents on  any  campus  who  do  not  belong  in 
college.  Often  they  are  pitifully  in  earnest 
and  try  tragically  hard,  wearing  shabby 
clothes,  living  in  somebody's  basement,  eat- 
ing a  few  cents'  worth  of  bread  and  milk  and 
sometimes  going  hungry  while  they  beat 
their  brains  out  trying  to  master  college 
algebra  or  English  A.  Others  are  aimless 
drifters  with  no  purpose  in  life.  They  rarely 
graduate,  and  their  degrees  do  them  but 
little  good  even  if  they  get  them.  All  they 
usually  get  out  of  college  is  a  sense  of  failure 
which  haunts  them  throughout  life. 

By  and  large,  the  veterans  who  should  go 
to  college  are  the  same  boys  who  ought  to 
have  gone  if  there  had  been  no  war.  College 
education  is  useful  only  to  those  who  have 
the  peculiar  qualities  of  mind  and  person- 
ality to  profit  from  it.  It  is  a  long-term  in- 
vestment in  oneself,  an  intellectual  experi- 
ence which  helps  one  to  grow  and  to  develop 
his  potentialities.  It  is  more  helpful  in  mak- 
ing a  life  than  in  making  a  living.  It  has 
economic  value,  but  often  it  is  a  long  time 
before  one  collects  on  the  investment. 

Under  the  G.l.  Bill,  it  is  up  to  the  colleges 
to  decide  which  veterans  shall  enter  and 
which  shall  not.  The  Government  will  pay 
for  a  veteran's  tuition  in  any  recognized  in- 
stitution which  will  admit  him.  This  leaves 
the  ultimate  decision  in  the  hands  of  the 
college  authorities. 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  college-entrance 
requirements  may  safely  be  relaxed  for  vet- 
erans. The  usual  college  catalogue  sets  forth 
in  sedate  columns  the  number  of  credits  the 
student  must  have  in  Latin,  mathematics, 
history  and  English  before  he  is  considered 
fit  for  higher  education.  The  present  view  of 
college  administrators  is  that  if  veterans  can 
show  that  they  have  the  ability  to  do  work  of 
college  grade,  entrance  requirements  may  be 
very  flexible.  There  is  a  tendency  in  nearly 
all  colleges  to  admit  veterans  without  the 
usual  high-school  diploma. 

It  is  possible  that  some  colleges  may  go 
much  farther  than  this  legitimate  relaxation 
of  requirements.  Tempted  by  the  oppor- 
tunity to  collect  student  fees,  they  may  ad- 
mit veterans  who  should  never  attempt  a 
college  education.  This  will  not  happen  in 
the  heavily  endowed  private  colleges,  which 
have  maintained  exacting  standards  even  in 
tlie  lean  years  of  war.  These  schools  lose 
money  on  every  student,  and  try  to  choose 
students  who  merit  such  an  investment. 

There  are,  however,  many  colleges  which 
depend  largely  upon  student  fees  for  sup- 
port, and  some  of  these  will  be  painfully 
short  of  cash  in  the  next  two  years.  These  in- 
stitutions may  admit  numbers  of  poorly 
ciualified  veterans  in  order  to  balance  their 
budgets.  State  and  city  universities,  being 
open  to  political  pressures,  may  accept  many 
poor  risks  and  then  flunk  them  out— a  some- 


what ruthless  policy  which  has  often  bee 
followed  in  the  past. 

The  veteran  and  his  family  cannot  safe) 
leave  it  to  college  authorities  to  decic 
whether  a  particular  veteran  should  entt 
college  or  not ;  they  must  decide  the  matte 
for  themselves,  and  they  can  avoid  futur 
heartbreak  by  deciding  it  wisely.  In  makin 
such  a  decision,  they  should  consider  all  th 
factors  and  balance  one  probability  agains 
another.  I  suggest  that  they  should  put  th 
following  questions  to  themselves  and  ar 
swer  them  as  frankly  as  possible:  Does  th 
veteran  have  sufficient  native  ability 
profit  from  college  work?  Is  he  deeply  ir 
terested  in  what  college  has  to  offer  him: 
Do  his  circumstances  permit  him  to  go  ti 
college;  that  is,  has  he  sufficient  money,  i 
he  in  good  health,  is  he  free  from  family  ob 
ligations  which  would  interfere?  Finally 
will  the  rewards  of  college  attendance  excea 
its  personal  costs?  Let  us  look  at  each  c 
these  questions  in  turn. 

Ability.  The  simplest  indication  of  one' 
ability  to  do  college  work  is  his  previou 
academic  record.  If  one  was  in  the  top  fiftf 
of  his  class  in  high  school,  he  probably  ha' 
the  ability  to  do  college  work.  The  secont 
fifth  is  doubtful  and  the  third  fifth  ver 
doubtful  indeed.  Excellent  tests  of  scholas 
tic  aptitude  are  also  available.  Almost  an; 
high-school  principal  can  supply  a  valid  test 
and  will  be  competent  to  advise  concernin 
the  choice  of  a  college  and  a  course  of  studj 
If  this  resource  fails,  the  veteran  should  as: 
the  regional  office  of  the  Veterans  Adminisl 
tration  to  help  him  secure  a  test.  ! 

Interest.  Interest  is  just  as  important  a 
ability.  Four  years  of  college  is  a  long  grind 
with  plenty  of  grueling  work  and  no  eight 
hour  day.  One  should  not  begin  such  a  tasl 
without  a  store  of  dependable  motivation 
No  one  should  ever  enter  college  just  becaua 
he  has  nothing  else  to  do,  or  because  someoni 
else  has  urged  him  to  go,  or  because  hi; 
parents  want  him  to  be  a  college  man,  or  be 
cause  he  wants  to  live  in  a  fraternity  and  put 
cows  in  belfries  and  send  freshmen  out  t( 
gather  an  ounce  of  toenails.  Especiallj 
should  the  veteran,  who  has  lost  so  muci 
time  already,  resist  the  temptation  to  enta 
college  for  frivolous  reasons  or  merely  ii 
order  to  live  at  Government  expense  foi 
some  years. 

One  should  go  to  college  only  because  h( 
has  strong  desires  which  can  be  satisfied  ir 
no  other  way.  The  best  and  strongest  mo 
tive  is  intellectual  interest.  If  a  man  has  i 
craving  to  manipulate  the  mysterious  sym- 
bols of  mathematics,  if  he  yearns  to  knov 
who  wrote  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  and  hov 
he  came  to  be  so  wise,  if  it  matters  to  him  i 
time  is  running  down  and  the  universe  ii 
expanding,  if  he  believes  there  are  secret; 
locked  up  in  books  which  will  make  him  a 
better  man,  if  he  wonders  about  the  meanin{ 
of  life,  then  he  should  go  to  college  at  almosi 
any  cost.  College  will  help  him  to  find  tb 
good  life. 

Another  valid,  dependable  sort  of  motiva 
tion  is  that  supplied  by  a  definite  occupa 
tional  goal.  A  man  who  knows  what  he  is 
working  for,  what  he  is  going  to  make  oi 
himself,  can  usually  survive  the  grind  of  col- 
lege years  successfully.  Before  embarking 
upon  such  a  course  of  study  one  should 
naturally,  make  sure  that  he  has  the  abili- 
ties required  not  merely  by  college  work  but 
also  by  the  practice  of  his  chosen  profession. 
He  should  also  try  to  find  out  whether  there 
is  likely  to  be  a  market  for  the  services 
which  he  is  preparing  himself  to  give.  It  ii 
worth  remembering  that  there  will  prob- 
ably be  an  oversupply  of  "technicians' 
after  the  war,  and  a  dearth  of  scientists, 
teachers  and  social  workers. 

If  the  veteran  has  already  completed  a 
year  or  so  of  college  work,  he  can  safely  a* 
sume  that  his  abilities  and  interests  are  sat- 
isfactory.  If,  however,  he  was  out  of  school 


k    'i^ouA  /4me^Ucci.  ^iiACA    * 


ii 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


143 


lor  some  years  before  entering  the  service,  it 
IS  doubtful  that  he  can  adjust  to  the  aca- 
demic routine. 

Circumstances.  A  veteran  contemplating 
mllege  should  also  consider  his  circum- 
stances; that  is,  his  personal  and  financial 
resources,  and  his  obligations  and  commit- 
ments. 

First  there  is  the  matter  of  money.  Fifty 
dollars  a  month  is  not  enough  to  live  on  in 
many  parts  of  the  country,  and  it  will  help 
very  much  if  one  has  some  savings  or  can 
count  on  an  occasional  check  from  home.  If 
the  veteran's  parents  are  dependent  on  him, 
college  is  almost  impossible. 

If  a  veteran  has  acquired  a  wife,  that  is 
also  a  circumstance  which  he  ought  to  con- 


sider. The  Government  will  contribute  $75  a 
month  for  the  veteran  with  dependents,  which 
is  too  little  for  comfortable  living.  Further- 
more, the  rhythm  of  college  life,  adjusted  to 
the  tempo  of  the  unmarried  man  or  woman, 
leaves  little  time  for  the  enjoyment  of  do- 
mestic felicity.  In  the  college  community, 
tradition  finds  no  place  for  students'  wives. 
The  young  wife,  with  time  on  her  hands  and 
without  a  real  home,  may  come  to  resent  her 
husband's  preoccupation  with  his  studies,  or 
possibly  the  husband  may  choose  to  please 
his  wife  at  the  cost  of  displeasing  his  pro- 
fessors. Marriage,  therefore,  is  a  reason  for 
thinking  twice  or  perhaps  thrice  before  en- 
tering college. 

(Continued  on  Page  169) 


Does  Your  (ilWant  a  Free  Education? 

Any  veteran  of  this  war,  man  or  woman,  is  entitled  to  free  schooling 
at  Government  expense  under  either  of  these  two  acts  of  Congress 
(below)  provided  the  veteran  can  meet  the  requirements. 

For  further  information,  or  for  an  application  blank,  write  to  the 
Manager,  Veterans  Administration,  Washington,  D.  C. 

G.I.  Bill  of  Rights 

(Public  Law  ^o.  346) 

♦  ***•*****♦*♦♦******** 

REQUIREMENTS 

1.  The  veteran  must  have  heen  in 
active  service  any  time  on  or  after 
Sept.  16,  1940. 

2.  And  was  discharged  under  condi- 
tions other  than  dishonorable. 

3.  And  saw  at  least  90  days'  active 
service,  M'hich  would  entitle  him  to 
one  year's  training. 

!     4.  And  was  not  over  25  years  old  when 
inducted,  or  if  over  25  must  prove  in- 
terruption of  education.     In  either 
case    the   veteran    may   receive   one 
year's    training,    plus    additional 
training  equal  to  time  spent  in  ac- 
tive service. 

********************** 
BEIV'EFITS 

Tuition,  books,  not  in  excess  of  $500 
for  an  ordinary  school  year,  and  $50 
a  month  subsistence  for  single  per- 
son, $75  for  a  person  with  a  depend- 
ent. 

CHOICE   OF   TRAINING 

Veteran  may    elect    his    course   of 
training  and  select  any  approved  in- 
stitution which  will  accept  him. 

F.REE  MEDICAL  TREATMENT 

Not   available   for   non-service   con- 
nected disabilities. 

♦  ***♦♦**•***•***■***♦** 

FUTURE   BONUSES 

'    Money  spent  on  veteran's  training  or 
'    education  will  be  deducted  from  any 
!    Federal  bonuses  he  may  get. 

»**♦•******♦****♦****♦ 

LIMIT  OF   TRAINING 

1.  Total   period  of  training  cannot 
!    exceed  four  years. 

2.  Course  of  study  must  start  within 
two    years    after   discharge    or ,  two 
years  after  war,  whichever  is  later. 

3.  All  benefits  of  this  bill  terminate 
seven  years  after  end  of  war. 
Note— A  person  eligible  only   for  a 
refresher  or  retraining  course  is  lim- 
ited to  one  year. 

Disabled  Veterans  Bill 

(Public  Law  INo.  16) 

********************** 

REQUIREMENTS 

1.  Same. 

2.  Same. 

3.  Length  of  service  doesn't  matter. 

4.  Age  at  induction  doesn't  matter. 

5.  Veteran  must  have  a  disability  in- 
curred   or    aggravated    by    active 
service. 

6.  And  must  need  vocational  train- 
ing   to    overcome    the    handicap    of 
such  a  disability. 

********************** 

BENEFITS 

Tuition,  books,  special    training 
equipment  (such  as  a  Braille  type- 
writer for  the  blind)  and  $92  a  month 
for  single  person.  A  married  person 
gets  $103.50  a  month,  plus  $5.75  for 
each  dependent,  plus  $11.50  monthly 
for  each  dependent  parent. 

CHOICE  OF  TRAINING 

Every  course  of  study  must  be  ap- 
proved by  the  Veterans  Administra- 
tion. 

♦  ♦****♦**♦♦***♦******  * 

FREE  MEDICAL  TREATMENT 

-Available  for  all  disabilities,  whether 
incurred  in  service  or  not. 

*♦*♦♦♦***♦**♦********* 

FUTURE   BONUSES 

No    deduction    will    be    made    from 
future  bonuses. 

********************** 

LIMIT  OF   TRAINING 

1.  No  course  of  training  in  excess  of 
four  years  can  be  approved. 

2.  No  dead  line  on  starting  training. 

3.  All  benefits  of  this  bill  terminate 
six  years  after  end  of  war. 

^'SI^ 


In  wartime,  especially,  it  isn't  easy  to  make  the 
kind  of  soap  people  expect  to  iind  insi<ie  the 
Fels-Naptha  wrapper.  It  isn't  easy  to  get  all  the 
ingredients  necessary  to  make  Fels-Naptha  pre- 
eminent among  fine  laundry  soaps. 

And  that's  only  half  the  story.  Now,  a  larger 
share  of  our  stock  of  materials  and  our  manufac- 
turing facilities  must  be  used  to  make  good  soap 
for  men  and  women  in  active  service. 

Obviously,  this  will  mean  some  further  incon- 
venience for  civilians.  In  the  months  ahead,  you 
may  have  to  wait  more  often  for  the  familiar 
Fels-Naptha  wrapper  to  appear  on  your  grocer's 
shelf  .  .  . 

but  the  soap  inside  the  Fels-Naptha 
wrapper  will    be  Fels-Naptha    Soap. 

We  think  the  average  woman  wants  to  know  these 
plain  facts  about  the  supply  of  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 
We  think  her  loyalty  to  a  good  name  will  survive 
this  time  of  trial,  which  is  shared — in  some 
way — by  all. 

Fels-Naptha  Soap 

BAN/SHESyATTLE-TAL£  GRAY' 


THRY  the  fii-st  Spring  catch,  (or  boneless  fish  fillets),  with  a  golden 
r  crust  to  break  vinder  your  fork  and  savory  tenderness  inside.  Serve 
with  your  own  home-made,  tangy  Tartar  sauce  and  French  fried  onion 
rings — piping  hot,  delicious. 

What  a  dinner!  Deep  fried  to  perfection  in  pure  Mazola.  This 
golden  oil  with  its  delicate,  delicious  flavor,  also  makes  tempting  fresh 
salad  dressings,  smooth  cream  sauces,  wonderful  hot  breads.  Yes— 
Mazola  makes  so  many  good  things!  At  all  grocers. 


FISH  KENTUCKY 

What  a  feast!  Sizzlin'— golden  — 
delicately  crisped  in  Mazola. 

Dip  cleaned,  whole  small  fish  (or 
fresh  fish  fillets,  or  defrosted  frozen 
fillets)  into  1  cup  of  milk  seasoned 
with  1J4  tsp.  salt.  Roll  in  a  mixture 
of  ^2  cup /lour  and  14  cup  corn  meal. 

Start  frying  in  i^  inch  sizzling  hot 
M  azola ;  reduce  hea  t  to  moderate ,  and 
fry  to  a  golden  brown,  turning  only 
once.  Fish  under  1  inch  thick,  needs 
3  to  5  minutes  cooking  on  each  side. 

FRENCH    FRIED   ONION   RINGS 

This  new,  jiffy-quick  recipe 
makes  them  lighter,  more 
delicious! 

3  large  onions      1  cup  milk 

Flour  1  teaspoon  salt 

Mazola 

Cut  onions  into  J^  inch 
slices,  separate  into  rings. 
Dip  rings  in  salted  flour, 
then  milk,  again  in  flour. 
Drop  several  rings  at  a  time 
into  Mazola,  three  inches 
deep  in  a  kettle,  heated  to 
375°F.  Keep  rings  separa- 
ted. Fry  golden  brown  — 
about  1^2  to  2  minutes. 
Drain  on  paper  towels  or 
unglazed  paper;  Serves  4. 


TANGY  TARTAR  SAUCE 

You  get  a  big,  zesty   bowlful  when 
you  make  it  yourself! 


"?!', 


1  egg  yolk 

^2  t-sp .  paprika 

1  tsp.  salt 

2  tbsp.  vinegar 
1 1^  cups  Mazola 


1  tbsp.  chopped 
parsley 

1  tsp.  onion  juice 

2  tbsp.  India'' 
relish 


Whip  egg  yolk,  paprika,  salt  and 
half  of  vinegar  together  until  light  in 
color  and  thick.  Continue  beating 
and  add  Mazola  a  tablespoon  at  a 
time,  beating  well  after  each  addi- 
tion. Add  remaining  vinegar  and 
beat  again  until  thick.  Stir 
in  the  remainder  of  the 
seasonings.  Makes  l^kt  cups 
sauce. 

FRENCH  DRESSING 

This  fresh  dressing  makes 
salads  so  much  more  deli- 
cious! 

1  c.  Mazola  }4  c.  vinegar 

1  tsp.  paprika  1 14  isp.  salt 
}4:  tsp.  pepper  2tsps.sugar 
1 1'2  tsp.  onion  juice 
1 1'2  tsp.  dry  mustard 
Combine  all  ingredients  in 
a  pint  jar  or  bottle.  Cover, 
shake  until  well  mixed. 
Chill.  Makes  1 12  cups  of 
salad  dressing. 

(c)  Corn  Products  Sales  Co. 


BY  LOUISE  PAINE  UiME 


*?4e  i^ncu^.  o^  (^eUc^an*tca,  one 

*^eOi  cla/Cef^  ^uota,  <^^  6necid  (en- 
rcc^ecCf)  cvct^  mU^.  ^ne<iA  (ACfc- 


Home  from  m^arket — Phil,  Mary  and  baby  Gary.   When  ii  ^^omes  to  buy- 
ing  foods,  this  Army  veteran  is  just  as  vitamin-wise  as  his  pretty  wife. 


PHOTO    BY    HOMER    F.  SNOW 


IF  EVER  there  was  a  misleading  phrase,  it  is  that  old 
moth-eaten  saying  about  beauty's  being  only  skin 
deep.  Beauty  is  not  only  skin  deep,  but  it  is  tissue 
deep,  muscle  deep,  and  goes,  finally,  right  back  into 
your  blood  stream  where  it  has  its  beginning. 

A  good  skin  is  encouraged,  protected  and  decorated  by 
cosmetics,  but  it  must  first  be  built  on  a  basis  of  sound 
health.  Sound  health  is  promoted  by  sane  eating.  Most 
American  women  understand  by  now  that  creams  on  the 
dressing  table  must  be  supplemented  by  milk  on  the  din- 
ing table  (and  vice  versa!)  for  complexion  perfection,  but 
there  are  still  a  lot  of  questions,  and  some  fantastic  no- 
tions that  need  settling.  Here  are  some  typical  questions, 
with  their  answers: 

When  I  was  a  little  girl,  carrots  were  supposed  to 
make  curly  hair.  I  found,  alas,  that  icosri't  true. 
Now  they  are  supposed  to  clear  my  skin  and  strengthen 
my  teeth.   Is  that  also  a  €lelusion? 

The  carrot,  we  can  assure  you,  is  still  a  vegetable  in  ex- 
cellent standing,  even  though  it  doesn't  produce  perma- 
nent waves.  It  is  important  enough  to  have  given  its 
name  to  carotene,  the  yellow  pigment  found  in  many  vege- 
table foods.  Carotene  is  the  precious  "mother  substance " 
of  vitamin  A,  a  vital  element  in  any  diet,  and  so  impor- 
tant for  the  prevention  of  dry,  scaly  skin  that  it  is  actually 
sometimes  called  the  "skin  vitamin."  It  also  affords  pro- 
tectfon  against  eye  infection  and  "night  blindness,"  so 


there  is  reason  for  calling  carrots  the  "bright -eyed  food." 
And  at  least  one  authority  gives  carotene  credit  for  the 
violet  odor  of  babies!  Yes,  teeth  come  into  the  picture, 
too,  since  the  crunching  of  raw  carrots  is  conceded  to  be 
just  about  the  right  kind  of  exercise  for  them.  Wonderful, 
versatile  vegetable ! 

Is  it  true  that  many  old-fashioned  beauties  owed 
their  lovely  complexions  to  the  drinking  of  butter- 
milk? 

Buttermilk  is  a  fine  skin  food,  because  it  is  lower  in  fat 
content  than  whole  milk  and  yet  remains  highly  charged 
with  health-making  elements.  Moreover,  it  has  a  purify- 
ing effect  on  the  intestinal  tract,  which  is  of  direct  benefit 
in  clearing  up  a  sluggish  skin.  Cottage  cheese,  which  be- 
longs to  the  same  food  family,  is  also  a  valuable  item  for  a 
beauty  diet. 

My  skin  has  a  tendency  to  erupt.  I  have  been  told 
to  keep  away  from  fatty  foods,  but  as  I  am  also  decid- 
edly underweight  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  I  ought  to 
cut  out  fats  entirely.  What  do  you  think? 

No,  you  certainly  don't  want  to  cut  out  fats,  but  take 
them  in  the  form  of  dairy  products — eggs,  butter,  cream 
and  cheese — rather  than  in  fried  foods  and  rich  pastries. 
Drink  a  quart  of  milk  a  day,  and  be  sure  to  include  fruits, 
fresh  vegetables  or  salads  with  every  meal.  This  will  help 
purify  your  blood  stream  and  consequently  your  skin. 

145 


Healthy  flesh  is  not  built  by  an  unmixed  diet  of  fatty 
'  foods  and  sweets,  but  by  balanced  menus. 

I  note  that  oranges,  grapefruit  anil  tomatoes  nearly 
always  play  a  star  part  in  diets  designed  to  promote 
fitness  and  demote  fatness,  /.sn't  there  any  limit  to 
the  number  of  those  acid  fruits  one  ought  to  eat? 

Interestingly  enough,  the  "acid  "  fruits  to  which  you  re- 
fer are  not  actually  acid  in  their  effect  on  the  body.  On 
the  contrary,  they  act  as  alkalinizers,  and  help  to  build 
up  the  alkaline  reserve  so  necessary  to  health.  In  addi- 
tion, they  are  liberally  spiked  with  vitamin  C,  the  famous 
antiscurvy  vitamin  which  favors  good  bone  and  tooth 
formation  and  sound  gums.  Their  mild  laxative  proper- 
ties, coupled  with  the  fact  that  they  are  not  taxing  to  the 
digestive  organs,  make  them  an  excellent  means  of  fresh- 
ening the  system.  Except  in  rare  instances,  therefore, 
they  should  be  used  freely,  since  they  are  genuine  "skin 
tonics"  as  well  as  weight  fighters. 

/  am  so  embarrassed  by  the  fact  that  my  nose  gets 
red  so  easily.  External  treatment  doesn't  seem  to 
help.  Does  eating  and  drinking  really  have  anything 
to  do  u}ith  this? 

You  don't  need  to  feel  embarrassed  about  your  nose, 
and  it  is  too  bad  that  uninformed  people  so  often  consider 
a  rosy  nose  a  subject  for  teasing.  The  real  source  may  be 
one  of  several  internal  (Continued  on  Page  156) 


UnW     AMFRITA     I.  IVRS! 


-'^ 


FOR  me 


Architectural  Editor  of  the  Journal 


The  Grays,  including  Gary,  look  over  the 
plan  of  the  house  they  can  have,  with  the 
architect,  right,  the  landscape  architect, 
left,  and    the   architectural   editor,    center. 


BEFORE  I  describe  the  novel  benefits  to  daily 
living  which  this  house  will  bring  to  the  Grays 
when  they  build  it,  or  to  anyone  who  builds  it, 
I  shall  first  describe  the  benefits  provided  by  the 
California  veterans'  legislation,  which  will  make  it 
possible  for  the  Grays  to  have  the  house — and  to  hold 
it  with  a  feeling  of  security.  Setting  forth  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  California  plan  for  home  ownership 
by  veterans,  which  has  been  operating  successfully 
since  shortly  after  World  War  I,  inevitably  suggests 
comparisons  between  the  California  plan  and  the 
home-owning  provisions  of  the  Federal  G.I.  Bill,  so- 
called. 

All  these  provisions  can  affect  the  future  of  un- 
numbered returning  servicemen.  If  there  are  op- 
portunities  for   improvement   in   the   Federal   bill, 

146 


some  of  the  opportunities  may  appear  in  this  ( 
parison. 

One  feature  of  immediate  importance  to  h 
buyers  right  after  the  war — veteran  and  civ 
alike — is  when  to  buy.  The  rush  to  build  and  buy 
be  like  an  avalanche,  and  house  prices  may  : 
porarily  become  quite  high,  then  recede.  The  ( 
fornia  Veterans'  Welfare  Board  takes  this  pos 
inflationary  trend  into  consideration,  and  is  enc 
aging  veterans  there  to  defer  their  home-pure 
applications  until  the  real-estate  market  becc 
more  stabilized.  This  seems  to  me  an  excellent  si 
to  take,  as  opposed  to  the  two-year  limit  the  G.I. 
gives  the  veteran  to  make  his  purchase.  For  it 
only  protects  the  buyer  as  to  price,  but  it  does  sc 
thing  else  of  equal  importance.  It  gives  the  buil 
industry  a  chance  to  put  new  construction  metl 
into  practice,  and  to  get  new  equipment  and  neW 
terials  into  production,  all  of  which  will  benefit 
buyer. 

Of  course,  the  price  factor  can  be  contro 
and  as  this  is  being  written,  Marriner  S.  Eccles,  dfj; 
man  of  the  Federal  Reserve  board,  is  proposing 
rising  real-estate  prices  be  checked  by  taxation; 
otherwise  "it  would  make  a  mirage  of  the  hopt 
millions  of  war  veterans  who  are  counting  on  b 
able  to  obtain  a  home  .  .  .  when  they  return  f 
the  front."  Perhaps  price  ceilings  should  be  pla 
as  well. 

As  t©  the  purchase  plan,  the  California  law 
quires  a  down  payment  of  5  per  cent  on  a  new  he  r 
which  gives  the  veteran  a  sense  of  having  an  ac 
cash  investment  in  the  home  in  partnership  with 
state.  The  G.I.  Bill  requires  no  down  payment, 
advantages  of  which  are  open  to  question.  Ui 
the  California  plan,  the  state  furnishes  the  fundsfti 
to  a  $5000  home,  and  the  veteran  pays  interest 
cording  to  prevailing  money  costs,  now  apprta 


MARIO  CORBETT,  architect;  GARRETT  ECKBO,  landscape  architect;  house  model  by  Raymond  barger  sTut  t 


■  3  per  cent.  The  G.I.  Bill  makes  it  possible 

veteran  to  obtain  funds  from  private  lenders 
It  cent.  In  California  the  state  has  a  financial 
n  the  transaction,  and  therefore  scrutinizes  all 
ses  with  close  partnerlike  care,  and  provides 
possible  safeguard  in  connection  with  the 
;  long-term  value;  protects  the  veteran's  in- 
;nt  with  complete  fire  and  life  insurance  cov- 
and  in  the  event  of  resale  the  board  super- 
he  transaction  and  gives  the  veteran  the  full 

of  any  possible  profit. 

roof  of  its  sound  principles,  19.000  California 
IS  of  World  War  I  have  enjoyed  home- 
se  financing  at  cost  lower  than  rent,  with  no 
(the  veterans  or  their  families,  and  at  no  cost 
ever  to  the  taxpayers.  This  record,  in  itself,  is 
2nge  to  the  G.I.  Bill,  a  challenge  which  it  is 
;he  G.I.  Bill  can  accept  and  put  through  with 
luccess. 
house  itself,  which  has  been  passed  upon  and 

by  the  California  board,  offers  certain  living 
lages  comparable  in  quality  to  the  advantages 
(California  legislation.  For  instance,  the  bed- 
jhave  been  so  designed  as  to  plan  and  furnish- 
|.t  they  can  function  pleasantly  as  secondary 
jrooms  and  studies  for  their  occupants,  thus 
ing  the  over-all  usefulness  of  the  house  with- 
:reasing  its  size  and  cost.    In  addition,  this 

has  been  further  expanded  by  the  architect, 
boration  with  the  landscape  architect,  by  the 
-)ment  of  individual  gardens,  not  only  in  con- 
I.  with  the  bedrooms,  where  each  member  of 
liily  can  find  privacy  outside  as  well  as  in,  but 
jiection  with  both  sections  of  the  living  room 
I;  kitchen.  In  the  case  of  each  room,  the  fam- 
icouraged  to  spread  outside  whenever  weather 
and  thus  enlarge  its  living  at  the  same 
lat  the  house  is  in  effect  likewise  enlarged. 


tE    BY  BETTY  DE  MARS;  SETTING  AND  PHOTOGRAPH   BY  PRATT 

ii". 


;  '^  1 


^'^-haZs'"''/'^-'- Piano, 
«'*   outdoor  T  ^""-^-n  S'"'*^ 


T 


|W^,.^  ;•« 


:*•   '    m ^■'  \^  "^ 


I 
i      i 


fill 


»'!-- 


**» 


CM  aftnfti^  /kJiwM^jU  tAnAnj  iki  '[Ut  jjIm""^^  A-  Im 


148 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


BACK  HOME  FOR  KEEPS 


You've  been  in  a  gray  fog  since  the  day  he  went  away — half- 
seeing,  half-hearing,  hardly  daring  to  hope.  Then  the  sun  floods 
in,  the  sky's  true  blue,  there's  a  great  rushing  song  of  thanks- 
giving within  you  .  .  .  your  heart  slips  back  to  its  old  familiar 
haven  .  .  .  your  man  is  yours  .  .  .  you're  his  .  .  .  for  keeps. 

Is  it  selfish  to  dream  ...  in  wartime?  No!  A  nation's  new  homes 
are  its  hope  for  tomorrow!  Here  at  Community,  even  while  we 
speed  the  pace  of  our  war  work,  our  hearts,  like  yours,  are  winging 
home.  Home  to  thoughts  of  the  gracious  and  lovely  Community* 
the  brides  of  America  have  ever  loved  and  cherished.  The  day  is 
drawing  nearer . , .  we'll  have  it  for  you  . . .  when  your  man  comes 
home  .  .  .  back  home  for  keeps. 


*Lady  Hamilton.  Design 


'trademark 


SPEID     THE     DAY 


CORYRIOHT   1040.  ONEIDA   LTD. 


BUY    WAR     BONDS! 


rREEi  If  you'd  like  a  full  color  reproduction  of  this  painting,  with- 
out advertising,  write  COMMUNITY,  Dcpt.  J-5,  Oneida,  N.  Y. 


"yl^  Tomorrow's  living  rooms  are  spacious,  with  plenty  of  glass  and  real  rainbow  colorings  in  the  furnishings. 


rr  r 


fp 


r  r 


llfllG 


The  dining  end  of  the  living  room  matches  the  scheme,  looks  inviting. 


PHOTOS  BY  HAROLD  FOWLBR 


vS&l-'^^^-^-^. 


BY  HENRIETTA  MURDO«  K 

Interior  Decoration  Editor  of  the  Journal 

HERE  is  a  typical  postwar  living  room,  fully  constructed,  furnished  and  photographed 
for  your  immediate  inspection.  You  can  see  that  it  is  altogether  different  from  the 
family  rooms  you  are  used  to  seeing,  but  most  of  the  change  is  in  the  new  type  of 
background. 
Many  young  couples,  like  the  Grays,  will  have  to  postpone  their  home  building  for 
a  few  years  at  least.   But  even  so,  now  is  the  time  to  make  your  plans,  and  the  way  to 
know  what  you  eventually  want  is  to  get  acquainted  with  all  the  new  things  as  they 
come  along. 

If  you  have  been  living  in  tight  little  rooms,  those  floor-to-ceiling  windows  will  be  the 
first  thing  to  catch  your  eye.  They  are  the  kind  of  luxurious  feature  we  have  been  seeing 
only  in  very  expensive  modern  houses  up  to  now.  After  the  war,  even  small  houses  can 
have  them;  and  if  you  aren't  sure  you  like  so  much  glass,  just  look  at  the  picture  long 
and  carefully  and  compare  the  whole  effect  with  your  present  closed-in  surroundings. 

You  may  call  the  furnishings  modern  if  you  like.  In  reality,  they  are  little  different 
from  the  simple  styles  we  have  been  seeing  for  some  time.  The  arrangement  and  color 
scheme  make  them  look  modern.   Here  are  the  interesting  details  of  the  room's  furnishings. 

Tfce  Furniture.  The  sofa  and  chairs  are  painted  willow,  upholstered  in  clear,  bright 
colors.  The  library  table  is  carpenter-made  from  our  own  sketch  and  has  a  suggestion 
of  Chinese  in  its  design.  You  will  find  it  easy  to  copy,  in  case  you  are  interested. 
The  finish  is  white  paint,  partly  rubbed  off  before  it  dries,  to  make  it  match  the 
willow.  (Continued  on  Page  170 


HOW  AMERICA  LIVES 


150 


^<m  /imerUca  ^iucd. 


fCoKJl-lroQ  luyyAJil  /w^-^  korm^i 


LADIES,  give  a  cheer!  For  those  deli- 
cious, those  zesty,  those  wonderful  Birds 
Eye  Fish  are  heading  home  again.  Home 
to  the  place  you  like  'em  best — smack 
on  your  dinner  table. 

Some  are  here  already.  Not  too  many. 
But  if  you'll  keep  cocking  an  eye  into 
the  Birds  Eye  cjise,  chances  are  O.K. 


for  an  old-time  Fish  Du,)ii  i  '  V.'-  l,..ve 
Cod  in  mind.  King  Cod — whom  fisher- 
men term  "most  misunderstood  of  fish !" 
"Misunderstood"  they  say,  because 
you  have  to  ^et  him  fresh  to  really 
appreciate  the  fact  that  he's  the  finest 
eating  fish  there  is !  And  too  many  people 
know  him  smoked,  dried,  or  salted. 


Here  he  is — "ocean-fresh 

Birds  Eye  Cod  Fillets  are  ocean-fresh — 
"4-hours-fresh !"  We  nab  the  cod  in  the 


BIRDS  EYE 
FROSTED  FOODS 


cold,  cold  North  Atlantic,  where  fish  is 
finest. 

'     "I'll 

Rushed  ashore,  they  are  cleaned, 
boned, filleted,  washed,  and  Quick-Frozen 
WITHIN  4  hours!  Sealed  in  is  that 
marvelouj  just-caught  goodness — 
every  last  bit  of  the  tang-of-the-sea.  And 
they're  WORK-FREE— we  do  it  all.  Just 
unwrap,  cook,  serve.  A  pound  serves  4. 

These  tempting,  flaky  fillets  are,  more- 
over, really  economical.  Because  you 
eat  all  you  buy.  No  waste  to  'em. 
Look  in  at  your  Birds  Eye  Store  for  Cod 
Fillets — and  look  again.  Success  will  yet 
crown  your  patience,  in  a  big  way ! 


HOMKk  F.  s: 


Young  Gary  is  bouncing  with  hcullh  and  Mary  wants  to  keep  him 
that  way.    Thirty  ronls  provides  a  healthy  breakfast  for  this   trio. 

I  IlillE  *lfl  TO  SPMD 


DON'T  let  anyone  kid  you.  It's  no 
snap  these  days  to  squeeze  out 
IwLnty-fjne  meals  a  week  for  three 
on  a  flat  sum  of  .SIO.  The  Orays  can 
six;nd  just  that  and  not  a  penny  more. 
There's  no  fund  to  borrow  from,  either, 
if  they  should  ^a  over  the  edge.  With 
them  it  isn't  a  stunt,  to  save  a  few  dol- 
lars in  an  occasif)nal  week.  It's  an 
every-week  must.  And  there  are  others 
fenced  in  with  just  as  slim  a  budget. 

Supixjse  you  had  $10  to  spend,  for  a 
threesf^mc?  What  would  you  do? 
Where  to  start?  How  to  make  the 
money  last  srj  that  you  won't  end  up 
with  nothing  but  oatmeal  for  the  last 
day?  How  to  choose  between  f(X)ds? 
These  are  sfjme  of  the  problems,  the 
solution  of  which  makes  the  going  easier. 

FOOD  XEEDS  FIRfiiT 

Yes,  even  before  menus  and  shopping — 
a  s(jrt  of  skeleton  plan  of  the  foods  you 
need  for  good  health  steers  your  pen- 


nies into  the  right  places.  For  once  il 
spent,  there's  little  use  to  say,  "I  shou 
have  bought  carrots  and  cabbage  i 
stead  of  that  box  of  strawberries.' 

Mary  is  pregnant,  and  the  forxl  si 
eats  is  as  impfjrtant  as  visits  to  the  do 
tor.  Philip  is  working  like  mad  to  fini; 
school,  and  there's  baby  Gary  too 

A  leaflet  called  Family  Food  Plai 
forGfxxl  Nutrition— No.  AWI-78— c, 
Office  of  Information,  U.  S.  Departma 
of  Agriculture,  Washington  25,  D.  C, 
yours  for  the  asking.  Write  for  it  ai 
use  it  to  make  plans  for  your  own  far 
ily.  It  includes  a  low-cost  as  well  as 
moderate-cost  food  plan. 

Based  on  the  low-cost  plan,  here  a 
the  quantities  of  food  needed  by  tl 
Grays  for  one  week,  with  the  cost 
each  group  totaled  so  you  can  see  ho 
the  money  is  divided.  There's  little 
spare.  The  market  order  will  be  difft 
ent  for  every  family,  but  theirs  m; 
help  you  plan  yours. 


I  WKKK'S  F04»»  F4»lt  TIIK  «>IIAYS 

IVlilk  at]«l  niilk  |ir4Mjii<*lH 17  (|Im.  or  itH  <-(|iiival<*iil 

l*<»lnl<»<*M 7  ll>s 

<  ili'ii><  IriiilH  uikI  li>r>iat<><-H 7t  II>m.    Co/.h 

I>r>    lifaiiH,  pt-UH,  niilH.  (■!<■ I   Id.  2  tr/.n 

Circrii  aii<l  y<'ll<>w  v<-t;<-tal>lfs ."j  IIim 

Olhfi-  f'rtiilN  and  v«-|[{<-tal>leH 6  lim 

i: 


•-KK« 


VlfalH,  poultry,  fmh 4  lbs.  1.3  ozh.. 

MoiirM,  br«-a<l  and  JM-rcalM 9  IIjk.  4  <>/.«.    . 

latH  ari<l  iiiis 2  II>h 

SiinarH  and  HiriipH 1  lb.  8  o/.h. 

BummJ  «»n  San  FraiKJwM>  (M-iling  \tT\v^H  aH  ih**  Journal  g(K*8  to  |>re8S. 


.«;2..-i.-> 
..{« 
.63 
.18 
.71 
.62 
.60 
1.72 
1..31 
..56 
.31 


$9..'J7 


Wis 


«Mtl»KltS  FIIOM  IIKAU^IIJAItTKItS 

Ifushingluii,  />.  i'.. 

LADY,  IT'S  SABOTAGE.  Think  before  you  pinch  the  pep- 
pers or  punch  the  peaches.  It  has  been  estimated  that  the  amount 
of  waste  of  Truits  and  green  vegetables  resulting  from  shoppers' 
vandalism  annually  would  be  enough  to  feed  4,295,000  children  for 
one  week.  Think  of  it  I  Bruised  foods  quickly  spoil.  At  the  end  of 
each  day,  quantities  of  food  In  every  market  must  be  thrown  out. 
8,590.000  pounds  of  fresh  green  vegetables  alone  are  wasted  annu- 
ally. Shop  with  your  eyes  or  trust  the  salesman  to  choose  for  you. 


The  above  cost  total  might  well  be 
much  more  or  even  less — depending  on 
what  is  bought  to  make  up  the  totals  of 
pounds  and  ounces  of  this  and  that,  and 
where  the  purchase  is  made.  While  most 
foods  are  governed  by  ceiling  prices, 
often  chain  stores  have  specials  at 
prices  which  are  under  ceiling.  The 
ceilings  themselves  vary  in  different 
types  of  stores. 

$9.57  buys  only  the  bare  necessities 
for  a  fairly  good  diet.  Mary  manages 
to  eke  out  enough  for  a  pound  of  coffee 
and  extras  now  and  then  by  buying 
fruits  and  vegetables  at  the  open  mar- 
ket, where  prices  are  sometimes  lower 
on  certain  things — but  not  everyone 
has  this  advantage. 

SUM  AND  SUBSTANCE 

MUh—Top  Spot.  A  third  of  a  pound 
of  American  cheese  can  take  the  place 
of  a  quart  of  milk,  and  costs  about  2 
cents  less.  It  will  make  many  dishes 
more  exciting  even  if  it  does  take  a  few 
precious  points.  Buttermilk  costs  the 
same  as  milk.  Mary  prefers  it  during 
her  pregnancy.  Milk  sells  for  14  •  2 
cents  at  stores,  15 '  2  cents  if  delivered, 
in  San  Francisco,  so  she  saves  a  little  on 
milk  when  she  shops  with  Fhil.  You'll 
i.otice  that  we've  spent  more  for  milk 
than  for  meat.  Cottage  cheese  counts, 
too;  it  helps  to  break  the  monotony, 
is  unrationed  and  fine  for  summer 
suppers. 

Sp»nding  tor  Spudti.  Buy  potatoes 
by  the  ten-pound  bag  to  save  a  few 
cents.  New  potatoes  will  probably  be 
too  high  for  the  budget  until  later.  In 
the  fall  and  winter,  count  sweet  pota- 
toes in  your  total.  Bake  or  boil  pota- 
toes in  the  skin — get  all  the  good.  Pota- 
toes must  supply  cheaply  many  of  the 
vitamins  and  minerals  usually  supplied 
by  more  expensive  fruits  and  vege- 
tables. 

"C"  uH  in  CUruH.  Divide  your 
citrus  and  tomato  purchases  to  your 
own  taste,  but  remember  that  it  takes 
half  again  as  much  of  canned  tomatoes 
or  tomato  juice,  for  instatice,  to  provide 
the  same  value  as  orange  juice.  Except 
lor  babies,  serve  oranges  in  the  skin 
oftener  than  as  juice.  Ounce  for  ounce, 
the  peel  of  orange  contains  about  three 
times  as  much  vitamin  C  as  the  pulp 
and  juice.  You  can't  eat  the  peel,  but 
grate  it  and  add  to  foods  for  flavor.  Five 
pounds,  four  ounces  of  this  group  isn't 
nearly  as  much  as  anyone  would  like — 
even  though  it  may  be  enough  "nutri- 
tionally." If  you  can  possibly  find  a 
place  this  spring  to  put  in  even  half  a 
dozen  tomato  plants  and  some  salad 
seeds,  you'll  be  money  and  pleasure 
ahead. 

BvunH  in  tlm  Budavt.  Beans  and  split 
peas  figure  big  as  protein  suppliers 
when  you  keep  up  the  milk  quotas. 
They  make  wonderful  stick-to-the-ribs 
soups  and  casseroles  for  grownups.  Try 
a  different  way  every  week  so  the  fam- 
ily won't  get  tired  of  them. 

iPenniva  'n'ith  Color.  Kale  is  in  the 
high,  high  brackets  of  vitamin  A.  .  .  . 
Carrots  are  the  poor  man's  gold — an- 
other good  bet  for  vitamin  A — and 
they  are  usually  cheap  at  all  seasons  of 
the  year.  What's  more,  you  can  eat 
khem  raw  and  they  are  a  good  buy  for 
jbabies.  .  .  .  Lettuce  is  a  luxury — 
jchicory  and  romaine  wear  more  of  the 
breen  and  tote  more  food  value.  The 
more  salads  you  can  manage,  the  bet- 
ter. Another  argument  for  a  green  row 
:o  hoe.  And  thank  heaven  for  a  "weedy  " 
awn,  if  the  weeds  are  dandelions.  Dig 
;hem  young  before  they  blossom. 

9th«r»    and    OlhvrH.     Of    the    six 

x)unds  of  "others,"  there'll  be  some 
jananas  and  prunes  for  the  baby,  which 


can  be  used  for  grownups  too.  .  .  .  And 
cabbage — now  there's  a  vegetable  that 
can  walk  into  any  of  the  other  fruit  and 
vegetable  groups  mentioned  above  and 
feel  like  one  of  the  crowd.  It's  just  as 
high-hat  as  a  ripe  tomato  for  vitamin  C. 
At  8  cents  a  pound,  it's  really  a  good 
buy.  Six  pounds  of  this  group  isn't 
really  much  when  you  survey  your  pur- 
chases on  the  kitchen  table,  so  make 
them  go  as  far  as  possible  until  you  can 
afford  more. 

TItv  (ioldvn  Ego.  While  three  eggs  a 
day  would  be  even  better,  fifteen  a 
week  will  do.  They  cost  about  4  cents 
apiece  if  you  buy  Grade  A  medium. 
B's  are  O.K.  for  cooking  and  save  a 
few  cents. 

Not  3lui-li  Meat.  Meats,  poultry  and 
fish — that's  the  item  that  makes  a  big 
hole  in  any  budget  if  you  have  the 
points  and  the  "eats"  are  there  to  buy. 
Fish  costs  more  than  it  used  to,  but  it's 
certainly  more  available.  Poultry,  for 
now  at  least,  is  out  of  reach.  For  this 
week's  market  order,  we  planned  on  J4 
pound  of  hamburger  and  4  ounces  cf 
liver — 1  tablespoon  a  day  for  the  baby. 
Some  of  the  ground  beef  can  be  stretched 
with  5  ounces  of  ground  veal  with 
noodles.  Half  a  pound  of  veal  kidney 
makes  a  good  stew.  The  1  pound  of 
lamb  breast  can  be  braised  and  stretched 
with  carrots  and  potatoes.  It's  a  differ- 
ent taste  anyway.  Two  fish  nights — one 
for  a  chowder,  another,  broiled  halibut 
or  whatever  the  fish  buy  will  be.  Roasts 
are  out  on  a  low-cost  budget. 

Flourm  and  Cerealn.  Of  the  total  9 
pounds  4  ounces,  plan  on  3  pounds  of 
bread — part  whole-wheat  and  part  en- 
riched for  variety.  A  14-16  ounce  pack- 
age of  whole-wheat  or  enriched  cereal 
and  a  20-ounce  package  of  oatmeal  will 
make  a  hot  cereal  for  all,  including  the 
baby.  Com  meal  for  johnnycakes  and 
mulSns;  pancake  flour  for  Sunday-night 
supper;  graham  crackers;  pudding 
mixes;  some  noodles  and  a  pound  of 
enriched  flour  for  cooking  all  come  out 
of  this  list.  It  may  seem  like  a  lot  of 
cereal,  but  cereals  help  make  up  for 
the  use  of  little  meat.  Cereals  have 
protein,  too,  and  with  milk  in  the  diet 
they  do  a  good  job  even  though  you 
may  like  a  good  piece  of  meat  better. 
Who  doesn't? 

Fatit  are  Slim.  Of  the  2  pounds  of 
fats,  we  allowed  ^4  pound  of  margarine, 
I2  pound  of  peanut  butter  and  12 
ounces  of  jowl  "bacon."  The  drippings 
can  be  used  for  cooking.  No  shorten- 
ing, salad  oils  or  salad  dressings?  Well, 
if  you  want  to  rob  Peter  to  pay  Paul — 
otherwise  try  to  buy  one  different 
shortening  a  week :  margarine  every  two 
weeks,  and  so  on. 

Su-eetM.  In  San  Francisco,  molasses 
costs  23-25  cents  a  pound,  granulated 
sugar  about  8  cents— quite  a  difference, 
and  you  no  doubt  could  put  that  money 
to  good  use.  However,  iron-rich  foods 
are  very  important  during  pregnancy. 
Molasses  is  one  of  the  best.  Sugar  fur- 
nishes only  energy,  but  at  least  a  half 
pound  a  week  is  needed. 

Moneii  tiaa  l^'int/M.  Money  in  your 
pocket  and  you're  off  to  shop.  Buy 
what  appeals  to  you  at  the  moment, 
and  before  you  know  it  there's  little  but 
change  from  a  five-dollar  bill.  The 
whole  rest  of  the  week  to  eat  on  the 
other  five.  It  isn't  much  fun,  I  know, 
to  pass  up  lamb  chops  and  buy  kid- 
neys— and  you  won't  always  do  it.  But 
if  you  know  that  what  you  do  buy  is 
planned  to  keep  your  family  in  good 
health,  you  won't  mind  so  much.  We 
all  have  to  do  more  window  shopping 
than  buying  these  days,  and  after  a 
while  you  get  real  pleasure  out  of  it— 
the  window  shopping,  I  mean. 


151 


2nz  niECious 

Save  your  precious  sugar  .  .  .  make  it  "go 
further".  It's  easy  if  you  follow  Grandma's 
simple  tips.  She  shows  you  how  to  serve  lots 
of  family  favorites  that  require  no  sugar 
\.  .  ■  how  to  replace  half  sugar  in  a  recipe 
'  by  using  Grandma's  sweeter,  mellower       f!s^ 
Molasses  .  .  .  how  to  use  her  Old 

Fashioned  Molasses  as  a  mr's 

delicious  sweetener.  m^*A 


Sm  4m  sugarless 


Save  sugar  by  treating  your  family  to  delicious  dishes  made  with 
Grandma's  Molasses  and  NO  SUGAR  .  .  .  treat  them  to  .  .  . 

DEVIL'S  FOOD  CAKE  »      CRUMB  CAKE 

LEMON  SAUCE  BAKED  CUSTARD 

HOT  WATER  GINGERBREAD 

For  delicate  flavor,  wonderful  sweetness  in  these  and  other  dishes 
insist  on  Grandma's  Molasses.  1  cup  of  Grandma's  Molasses  gives 
you  as  much  sugar  and  sweetness  as  1  cup  of  granulated  sugar.  Re- 
member Grandma's  Molasses  contains  no  sulphur  dioxide. 


L 


J^half 


OMjSl^jM, 


Stretch  your  sugar  by  making  desserts  with  HALF  sugar  and  HALF 
Grandma's  Molasses.  Use  this  half  and  half  combination  m  .  .  . 

BROWNIES  CHOCOLATE  PUDDING       GINGER  COOKIES 

CHOCOLATE  COOKIES        APPLE  COBBLER  7-MINUTE  ICINGS 

For  complete  directions  for  making  these  sugar-saving  treats,  send 
for  Grandma's  new  FREE  leaflet,  "Make  Your  Precious  Sugar  Go 
Further."  Or  to  adjust  your  own  recipes,  just  remember  that  in 
baked  desserts  V2  cup  Grandma's  Molasses  and  /4  teaspoon  soda  can 
be  used  to  replace  V2  cup  granulated  sugar  plus  1  teaspoon  baking 
powder  and  2  tablespoons  water  or  milk. 


//' 


^($^A«4»ifc^4<i^  4<(  ^  sweetener 

The  rich  goodness  of  Grandma's  Molasses  makes  it  a  favorite  sweet- 
ener ...  a  delicious  topping  for  all  sorts  of  treats.  You'll  love  it  on  .  .  . 

PANCAKES  CEREALS  BREAD 

FRENCH  TOAST  WAFFLES  MILK  DRINKS 

Buy  a  jar  of  Grandma's  Molasses  the  next  time  you  shop  and  start 

serving    sugar-saving 

dishes    made    with    this 

wonderful    tasting    Old 

Fashioned  Molasses  that 

is  rich  in  nature's  iron. 


AMERICAN  MOLASSES  COMPANY.  Dept.  LHJS,  120  Wall  St..  New  York  5,  N.Y. 
Please  send  me  FREE  Grandma's  new  leaflet,  "Make  Your  Precious  Sugar  Go  Further" 

(W.-asr  print   plniiilv) 


4 

'— 

) 

.0..-.       CO..,.             ■ 

kI 

1- 

1  ..::l. 

) 

REr»>c«.KAr*« 

.... 

0  o 
O  0 

/-:>, 

... 

RANCC 

vtc^TE  a 

f=j 

Playroom  for  youngsters  and 
a  hobby  corner  complete  the 
Uitchen''s  all-round  liiability. 


.i/  am-  kM:i 


TEAMIMC   UP  ...  For  folks  who  iniisl  eal,  iiiusl  keep  flt-an,  like  lo  ride  hobhiets,  have  lo  keep  an  eye  on  l)al)ies. 

FII4III  .  •  •  Everything  for  the  kitchen's  first  function  asseiiihled  in  a  well-planned  U> 
FUiy  .  ,  ,  A  darkroom  for  the  Grays'  hohhy,  photofjraphy,  and  a  siuiny  spot  for  Mary's  sewing. 
LAUNDRY  ,  ,  ,  Complete,  bright — near  service  entrance  and  drying  yard. 

SMALL  FRY  ,  ,  ,  Enjoyahly  "with"  mother,  hut  not  underfoot — seeable  from  everywhere! 


A  pair  of  sinks  sets  off  the  laundry  and  food-fixing  spaces. 


PHOTOS  BY  STUJ 


T 


BY  .IITDV    BARRY 

HIS  kitchen  you  could  have  as  soon  as  equipment  is  released, 
and  at  minimum  cost,  mind  you.  Of  course,  there  are  frills  you 
might  add  later  as  income  flourishes,  without  changing  the 
basic  well-planned  layout. 

In  the  food  unit  there  is  a  convenient  little  counter,  like  the 
filling  in  a  sandwich,  between  range  and  refrigerator.  Just  where 
you  need  them — storage  cupboards  above  and  below.  Lots  more 
working  space  along  the  wall  under  the  window — lots  more  storage 
space  beneath. 

See  how  a  pair  of  sinks,  one  for  laundry,  one  for  dishwashing,  clev- 
erly sets  off  the  laundry  and  food-fixing  spaces? 

The  laundry  has  its  own  special  cupboard,  for  soaps,  starches  and 
such,  over  the  washing  machine.  And,  bliss  indeed,  still  another 
closet  for  cleaning  supplies,  next  to  the  children's  corral! 

The  portable  sewing  machine  has  been  arranged  to  pop  up,  like  a 
secretary's  typewriter,  and  to  tuck  away,  when  it's  not  busy,  in  this 
endlessly  useful  little  unit  that  can  double  as  a  planning  desk, 
cjuick-lunch  table  or  a  cutting  table.  And  on  its  curved  shelves,  at 
the  far  end,  are  the  iron,  clothes  sprinkler,  and  so  on. 

The  ironing  board,  snug  in  its  sliding-drxjr  hideaway,  does  a  peat, 
new  trick  that  could  add  years  to  your  backlxjne's  life^one  of  those 
miraculously  simple  tricks!   Tell  you  details  on  page  161. 


HOW   A>IFIII4'A    LIVI<^S 

152 


LADIES*  HOME  JOURNAL 


±  he  countryside  is  wide  and  welcoming .  .  .  the  garden 

fresh  with  flowers  .  .  .  the  sun  describes  its  arc  across 
the  blue  bowl  of  the  day  .  .  . 


When  evening  comes,  we  set  our  table  on 
the  terrace  .  .  .  the  hurricane  lamps  shine 
down  upon  the  linen  cloth,  and  gild  the  pat- 
tern of  the  Sterling  that  makes  a  party  of  our 
Jining  .  . . 

I  The  beauty  of  Towle  Sterling  at  each  place 
rurns  each  meal  into  an  Occasion.  The  exqui- 
ite  Towle  patterns,  made  today  in  craft  tra- 
litions  that  reach  back  to  1690,  are  fashioned 


in  solid  silver.  Solid  Silver  means  many,  many 
generations  of  usefulness. 

Still  Towle  Sterling  is  not  expensive.  A 
place-setting  includes  a  knife,  fork,  teaspoon, 
salad  fork,  cream  soup  spoon  and  butter 
spreader,  and  yet  costs  as  little  as  $22.70,  in- 
cluding 20%  Federal  Tax.  Select  your  own 
pattern  now,  from  the  lovely  Towle  Sterling 
patterns  your  jeweler  can  show  you. 


OLD    MIRROR 


CRAFTSMAN 


CANDLELIGHT 


RAMBLER   ROSE 


LOUIS   XIV 


SILVER    FLUTES 


Write  for  a  free  copy  of  "The  Bride  in  Wartime" 
—  to  help  care  for  your  Sterling.  Address:  The 
Towle  Silversmiths,  Department  J-5,  Newbury- 
port,  Massachusetts.  And  to  assure  the  kind  of 
living  that  Towle  Sterling  represents  —  invest 
more  in  War  Bonds  now! 


OWLE 

STERLING 


154 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


Xj^g^  ^  Use  this  delicious  Wesson  Dressing  on  all  salads 
w€€^y€4f  of  vegetables,  ftuits,  or  mixed  greens.  That's 
how  to  tempt  youi  family  to  eat  all  their  healthful  vitamin 
salads.  Get  Wesson  Oil  today . .  .  and  see  for  yourself  why 
more  American  women  buy  Wesson  Oil  than  any  other  brand 
of  salad  oil! 

^sson  Oil 


FOR  SALADS  6?  COOKING 


"^vfe 


NtW    OKLIi  A  NS 


CALL  ME  EARLY! 

(Continued  from  Page  41) 


But  how  good  it  would  be  to  follow  that 
mountain  brook  I  used  to  haunt,  to  see  the 
early  ferns  uncurling  their  incredible  laces 
on  banks  only  touched  by  sun,  never  in  the 
full  glare  of  any  celestial  lamp.  On  those 
banks  the  alders  grow  only  to  prove  a  pitfall 
for  the  unwary  and  inexperienced  angler. 
(This  is  easier  than  to  write  "fisherman." 
Fisherman  is  a  much  longer  word  and  takes 
up  more  time  to  write,  so,  as  I  am  a  little 
pressed  for  time  just  now,  I  will  use  the  word 
"angler,"  which  has  the  same  meaning,  and 
conserve  time  and  space.  Besides,  "fisher- 
man" is  old-fashioned  and  likely  to  get  mis- 
spelled.) 

A  irard  of  irarning.  Oh,  yes,  about 
those  alders.  If  you  don't  watch  it  every 
minute,  you'll  have  those  dratted  things  eat- 
ing hook,  line  and  sinker  and  getting  them- 
selves involved  right  up  to  your  back  hair. 
In  the  meantime,  the  trout  will  be  giggling 
under  the  water,  screened  by  those  rocks  of 
ages,  gloating  and  glancing  and  gleaming— 
but  not  having  any.  Thanks  a  lot.  Since  I 
can't  go  fishing  and  can't  see  how  I'm  going 
to  get  away  with  writing  a  piece  about  it, 
how  will  it  do  if  I  set  down  here  the  receipt 
for  the  fish  mousse  you  see  in  the  picture — 
and  let  the  dream  go  by? 

BAKKW  Vl^iiU  M01TS»»E— 
SOIK-ritEAlM  SAUCE 

Cook  21/2  |M>iiiid.s  of  fresh  fish  fillets — 
flounder.  eo<l  or  liaddoeU — or  fresh  .salmon. 
I  gue.ss  floiiiKler  is  best,  liiit  tastes  vary. 
Poaeli  the  fish  in  water  u  ith  lemon,  onion, 
parsh-y,  hay  leaf,  salt  and  pe|>per.  Drain 
the  fish  and  flake  it, when  il  "s  eo<d.  The  2'/2 
ponn<ls  make  just  the  ri^ht  amount  —  I 
qnarl.  flaked.  To  (he  fish  add  1  eup  of 
ehopped,  t<>a.sled,  l>lan<-hed  almonds,  1 
cup  of  cream,  I '4  «-ups  of  fine  i'raeker 
crumbs,    %  cup  of  melte<l   butter  or  mar- 


garine, 2  tablespoons  of  grated  onion,  the 
j  uiee  of  2  lemons,  a  dash  of  pepper  and  salt 
to  taste.  Takes  plenty.  Use  a  fork  ot  pastry 
blender  to  mash  the  fish  mixture  fine.  Beat 
with  a  spoon.  Beat  6  egg  yolks  and  fold  in. 
Then  beat  the  egg  whites  (6)  until  stiff  but 
not  dry,  and  fold  in  last.  Grease  a  loaf  pan. 
Fill  with  the  mixture  and  pat  it  down 
smooth.  Cover  with  "buttered"  brown 
paper  tied  over  the  top  with  a  string.  Set  in 
a  pan  of  hot  water.  Bakeinamoderateoven. 
3.50°  F.,  until  set  and  firm  to  the  touch  — 
one  hour  to  one  hour  and  ten  minutes. 
Loosen  around  the  edges  with  a  spatula 
and  turn  out  on  a  hot  platter.  Serve  hot 
with  sour-cream  sauce. 

A  favorite  subjeft.  Sour  cream  just 
fascinates  me.  I  am  even  preparing  a  dossier 
on  what  and  how  to  use  it — and  if  my  Eng- 
lish has  sort  of  folded  on  me  right  here,  don't 
mind  me.  At  least  I  know  better.  I  am  com- 
piling this  great  work  for  one  you  know 
through  the  pages  of  the  Journal — one 
Dorothy  Black,  of  England.  She  lives  in 
"The  Duke's  Cottage,"  and  I'd  go  far  for 
that  girl.  To  pick  herself  that  ready-to-wear 
glamour  and  then  pine  for  receipts  and 
words  on  sour  cream ! 

So  here's  one  to  add  to  the  stock  pile;  and 
as  fast  as  any  others  are  dreamed  up,  I  will 
share. 

Soar-Cream  Sauce 

Melt  2  tablespoons  of  butter  or  mar- 
garine in  a  saucepan.  Blend  in  2  table- 
spoons of  flour.  When  smooth,  add  '/2  cup 
of  milk.  Cook  until  smooth  and  thick. 
Just  before  serving  add  1  cup  of  thick  sour 
cream.  Add  some  minced  chives,  or  parsley 
if  you  prefer  it,  and  a  dash  of  paprika. 
Don't  just  go  all  out  on  sour  cream.  Help 
it  along.  And  if  you  haven't  any  chives, 
maybe  youVe  got  cress.  Stir  constantly 
until  just  heated  through.  Keep  the  heat 
low.  Overcooking  or  too  high  heat  will 
curdle   the  cream.    Season   with  salt   and 


\\\\/y 


I  dress  them  up  with 

FRENCH'S 

WORCESTERSHIRE 

SAUCE" 

Frankfurter  Vegetable    Casserole: 

Cook  H  cup  minced  onion  until  tender 
in  2  tablespoons  shortening.  Stir  in  2 
tablespoons  flour  — add  IH  cups 
canned  tomatoes;!  tablespoonFrench's 
Worcestershire.  Bring  to  boil, 
lightly  stir  in  IH  cups  cooked 
leftover  vegetables,  add  salt  to 
taste.  Pour  over  4  split  franks 
arranged  in  1  qt.  casserole. Top 
with  bread  crumbs.  Bake  in 
350°F.ovenK  hour.  Serves  3-4. 


70P-^^^^ 


(l(JlALrfY 


thepr'^ 


JML 


lY/l'^''^'^^ 


"HERES  THE 


^***%rsSECRET 


^ 


COFFEE 


its  the 
exclusive 

FLAVOR-GUARD 
FILTER ! 


I 


ONLY  A 


'./n& 


^IL6X 

CAN  MAKE 

yiL€X 

COFFEE 


II 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


155 


epper.  This  loaf  is  real  good  sliced  cold, 
erve  with  a  mustard  sauce  or  a  cucum- 
er  sour-creain  sauce — chopped  cucum- 
er,  salt  and  pepper  added  to  plain  sour 
ream.  Sliced  lemon  seems  to  he  the  gar- 
ish. Cold  sour  cream,  done  right  hy,  as 
ve  indicated — or  tried  to — is  good  if  hot 
out. 

ifi  nvw  pntatnea.  If  I  ever  get  the  time 
id  no  one  is  around  to  stop  me,  I'm  going  to 
rite  a  whole,  complete  and  entirely  original 
iece  on  new  potatoes.  Let  the  tired  old 
)uds  that  have  practically  shot  their  bolt 
lyway  lie  in  their  bins  unsung.  They  can 
ike  it.  Once  they,  too,  knew  the  potato 
inafore  age,  the  smart  comeback,  the  tip- 
Ited  nose,  the  eternal  question  mark  that 
youth.  But  not  now.  This  is  a  brave 
iw  potato,  and,  so  help  me,  it  shall  have 
s  day,  before  the  eyes  grow  dim  and  the 
:in  gets  a  little  wrinkled,  and  only  boiling 
I  salted  water  is  its  true  end  and  destiny, 
r,  at  the  very  best,  hashed  in  cream  or 
home  fried." 

IVEIV  POTATOES 
^ITH  MUSTARD  BUTTER 

When  the  potatoes  are  scrubbed,  cooked 
nd  drained,  toss  them  in  mustard  but- 
!r,  salt  and  pepper.  Mustard  butter  is 
ist  mustard  and  butter,  and  I  guess 
lat's  easy  to  remember.  Blend  1  tea- 
>oon  of  dry  mustard  with  Vi  cup  of 
leited  butter  or  margarine. 

MIXED  VEGETABLES 

The  vegetables  may  be  cooked  sepa- 
itely  or  together.  And  don't  think  that 
hat  hangs  together  won't  get  along 
inging  separately.  Prepare  a  bunch,  not 
iO  big,  of  asparagus.  Cut  into  pieces.  Put 
I  to  cook  with  \y2  cups  of  shelled  peas, 
hen  just  about  tender  add  1  bunch  of 
eaned  scallions — tops  and  all — cut  into 
nail  pieces.  Watch  those  scallion  chil- 
;en.  Don't  cook  their  little  hearts  out. 
fain  the  vegetables  and  dress  them 
|th  butter  or  margarine  with  a  little 
|{eam,  salt  and  pepper.   Toss  with  a  light 


hand  and  serve  them  very  hot.  (Makes  a 
good  shortcake  too.) 

So  manu  times.  Not  being  very  much  on 
the  mathematical  side,  let  us  admit,  I  can't 
swear  to  it.  But  I  would  be  willing  to  bet 
that  if  all  the  words  I  have  written  about  hot 
rolls  were  laid  end  to  end,  they  would  reach 
from  here  to  Kalamazoo  and  back,  easy. 
"Kalamazoo"  is  such  a  lovely  word — it 
looks  so  well  in  print,  I  always  think.  And  it 
uses  a  capital  K — which,  if  you  have  ever 
noticed,  is  about  as  unused  as  any  letter  in 
the  whole  font  of  type.  (I  used  to  set  type  in 
the  P.L.  age.  Prelinotype,  you  know).  But 
here's  a  little  variation  on  this  well-known 
theme,  so  do  your  stuff. 

I^IUTMEO    ROLLS 

Soften  1  cake  of  fresh  yeast  in  54  eup  of 
lukewarm  water.  Scald  1  cup  of  milk  and 
add  2  tablespoons  of  sugar,  V^  cup  of  short- 
ening and  1  teaspoon  of  salt.  Let  cool  to 
lukewarm.  Add  2  cups  of  flour.  Mix  well. 
Add  the  softened  yeast,  2  well-beaten  eggs, 
1  teaspoon  of  nutmeg  or  ^  teaspoon  of 
nutmeg  and  ^  teaspoon  of  mace.  Add  l'/4 
cups  of  flour.  Beat  until  smooth.  Cover 
and  let  rise  un  til  light.  Stir  down  and  drop 
by  spoonfuls  into  greased  muffin  pans.  Be 
sure  to  have  them  no  more  than  one  half 
full.  Let  them  rise  in  the  pans  until  light. 
Bake  in  a  moderately  hot  oven,  375°  F., 
twenty  to  twenty-five  minutes  or  until 
nicely  browned. 

After  all,  when  you've  said  about 
everything  you  can,  there's  nothing  like  a 
red-hot,  homemade  raised  roll.  I  leave  it  to 
you — am  I  right  or  ain't  I  ?  And  they're  fun 
to  make  into  the  bargain. 

End  i»  in  giaht.  Be  very  patient,  reader. 
The  end  is  just  around  the  corner,  like  many 
other  things  time  won't  let  me  go  into.  And 
the  end,  in  this  case,  is  upside-down  cake — 
little  loves  of  upside-down  cakes — and  if  you 
don't  say  they're  loves,  you'll  break  the  heart 
of  your  Annie. 


when  someone  slim  jascinates  him— Better  reduce  the  Ry-Krisp  way! 


Easy  Does  It!  Get  the  Ry-Krisp  plan 
for  the  normal  overweight — go  easy 
on  calories — have  grand  meals  like 
that  shown  here  —  and  enjoy  delicious 
Ry-Krisp  as  bread.  Only  about  23 
calories  in  it  and  it  helps  tone  you 
up — supplies  regulating  minerals  and 
vitamin  Bi.  Try  it! 


FI?FF  MENUS,    RECIPES    AND    SIMPLE    REDUCING    PLAN    FOR     NORMAL 
*  OVERWEIGHT.    WRITE    RY-KRISP,   21    CHECKERBOARD    SQ.,   ST.    LOUIS   2,   MO. 


Quick  a/7d  &8y  tes 
WAen  Points  are  8/?orf! 


Let  Knox  Gelatine  help  you  make 
^—•mf^dj  *•  little  go  a  long  wa// 


Short  on  Sugar?  Then  try  this  high, 
light  and  handsome  Chiffon  Pie  that 
doesn't  take  one  speck  of  sugar! 
No  Butter  for  the  Vegetables? 

Then  serve  this  tempting  jellied  salad 
that  dresses  up  the  goodness  of  your 


vegetables  without  taking  red  points! 
Knox  Gelatine  turns  the  trick.  You'll 
find  Knox  a  blessing  these  days.  Use 
it  to  stretch  meats;  with  fresh  fruits 
and  jams  to  make  your  own  flavored 
gelatine  desserts.  Get  Knox  today. 


RASPBERRY  CHIFFOM  PIE 

"^^■^     (Filling  lor  one  9-inch  p.e)  __^___^^^  ^^^ 


1  envelope  Kijox  Gelatine 
lA  cup  cold  water 
1/2  cup  hot  water 

3  eggs  . jj 

hot  water  and  fir  un^  ^^^^_ 

Add  jam  or  3elly  dyeuy 
dissolve  over  h'Jt  water       ^  .^ 

?^e'^^thtsStuSdslightly 


•men  yic; 

1/,  cup  raspberry  jam  or  jelly 

Vi  teaspoon  salt 
9  tablespoons  lemon  juice 
Red  vegetable  colormg 

chill  until  firm. 


r:Jfe 


v^.i^i 


VEGETABLE  SALAD 

(Serves  6;  uses  %pk6) 


1  envelope  Knox  Gelatine 
y,  cup  cold  water 
1  cup  hot  water 

P'P'^fn-tSenfoW  in  vegetables, 
gins  to  thicKen.  1"  ^  ^^  m- 


es  6;  uses  %  pkg)  ^   t^ste) 

lor  2  tablespoons  sugar  (or  more 

ifaS'oonSy  minced  onion, 
ircSrdiced  or  Shredded  vegetables 

(raw  or  cooked)  ^^^^^ed 

greens  ana  sei  v^, 

dressing.       .„Tri-binations :  l.One 

^"^^"i^fHr^w  cabbage,  V2  cup 
CUP  shredded^aw  ^ab^^s^^^^ 

chopped  cele^;*    erorpimiento 
choppedgreenpeppero  v         ^^^^ 

'■  °"dSo    sUdtedrawcar- 
^o'rs'andfererymaybeadded^ 


156 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19^ 


EVERYDAY 

Tomato  Ju"^' 


]H0U  MAGIC 


Smo 


thered  Chops 


Carrots  •  R^^e  J^  ^^^^^^  p^^^,,„g 

Hearts  of  L««"''  !'        .  leverage 
Bread  Pudding 


MAGIC  is  the  word  for  it  when  you  dress  up  everyday  meals 
with  a  deft  touch  of  lemon.  It  brings  out  unforgettable  flavors, 
adds  a  new  lively  color,  helps  health  values,  too.  See  how 
easily  lemons  help  any  course  of  a  dinner. 

,P„T,«R     ^    Tomato  >'« 

!  A  dash  of  fresh  lemon  juice  is  just  what  tomato  juice 

!j  needs.  Clear  and  thick  soup,  sea  food  and  other  ap- 

,«  petizers  get  a  real  lift  from  lemon,  too. 

-    Sn.o.Mred  Chops 

™  "Just  plain  chops,"  lamb  or  pork,  can  be  something 

new  if  you'll  place  6  chops  in  covered  skillet,  top 
with  thin  slices  of  2  unpeeled  lemons,  1  sweet  onion, 
rings  of  1  green  pepper  if  available,  I  tsp.  salt.  Now 
pour  2  cups  of  tomato  juice  over  all.  Simmer  until 
done.  Lemon  works  wonders  with  all  the  old  stand- 
bys  . . .  roasts,  steaks,  fish  and  fowl. 


MAIN  DISH 


VEGETABLE      1     ^^.^^^ 


ch 


A  dash  of  fresh  lemon  juice  just  before  serving 
brings  out  the  best  in  most  vegetables.  For  a  real 
treat  cook  spinach  with  a  litde  oil  or  bacon  fat,  salt 
and  practically  no  water.  Drain  and  chop;  add  lemon 
juice  to  taste.  We  say  it's  spinach,  and  hurray  for  it! 


SALAD 


f^^nch  Dressing 


DESSERT 


tenion 

No  salad's  complete  without  the  tang  of  lemon.  You 
capture  it  best  with  this  Lemon  French  Dressing: 
Vz  cup  lemon  juice,  Ij  cup  salad  oil,  1  tsp.  each  of  salt, 
paprika  and  sugar.  Shake  well  and  use  generously. 

Bre^  Pudding 

Ever  try  grated  lemon  peel  for  flavoring  puddings 
and  their  sauces?  Mmmm!  And  don't  overlook 
lemons  as  flavoring  for  pies,  cookies  and  gelatines. 


As  you  see,  lemons  can  be  your  most  helpful  food  in  setting  a  tastier  table. 
But  there  is  another  reason  for  using  lemons  liberally  —  HELA.LTH.  Lemons 
are  a  rich  source  of  vitamins  C  and  P,  a  good  source  of  Bj.They  aid  diges- 
tion, alkalinize.  Sunkist's  famous  Lemon  Recipe  Book  has  over  100  recipes. 
It's  free.  Write  Sunkist,  Sec.  205,  Los  Angeles,  55,  California. 


Sunkisl  Lemons  in  trademarked  tissue 
wrappers  are  the  finest  from  14,500  coop- 
erating California- Arizona  citrus  growers. 

FOR  GOOD  HEALTH  AND  GOOD  FLAVOR 


Sunkist 

California  Lemons 


lET'S  FINISH  THE  JOB -BUY  WAR  BONDS 


IIVDIVIDliAL  FRESH  PIXEAPPLE 
VPSIDE-DOnX'  CAKES 

Use  a  nice,  ripe,  fresh,  pointless  pine- 
apple. That's  the  beginning.  If  the  pine- 
apple is  a  good-sized  one.  there  should  be 
onough  fruit  in  half  of  it  for  6  individual 
upside-down  cakes.  Cut  the  pineapple 
through  the  middle  lengthwise— right 
from  the  top  down.  You'll  need  a  sharp 
knife  for  that.  Cut  all  around  the  edges  of 
the  shell  with  a  sharp  knife.  Next  make  a 
deep  cut  on  either  side  of  the  core.  Lift  out 
the  fruit  on  both  sides,  then  take  out  the 
core  and  the  fruit  that  is  underneath.  Cut 
the  pieces  of  pineapple  into  small  bits. 
There  should  be  V^  cups.  Put  on  to  steam 
in  its  owTi  juice.  Takes  half  an  hour  in 
double  boiler.    Now  cool. 

Grease  6  custard  cups.  Divide  the  pine- 
apple among  the  custard  cups  as  equally 
as  eye  and  spoon  can  do  it.  Pour  1  table- 
si>oon  of  honey  over  each.  Into  each  cup 
put  ','2  teaspoon  of  butter  or  margarine. 
Make  half  of  your  receipt  for  a  plain 
2-egg  cake  and  fill  the  custard  cups 
23  full  of  the  batter.  Bake  about  twenty- 
five  minutes  in  a  moderately  hot  oven. 
373°  F.  Turn  out  upside  down.  Serve  warm 
or  cold  «-ith  fresh  strawberry  sauce  from 
the  pineapple  shell.  If  more  than  six  are 
needed,  the  above  quantities  are  easily 
doubled. 

Tiro  Que»ns.  The  meal  is  over.  I  am  left 
alone  in  the  garden.  Only  two  queens  of 
England  engage  me  now — Victoria  and  the 
little  nameless  queen  who  took  a  great  poet's 
heart  by  storm. 

I  like  to  tliink  he  knew  her.  That,  in  his 
flowing  cape  and  with  his  aristocratic  stride, 
he  overtook  her  shyly  in  the  park.  That  they 
talked  together.  That  he  recited,  maybe, 
"Come  into  the  garden,  Maud,"  or  confided 
to  her  the  esoteric  beauty  of  In  Memoriam. 
It  was  all  so  English.  It  was  in  the  best  tra- 
dition. It  was  Victoria — the  beautiful — re- 
vealed to  a  little  girl  chosen— almost 
anointed — a  dream — and  what  are  so  real 
as  dreams? — Victoria — child  of  destiny — 
dream  child  in  a  poet's  heart. 

And  who  shall  say  who  knew  the  greatest 
thrill :  the  slender,  blue-eyed  young  woman, 
summoned  by  her  ministers  to  be  told  that 
she  was  Queen  of  England?  Or  the  little 
dream  girl,  wakened  early,  let  us  hope,  to 
become,  for  a  brief  time.  Queen  of  an  Eng- 
lish May?  Hearts  beat  alike.  Only  the 
tempo  is  not  always  the  same. 

So  Victoria,  destined  Queen-Empress, 
wore  the  imperial  crown.  And  in  the  simple 
words  of  a  poet  laureate,  another  Queen  was 
crowned — with  \nolets,  perhaps.  Both  long 
since  turned  to  dust,  the  great  Queen  and  the 
little  one,  both  regal  for  a  space. 

"You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me 
early,  mother  dear  ...  for  I'm  to  be 
Queen  o' the  May,  mother."  .  .  .  "Madam, 
/  am  Queen  of  England."  And  both  are  im- 
mortal. 


YOUR  FOOD 
AND  YOLR  FACE 

(Continued  from  Page  145) 

disturbances,  and  the  condition  is  therefore 
one  for  your  physician  to  treat.  Often  a 
great  deal  can  be  accomplished.  You  can 
help,  however,  by  avoiding  highly  spiced  or 
peppery  foods  and  stimulating  drinks,  as, 
obviously,  anything  which  heats  up  your 
system  brings  more  blood  to  the  offending 
feature.  And  for  make-up,  try  one  of  the 
cake-type  finishes,  which  will  help  conceal 
the  excess  color. 

If'ould  a  liquid  diet  be  a  good  tray  of 
clearing  my  skin,  ichich  is  oily,  and 
breaks  out  on  the  least  provocation?  .4s 
I  am  also  inclined  to  be  stout,  I  thought 
perhaps  I  could  just  take  fruit  juices. 
JT'ould  this  be  all  right? 

A  liquid  diet  for  a  few  days  would  un- 
doubtedly be  a  good  way  of  resting  your 
stomach,  flushing  your  digestive  tract  and 
thereby  improving  your  skin.  Many  reduc- 
ing diets  suggest  a  three-day  liquid  or  elim- 
ination period  before  settling  down  to  the 


RICH,¥ftUI 


MUSTARD 


FLAVOR 


•••••••••••••  •••• 


FOR  SCORES 


OF  DISHES 


GENUINE  STONE-GROUND 

HEINZ 
iiUSTARD 

Y^^^Z  KINDS... YE LLOW^ 
AND  BROWN 


I 


LADIES'  HOME  JOUR.NAL 


157 


Igular  menus.  Do  not.  however,  limit  your- 
If  entirely  to  fruit  unless  your  doctor  pre- 
ribes  such  a  program.  It  is  true  that  the 
[ape  cure  and  the  peach  cure  have  long 
en  famous  in  Europe,  but  these  are  for 

Iecial  conditions  and  are  given  under  medi- 
1  supervision.  A  diet  of  fruit  alone  might 
oduce  a  distressing  fermentation  and  irri- 
tion.  A  better-balanced  liquid  day  in- 
lides:  1  glass  orange  or  grapefruit  juice;  1 
p  black  coffee  (if  you  wish ) ;  2  cups  tomato 
ice,  hot  or  cold;  2  cups  hot  clear  broth;  2 
jisses  milk — in  your  case,  skim  or  butter- 
Ik.  These  should  be  taken  at  two-hour 
;ervals.  You  can  substitute  a  cup  of  hot 
1  with  lemon  for  one  of  the  servings  of  to- 
ito  juice  or  broth,  if  you  prefer.  Three 
ys  of  a  diet  such  as  this  are  enough, 
jecially  if  you  are  an  active  person.  Then 
u  should  adopt  a  diet  which  includes  a 
eral  allotment  of  fruits,  salads  and  vege- 
)les,  as  well  as  proteins,  and  is  very  low 


in  fats,  sweets  and  starches,  for  the  further 
improvement  of  your  skin  and  lowering  of 
your  weight. 

/  have  so  little  color  to  begin  ivith  that 
I  hai-e  to  use  quite  a  lot  of  make-up.  My 
mother  objects  to  this,  but  what  else  can 
I  do? 

You  may  have  a  clear  olive  skin,  in  which 
case  you  ought  to  play  it  up,  getting  a  dra- 
matic effect  by  using  only  lipstick  and  a 
whisper  of  eye  make-up.  If,  however,  your 
paleness  comes  from  poor  skin  condition,  you 
may  need  to  change  your  health  habits,  in- 
cluding your  diet.  Have  you  had  a  checkup 
recently  to  be  sure  you  are  not  anemic?  It 
takes  red  blood  to  make  red  cheeks,  and  red 
blood  requires  a  diet  rich  in  iron.  High  in 
iron  content  are  liver,  kidneys,  eggs,  leafy 
vegetables  and  some  fruits,  not  to  mention 
molasses.  Bring  on  the  molasses  cookies, 
especially  if  they  have  raisins  in  them ! 


WHAT  MAKES  YOU  SICK? 

(Continued  from  Page  Z7) 


at 


IV'EICiHBOKLIIVESS 

1^  When  a  friend  is  in  trouble,  don't 
^  annoy  him  by  asking  if  there  is 
anything  you  can  do.  Think  up 
something  appropriate,  and  do  it. 

.41«  ays  remember  that  your  neigh- 
bors wateh  you  eh»sely,  and  that 
your  neighliors  are  very  partieiilar. 

— E.  W.  HOWE:  Country  Town  Sayings. 
(Crane  &  Co.) 


ction  to  the  accident  often  expressed  a 
ong  sense  of  guilt ! 

such  fracture  patients  are  now  known  as 
ccident  prone."  They  are  an  important 
)up  to  understand,  for  it  has  been  found 
It  only  a  small  percentage  of  automobile 
vers  are  responsible  for  all  our  accidents, 
these  few  are  constant  repeaters.  In  a 
^dy  made  by  four 
jor  utility  compa- 
the  mere  shifting 
other  jobs  of  truck 
vers  with  a  high  ac- 
ent  rate  reduced  the 
Tiber  of  truck  acci- 
its  to  20  per  cent  of 
it  had  been  be- 
But  the  men 
ted  to  new-  jobs 
tinued  to  have  as 
ny  accidents  asever; 

the  accidents  were       

iifferent  types! 

he  accident-prone  patients,  at  Presby- 
an  Hospital,  had  their  accidents  after 
le  major  collision  with  fate  or  authority; 
ig  angry  or  hurt,  they  then  hurled  them- 
es in  the  path  of  passing  automobiles,  or 
;ed  the  handle  bars  of  their  motorcycles, 
trolled  too  close  to  the  edges  of  cliffs, 
le,  they  "were  not  thinking"  when  they 
these  things.  But,  as  Doctor  Menninger 
said,  '"To  be  careless  with  one's  life  is 
If  a  symptom." 

hat   accidents — a    form   of   active   be- 

ior — are  psychological  in  purpose  is  not 

ard  for  most  of  us  to  understand.  A  more 

jrising  suggestion  is  the  psychoanalyst's 

ef  that  our  subconscious  impulses  create 

ase  in  a  single  section  of  the  body.  Yet 

interrelationship  of  mind  and  feeling 

physical  structure  is  a  well-established 

Under  hypnosis,   patients  have  re- 

ided  to  a  doctor's  suggestion  that  men- 

lation  occur  on  a  date  arbitrarily  chosen 

the  hypnotist.      Doctors  have   forced 

notic  subjects  to  contract  the  pupils  of 

eyes,  at  a  suggestion — although  control 

r  the  pupils  is  not  subject  to  our  conscious 

Doctor  Dunbar  tells  us  that  hypnotism 

alter  the  functioning  of  "any  organ  sys- 

even  to  produce  changes  in  tempera- 

,  blood  chemistry,  cell  count,  agglutina- 

reactions,  urinary  output  or  to  produce 

;ure'  lesions  such  as  warts." 

loes  this  mean  that  the  body  is  controlled 

he  "brain  "  or  the  "will "  ?  By  no  means; 

erely  means  that  the  physical  and  mental 

Its  which  take  place  inside  the  living, 

lan  being  are  more  complex  and  inter- 

ed  than  we  imagined.    It  means  that  a 

I's  emotion  of  anger  or  frustration — 

:h  may  have  had  its  origin  in  his  early- 

dhood  events — brings  about  a  long  chain 

subtle  bodily  changes.      Sometimes  it 

;hes  the  conscious  level  of  his  brain  as 

,  and  he  is  able  to  say,  "  I  am  in  a  rage." 

very  often  our  rages  occur  far  beneath 

surface  and  are  not  recognized.  They  are, 

:theless,  creating  real  tensions  within  the 


body,  bringing  about  real  changes  in  our 
chemistry  and  tissue.  Sometimes  these 
changes  persist  over  a  long  period  and  have 
effects  which  are  catalogued  as  disease. 

When  strong,  unconscious  impulses  can- 
not find  a  direct  outlet  in  action  or  speech  or 
thought,  they  seek  an  "organ  language." 
Some  of  our  homely  phrases  have  for  a  long 
time  recognized  the 
fact  that  the  body  can 
play  a  kind  of  cha- 
rades: we  say  that  we 
"can't  swallow  her" 
or  "can't  stomach 
him"— and  surprisingly 
often  indigestion  actu- 
ally follows  a  scene 
with  these  hated  per- 
sons. Sometimes  we 
are  "sick  of  life"  or 
have  "lost  our  appe- 

tite  for  living."  Young 

people  may  be  "too 
thin-skinned  " — and  may  express  this  fear  of 
criticism  by  developing  acne,  a  skin  disease. 
We  describe  events  as  making  us  "heart- 
sick" or  "heavyhearted,"  or  as  giving  us 
"heartache."  These  phrases  show  we  have 
long  had  some  inkling  of  the  fact,  seemingly 
well  established  now,  that  heart  diseases 
attack  only  men  and  women  who  have  un- 
happy childhood  memories.  We  speak  of  a 
consumptive's  "wasting  away,"  and  with 
greater  wisdom  than  we  know;  Dr.  Smith 
Ely  Jelliffe  has  said  that  "We  all  harbor  the 
tubercular  bacillus;  only  a  few  die  of  it.  In 
many  instances,  the  flight  into  a  tubercular 
disease  is  a  way  to  satisfy  the  death  in- 
stinct." This  is,  indeed,  a  form  of  human 
"waste"! 

But,  you  may  ask,  why  does  one  person 
need  to  flee  from  his  problems  into  tubercu- 
losis, while  another,  who  may  have  more  ap- 
parent worries,  remains  well?  Some  light  is 
being  thrown  onto  this  question,  but  no  pat 
answers  are  yet  available.  The  life  story  of 
each  patient  must  usually  be  slowly  drawn 
out  before  understanding  is  achieved.  For 
the  sick  organ  may,  through  the  same  symp- 
toms, be  trying  to  express  any  one  of  a  num- 
ber of  different  complaints  against  the  world; 
study  is  required  before  the  doctor  can  be 
sure  what  protest  this  particular  man  or 
woman  is  trying  to  make  by  his  mysterious 
pain  or  malady. 

Dr.  Edward  Weiss,  coauthor  of  the  text- 
book. Psychosomatic  Medicine,  has  de- 
scribed several  cases  that  make  the  point 
more  clear:  one  married  woman  patient  of 
his  developed  insomnia,  indigestion  and 
mental  depression.  Why?  The  doctors 
found  that  her  husband  was  cold  and  un- 
romantic;  her  life  was  filled  with  financial 
worries;  she  lived  in  an  uncongenial  neigh- 
borhood. The  fact  that  she  was  actually  liv- 
ing a  life  stripped  of  most  of  its  good  things 
gave  this  woman  a  real  sense  of  anxiety, 
which  she  expressed  through  her  symptoms. 
But  another  woman  patient,  happily  mar- 
ried to  a  devoted  husband,  became  ill  with 


A  fresh  foods  fan,  that's  me 

And  I'm  planting  for  Victory—^ 
I'll  raise  a  fine  crop. 

But  meanwtiile  I'll  shop 

In  the  "garden"  at  my  A&P! 


"Vbu  can  enjoy  grand,  juicy  fruits  and  crisp,  flavorful 
vegetables  now  .  .  .  and  all  year  'round  ...  by  turning 
to  the  big,  colorful  "Victory  Garden"  of  your  A&P 
Super  Market.  You'll  always  find  the  pick  of  the  crops 
from  the  Nation's  finest  farms,  orchards  and  groves  .  .  . 
rich  in  essential  \itamins  and  minerals!  Because  A&P 
rushes  these  vital  foods  direct  from  growing  areas  to 
you,  they're  yours,  fresh  and  extra-delicious.  Many 
in-between  marketing  expenses  are  eliminated,  so  you 
make  worthwhile  savings ! 


MENU 


^  -  Parsley   Potato   Balls 


Broiled   Savory  Tomatoes 
Glared   Carrots 

bread    crumbs    ^ixea 

Sst  tender  Make  cheese  sauce 
or  well-seasoned  medium 
^Jh.rLceandrnehgrat^ 
cheese  in  it.  or  add  choppea. 


Asparagus   with   Sauce 
hard-cooked  egg.  Cook  potato 

Kills  until  tender  and  serve 
with  melted  butter  or  ma^:ga^ 
rine  and  chopped  parseyXook 

r^fVv^nfsmall  amount  o 

vegetables  on  P'«"_ 
^ith  watercress  or  parsley. 


ak"% 


^VV^N^^^^ 


^j^SX^^^^^^"^ 


K<^^NaU  - 


.^j^^j^ORv 


SS^ 


iSK\V.VXV^ 


s&.v.^'^* 


©  l<)-i'y.  The  Great  Atlantic  &  Pacific  Tea  Co. 


158 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  19 


For  80  years 


®®<g)®®(SXS®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®@®®®@®®(S)®®(S)®®®®®®®(3)®®®®@®@®@®@ 

In  the  historically-rich  country  along  the  Old  National  Turnpike  in 
Washington  County,  Pennsylvania,  where  the  tides  of  early  Ameri- 
can civilization  washed  back  and  forth,  Duncan  has  been  making 
lovely  glassware  like  this  Tear-drop  pattern  for  80  years.  We  would 
like  to  send  'you  folders  about  this  and  other  authentic  handmade 
American  glass  patterns. 


almost  identical  symptoms.  Why?  She  had 
no  apparent  worries  in  the  present.  But  she 
had  been  the  eldest  of  eleven  children;  she 
had  a  great  deal  of  responsibility  for  the 
younger  children  forced  on  her  at  an  early 
age;  she  had  been  deprived  of  the  normal, 
required  amount  of  motherly  attention. 
This  woman's  childhood  hunger  for  a 
mother's  love  came  out,  many  years  later,  in 
the  form  of  her  illness.  But  in  both  cases, 
resentment  was  seeking  an  expression 
through  the  symptoms  of  the  body. 

' '  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  purely  psychic 
illness  or  a  purely  physical  one,"  Doctor 
Dunbar  has  written,  "but  only  a  living 
event  taking  place  in  a  living  organism." 
And,  again,  "It  was  a  great  step  forward 
when  we  discovered  that  disease  was  also 
favored  by  elements  in  the  economic  and 
social  situation  .  .  .  that  is,  when  mothers- 
in-law  and  neurotic  schoolteachers  were 
added  to  gonococci  and  yellow-fever  mos- 
quitoes in  the  medical  man's  accounting  of 
potentially  injurious  agents." 

Many  separate  diseases  have  been  psy- 
chologically studied  in  the  past  few  years: 
diabetes,  rheumatism,  heart  diseases,  ulcers, 
sterility  and  allergies.  One  of  the  most  thor- 
ough psychosomatic  studies  made  to  date 
was  performed  by  Dr.  Franz  Alexander  and 
his  associates  at  the  Institute  for  Psycho- 
analysis in  Chicago.  Its  subject  was  asthma, 
which  appears  to  be  closely  associated  with 
the  fear  of  separation  from  a  loved  individual. 
It  has  been  possible  to  chart  the  attacks  of 
asthma  in  the  case  of  many  patients  at  the 
institute  and  to  find  that  these  attacks  occur 
inevitably  in  connection  with  such  a  threat 
of  separation.  All  the  asthmatic  patients 
studied  by  this  group  had  also  a  deep,  un- 
recognized fear  of  being  left  alone:  usually 
this  fear  was  covered  up  by  a  great  show  of 
bravery  and  indifference  to  love. 

JNow,  if  this  analysis  is  sound,  there  must 
be  a  leason  why  patients  with  this  particular 
terror  turn  their  fear  into  the  form  of  asthma 
instead  of  contracting  some  other  disease. 
If  there  is  an  "organ  language,"  we  should 
be  able  to  discover  why  a  particular  life 
problem  finds  expression  in  one  particular 
malady  rather  than  in  another.  There  must 
be  some  method  in  this  madness  of  the 
physical  cells. 

And,  apparently,  there  is.  Asthmatic  pa- 
tients typically  do  not  cry  when  they  are 
unhappy;  many  of  them  boast  that  they 
"haven't  shed  a  tear  for  years."  Of  course 
they  haven't— for  they  have  pretended  to 
themselves  and  to  the  world  that  they  were 
too  "grown  up"  ever  to  need  the  help  of 
anyone  else.  Crying  occurs,  in  the  infant, 
when  he  is  first  separated  from  the  mother 
by  the  process  of  birth  and,  later,  whenever 
he  feels  helpless  and  in  need  of  his  mother's 
care.  Those  who  refuse  to  cry  at  all  may  be 
suspected  of  wanting  to  cry  far  oftener  than 
the  rest  of  us:  otherwise  they  would  not  be 
so  ashamed  of  this  quite  simple  everyday 
reaction. 

And  analysis  of  a  large  number  of  pa- 
tients has  shown  that  this  is  indeed  true. 
The  asthmatic  was,  typically,  pushed  out  of 
the  nest  too  soon,  weighed  down  too  young 
with  a  burden  of  independence.  As  a  child 
he  was,  in  Doctor  Alexander's  phrase, 
"  forced  to  live  beyond  his  emotional  means." 
He  developed  a  great,  unconfessed  longing 
for  security  and  shelter,  learning  to  conceal 
this  as  a  shameful,  "babyish"  thing.  But  a 
concealed  emotion  does  not  cease  to  exist  or 
to  demand  expression.  The  asthma  attack  is 
a  perverted  form  of  having  a  "good  cry"; 
and  when,  under  psychological  treatment, 
some  of  these  factors  are  made  clear  to  the 
patient,  he  very  often  abandons  asthma  and 
cries  the  first  tears  of  many  years  of  strain 
and  inward  loneliness! 

The  physicians  who  specialize  in  this  ap- 
proach to  disease  believe  that  they  can  often 
trace  the  physiological  routes  through  which 
hidden  emotions  give  rise  to  nearly  every 
form  of  physical  disease.  How  do  you 
"catch  cold"?  One  very  simple  way,  de- 
scribed by  Doctor  Weiss,  was  that  used  by  a 
man  who  suffered  from  numerous  colds 
every  winter.  He  had  been  spoiled,  as  a 
child,  by  an  overindulgent  mother,  and  he 


ISefore  Pearl  Harbor,  tuna  salad  wa 
fast  becoming  the  favorite  lunch  dish  oi 
America's  stenographers.  Easy  to  diges 
.  .  .  quickly  assimilated  .  .  .  nutritiou: 
and  "filling"  .  .  .  this  salad  is  a  satisfy 
ing  yet  not  "heavy"  mid-day  meal 

3oon  we  hope  to  be  able  to  suppl; 
enough  of  these  brands  of  quality  tun; 
so  that  "Salad  a  la  Secretary"  may  agaif 
be  listed  on  the  menus  of  eating  place 
everywhere. 

VAN  CAMP  SEA  FOOD  CO.,  INC. 
Terminal  Island,  Califarnla 


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LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


159 


suffered  from  strong,  unconscious  resent- 
ment against  a  world  which  did  not  continue 
to  gratify  all  his  whims.  Whenever  he  was 
again  frustrated  by  someone  who  opposed 
him,  he  reacted  with  dreams  of  attacking 
this  person  by  biting  him;  his  wife  noticed 
that  in  his  sleep  he  often  ground  his  teeth. 
As  a  result,  by  morning,  his  throat,  jaws  and 
gums  were  sore  and  subject  to  infection  by 
any  germ  which  might  happen  in. 

Almost  every  form  of  physical  suffering 
has  been  studied  from  this  new  angle,  but 
its  followers  do  not  discard  the  classic  meth- 
ods of  treatment  by  means  of  drugs  and  rest 
and  surgery;  they  merely  supplement  such 
physical  efforts  to  restore  the  damaged  body 
by  a  psychological  study  of  the  emotions 
which  set  the  disease  in  motion.  These  psy- 
chosomatic doctors  are  no  "faith  healers"; 
they  accept  all  the  knowledge  of  bacteria 
and  blood  count,  sulpha  remedies  and  plaster 
casts  which  other  doctors  use,  but  in  addi- 
tion they  hope  to  help  the  patient  find 
healthier  expressions  for  unconscious  long- 
ings which  are  actually  making  his  body  ill. 

Doctor  Weiss  describes  the  case  of  a 
nineteen-year-old  girl  who  had  suffered  a 
severe  loss  of  weight;  she  "could  not  eat" 
and  had  dropped  down  to  seventy-four 
pounds.  She  was  given  every  physical  rem- 
edy the  hospital  afforded,  and  psychological 
treatment  too.  This  girl  had'  no  friends; 
whenever  an  acquaintance  threatened  to  de- 
velop into  intimacy,  she  broke  it  off.  She 
had  also  a  fear  of  marriage,  and  an  out- 
spoken reluctance  ever  to  have  children. 
Doctor  Weiss  writes:  "She  not  only  had 
starved  herself  physically,  but  first  she  had 
starved  herself  emotionally.  Simply  adding 
a  few  pounds  to  this  patient  by  means  of 
forced  feeding,  with  perhaps  the  use  of  in- 
sulin, would  really  be  only  a  temporary 
measure,  because  as  soon  as  she  went  home 
and  met  another  emotional  situation  diffi- 
cult to  handle  she  would  once  more  reject 
food,  just  as  she  tried  to  reject  life."  In- 
stead, her  emotions  were  dragged  up  into 
the  light,  where  she  and  the  doctor  were  able 
to  examine  and  re-educate  them.  As  she  re- 
covered an  ability  to  "taste  life"  she  was 
eager  to  "taste  food"  as  well. 

Ihe  whole  field  of  nutrition  diseases,  and 
those  focused  into  the  gastrointestinal  tract, 
have  been  of  great  interest  to  the  men  in  this 
field.  Doctor  Menninger  points  out  that  the 
great  majority  of  all  gastric  cases  are  of  the 
type  which  has  a  strong  unconscious  longing 
to  be  given  love  and  care.  On  the  surface, 
such  patients  are  often  overactive  go-getters. 
It  is  as  if  they  were  saying  to  the  world,  "  I 
am  an  efficient,  active,  productive  person," 
according  to  Doctor  Menninger.  They  add, 
"  I  give  to  everybody,  support  many  people, 
help  many  people,  assume  responsibilities 
and  enjoy  having  people  depend  on  me." 


Yet  underneath  the  surface  is  a  wish  for 
help,  a  "gnawing  hunger"  for  affection  very 
like  the  infant's  desire  to  be  cared  for,  loved 
and  fed  by  its  mother.  Such  a  repressed 
hunger — which  was  first  associated  with  nu- 
trition at  the  suckling  stage — may  serve  as  a 
constant  stimulus  to  the  stomach,  quite  in- 
dependent of  the  hunger  or  repletion  of  the 
grown  man.  Under  this  constant  stimula- 
tion the  stomach  apparently  behaves, 
throughout  the  day,  as  it  should  behave  only 
during  digestion;  the  result  may  be  any 
number  of  gastric  disturbances,  including 
ulcers. 

JNow,  it  is  very  interesting,  to  observe  that 
within  our  time  there  has  been  a  shift  in  the 
peptic-ulcer  cases,  as  distributed  between 
the  sexes:  at  New  York  Hospital  in  1901  to 
1906,  the  male  cases  were  only  two  and  one 
half  times  as  frequent  as  the  female.  But  in 
a  five-year  period  of  the  '30's,  the  ratio  rose 
to  twelve  to  one.  A  study  made  by  physi- 
cians of  the  Cornell  University  Medical 
College  points  out  that  the  rise  of  women's 
independence  in  the  past  half  century  may 
be  reflected  here.  Men,  finding  their  wives 
seeking  jobs  outside  the  home,  felt  a  com- 
pulsion to  work  even  harder,  to  show  an 
even  greater  independence  than  these  new, 
aggressive  women  by  their  side.  In  doing  so, 
many  of  them  suppressed  their  natural  long- 
ing for  help  and  love  and  a  certain  depend- 
ence— only  to  have  it  break  out  in  the  pain- 
fully protesting  form  of  stomach  ulcers ! 

In  treating  the  common  ailments  which 
have  been  most  intensively  studied  to  date, 
the  psychosomatic  specialists  make  no 
claims  of  miraculous  "cures."  They  recog- 
nize, as  all  doctors  do,  that  there  are  some 
irreversible  stages  of  disease,  when  the  tissue 
or  bone  destruction  has  gone  too  far  for 
Nature's  processes  to  repair.  But  they  do 
believe  that  a  psychological  approach,  added 
to  the  usual  physical  treatment,  can  often 
arrest  the  course  of  a  disease,  even  when 
it  has  reached  an  irreversible  stage.  And, 
of  course,  if  a  malady  has  been  caught  early 
enough,  the  irreversible  stage  may  never 
be  reached  at  all. 

The  emphasis  that  such  physicians  as 
Doctors  Dunbar,  Alexander,  Jelliffe,  Men- 
ninger and  Weiss  place  on  the  psycho- 
analytic approach  is  new.  They  talk  less  of 
infectious  agents  than  other  doctors  do, 
simply  because  they  feel  that  medicine  has 
neglected  the  psychic  factor  in  disease,  and 
stressed  the  physical  alone. 

But  both  the  physical  and  psychological 
must  be  understood  if  the  greatest  possible 
number  of  patients  are  to  be  helped:  even 
when  the  disease  appears  to  spring  from 
the  feelings  alone,  and  has  no  ascertainable 
physical  cause,  it  cannot  be  laughed  off  as 
"imaginary." 

(Continued  on  Page  161) 


"I'd  have  been  here  sooner,  dear,  but  I  went  by 
the  garage  to  see  if  the  car  couhl  be  repaired." 


NO  LONGER  JUST  A  DREAM 

. , .  Our  Owfv  Stemm 

"For  lots  of  reasons,  Bob,  I'm  glad  I  took  that  job.  It  gives 
me  extra  money  to  begin  buying  some  of  the  things  we'll 
both  appreciate  most.  I've  started  with  our  very  own  sterling 
silver — a  lovely  Reed  SC  Barton  pattern  that  I'm  sure  you 
will  like  as  much  as  I  do!  Won't  we  be  grand  when  we 
entertain  in  our  own  home!" 

Many  a  war-time  bride  knows  that  one  of  the  most  deeply 
satisfying  investments  she  can  make  for  her  home  of 
tomorrow  is  a  Reed  &C  Barton  service  of  finest  sterling.  Ask 
to  see  all  of  these  patterns.  Each  of  its  kind  is  a  masterpiece. 

War  production  today  limits  somewhat  the  patterns  and 
pieces  available.  But  you  can  buy  knives,  forks  and  other 
usual  place-setting  pieces,  as  well  as  tablespoons,  with  confi- 
dence that  your  service  can  be  completed  when  the  war  permits. 

HELPFUL  HOSTESS  HINTS.  For  fiscinatitig  and  valuable 
book,  ^'How  To  Be  A  Succes<<ful  Hostess",  send  lo  cents  to 
Reed  &  Barton,  Box  ppo,  Dcpt.   P,  Taunton,  Massachusetts. 

Reed  &  Barton 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194S 


•o-x 


^*»1 


f"''V'^. 


\n 


MOR  RAREBIT 


1  tbsp.  Certified  Margarine 

1  Vi  tbsp.  flour 

yi  tsp.  dry  mustard 

Yi  cup  milk 


Yi  cup  sharp  cheese,  grated 
6  slices  bread 
1  can  MOR,  cut  in 
12  slices 


Make  a  white  sauce  of  the  first  four  ingredients,  add 
grated  cheese,  remove  from  heat  and  stir  until  cheese  is 
completely  melted.  Toast  the  bread  on  one  side.  On 
other  side,  spread  cheese  sauce  and  place  2  slices  of 
pan-fried  MOR  on  top  (or  put  sliced  MOR,  direct  from 
can,  on  top  of  cheese  sauce  and  brown  under  broiler). 

For  that  between-mcal  snack,  be  sure  there  is  always  plenty  of  MOR 
on  hand  for  hearty  MOR  and  lettuce  sandwiches. 

For  a  quickie,  serve  cold  sliced  MOR  around  hot  buttered  green  beans 
and  garnish  with  sweet-sour  pickles  and  radish  roses* 


It  took  Mrs.  Rector 
only  21  minutes 
to  prepare  this       W 
delicious   meal 

Food  and  Nutrition  'Consultant  to  Wilson  &  Co. 


And  that  set  no  speed  record,  for  any 
Other  woman  can  do  likewise !  It's  a  boon  to 
the  times — this  quick,  well-balanced  dinner 
with  the  richly  delicious  MOR  main  dish: 

MOR  RAREBIT 

POTATO  CHIPS  BUTTERED  PEAS 

HEAD  LETTUCE  SALAD  WITH  THOUSAND  ISLAND 

DRESSING 

CHOCOLATE  NUT  SUNDAE 

MOR  is  diflferent — it  has  something !  Su- 
perbly good  flavor  that  suggests  a  master'' s 
touch — that's  the  difference  you'll  notice 
right  away  in  Wilson's  MOR.  All  fine-tex- 
tured, solid  meat,  seasoned  the  Wilson  way. 
MOR  is  nutritious,  too :  contains  the  proteins, 
vitamins  and  minerals  of  pure,  fresh  pork. 

You're  always  sure  of  MOR  good  meat- 
eating  when  you  have  several  cans  of  low- 
point  MOR  on  hand.  It's  the  easy  way  to 
speedy,  satisfying  meals  and  snacks.  See 
that  your  family  gets  plenty  of  good^  whole- 
some meat  by  using  MOR  in  hearty  luncheon 
sandwiches  .  .  .  fried,  for  breakfast  .  .  . 
baked,  broiled  or  creamed  in  delicious  din- 
ner dishes. 


WILSON'S  **QUICKIE**  SHELF  , 

With  a  handy  shelf  like  this,  you  always  have  a  *'good  line.** 
These  time-saving,  point-saving  meat  products  will  help  you  get 
together  many  a  delicious,  quick  meal.  Keep  your  Wilson's 
"Quickie'*  shelf  well  stocked  with  Wilson's  MOR,  Corned  Beef 
Hash,  Chili,  Tamales,  Deviled  Ham  and,  the  popular  meat 
flavor,  Wilson's  B-V.  All  seasoned  the  Wilson  lVaj>, 


Mk     m 


WILSON  8c  Co. 


\m\u  mm 
mmm  to  fiti 


ONING  boards  are  generally  the 
Tong  height  for  the  average  Mrs. 
jnerica,  who  is  most  likely  to  be  five 
;et  four  inches  or  under. 
Dr  her,  for  me,  for  you,  the  standard 
ing  board,  thirty-one  or  thirty-two 
es,  is  too  low  to  stand  at  in  good 
ure;  hence  tired  muscles  and  pains  in 
Dack.  And  many  women's  feet  ache, 
ding  all  that  time. 

at  sitting  down,  which  makes  sense 
leory,  doesn't  always  work  out  either, 
;  that  same  board  is  too  high  to  sit  at 
fortably— or  if  it's  possible  to  find  a 
stool,  toes  dangle.  And  there's  the 
ilem  of  knees  bumping  the  under- 
lage. 

1  ironing  board  tailored  to  fit  you  is 
inswer,  we  decided  here  at  the  Work- 
I.  Your  husband  (with  you  bossing 
lob,  of  course)  could  turn  it  out  in  a 
,e  evening.  Here's  how : 
art  with  a  board  stripped  of  padding 
undercarriage.  Now  cut  a  strip  of 
i  1'  2"  wide,  1'  2"  thick,  long  enough 
■oject  1'  2"  beyond  each  edge  of  your 
ng  board's  widest  end.  Round  the 
ers  of  this  strip,  so  that  it  becomes 
idrical  on  the  ends,  flat  in  the  mid- 
and  screw  it  firmly  into  place  flush 
the  wide  end  of  the  ironing  board. 
3w  cut  two  strips  of  1"  x  4"  lumber, 
long.  In  one  of  them,  starting  about 
•om  the  end,  make  a  slot  p/g"  wide, 
long.  In  its  twin  piece  of  wood, 
t  16"  from  the  end,  bore  a  ^g"  hole. 


Fasten  the  two  together  by  passing  a  y%' 
bolt,  4"  long,  through  the  hole  of  one.  the 
slot  of  the  other.  This  bolt  should  be 
provided  with  a  wing  nut.  All  firmly  to- 
gether now?  That,  madam,  is  the  leg. 

Taking  this  leg,  hinge  the  unslotted 
portion  to  the  underside  of  your  board, 
about  8"  from  the  narrow  tapered  end. 
Now  it's  equipped  with  a  leg  which  will 
obligingly  fold  under  for  putting  away 
but  will  adjust  to  sitting  or  standing 
heights  by  loosening  the  wing  nut  and 
changing  its  position  in  the  slot. 

Next,  get  your  support  ready.  Cut 
out  sockets  in  two  strips  of  1"  x  4" 
wood,  and  fasten  the  strips  vertically  to 
the  wall  of  your  favorite  ironing  spot. 
Or  you  may  want  to  build  these  supports 
into  a  put-away  cupboard  such  as  we 
show  in  the  photograph.  These  sockets 
hold  the  protruding  rounded  ends  of  the 
strip  you  fastened  to  the  end  of  your 
ironing  board  and  should  be  cut  to  hold 
the  board  at  the  most  comfortable  height 
for  ironing,  either  sitting  or  standing. 
Make  sure  that  the  ends  slide  in  and  down 
and  fit  snugly.  Our  five-foot-two  worker, 
in  the  picture,  found  sockets  28"  from 
the  floor  for  sitting,  34"  for  standing,  just 
right.  But  arms  and  legs  and  elbows 
being  as  personal  as  they  are,  have  yours 
tailored  just  for  you. 

Pad  your  board  and  cover  it  smoothly. 
Adjust  it  for  sitting.  Turn  on  the  radio, 
draw  up  your  most  comfortable  w'orking 
chair,  and  advance  upon  that  ironing ! 


(Continued  from  Page  159) 
octor  Weiss  has  stressed  this  point  in  his 
jngs  for  physicians: 

patients  must  be  taught  to  have  as 
b  respect  for  emotions  as  for  bac- 
:,"  he  says.  "Pain  in  the  abdomen  from 
bty  is  no  more  imaginary  than  pain 
appendicitis."  And,  again,  "In  a 
1:  many  instances,  both  physician  and 
bnt  can  do  more  for  illness  of  psycho- 
al  origin  than  they  can  for  purely 
iical  disease.  But  both  will  have  to 
|ze  that  the  personality  structure,  like 
I'  physical  structure,  is  amenable  to 
lipulation." 

ell,  how?    How  can  you  cure  the  sick 

.ions?      That   is   a   technical   matter, 

rstood   by   psychiatrists  with   special 

ing  in  this  field.  They  know  methods  by 

h  the  unconscious  struggle  of  the  patient 

oe  dragged  out  into  the  open,  where  he 

recognize  and  control  it.  They  believe 

they  can  teach  the  patient  how  to 

fy  his  longings  for  security,  say,  through 

legitimate  channels  than  the  asthmat- 

vheeze.  They  hope  to  teach  the  gastric 

nt  that  stirring  up  his  stomach  secre- 

is  a  poor  way  of  expressing  a  hunger 

)ve. 

)Ctor  Dunbar  has  written:  "To  be  well, 
Ints  with  the  accident  habit,  hyper- 
an,  heart  diseases  must  learn  to  solve 
conflict  with  authority.  The  diabetic 
learn  to  be  himself  both  sexually  and 
lly.  The  problem  is  not  so  much  to 
!  the  patient  act  differently  as  to  edu- 
him  to  feel  differently.  Forcing  a  pa- 
with  coronary  occlusion  to  drop  out  of 
ace  and  cut  down  in  his  work  schedule 
)ut  enabling  him  to  accept  the  situation 
ionally  may  do  more  harm  than  good, 
stance  must  find  expression  in  some 
)  Atternpting  to  force  the  accident  pa- 
with  wanderlust  to  regulate  his  life  and 
to  one  job  is  likely  to  result  in  more 
ants,  not  fewer." 


For  the  psychosomatic  specialists  are  sure 
that  patients  with  diseases  purely  or  partly 
psychological  in  origin  can  be  helped.  Some- 
times the  process  is  a  slow  one,  especially  if 
the  unexpressed  emotion  has  been  concealed 
since  early  infancy;  sometimes  the  emotion 
is  close  to  the  surface,  and  a  few  illuminating 
talks  with  a  trained  specialist  will  bring  it 
out. 

This  new  approach  holds  a  new,  high  hope 
for  the  doctors  who  have  studied  it,  for  the 
diseases  in  which  the  psychological  element 
seems  especially  strong  are  the  very  ones 
which,  today,  are  our  greatest  health  prob- 
lems. It  is  the  "chronic"  diseases  which 
cause  the  greatest  human  waste — rheuma- 
tism, heart  diseases,  asthma,  high  blood 
pressure,  arteriosclerosis,  cancer.  Some  of 
these  diseases  afflict  women  far  more  than 
men,  housewives  more  than  workingwomen; 
yet,  even  so,  60  per  cent  of  the  days  lost 
from  industry  can  be  traced  to  them,  and 
75  per  cent  of  the  hospital-days  of  the  coun- 
try are  devoted  to  their  care.  By  1980, 
statisticians  estimate  that  there  will  be 
30,000,000  sufferers  from  chronic  disease, 
compared  with  only  12,000,000  in  1900. 
Chronic  maladies  form  the  biggest  health 
problem  of  the  day. 

What  is  being  done  to  tackle  them,  with 
the  help  of  the  psychosomatic  approach? 
Not  so  much  as  the  specialists  w-ish.  There 
are,  after  all,  a  mere  3100  psychiatrists  in 
the  country  and  many  of  them  have  training 
only  in  the  care  of  the  insane.  Internists  are 
rarely  trained  in  this  new  field.  Yet  psycho- 
somatic medicine,  say  its  enthusiasts,  should 
be  understood  by  every  general  practi- 
tioner— and  an  effort  to  bring  this  about  is 
being  undertaken  today.  Both  at  Columbia 
University  and  at  the  Institute  for  Psycho- 
analysis in  Chicago,  courses  intended  for 
the  graduate  physician  who  w'orks  in  purely 
medical  fields  are  being  offered  now. 

But  psychosomatic  medicine  is  still  new; 
its  earliest  studies  appeared  in  Europe  only 


Shefford 
for  fine  cheese 


i 


> 


Macaroni  'n  Shefford 

Its  a  Pot  of  Sunshine  in  a  casserole.  It's  savory,  steaming  and  satisfying. 
It's  full  of  eating  get-up-and-go.  It's  Macaroni  'n  Shefford  Cheese. 


You  can  put  more  interest  in  an 
old  eating  stand-by  when  you 
say  "Shefford"  for  the  cheese  end. 

It  puts  a  zippy  tang  with  those 
soft,  smooth  macaroni  curlicues. 

It  adds  rich  dairy  gold  to  maca- 
roni's clean  wheat-white. 

And  isn't  that  brown  crust  that 
covers  the  top  something  to  make 
a  man  sing? 

Lady,  why  not  let  Shefford 


^^:a»  mdLt  it 

hyiXJuadr  it ...  . 
aCccc  tt 


American,  for  instance,  (or  any  of 
a  half  dozen  other  Shefford  types) 
put  real  class  (as  well  as  important 
proteins)  in  one  of  the  easiest-to- 
make  dishes  in  your  repertoire: 
Macaroni  and  Cheese. 

Then  make  a  mental  note  of 
other  fine  Shefford  products  when- 
ever your  cookbook  calls  for  cheese. 

SHEFFORD  CHEESE  CO.,  INC. 
Green  Bay,  Wisconsin 


^§5^ 


^r^ 


162 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


JOIN    THE    THOUSANDS    WHO    ARE    CHANGING    TO    THIS    NON-RUB    FLOOR    WAX 


''TAVERN  WAX  RIAUy 
PROTECTS  MY  FLOORS' 


Quick  —  Easy  —  Long-wearing ! 

Housewives  all  over  America  are  finding  out 
that  Tavern  Non-Rub  Floor  Wax  is  a  real  work- 
saver!  It  was  specially  developed  by  Socony- 
Vacuum  to  put  a  gleaming,  protective  finish  on 
all  kinds  of  floors  . . .  linoleum,  rubber,  asphalt 
tile,  wood.  And  that  finish  lasts  —  resists  even 
water  spots — actually  brightens  with  use! 

So  swift  and  simple  to  use,  too!  Goes  on  in 
seconds— dries  in  20  minutes.  Needs  no  rubbing. 
Get  lovelier  floors  with  less  work  the  Tavern 
way.  Get  Tavern  Non-Rub  Floor  Wax  today! 


Typical  symbol  of  we/come  and  hospilalily — 
Chequers  Tavern  at  Sleyning,  England 


TAVERN  LIQUID  WAX,  TAVERN  PASTE  WAX 

These  two  famous  buffing  waxes  give  long-lasting 
protection  —  bring  out  the  beauty  of  wood  floors. 
They  remove  unsightly  marks  and  clean  as  they 
polish.  Excellent  to  polish  and  protect  window  sills, 
woodwork,  furniture,  painted  surfaces.  Ask  for  the 
wax  best  suited  to  your  needs  at  your  favorite  de- 
partment, hardware  or  grocery  store  today. 


TAVERN 

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or  Paraseal  Wax,  Tavern  Leattier  Preserver,  Tavern  Dry  Cleaner,  Tavern  Candles 


twenty  years  ago.  The  word  "psychoso- 
matic" was  never  used  in  this  country  until 
the  late  '20's;  the  first  serious  effort  to  study 
large  numbers  of  patients  through  this  ap- 
proach was  not  undertaken  until  some  thir- 
teen years  ago,  when  Doctor  Dunbar  in  the 
East  and  Doctor  Alexander  in  the  Middle 
West  began  their  independent  work  in  the 
field. 

There  are  many  questions  still  to  be  an- 
swered by  further  research.  For  one:  it  is 
pointed  out  by  Doctor  Dunbar  that  of  every 
330  similar  accidents,  300  are  known  to  re- 
sult in  no  injury,  29  in  minor  injuries,  1  in  a 
major  injury.  Is  there  a  similar  incidence  in 
other  disease  fields?  Of  every  330  patients 
who  react  to  emotional  stress  with  vascular 
or  gastrointestinal  spasm,  do  29  develop 
minor  illness  and  1  a  major  sickness?  Or  has 
each  disease  its  own,  different  statistical 
history?   We  do  not  know. 

There  are,  again,  certain  crises  in  life  to 
which  certain  types  of  individuals  apparently 
respond  with  the  same  type  of  disease. 
Does  this  mean  that  a  man  or  woman  with  a 
particular  personality  is  prone  to  a  particu- 
lar type  of  sickness — or  is  it  rather  that 
patients  suffering  from  a  certain  tension  re- 
flect this  in  both  their  personalities  and  the 
sicknesses  they  catch?  There  is  no  clear 
agreement  on  this  point. 

There  are  some  individuals  who  are 
"never  sick  a  day  in  their  lives";  do  they 
pay  for  this  immunity  by  mildly  neurotic 
behavior,  as  some  studies  of  the  health  rec- 
ord in  insane  asylums  might  suggest?  Or 
are  they  the  ideally  normal  men  and  women, 
who  have  learned  to  bring  all  their  hidden 
urges  into  frank  consciousness  and  dispose  of 
them  in  a  realistic  way?  Nobody  knows. 

But  these  are  stimulating  questions.  And 
the  cases  already  reported  are  stimulating 
reading,  to  doctors  and  to  laymen  too.  They 
make  us  think — and  they  often  make  us  sus- 
picious of  our  own  ailments,  in  a  way  which 
may  sometimes  drive  them  away  without 
the  help  of  any  psychiatrist  at  all.  Have  you 
an   une5jplained   pain   in   your  right   arm? 


May,  194. 

Consider,  carefully,  whether  it  came  on  afte 
you  had  seen  someone  you  have  a  deep  de 
sire  to  strike !  Have  you  a  cold  today?  Is  ii 
serving  a  convenient  purpose  in  bringing  yoi 
the  attention  of  the  household,  or  is  it  giving 
you  a  fine  excuse  to  get  out  of  a  distastefu 
engagement?  We're  all  guilty  of  these  littls 
tricks  of  self-deception,  at  times.  Have  yoi. 
a  loss  of  appetite?  Can  this  be  because  youi 
stomach  is  expressing  a  loss  of  zest  for  life' 
If  so,  what  has  happened  to  make  you  dis 
trust  living? 

These  bits  of  self-analysis  are  superficial- 
yes.  But  sometimes  they  are  effective;  some 
times  it  is  possible  to  catch  ourselves  in  th( 
act  of  using  sickness  for  a  purpose  we  wil 
not  openly  follow.  Sometimes  even  the  un- 
trained individual  can  learn  a  few  letters  o1 
the  alphabet  of  "organ  language." 

One  third  of  all  pain  that  takes  us  to  th( 
doctor  has  no  apparent  physical  cause,  ac 
cording  to  Doctor  Weiss.    In  another  third  "■ 
of  all  cases,  there  is  a  strong  psychological 
element  present,  along  with  physical  symp- 
toms. The  remaining  third  of  the  doctor'sf " 
time  is  taken  up  with  those  chronic  diseases^ 
in  which  the  "vegetative  nervous  system" 
plays  a  suspiciously  important  part — since  it' 
is  always  an  obedient  servant  of  the  under- 
ground emotions.  The  entire  field  of  sickness 
is,  therefore,  under  observation  from  this 
new  and  critical  viewpoint. 

Will  psychosomatic  medicine  live  up  to 
the  bright  promise  to  which  its  pioneers  have 
pinned  their  faith?  Will  the  lessons  taught 
us  by  the  physical  ailments  appearing  in 
battle  areas  be  widely  applicable  to  patients 
who  succumb  to  the  strains  of  peacetime 
living?  If  so,  then  a  medical  advance  hai 
been  made  in  this  war  far  more  important 
than  any  of  the  drugs  or  surgical  techniques' 
of  which  we  have  so  far  been  told. 

Sulpha  and  penicillin  and  plasma  are  val- 
uable aids  to  the  conquering  of  diseases, 
which  have  already  made  headway  against 
the  healthy  body.  But  psychosomatic  medi- 
cine may  be  able  to  stop  half  of  our  diseases; 
before  they  start! 


<:,T'-^' 


Quality  means  many  things  of  extra 
value  in  St.  Marys  Blankets:  Pure  white 
wools  that  give  depth  and  richness  to 
the  exquisite  color  tones;  fine  wools  of 
downy  softness,  providing  luxurious 
warmth;  close,  uniform  weave  for  added 
durability;  fine  craftsmanship,  imparting 
elegance  of  finish  to  each  blanket.  It  pays 
to  look  for  the  famous  St.  Marys  label. 

The  armed  services  still  require  a  large  part  of 
our  production  which  necessarily  limits  the  selec- 
tion you  may  find  at  your  favorite  store. 

ISz'./yfaAys 

ALL  WOOL  BLANKETS 

Dept.  L.ST.  MAHY8,  OHIO 


PRATT  &   LAMBERT. INC 


BUFFALO   7,   N.Y. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


163 


MEET  A  STITDENT  VETERAN 

(Continued  from  Page  140) 


an  unfurnished  place.  All  their  furniture  is 

)\v  stored  with  Mary's  mother,  who  now 

•es  in  San  Francisco.  Theoretically,  this 

aves  the  Grays  $40  a  month  for  food,  but  it 

ver  works  out  that  way.  Gary  needs  a  new 

iir  of  shoes,  or  a  visit  to  the  doctor,  or  once 

a  long  while  they  splurge  on  a  dinner  and 

Dvie  in  town.    Inevitably,  when  the  fif- 

jnth  of  each  month  rolls  around,  the  Grays 

e  dead  broke,  and  whether  they  eat  or 

t  for  the  rest  of  the  month  depends  on 

lat  Phil  can  earn  between  classes. 

We  now  come  to  the  one  and  only  point 

(  difference  between  this  warmly  loving 

( aple.  Phil,  who  dotes  on  radio  and  photog- 

1  Dhy,  takes  candid  shots  of  University  of 

(lifornia  undergraduates  at  parties  and 

I  nces.  develops  the  prints  himself  and  sells 

I  ;ni  at  seventy-five  cents  each.  He  also  has 

1  rt  of  a  campus  radio  shop  where  two  other 

s  idents  and  he  repair  radios  and  hire  out 

i  iplifiers  and  dance  records  for  parties.  So 

i ,  all  the  money  the  partners  have  taken  in 

1 5  gone  for  more  equipment.  Andlastmonth, 

\  en  Phil  took  $12.50  from  Mary  to  pay  the 

i  tallment  on  the  bedroom  furniture,  he 

cinged  his  mind  and  bought  an  amplifier 

i  tead.  Mary  feels,  and  her  family  strongly 

ll|:ks  her  up,  that  Phil  should  get  a  steady 

j|:i  such  as  working  in  a  grocery  store  after 

gsses,  and  forget  about  radios  and  pho- 

I  raphy  for  a  while,  so  she  could  count  on 

I  east  $10  a  week  for  food.  Phil  argues  that 

?ntually  his  two  businesses  will  bring  in 

}i  a  week  and  more;  besides,  he  doesn't 

y:  working  for  other  people,   preferring 

^nulating  and  interesting  jobs  to  secure 

OS.  At  this  point,  Mary  always  gives  in. 

i  d  there's  always  that  one  small  War  Bond 

ked  away  for  a  desperate  emergency. 

iVould  it  be  wise  to  increase  the  student- 

eran  allowance?    I  have  to  say  I  do  not 

ik  so,  and  that  conclusion  is  not  the  re- 

.  of  the  bland  indifference  of  middle  age. 


The  soldier  home  from  wars  has  his  mind 
full  of  memories — bitter  and  unpleasant, 
most  of  them;  ordinary  workaday  worries 
make  the  best  possible  counterirritant  to 
those  other  black  memories.  A  man  who  is 
worrying  about  how  to  buy  his  wife  a  birth- 
day present  cannot  worry  at  the  same  time 
about  the  memories  of  friends  killed  beside 
him  in  a  foxhole.  He  has  less  time  to  brood 
and  more  things  to  think  about;  he  has  a 
stimulus  as  well  as  a  sedative.  The  contem- 
plative life  is  not  good  for  the  returned  sol- 
dier, however  much  he  may  yearn  for  it. 

Phil  is  lucky  indeed  if  he  gets  in  more  than 
one  hour's  studying  a  day.  Yet  he  has  man- 
aged to  stay  in  the  upper  third  of  his  grade, 
getting  A's  and  B's  mostly.  Of  course  his 
Army  classroom  training  helps  him  immeas- 
urably, and  he  realizes  that  as  his  work  be- 
comes more  advanced,  the  grind  will  become 
increasingly  tough.  "Gray  is  a  very  bright 
boy,  but  a  very  poor  salesman  for  Gray," 
one  instructor  summed  him  up.  He  is  a 
natural  scientist  type,  brainy,  introverted, 
capable  of  great  concentration,  and  if  he  can 
keep  on  plugging  will  undoubtedly  emerge  in 
November,  1947,  as  a  first-rate  physical 
chemist  with  an  initial  earning  power  of 
about  $250  a  month  in  private  industry. 

"I  guess  we  can  get  through  seven  more 
semesters,"  Mary  allows,  sitting  up  a  little 
straighter,  and  gazing  around  their  incred- 
ibly crowded  room.  "We  always  manage  to 
eat,  somehow."  She  would  put  the  babies 
in  a  nursery  school  and  go  to  work  herself 
if  necessary,  but  Phil  thinks  she  has  a  plenty 
big  enough  job  already.  And  one  of  these 
days  he  will  emerge  with  a  degree,  something 
he  never  would  have  had  if  there  had  not 
been  a  war  to  give  him  the  chance.  And 
Gary  Newton  Gray  will  not  remember  any- 
thing about  the  rooming  house  on  Haste 
Street,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  Mary 
smiled  when  she  remembered  it. 


CISTOM  FIT 

ill  REitny-iiAiin 


l^eaiiy- 


qu' 


a\it7 


tbei^ 


tor 


tor 


aVity- 


^^^^,:{,.o^ 


^irs;^-?!:::-""^! 


\ea<ie  be  P^^ 
oftbca^-PtL,,,tartiv 


,rcS. 


^bis 


n>i^^ 


ship"!!! 


Made  for  most  styles  of  ovcr- 
siutfed  furnirurc,  including 
studio  couches  and  ottomans. 
Wide  choice  of  materials  and 
patterns. 

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Only  Customettes  have 
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tures  .  .  .  orms  seporate 
from  back  ond  adjustable 
"Hug-flex"  shoulders .  .  . 
to  insure  perfect,  custom- 
like fit.  Stay  put  whether 
you  sit,  slump  or  squirm. 


fmui  poi 


CO.,  CHICAGO  10^  III. 


AT  BETTER  DEPARTMENT  STORES 


Lovely  Merle 
Oberon  porcrays 
Madame  George 
Sand  in  Colum- 
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\    V 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  n 


Corner  of  the  room  which  was  first  planned 
on  paper  as  shown  here.  Send  for  the 
Bigelow  bookleHs  offered  below  and  learn 
how  to  plan  your  own   future  rooms. 


KEY 

1.  Bigelow  wall-to-wall 
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2.  Color  of  walls,  north- 
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3.  View  of  window  group 

4.  Color  of  west-wall  cur- 
tains, built-in  cabinets, 
bookcases 

5.  Tweed  for  two  chairs, 
color  for  consoles 

6.  View  of  sofa  group, 
cabinets,  bookcases 

7.  Cotton  fabric  for  sofa 
and  two  chairs 

8.  Felt  for  table  cover,  color 
of  lamps  beside  window 


See  how  easy  it  is!  Plan  your  room  from  the  floor  up 


It's  fun  now.  It  will  be  useful  later.  So  plan  your  room  for  to- 
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Using  this  guide  book  and  handy  planner  you  can  make  a 
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At  that  time,  remember  the  Floor-up  Formula  and  make 
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coin  or  stanip6  to  Bigelow 
Weavers,  Depl.  L-SS.  14 
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:«<^^;7,.  . 


GARDEN  A n D  PHOTOGRAPH  RY  THE  AUTHOR 


Suddenly  one  May  morning,  the  garden  looks  like  this.  All  the  time  of  preparation  is  forgotten,  and  masses  of 
blooming  shrubs,  bulbs  and  perennials — phlox,  snow-in -summer,  candytuft — sing  the  sweet  symphony  of  spring. 

BY  RICHARD  PRATT 


THE  thing  I'd  like  to  make  clear  is  that  the  garden 
comes  up  in  spring  needing  no  more  help  than  a 
sunrise.  I  often  wish  that  other  seasons  were  as 
simple,  because  all  by  itself  the  garden  just  hap- 
pened to  look  this  way  one  morning  in  May,  and  I  took 
the  picture.  Perhaps  one  reason  why  an  effect  of  this 
sort  seems  so  effortless  at  the  time  is  that  the  prepara- 
tion for  spring  is  always  somewhere  in  the  past,  and 
fairly  well  forgotten.  Until  suddenly  torrents  of  flowers 
break  across  the  ground,  sweep  up  into  the  trees,  and 
the  bulbs  you  stuck  in  the  earth  the  fall  before  begin 
tossing  tulips  into  the  air,  and  the  whole  scene  emerges 
as  a  kind  of  unexpected  memory. 

I  remember  very  well,  for  instance,  when  this  garden 
was  a  barnyard,  a  hundred  feet  or  so  from  the  house, 
which  you  can  see  through  the  trees  we  planted.  Close 
to  the  house,  it  would  have  been  under  constant  obser- 
vation; and  as  in  the  back  of  my  mind  it  was  to  be  a 
garden  in  which  to  experiment  with  various  effects,  I 
wanted  it  to  be  where  my  failures  wouldn't  flaunt  them- 
selves in  your  face  every  minute  of  the  day.  My  cau- 
tion was  justified  on  many  occasions — but  I  won't  go 
into  the  bad  years.  I  will  tell  you  how  the  garden  was 
made. 

The  sloping  barnyard  had  a  rather  high,  uncertain 
wall  around  it,  of  stone  that  could  readily  be  removed. 
The  slope,  and  all  that  stone,  suggested  a  garden  of 
three  descending  levels,  using  the  stone  for  low,  leaning 
walls  between  to  hold  the  terraces  in  place  and  offer 
crevices  for  rock  plants  and  cliffs  for  creeping  things  to 


cascade  over.  The  walls  were  good  exercise  for  as  many 
people  as  I  could  coax  to  help,  furnishing  all  the  canvas 
gloves  and  whatever  else  they  wanted.  And  while  the 
grading  could  have  been  done  in  a  week,  by  hand,  with 
a  wheelbarrow,  it  was  only  a  one-day  job  for  a  man  with 
a  horse-drawn  scoop. 

Skipping  quite  a  few  following  aspects  over  the  sub- 
sequent seasons,  ranging  from  fine  to  frankly  far  from 
satisfactory,  but  all  decidedly  different,  I  could  always 
count  upon  spring's  appearing  every  year  pretty  much 
as  it  does  in  the  picture.  It  can  be  anyone's  effect,  on 
whatever  scale,  with  ingredients  easy  to  get  and  easy 
to  grow.  Of  all  the  garden  plants  in  the  picture,  I  con- 
sider the  three  that  spread  into  colorful  clumps  the  most 
important.  These  are  the  pink  and  white  moss  phlox 
(called  Phlox  subulala  in  the  catalogues);  the  white- 
flowered  and  silvery-leaved  snow-in-summer,  or  Ceras- 
tium  lomentosiim,  and  the  evergreen  white-flowered 
candytuft,  or  Iberis  sempervirens.  There  could  have 
been  a  splendid,  clear  yellow-flowered  plant  of  the  same 
growing  habit,  called  Dwarf  Goldentuft,  or  Alysmm 
saxalile  compaclum,  but  something  must  have  happened 
to  it  that  year.  Just  one  thing:  the  phlox  sometimes 
dies  back;  then  I  dig  up  and  replant.  Ordinarily,  how- 
ever, nothing  much  ever  happens  to  these  wonderful 
spring  spreaders,  except  that  every  season  they  seem 
to  creep  farther  about  the  beds  and  slip  farther 
down  over  the  walls,  which  only  makes  them  more 
wonderful.  They  are  all  perennials,  and  you  buy 
the  plants  at  roadside  stands  right  now,  in  bloom. 


Next  in  importance,  if  you  can  make  comparisons, 
are  the  tulips,  narcissuses  and  early  iris.  The  tulips 
are  tumbled  into  place,  rather  than  arranged  into  rows, 
and  are  a  mixture  of  early,  cottage  and  Darwin,  of 
which  you  can  now  get  American-grown  bulbs,  in  colors 
of  your  choice,  for  planting  just  before  frost.  Narcissuses 
and/or  daffodils  are  easier  to  grow,  because  they  can 
stay  in  the  ground  year  after  year,  and  the  longer  they 
stay  the  more  they  spread.  The  early  and  intermediate 
irises,  too  often  neglected  in  favor  of  the  tall  bearded 
types,  have  colors  that  even  the  later  larger  kinds  can't 
touch,  such  as  smoky  subtle  lavender  Kochi  in  the  fore- 
ground. They  spread,  too,  and  every  five  years  or  so 
should  be  divided  and  reset. 

The  rest  are  mostly  blooming  shrubs  and  trees:  lilacs, 
azaleas,  dogwoods  and  flowering  crabs,  a  quartet  that 
can  hardly  be  equaled. 

In  a  sense,  this  garden  is  the  progenitor  of  all  the  gar- 
dens that  have  been  coming  out  in  the  Journal  for 
years.  For,  back  up  to  the  left,  beyond  the  barn,  the 
magazine  maintains  a  kind  of  horticultural  Hollywood, 
with  architectural  sets,  photographing  stages,  green- 
houses and  planting  fields,  where  any  sort  of  garden 
can  be  created  at  will,  when  the  season  permits.  Even 
the  model  houses  you  see  every  month  are  brought 
here  to  be  landscaped  in  miniature  and  photographed. 
But  it's  here  in  this  garden  that  the  ideas  develop. 
If  they  turn  out  well,  they  eventually  get  up  beyond 
the  barn  and  into  these  pages;  otherwise,  they  get 
tossed  over  a  wall,  out  of  the  picture,  out  of  sight. 


165 


166 


LADIES'  HOME  JOUl?NAL 


This  Kitchen 
Didn't  Just  Happen! 


%  Long  ago  a  j group  of  men  envisioned  a  great  nation  needing 
things  for  FINE  living.  This  enterprising  group  pooled  resources  and 
that  was  the  start  of  the  many  machines  needed  to  provide  America 
with  beautiful  Youngstown  Kitchens  at  amazingly  low  cost.  No,  the 
modern  steel  kitchen  DIDN'T  JUST  HAPPEN!  The  planning  of  this 
high  quality  h(!>me  equipment  began  long  before  anyone  recog- 
nized the  need  for  a  scientifically  planned  kitchen. 

That's  the  grand  thing  about  America.  Our  future  is  as  great  as 
our  imagination.  Freedom  to  forge  ahead,  the  right  to  risk  and 
do  bold  things  has  made  our  country  great.  That's  why  our  stand- 
ard of  living  is  a  model  for  the  world.  Youngstown    -"bu'^*'boo'i'.°-fl"^ 

\  blood — solvoge  fats  and 

Kitchens  are  a  new  addition  to  that  standard  of  living.  p°p"— '»"'•'" ^-'o" 


Then  do  your  port  to  . 


Enjoy  a  Youngsjown  Kitchen  in  your  home.  Plan  it 
now  with  the  Min-a-Kit  Book  and  its  46  easy-to- 
cut-out  models 'offered  below. 


Tlu  na  inuricanWir 

MULLINS   MANUFACTURING    CORPORATION 

I  WARREN,    OHIO 

Design  Engineering  Service    •    Large  Pressed  Metal  Parts   •   Porcelain  Enameled  Products 


****** 


JiUchen^ 

h  Mulling 


r 


YOUNGSTOWN    KITCHENS 

Mullins  Manufacturing  Corporation,    Dept.  L-545,  Worren,  Ohio 

Please  send  me  the  Min-o-Kil  Book.    Price  10c  in  cosh. 

I  plon  to  modernize  i  J  I  plan  to  build  Q 

Name^ 


Street. 
City  — 


Countv- 


.  Stat*. 


Stalkinf!  through  the  daffwUh,  Silver  Wings  comes  to  the  gar- 
den to  help  us  dig  and  makes  planting  a  hazardous  occupation. 

Diary  of  Domesticity 


^^  (^ieuCcfA  ^ci^en. 


WE  used  to  wander  dreamily  down  the 
wine-dark  streets  in  the  evening  when 
we  were  children,  carrying  our  May 
baskets.  They  were  little  colored  bas- 
kets woven  of  blue  and  lemon-yellow  straw, 
and  we  lined  them  with  soft  moss  or  fresh 
green  leaves.  All  day  long  we  had  been  down 
along  the  shining  river,  gathering  sweet  pur- 
ple violets  and  buttercups  and  little  name- 
less pink  and  white  blossoms.  Then,  for  spe- 
cial people,  we  hid  chocolates  or  jelly  beans 
under  the  dewy  flowers,  and  tied  ribbon  bows 
on  the  basket  handles. 

In  twos  and  threes  we  went  from  house  to 
house,  slipping  up  on  the  porches  and  setting 
the  baskets  inside  the  screen  doors,  ringing 
the  bell — oh,  exciting  and  delicious  mo- 
ment ! — and  then  running  like  bunnies  to  the 
shrubbery,  where,  giggling  and  whispering, 
we  peered  out  to  watch  the  door  open  and 
the  May  basket  go  in ! 

The  donor  of  a  May  basket  was  supposed 
to  be  secret,  but  there  were  always  ways  of 
knowing,  and  the  one  who  made  the  prettiest 
May  basket  was  stiff  with  pride  for  days. 

We  should  preserve  this  custom,  I  think, 
and  I  hope  the  children  of  tomorrow  may  go 
out  to  the  sunny  meadows  and  spring  woods 
and  gather  May  flowers  for  the  little  reed 
baskets,  and  walk  singing  through  the  twi- 
light to  an  early  supper  and  the  joy  of  giving 
May  baskets. 

Here  in  New  England,  May  is  planting 
month.  Peas,  radishes,  lettuce  have  gone  in, 
but  we  have  learned  by  many  trials  and 
many  errors  that  all  other  crops  planted  in 
April  were  exceeded  in  both  speed  of  growth 
and  in  development  by  the  same  varieties 
planted  the  first  week  in  May.  This,  how- 
ever, does  not  include  anything  dug  up  by 
cockers ! 

Planting  is  always  a  hazardous  occupation 
with  us.  Melody  is  so  apt  to  skip  through 
the  gate  and  dig  up  half  a  row  of  some- 
thing, and  Hildegarde  wears  a  mud  pack  on 
her  beautiful  face  half  the  time.  Even  the 
sedate  Sister  is  not  above  putting  a  paw  in. 

I  am  usually  in  the  kitchen  during  this 
period,  fixing  something  more  than  apples  to 
stay  my  sister  Jill  and  my  husband  Bob  with, 
and  every  little  while  one  of  them  pokes  a 
head  in  the  door.  "Can't  you  keep  those  dogs 
away?"  "How  can  I  get  anything  done? 
They're  all  over  everything!" 


"Well,"  I  say  mildly,  "you  know  i 
hate  to  miss  anything." 

I  used  not  to  mind  cooking  with  a  I 
of  cockers  around,  and  I  was  fairly  adej 
stepping  from  dog  to  dog,  but  rationing 
make  a  difference.  I  couldn't  keep  butte 
toast  and  passing  it  around  when  there 
no  butter  in  the  house.  Neither  could  I 
up  a  pound  of  bacon  and  crisp  it  in  the  c 
for  their  midday  snack,  when  we  hadn't  ( 
smelled  bacon  for  weeks.  But  when  th 
got  to  the  vanishing  point,  I  would  prefe 
have  them  help  garden  than  help  cook, 

Silver  Wings  and  Melody  and  Hildeg: 
are  certainly  unusual  cockers.  Being  broi 
up  with  two  cats,  they  feel  they  can  d 
and  jump  anywhere.  We  have  several  \ 
window  sills  at  Stillmeadow,  and  it  is 
tomary  for  three  cockers  to  be  perchec 
the  window  sills  just  where  the  cats  sit 
Melody  climbs  fences  until  we  are 
tracted.  Keeping  her  off  the  road  and 
our  land  is  something.  And  they  all  t' 
bound  up  on  top  of  the  well  head  to  wi 
the  neighbor's  dog.  Of  course  the  cove 
that  well  head  is  primarily  a  protectior 
the  well  water,  but  we  fondly  hope  rr. 
mud  doesn't  sift  through  the  cracks. 

Windy,  Saxon  and  Pussy  spend  their 
time  digging  up  the  yard  after  the  elu 
mole.  They  are  real  idealists;  they  have  m 
caught  a  mole,  but  every  time  I  look  out 
kitchen  window  I  see  their  up-ended  r 
and  sprays  of  what  might  have  been  L 
dirt  flying  through  the  air.  The  yard  is 
of  regular  foxholes,  no  matter  how  mud", 
push  the  roller  over  it.  But  we  decide 
happy  diggers,  red  and  black  and  gold, 
better  to  look  at  than  smooth  turf  anyv 

Clover  and  Snow  take  a  great  interes 
the  hens.  Once  or  twice  the  gate  has  b 
left  open,  and  nineteen  plump  hens  w 
skimming  in  the  air  like  swallows  while 
cockers  whirled  about.  Nothing  came  o: 
except  the  hens  were  a  little  hoarse  for 
rest  of  the  day  from  squawking  so  wil 
and  Clover  and  Snow  went  around  looli 
as  if  they  had  had  two  on  the  aisle. 

When  I  went  to  New  York  last  week,  II 
lunch  at  the  Soldiers  and  Sailors  Club 
Lexington  Avenue.  This  was  founded 
Mrs.  Rogers  after  World  War  I  and 
never  been  closed  since.  Now  it  is  ruiU 
full  tilt,  and  serving  up  to  two  hundred  b 


i 


•     LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


167 


a  night  from  all  over  the  world.  Being  a 
mere  civilian,  I  had  no  meat,  but  I  had  a 
cheese  omelet  that  was  perfect,  and  apple 
fritters  as  delicate  and  crisp  as  could  be,  and 
black  hot  coffee.  Ninety-five  volunteers 
serve  the  meals  and  wait  on  the  boys  while 
they  consume  quantities  of  elegant  food  in 
the  sunny  pleasant  dining  room  or  in  the 
garden.  How  I  wished  every  mother  of  a 
boy  who  has  gone  through  New  York,  out- 
ward bound  or  homeward  bound,  could  have 
seen  the  boys!  French,  Polish,  Belgian, 
Australian,  English,  Canadian,  American, 
comfortable  and  well  fed  and  relaxing  in  the 
club. 

There  are  no  rules,  and  there  is  no  disor- 
der. The  whole  place  is  most  heart-warming. 
Of  course  I  had  to  see  the  kitchen.  The  col- 
ored chef,  in  spotless  white  and  wearing  a 
starched  cap.  was  tossing  an  omelet.  He 
poured  the  beaten  eggs  from  a  great  pitcher 
onto  the  hot  spider,  and  when  brown  began 
to  show  at  the  edge,  he  simply  tossed  the 
spider  in  the  air  and  the  egg  mixture  flipped 
up  and  over  like  magic.  I  privately  felt  very 
inferior.  Never,  never  could  I  throw  eggs 
around  that  way  and  have  them  come  back 
to  the  same  spot. 

I  stopped  in  the  main  office  to  see  the  wall 
of  photographs  of  the  boys  who  had  stayed 
there.  Such  young  strong  faces  they  were, 
so  eager  and  hopeful.  I  made  them  a  silent 
promise,  as  I  went  out  again  to  the  street, 
that  the  world  would  be  safe  forever  after 
this  war  is  ended.  We  must  make  it  so. 

Reading  John  Mason  Brown's  exquisite 
and  moving  Many  a  Watchful  Night  made 
me  renew  the  vow.  I  felt  that  if  every  woman 
in  every  home  would  resolve  it,  it  must  come 
to  pass.  Mr.  Brown,  it  seems  to  me,  catches 
the  full  significance  of  what  war  means  to 
those  in  combat,  and  his  sensitive  style 
makes  the  book  one  to  read  and  reread. 

Our  meals  in  May  must  be  very,  very  fill- 
ing. Gardeners  get  hungry!  I  like  best  of 
all  to  eat  lunch  under  the  old  apple  tree  by 
the  garden,  where  we  can  look  out  and  feel 
proud  about  how  much  is  planted  and  how 


nicely  we  have  the  earth  spaded  and  hoed 
and  raked.  Also,  it  is  well  to  plan  things  that 
may  be  set  on  the  stove  and  left  to  their  own 
devices,  because  there  is  always  some  reason 
for  the  cook  to  rush  out  and  see  something 
special. 

Spanish  rice  is  a  good  main  dish.  Weak- 
ling that  I  was,  I  used  to  buy  it  ready-made. 
Now  I  make  my  own.  I  make  a  double 
recipe,  with  the  fond  hope  some  will  be  left 
over  as  a  base  for  one  of  my  casseroles.  First 
I  saute  until  brown  6  slices  of  bacon,  minced. 
If  I  have  no  bacon,  I  simply  use  drippings  in 
the  spider.  When  the  bacon  is  done,  I  take 
it  out  and  put  1  cup  of  washed  rice  in  the 
pan  and  brown  it  well.  If  it  is  the  natural 
brown  rice,  I  use  1}^  cups,  as  that  does  not 
swell  so  much.  When  the  rice  is  brown,  I  add 
3^2  cup  of  thinly  sliced  onions,  134  cups  of 
canned  tomatoes,  y?  teaspoon  of  salt,  1  tea- 
spoon of  paprika,  1  clove  of  garlic  and  1 
minced  green  pepper,  and  the  bacon.  I  then 
put  the  whole  thing  in  a  big  double  boiler 
and  steam  it  for  a  good  hour  or  more.  If  it 
gets  dry,  I  add  more  tomato  or  water.  If  I 
am  not  in  a  hurry,  I  brown  the  onions  first, 
but  in  May  I  am  in  a  hurry. 

Another  favorite  for  garden  days  is  a 
chicken  dish,  which  is  a  combination  of  Rus- 
sian and  hunter's  chicken.  I  use  the  Dutch 
oven  for  this,  and  a  nice  fat  chicken.  First  I 
brown  in  oliVe  oil  a  clove  of  garlic,  a  sliced 
onion,  minced  green  pepper,  chopped  carrots, 
chopped  celery.  At  the  same  time,  I  brown 
the  chicken  pieces  in  margarine  or  bacon 
drippings  in  another  pan.  When  everything 
is  nicely  golden,  I  put  the  chicken  in  the 
Dutch  oven,  pour  over  a  quart  of  home- 
canned  tomatoes,  season  lavishly  with  salt, 
freshly  ground  pepper  and  paprika,  and  add 
chopped  parsley  or  celery  tops,  cover  tightly 
and  let  it  cook  over  a  slow  fire  until  the 
chicken  meat  fairly  falls  from  the  bones.  If 
I  have  a  few  leftover  vegetables,  I  drop  them 
in  too.  A  handful  of  mushrooms  and  a  few 
peas  add  a  lot.  When  the  dish  is  done,  the 
chicken  is  lifted  out  and  put  on  a  hot  platter, 
and  the  sauce,  which  is  thick  and  rich  by 


^  iiU  l'«  of^k,  S«^^ 


Iv 


HERE'S  MOTHER.  JOHN.  SHE  JUST  HEARD  THAT  KYANIZE  IS 
THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SURFACE  AND  SHE  JUST  COULDN'T  WAIT 


Hanhc 


PAINT$-YARNISHE$-ENAMEU 


The  unexpected  guest,  iilce  the  family,  will 
thrill  to  the  quick  beauty  Kyanize  self 'Smoothing 
Lustaquik  enamel  brings  to  furniture  and 
woodwork.  Dries  in  a  few  hours.  Many  cheery 
colors. 

BOSTON  VARNISH  COMPANY 

Everett  49,  Mass. 


LUSTAOUIK 
ENAMEL 


WHITE 


BY  MARGARET  MALLABY 

Let's  face  it!  i  ou  can't  get  the  most  out  of  life  today  if  you're  running  your 
home  with  old-fashioned  equipment.  Your  hat  may  be  the  last  word  in 
fashion  .  .  .  the  books  you  read  just  off  tlie  press  .  .  .  but  if  you're  a  harried 
handmaiden  to  a  furnace  ...  if  your  hot  water  arrangements  date  back  to 
the  Gay  Nineties — you're  living  in  the  wrong  century! 

That's  why  the  Gas  industry  has  put  its  thinking  cap  on 
and  brought  science  with  a  capital  S  into  your  home  .  .  . 
to  help  you  kiss  your  old-fashioned  "chores"  good-bye! 

Take  the  business  of  marketing.  It  used  to  be  a  daily 
affair — remember?  But  wait  'til  you  see  what's  being 
planned  for  the  post-war  Gas  refrigerator.  Not  only 
silent  and  economical — but  designed  to  hold  more 
food . . .  and  keep  it  fresh  longer.  Watch  for  new  devel- 
opments in  frozen  food  storage,  too.  They'll  all  be 

brought  to  you  by  the  magic  of  the  tiny  blue  Gas  flame  .  .  .  the  flame  that 

cools  as  well  as  heats. 

Ever  have  hot  water  "run  out"  just  when  you're  in  the  middle  of  the  weekly 
laundry — or  your  daily  shower!  "Curses,"  you  say.  And  vow  you'll  own  a  new 
automatic   Gas  water   heating  system  that'll   supply  oceans   of  hot  water - 


whenever  you  want  it 
old  "chore.'' 


without  a   thought   from  you.    Away   with   another 


Now  I  want  to  thank  you  all  for  being  such  good  neigh- 
bors about  sending  in  your  pet  suggestions  on  what 
you'd  like  to  see  in  your  kitchen  of  tomorrow.  We'll 
incorporate  lots  of  these  ideas  into  our  "New  Free- 
dom Gas  Kitchen"  designs.  Keep  sending  them  along 
—  ^vith  your  permission  to  use  them  —  especially  if 
they're  as  good  as  these: 

Vertical  filing  of  utensils  and  dishes. 

Sliding  door  cabinets  to  cut  down  annoying  bumps  on  the  head. 

No-clutter  cutlery  drawers. 

No  hard-to-reach  storage  compartments  for  food  and  dishes. 

A  breakfast  bar  that  looks  like  a  kitchen  cabinet  when  closed.  Pull 

out  the  "drawers" — and  there  are  the  seats.  When  not  in  use — it's 

completely  out  of  the  way. 

^^  Butthebiggestdesireof  Mrs.  America  seems  to  be  "any- 
thing that  will  make  me  a  better  cook!"  That's  why 
it's  so  important  in  planning  your  modern  kitchen  to 
make  sure  of  one  thing:  No  matter  what  "make"  of  Gas 
range  you  buy — see  that  it  carries  the  CP  seal.  Then 
youU  own  a  range  that  makes  cooking  easier,  faster, 
more  delicious  than  ever  before.  A  range  where  new 
type  storage  and  warming  space  save  dozens  of  steps  a  day. . . .  Vt  here  heating 
controls  are  so  precise  you'll  never  need  face  another  baking  failure  .  .  .  and 
pot  watching  will  be  gone  forever.  Kiss  those  chores  good-bye! 


American  Gas  Association  reporter 


168 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  1945 


How  to  wake  up  drowsy  rooms 


MANTEL  MAGIC.  Want  to  give  gayety,  brightness  and  glamour  to  your  living  room? 
It's  easy.  Just  hang  a  lovely,  unframed  mirror  of  Plate  Glass  over  the  mantel,  and 
presto!  .  .  .  the  room  comes  alive  with  reflected  color  and  charm. 


BUFFET  BEAUTY.  Enjoyment  of  good 
meals  is  heightened  by  cheerful  sur- 
roundings. Fresh  wall  colors  of  Pitts- 
burgh Live  Paint,  for  instance.  With  a 
circular  Plate  Glass  mirror  and  a  mir- 
rored top  for  your  buffet. 


VANITY  TIPS.   Dress   up  your  vanity 

with  a  colorful  skirt.  Add  a  mirrored  or 
transparent  Plate  Glass  top  that  laughs 
at  spilled  cosmetics.  Then  hang  a  smart 
unframed  mirror  on  the  wall.  Result: 
a  brighter  bedroom! 


You  can  get  these  items  at  your  favorite  department  or  furniture  store. 


ACCEPTED  AS  THE  MARK  OF  GOOD  GLASS.  The  Pittsburgh  Label  on  any 
mirror  or  article  made  of  Plate  Glass,  no  matter  who  sells  it,  is  your  assurance  of 
good  Plate  Glass.  Remember,  if  you  want  the  best,  insist  on  Plate  Glass. 


TWO  FREE  BOOKS.  For  prac-  I 

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smart  suggestions.  Send  for  the  j 

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I 


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2083-5  Grant  Building,  Pittsburgh  19,  Pa. 

Please  send  me,  without  obligation,  your  free  book- 
let on  Home-Decorating  D  ;  Home-Building  D   (Check) 


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^  >/7T$SU^^ys^i^^/t^^ua4^,^a^;%^ 


now,  is  poured  over.  The  sauce,  or  gravy,  is 
something  to  dream  about,  and  the  chicken 
is  really  glorified,  no  matter  if  it  be  elderly 
and  tough  to  begin  with.  We  always  have 
either  a  bowl  of  fluffy  rice  or  noodles  or 
mashed  potatoes  with  it,  to  get  the  best  of 
the  sauce.  This  is  a  whole  meal,  with  or  with- 
out a  green  salad,  and  dessert  should  be  very 
light — chilled  pears  flavored  with  a  few  drops 
of  mint,  or  plain  canned  peaches. 

Split-pea  soup  with  tiny  hot  biscuits  and 
honey  and  a  fruit  salad  is  another  good 
spring  luncheon.  First  you  should  get  a  ham 
bone— which  at  times  is  like  netting  a  uni- 
corn. A  shank  bone  or  a  veal  knuckle  or  a  few 
soup  bones  will  do.  I  soak  2  cups  of  split  peas 
overnight,  unless  I  have  the  quick-cooking 
kind  which  don't  need  soaking.  In  the  morn- 
ing I  cover  the  peas  with  fresh  water,  add  2 
sliced  potatoes,  2  sliced  onions,  a  pinch  of 
mixed  herbs,  salt  and  pepper  to  taste.  The 
ham  bone  or  whatever  it  may  be  goes  in,  and 
the  whole  simmers  as  long  as  possible.  I 
never  put  the  soup  through  a  sieve;  I  simply 
simmer  it  until  the  peas  are  thick  and  the 
soup  smooth  by  itself.  Croutons  should  be 
served  with  it,  but  pretzel  sticks  will  do,  or 
crisp  crackers.  A  little  crumbled  crisp  bacon 
or  a  few  cut-up  frankfurters  make  a  company 
dish  of  this. 

May  nights  are  cool  in  Connecticut.  Too 
cool,  usually,  for  the  barbecue,  unless  the 
fire  is  burning  in  the  fireplace.  The  family  is 
firm  with  me  about  this.  I  suggest  eating  in 
the  barbecue  as  soon  as  ice  is  off  the  brook, 
and  I  am  severely  told  that  barbecue  sup- 
pers are  for  warm  weather. 

I  inherit  this  passion  for  outdoor  eating 
from  my  mother.  Mother  was  picnic-minded 
in  a  day  when  it  was  a  little  odd  to  rush  off 
and  eat  by  the  roadside  except  on  a  regular 
planned  picnic,  or  a  church  strawberry  fes- 
tival. Mother  liked  to  pop  whatever  was 
handy  in  a  basket  and  eat  in  the  back  yard, 
or  in  the  front  yard,  or  by  the  river,  or  in  the 
lawn  swing.  And  one  of  my  dearest  mem- 
ories is  a  day  when  she  and  I  drove  together 
from  Pittsfield  to  Springfield,  Massachusetts, 


and  instead  of  stopping  to  eat  in  a  restaurant 
carried  our  lunch  and  ate  by  the  road  with 
the  green  and  dreamy  Berkshires  behind  us 
and  a  quick  fall  of  mountain  water  in  the 
gorge  below  us.  We  had  sandwicfces  and 
deviled  eggs  and  a  vacuum  bottle  of  coffee, 
and  we  talked.  The  words  we  spoke  are  gone 
down  the  quick  fall  of  that  other  stream 
which  is  time,  but  the  contentment  remains 
in  my  memory. 

Sometimes  I  stop  to  think,  now,  that 
every  day  we  are  making  memories.  And  I 
wonder  if  I  make  happy  memories  enough 
for  my  own  child,  or  whether  the  pressure  of 
a  war  world  has  been  too  heavy.  I  feel  sure 
if  families  would  be  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
everything  they  do  or  say  may  one  day  be 
a  memory,  there  would  be  less  quarreling, 
fewer  hard  words  spoken.  It  is  nice  to  be 
right,  but  better  to  be  remembered  pleas- 
antly. And  there  is  something  so  fearfully 
inexorable  about  the  past;  you  can't  change 
it.  You  can  only  try  to  make  today  a  good 
one  before  it,  too,  slips  into  the  past. 

I  suspect  May  has  something  to  do  with 
thoughts  like  these,  for  the  world  is  so  beauti- 
ful. 

City  dwellers  who  get  their  mail  from  a 
little  metal  box  in  the  hallway  miss  the  joy 
of  walking  to  the  mailbox  in  May.  Maybe 
I  have  a  letter  from  William.  William  is 
in  the  Navy,  no  longer  riding  off  at  six 
in  the  morning  to  Waterbury  to  his  job. 
William  is  wondering  whether  the  land  was 
too  wet  this  spring,  and  has  George  got  the 
cabbages  planted  or  is  it  too  early?  And 
how  is  old  Shep?  And  when  he  gets  home  he 
is  going  to  build  a  house  and  raise  muskrats, 
because  he  has  a  buddy  who  says  muskrats 
are  fine  to  raise.  The  country,  says  William, 
is  the  only  place  to  live.  And  no  place  is  like 
this  one  little  part  of  Connecticut. 

The  heart  turns  home,  I  think,  always; 
wherever  they  go,  their  hearts  turn  home. 

As  for  the  cockers.  Honey  says  her  heart  is 
always  at  home  too.  The  best  place  for  a  girl 
to  be,  she  feels,  is  right  in  the  flower  bed, 
sitting  on  the  nicest  of  the  daffodils ! 


r,n,e  to  wake  up  your 
kitchen  with  COLOR! 


•  It's  always  time  to  brighten  up  your  kitchen! 

•  Wake  up  dreary  shelves  with  colorful  Royledge 
shelving. 

•  Just  fold   down   the   lively  border  and  see  the 
room  snap  to  life. 

•  Take  your  pick  of  exciting  colors  at  your  5  and 
10,  neighborhood  or  department  store. 

•  Only  (><■  for  9  feet  with  sturdy, double-thick  edge ! 


169 
WHICH  VETERAX^   SHOULD   GO   TO   COLLEGE 

(Continued  from  Page  143) 

If  there  is  a  baby,  college  is  almost  out  of  their  investment.  Or  there  is  the  possibility 

he  question  for  any  reasonable  man.  There  of  part-time  work  in  college,  and  the  Gov- 

,ill  still  be  only  $75  a  month,  which  is  far  ernment  will  pay  for  that  also.    But  those 

00  little  for  three.  And  if  a  wife  interferes  who  are  fitted  for  college  work,  and  are  in  a 
,ith  studies,  the  demands  of  a  baby  are  a  position  to  accept  the  Government's  offer, 
housand  times  as  great.  Furthermore,  the  should  by  all  means  make  the  most  of  their 
laby  makes  it  impossible  for  the  wife  to  con-  opportunities. 

ribute  to  her  own  support.    If  there  is  suf-         In  order  to  help  in  reckoning  the  prob- 

cient  outside  income  to  support  the  wife  abilities  for  any  particular  veteran,  I  have 

nd  baby,  college  is  possible  but  still  hardly  constructed  the  score  card  which  follows, 

dvisable.  The  weightings  are,  of  course,  somewhat  ar- 

The  veteran's  age  and  health  should  also  bitrary,  but  they  may  be  of  help  in  balancing 

e  considered.   College  is  for  younger  men,  one  consideration  against  another.  A  score 

nly  under  exceptional  circumstances  for  of  7  or  above  indicates  that  the  veteran 

len  over  thirty.   Health  is  very  important,  should  go  to  college,  5  to  7  is  doubtful,  and 

oth  physical  and  mental  health.    Many  below  5  he  should  not  go.  The  score  card  is 

:udents  break  down  because  they  lack  the  intended  merely  as  a  help  in  making  a  de- 

camina  for  college  work.  And  unless  one  is  cision,  and  one  should  not  take  it  too  lit- 

1  good  mental  adjustment,  he  is  not  in  a  erally. 

Dndition  to  profit  from  his  studies.    Only  credits  add 

nder  unusual  conditions,  and  then  only  on  Tests  show  has  ability  to  do  college  work        3 

le    advice    of    a    competent    psychiatrist.  Has  great  interest 3 

lould  one  enter  college  in  the  hope  of  solv-  Has  moderate  interest 1 

ig  his  psychological  problems.  Has  specific  occupational  goal 2 

Cost.  One  should  also  consider  the  costs  "^^  ^""^e  P'l'Tf^'' '"''°!'"'  V       '    '  ,;    '       ■  ^ 

,        ,,  J    u     ij  u  1  ^\  Has  successfully  completed  some  college 

f  a  college  course,  and  should  balance  those  .  -^         '  ^  . 

Dsts  against  the  possible  gains.     It  may  is Tn  good  health  ...........    .^2 

;em  that  since  the  Government  is  paying 

)r  tuition  and  subsistence,  it  is  bearing  the  debits  subtract 

jhole   cost.    That   is  entirely   wrong.    The  Tests  show  ability  doubtful 3 

ieteran  himself  is  investing  four  precious  Tests  show  ability  lacking .8 

ears  of  his  life  in  work  which  brings  no  im-  Lacks  interest 8 

lediate  economic  reward;  he  is  living  on  „1^'',^®'-  "o^^htful  3 

,  i^-i     f  1      •  t        ■  Has  been  out  of  school  some  years    .    .    .    .   z 

sry  little  for  some  years:  he  is  postponing  h         r ,  3 

;her  plans,  such  as  marriage.  The  Govern-  j^^^  ^^■^^ 5 

lent  pays  the  expenses  of  college  education.  Has  dependent  parents    .........  b 

at  the  veteran  himself  must  bear  the  costs.  Has  wife  and  child  with  sufficient  income  to 

For  a  great  many  veterans,  the  scales  are        support  them 3 

javily  weighted  against  college  attendance.  Is  well  beyond  college  age 3 

hey  will  do  better  to  give  up  the  idea.   If  Is  in  poor  health 3 

iiey  are  interested  in  further  education,  ^^  in  very  poor  health 8 

lere  are  excellent  opportunities  in  the  trade  Score  above  7— go  to  college. 

;id  vocational  schools,  with  much  shorter  Score  5  to  7— doubtful, 

purses  and  a  prospect  of  quicker  returns  on  Score  below  5— do  not  go  to  college. 


SO  NERVOUS  SHE  SPILLS  COOK\eS 
OM  NEW  MOTHef?-IM-  LAWS 
SPIC- AMD- SPAN   RUG. 


RELAXES  AS  AAOTHER-IM-L-AWS 
BISSELL  CLEAMSOPQUICKLVftMO 
EASILV,  EWEKJ  OMOER  LOW  CHA\RS. 


MARVELS  AT    WAV    BISSELL 
ADJUSTS  SELF  TO  NAP-LEMOTM 
OF  AMY  ROG. 


ELATED  To  HEAR  SOME  81SSELLS 
ARE  AVAIL  ABLE'^&EST  FOR  QUICK 
CLEAM-UPS--SAVES  VACUUM.TOo/ 


BISSELL  SWEEPERS 

BISSELL  CARPET  SWEEPER  CO.,  GRAND  RAPIDS  2.  MICH. 


*BisseIl  is  back  in 
limited  production. 
Your  dealer  may 
have  one  for  you 
now — or  soon. 


j^ai^ii. 


Rooms  Can  Grow  Up,  Too! 

"Jane  seemed  so  young  to  be  goins 
au;ay  to  college  the  day  she  left.  I  Lkel 
around  her  unsophisticated  bedroom 
and  I  knew  she  wouldn't  he  happy  ujith 
;  ^"^'^  >'-r  l-^er.  I  dec^d7d'rght 
then   and  there,    I'd    make  her  room 

r'^'ffTi^her.ItwmbenoproZ 

wool  Floor-Plan  Rug, 

^nd  you' II  be  surprised 
how  little  else  I'll 
have  to  change." 


How  Jane's  Room  looked 

when  she  left  for  College 


How  Jane's  Room  will ''Grow  up 
while  she  is  away 

,»A  Floor-Flan'^  Rug  can  7?take 


>  9 


Alexander 

Smith 
Floor-Plan 

Rug 
Pattern  954 


that  much  dtffe?"ence! 


See  hovsf  the  room-size  rug  alone  helps 
make  over  tins  room;  how  the  pattern  in 
Tru-Tone  colors  adds  importance  to  the 
furnishings.  The  deep,  all-wool  pile  is  so 
luxuriously  soft  even  a  teen-age  tomboy 
would  feel  like  a  princess  walking  upon  it. 
Alexander  Smith  Floor-Plan  Rugs 
are  individually  sized  to  fit  your  rooms. 
You  may  not  find  the  exact  pattern  you 
want  today,  but  be  assured  it  will  be 
among  the  first  of  all  the  good  things  to 
come  when  our  war  job  is  done. 

IT'S  FUN  TO  "DO  OVER"  WITH  COLOR.  Send  for 
our  free  illustrated  "Portfolio  of  212  Ideas  for 
Your  Post-H'ar  Home."  Write  Alexander  Smith  iS 
Sons  Carpel  Company,  295  Fifth  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y.  {'Trade  Mark) 


ALEXANDER    SMITH 

FLOOR-PLAN    RUGS 
BROADLOOM    CARPETS 


170 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


May,  194! 


^0^1. 'f^^*^^^ 


'None  today.  Ma'am — that's  just  to  remind  us 
what  they  look  like — but  try,  TRY  again  /" 

We  only  wish  we  could  weave  all  the  Scranton 
Craftspun*  Curtains  discriminating  women  are  begging 
to  buy  these  days.  But  we  can't,  because  the  fine  cotton 
yams  we  need  far  them  are  needed  more  to  make  supplies 
for  our  fighting  men  everywhere. 

So  make  the  Craftspuns  you  have  do  another  season. 
They  were  so  well  designed  in  the  first  place  they're 
still  way  ahead  in  style.  And  you  can  be  sure  that  hand- 
some, sturdy,  tied-in-place  weave  will  see  them  through 
washing  after  washing. 

Meantime  we're  blue-printing  the  finest  Craftspuns 
you've  yet  seen.  As  soon  as  we  get  the  green  light  we'll 
put  those  yarn-hungry  looms  of  ours  to  work  on  new, 
smarter-than-ever  Craftspuns  to  beautify  your  windows. 


THE  NET  OF  THEM  ALL" 


*R«K.  U.  S.  I'ot.  Off. 


BRIGHT  FUTURE 
FOR  LIVING  ROOMS 

(Continued  from  Page  149) 

The  Colar  Sehemi'.  Whenever  an  abun- 
dance of  light  enters  a  room,  step  up  the 
quality  of  your  colors  so  that  everything 
looks  gay  and  sun-splashed.  Dark  colors  do 
not  look  well  in  a  light  room.  Make  your 
scheme  look  as  if  you  had  brought  some  of 
the  outdoors  in. 

The  general  color  scheme  is  turquoise, 
chartreuse  and  coral,  and  you  may  use  these 
colors  together  in  any  proportion.  This 
scheme,  by  the  wdy,  may  be  used  in  any  of 
your  own  rooms  now,  for  these  are  good 
pickup  colors  and  forecast  the  best  postwar 
schemes.  It  is  new  to  paint  your  ceiling  and 
walls  the  same  color,  but  don't  do  it  if  your 
scheme  is  dark.  Yellow,  pink,  light  blue, 
lilac,  aqua  and  sea  green  all  work  out  well  for 
all-over  colors. 

Tlnf  FurnUurt!  Arranavtiufnt.  Pushing 
the  furniture  back  toward  the  wall  to  form  a 
square  is  new,  and  makes  additional  space — 
a  definite  improvement  over  the  angling  ar- 
rangement of  years  past.  You  can  use  this 
same  plan  of  furniture  arrangement  to  make 
an  old  room  look  up-to-date. 

The  furniture,  by  the  way,  is  covered  with 
sturdy  sailcloth,  which  is  actually  our  old 
favorite,  denim,  with  a  new  name  and  glam- 
orous colorings. 

ItraifrifH.  These  are  sailcloth,  also,  and 
slide  in  a  track  set  into  the  ceiling.  You  can 
draw  them  to  close  the  opening  if  you  don't 
care  to  use  Venetian  blinds. 

Thv  Itiio.  Originally  Chinese,  now  made  in 
Mexico,  these  twelve-inch  grass  squares  are 
sewed  together  in  the  store  to  make  a  rug 
which  will  fit  the  size  and  shape  of  your 
room.  They  cost  about  fifty  cents  a  square, 
and  most  big  stores  have  them.  Grass  rugs 
are  ideal  for  use  in  rooms  where  outside  dirt 
or  hard  usage  is  a  factor,  and  they  go  well 
with  informal  furniture. 

Tin'  iHnina  f't'itipr.  The  willow  furni- 
ture in  the  dining  end  of  the  room  matches 
the  living-room  pieces  and  adds  drama  to 
the  long  room.  It  can  be  separated  from  the 
living  end  of  the  room  by  a  draw  curtain,  if 
desired.  The  big  square  outline  on  the  rear 
wall  is  actually  a  sliding  panel  opening  into 
the  kitchen.  This  means  more  air  in  the 
kitchen  and  less  walking  back  and  forth  to 
the  dining  room. 

More  light,  more  space  and  higher  color 
are  the  most  noticeable  improvements  in  to- 
morrow's family  rooms. 


How  England  Lives 

The  Dive  family,  of  Dover, 
England,  stayed  put  through  six 
years  of  day-and-night  bomb- 
ings— "cave  dwellers"  literally  on 
many  an  awesome  night.  The 
Howards'  cottage  lies  in  a  suburb 
of  London.  With  two  sons,  two 
daughters  in  military  service. 
Mother  Howard  puts  on  her  hat 
after  lunch,  locks  the  door  and 
goes  to  her  2  to  5  p.m.  daily  war 
job.  .  .  .  Ruth  Drurnmond  and 
Dorothy  Black  take  you  inside 
the.se  war-lorn  homes,  introduce 
these  two  typical  British  families, 
show  you  how  they  managed  food 
rations  and  clothing  coupons,  and 
took  heroism  in  their  stride  as  a 
ca.sual  part  of  nearly  six  years  of 
wartime  living.  How  England 
Lives  will  appear  in  the 


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Sole  Distributors  •  Chicago  44,  Illinois 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


To  Soodie  the  Savage  Breast 


By  Dorothy  Ashby  Poirnali 


II KE  a  pinpoint  of  light  at  the  end  of  a 
dark  corridor,  a  strain  of  familiar  music 
I  may  bring  a  flicker  of  reality  into  the 
I  clouded  world  of  a  patient  who  is  men- 
tally ill.  It  may  soothe  his  excitement;  it 
may  stimulate  sluggish  memories  and  lax 
muscles;  it  may  be  a  bridge  between  a  refuge 

iof  dreams  and  fantasy  and  the  life  from 
which  he  felt  he  must  escape. 

'     In  many  psychopathic  and  Army  hospi- 

'tals,  musical  therapy  is  being  used  with  in- 
creasing success  in  the  treatment  of  ailing 
minds  and  bodies.  A  nursery  rhyme,  a  senti- 
mental melody,  a  folk  song  or  the  stirring 

ii  measures  of  a  symphony  may  penetrate  the 
fog  surrounding  the  patient,  and  open 
avenues  through  which  the  physician  may 

ireach  and  aid  the  sufferer.  Music  is  used  to 
augment  other  treatments  also.  It  may 
quiet  and  distract  patients  during  hydro- 
therapy and  following  shock  treatments, 
lessening  the  apprehension  which  inevitably 
is  associated  with  these  measures. 

The  role  of  musical  therapy  in  hospital 
procedure  still  is  too  new  to  be  accepted 

iwithout  reservation.   Research  experiments 

•have  been  conducted  with  selected  groups  of 
patients  and  excellent  reports  come  from 
many  institutions  where  this  interesting 
treatment  is  used,  but  psychiatrists  say 
frankly  that  as  yet  there  is  insufficient  scien- 
tific data  to  permit  unequivocal  conclusions 
regarding  methods  for  administering  or 
evaluating  musical  therapy. 

But  there  is  nothing  really  new  about  it. 
The  strains  from  David's  harp  brought  com- 
fort and  release  to  the  troubled  mind  of  Saul. 
Babies  drowse  while  their  mothers  croon. 
Workers  on  assembly  lines  move  faster  as 
brisk  tunes  blare  from  loud-speakers.  So,  in 
ps\chopathic  wards,  music  is  administered 
to  jangled  minds,  abating  confusion,  awak- 
ening memories,  inspiring  hope  and  confi- 
dence. As  music  unlocks  reticences,  trained 
observers  translate  unleashed  words  and  ges- 
tures  into  meaningful  diagnoses. 

Research  workers,  studying  the  responses 
of  mental  patients  to  musical  treatment, 
have  noted  that  almost  every  bodily  func- 
tion is  affected  by  musical  vibrations  and 
liarmonies.  Muscular  energy,  pulse,  respira- 
tion, blood  pressure  and  metabolism  all  re- 
spond to  musical  stimuli.  Most  satisfactory 
results  are  obtained  when  tonic  or  sedative 
music  is  the  prescription. 

In  this  effective  group  are  such  selections 
as  the  stimulating  Egmont  Overture,  the 
Hungarian  Rhapsodies  and  the  Sousa 
marches,  and  the  soothing  Berceuse  from 
Jocelyn,  Brahms'  Lullaby  and  Ave  Maria. 
The  serene  Largo  from  the  New  World  Sym- 
phony brings  relief  from  mental  fatigue,  and 
spirits  rise  when  Darktown  Strutters'  Ball  or 
Whistle  While  You  Work  is  played.  Pa- 
tients drop  off  to  sleep  uncomplainingly  to 
the  strains  of  All  Through  the  Night  or 
Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton. 

As  music  releases  their  tensions,  the  men- 
tally sick  become  less  aggressive  and  defen- 
sive ;  they  drop  their  masks  and  yield  to  the 
urge  to  confide  in  sympathetic  listeners. 
Thus  light  is  shed  upon  their  basic  difficul- 
ties, and  physicians  may  guide  into  proper 
channels  the  energies  and  emotions  freed  by 
this  new  therapeutic  treatment. 

A  study  conducted  by  Urcil  Couchman, 
research  worker  at  Psychopathic  Hospital, 
State  University  of  Iowa,  indicates  the  ef- 
lect  of  music  upon  the  behavior  of  psychotic 
patients,  and  its  usefulness  as  a  means  for 
reaching  their  disordered  minds. 

Two  wards  of  women  patients  were  stud- 
ied. Those  in  one  ward  were  extremely  ill— 
"disturbed."  Those  in  the  other  were  con- 
valescent, but  not  well  enough  to  be  left 
alone.  Their  ailments  included  manic- 
depressive  psychosis,  involutional  melan- 
cholia, schizophrenia,  psychoneuroses,  toxic 
states  and  undiagnosed  conditions.    It  was 


observed  that  music  may  induce  activity  or 
repose,  that  it  may  stir  or  quiet  cardiac  ac- 
tivity, affect  the  nervous  and  vasomotor  sys- 
tems, stimulate  aspirations  and  arouse  mem- 
ories. 

Ordinarily,  in  this  Iowa  hospital,  no  music 
is  heard  in  the  wards  until  after  nine  a.m. 
During  this  study,  the  patients  were  awak- 
ened by  radio  or  phonograph  music,  broad- 
cast from  a  central  office,  and  heard  through 
loud-speakers  installed  in  the  wards.  Usu- 
ally the  women  needed  considerable  urging 
to  get  up  each  morning  and  to  complete 
their  simple  tasks  before  breakfast. 

Aroused  the  first  morning  by  Mozart's 
Symphony  in  E  Flat  Major,  a  jolly  selection, 
the  listeners  threw  back  their  covers,  and  in 
three  minutes  all  but  one  were  out  of  bed  and 
dressing.  In  the  ward  of  "disturbed"  pa- 
tients, one  who  had  been  silent  and  seclu- 
sive,  except  to  speak  of  God  and  being  good, 
listened  intently  and  said,  "It's  pretty. 
What  is  it?"  A  very  depressed  woman,  who 
had  been  weeping,  dried  her  tears  and  paid 
close  attention.  All  did  their  tasks  with 
very  little  prompting.  This  behavior  was 
consistent  when  lively  tunes  were  played. 

When  the  scherzo  from  Beethoven's 
Ninth  Symphony  was  used  as  the  morning 
music,  a  schizophrenic,  heretofore  very  pre- 
occupied and  slow,  leaped  from  her  bed  and 
folded  her  linen  without  the  usual  delay. 
Tearful  patients  dried  their  eyes,  and  one 
very  depressed  woman  laughed  suddenly 
and  said,  "Couldn't  sleep  with  that  kind  of 
music,  could  you?"  Another  whose  speech 
had  been  confused  and  unintelligible  smiled 
and  said  clearly,  "I  like  that."  All  seemed 
more  alert  and  moved  quickly  when  the 
music  played. 

In  marked  contrast  to  this  cheerful  be- 
havior was  the  reaction  of  the  women  on  the 
morning  when  Debussy's  Nuages,  Chloe  and 
I'll  Never  Smile  Again  aroused  them  from 
their  slumbers.  All  were  slow,  some  had  to  be 
assisted,  and  several  cried  as  they  went 
about  their  tasks.  Their  morning  duties 
took  them  fifteen  minutes  longer  than  usual. 
The  following  day,  the  Nutcracker  Suite 
brought  renewed  smiles  and  cheerful  re- 
sponse. Strauss  waltzes  also  produced 
pleasurable  reactions,  and  one  depressed 
patient  who  had  sat  for  days  without  mov- 
ing or  speaking,  rose  and  took  steps  rhyth- 
mically when  The  Blue  Danube  was  played. 

Most  notable  was  the  sedative  effect  of 
soothing  music  played  at  bedtime.  Patients 
were  in  bed  with  lights  out  at  eight-thirty 
P.M.,  and  soft  music  was  played  for  twenty 
minutes.  Most  of  the  women  were  asleep  at 
the  end  of  the  music  period.  Those  who  were 
still  awake  were  relaxed  and  quiet,  and  soon 
fell  asleep.  Some  of  the  most  effective  selec- 
tions were  Ave  Maria,  Meditation,  the  second 
movement  of  various  symphonies  and  the 
popular  Intermezzo. 

If  stirring  music  was  played  at  bedtime, 
the  wards  remained  noisy  and  unsettled. 
Some  patients  stayed  awake  one  or  two 
hours  longer  than  usual.  On  a  night  when 
music  was  omitted,  the  patients  were  rest- 
less and  only  half  of  them  were  asleep  by 
nine-thirty.  One  paranoiac  asked  if  the 
music  could  be  resumed.  ''  It  helps  me  go  to 
sleep,"  she  explained.  "  I  listen  to  the  music, 
and  all  the  things  I  think  of  fade  out  and  I 
can  sleep." 

As  a  socializing  influence,  the  morning 
music  had  a  notable  effect.  A  woman  who 
never  spoke,  except  to  complain,  listened  to 
a  conversation  about  the  ballet,  and  joined 
in  to  talk  interestingly  of  operas  she  had 
attended.  A  psychoneurotic  who  had  for- 
bidden the  use  of  a  radio  in  her  own  home, 
grew  accustomed  to  the  music  and  ceased  to 
dislike  the  radio.  When  a  gay  rumba  was 
played,  a  woman  who  had  been  greatly  de- 
pressed brightened  up  and  said,  "Let's 
dance,"  to  another  patient.  One,  listening  to 


\ 


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X 


,S 


"•■«^ 


f 


(^ 


ci^lr 


get  unbroken  rest 


The  secret  of  glowing  health  and  radiant  beauty  often 
lies  in  the  hours  of  revitalizing  rest  you  get  from 

your  night's  sleep.  Look  to  Sealy,  the  veteran  mattress 
maker,   for   cushion   comfort   in   mallress  and   box 

springs — Comfort  that  lets  you  relax  all  over — to  awaken 

fit  for  the  new  day's  activities. 


MATTRESS 

"Like  Sleeping  on  a  Cloud" 


SEALY   INC.  666    LAKESHORE    DRIVE,  CHICAGO    11,  ILL. 


170 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


{intodla  |it(ito? 


The  time  is  coming  when  you  can  do  wonderful  things  to 
your  old  Cinderella  kitchen.  With  a  little  imagination — a 
little  planning — you  will  be  able  to  transform  it  into  a 
gleaming,  modern  room  that  exactly  expresses  your  ideas 
of  charm,  comfort  and  convenience. 

You'll  be  surprised  at  the  enjoyment  derived  from  putting 
your  dreams  on  paper — deciding  on  the  arrangement — the 
location  of  equipment— the  decorating  scheme— all  the  magic 
touches  that  you  can  have  in  your  kitchen  of  the  future. 

And,  of  course,  you'll  want  a  modern  sink  and  storage 
cabinets  selected  from  the  Crane  line  of  tomorrow.  This 
line — which  promises  the  last  word  in  styling  and  step- 
saving  efficiency — will  be  available  as  soon  as  regulations 
permit  its  manufacture.  When  that  time  comes,  your  plumb- 
ing contractor  will  gladly  advise  you  on  your  plan,  and 
provide  and  install  your  beautiful  new  Crane  fixtures. 

CRANE   CO.,  836  S.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  5,  Illinois 


AN  E 


^ 


HA  TION-WIOE  SERVICE  THROUGH  BRANCHES,  WHOLESALERS,  PLUMBING  AND  HE  A  TIHO  CONTRACTORS 


PLUMBING 


HEATING 


PUMPS 


VALVES 


FITTINGS 


PIPE 


Humoresque,  made  the  first  direct  response 
since  her  admission,  when  spoken  to  by  a 
nurse. 

During  the  playing  of  the  Dance  of  the 
Princesses,  from  the  Firebird  Suite,  the  soft 
melody  was  interrupted  by  a  crash  of  drums 
and  cymbals.  The  loud  noise  brought  the 
convalescent  women  from  their  beds,  and 
they  were  scurrying  about  and  brushing 
their  teeth  before  the  lights  were  turned  on. 
In  the  disturbed  ward,  all  were  up  and  mill- 
ing toward  the  bathroom.  Some  were  cry- 
ing; chaos  prevailed. 

"Even  to  see  them  upset  is  better  than 
the  dreadful  immobility  and  stillness  com- 
mon to  many  of  the  patients,"  one  nurse  ob- 
served. "It's  exciting  to  us  when  a  silent, 
depressed  person  begins  to  drum  with  his 
fingers  or  tap  his  feet  when  music  is  played, 
or  when  a  silent  one  emerges  from  his  shell 
and  joins  in  group  singing.  Any  deviation 
from  everyday  behavior  may  be  very  signifi- 
cant, and  through  music  we  often  can  find 
the  key  to  mental  difficulty." 

At  the  Iowa  hospital,  music  has  a  definite 
place  in  the  daily  hospital  routine.  Since 
this  is  an  educational  and  research  center, 
the  stay  of  the  patient  is  short,  so  the  musi- 
cal program  is  simple  and  flexible.  It  in- 
chides  group  singing,  folk  dancing,  rhythm 
bands,  impronii)tu  concerts  by  talented  pa- 
tients, and  planned  programs  of  recorded 
music.  There  is  musical  accoini^animent  for 
tasks  performed  in  the  wards,  and  also  dur- 
ing periods  of  occupational  therapy.  A  pleas- 
ant atmosphere  is  created  with  music  at 
mealtime;  patients  seem  less  irritable  and 
more  willing  to  eat,  while  listening  to  quiet- 
ing melodies. 

Those  well  enough  to  enjoy  more  freedom 
gather  twice  a  week  in  a  comfortable  day 
room  for  a  musical  and  social  program.  An 
open  fire  and  homelike  atmosphere  contrib- 
ute to  relaxation  and  friendliness.  F"re- 
quently  the  patients  select  the  music  to  be 
played.  Sometimes  a  talented  one  of  their 
number  gives  the  program.  Community 
singing  also  is  popular  at  these  gatherings. 

Once  a  week  a  gay  evening  of  square 
dancing  in  an  attractive  recreation  room 
provides  fun  and  exercise  for  those  who  can 
leave  the  wards.  University  girls,  experi- 
enced in  teaching  games  and  dancing,  come 
in  to  direct  this  entertainment.  Nurses  and 
attendants  join  in  the  festivity. 

Benefits  from  tho  folk  dancing  are  mani- 
fold. It  provides  social  contacts  for  seclu- 
sive  individuals.  It  furnishes  vigorous  exer- 
cise for  those  who  cannot  be  arousid  from 
their  lethargy  by  other  means,  and  brings 
back  recollections  of  other  good  times,  ob- 
scured by  unhai^py  circumstances.  To  see  a 
young  woman,  flushed  and  happy,  whirling 
in  a  quadrille,  is  thrilling  to  the  psychiatrist 
who  remembers  that  this  girl  sat  for  days, 
mute  and  inaccessible  to  any  sort  of  treat- 
ment. Helped  by  musical  therapy,  she  is 
again  on  the  njad  to  nonnal  behavior. 

At  Eloise  Hospital,  Eloise,  Michigan,  doc- 
tors in  charge  report  that  music  is  lio  per 
cent  more  effective  than  the  wet-pack  rou- 
tine, in  quieting  disturbed  patients.  They 
also  note  that  music  may  be  used  to  increase 
the  patient's  span  of  attention,  that  it  has 
the  power  of  diversion  and  substitution, 
stimulates  pictorially  and  intellectually,  and 


May,  1945 

modifies  the  mood.  According  to  Dr.  Ira 
Altshuler  and  Dr.  Bessey  Shebesta,  of  the 
Michigan  hospital,  who  have  conducted 
scientific  studies  in  musical  therapy  there, 
"Music  replaces  illusions  with  realities.  It 
soothes,  relaxes  and  balances.  MiHsical  ther- 
apy curtails  the  period  of  hospitalization 
and  speeds  up  discharges." 

At  Eloise,  interesting  experiments  have 
shown  the  quieting  effect  of  music  when  used 
in  conjunction  with  hydrotherapy.  Some 
significant  results  also  have  been  recorded  in 
the  wards,  where  musical  therapy  has  been 
used  for  some  time  as  a  means  for  reaching 
patients  who  do  not  respond  to  the  spoken 
word. 

In  this  hospital  a  musician  may  begin 
casually  to  play  the  piano  in  one  of  the 
wards.  As  patients  draw  near,  chairs  are 
drawn  up  quietly.  Soon  a  circle  is  formed 
and  several  persons  begin  to  sing.  Some 
may  tap  their  feet  or  give  other  evidences  oi 
interest.  All  the  patients  are  encouraged  to 
take  part. 

When  music  was  instituted  at  Eloise, 
Frank  G.,  a  silent  and  sullen  individual,  had 
been  a  patient  there  for  several  years.  One 
day  he  aroused  himself  to  tap  his  foot  in 
time  to  the  music.  A  few  days  later  he  sat 
down  spontaneously  and  played  Carry  Me 
Back  to  Old  Virginny  on  the  piano.  Since 
that  time  he  has  played  accompaniments 
and  even  has  learned  a  few  new  pieces.  He 
shows  new  interest  in  his  surroundings  and 
talks  a  little. 

A  whining  patient,  who  became  interested 
in  community  singing,  grew  optimistic  and 
sociable.  Stooped  and  slow  before  this  new 
and  stimulating  experience,  he  straightened 
up  and  walked  erect.  Recently  he  wa' 
paroled. 

A  music  project  conducted  by  the  New 
York  WPA  a  few  years  ago  tested  the  cura-i 
tive  value  of  various  types  of  music,  and 
classified  selections  under  the  headings  of 
tonics,  sedatives,  stimulants  and  narcotics. 
The  tonics  included  such  songs  as  Let  Meh 
Call  You  Sweetheart,  I'm  Falling  in  Love'''^ 
With  Someone,  LfK)k  for  the  Silver  Lining 
and  A  Pretty  Girl  is  Like  a  Melody.  Classi- 
fied as  stimulants  were  Hail,  Hail,  the 
Gang's  All  Here,  Singin'  in  the  Rain,  Oh, 
How  I  Hate  to  Get  Up  in  the  Morning  and 
She'll  be  Comin'  Round  the  Mountain. 
Some  sedatives  are  The  Bells  of  St.  Mary's, 
r>)wn  by  the  Old  Mill  Stream,  Sweet  and 
Low,  The  Volga  Boatmen  and  Kathleen 
Mavoumecn.  Narcotic  music  included 
Brahms*  Lullaby,  All  Through  the  Night: 
Little  Owlet  (Mexican)  and  Bendemeer'i 
Stream  (Irish). 

In  many  large  institutions,  where  some  of 
the  patients  remain  for  long  periods,  musical 
dramas,  operettas,  pageants,  orchestra  work, 
interpretative  dancing,  music-appreciation 
classes  and  other  ambitious  projects  bring 
pleasure  to  the  particijjants  and  do  mucl 
toward  solving  mental  problems.  Dr.  Wil- 
lem  Van  de  Wall  has  carried  out  interestinj. 
projects  at  the  Institute  for  Mental  Hy 
giene,  Pennsylvania  Hospital,  as  has  W 
Frederick  Searle  at  the  Worcester,  Mas 
sachusetts.  State  Hospital.  Army  hospital; 
are  experimenting  with  the  use  of  musica 
therapy  as  treatment  for  war-exhauste< 
men,  home  from  the  fighting  fronts. 


I 


Wli! 


Want  tlie  answers  to  liundred.s  of  wartime  house- 
t»'ej>infi  iirohlenisy  Order  the  \\  ARTIME  Homemak- 
ING  Manual  from  the  Reference  Library,  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  Phila.  .i.  Pa.,  No.  2007,  2.S  cents. 


SEAL  THE  MOTHS  €»ITT 


W  ash  or  <lr>  -<'l<-uii  Itluii- 
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W  rap  ill  (wo  la>  er.s  of 
heavy   brown    paper. 


.S«-al    every    «|>eiiiiig 
with  $;iiiiiiiie<l  tape. 


ijO 

'!ni 
'e 


ff 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


»vof  electrical  servants  like  these  gives  any  woman  a  "lift"  with  her 
vrk.  A  lift  doubly  appreciated  these  days  when  homemakers  are  busy 
(nany  extra  tasks. 

ee  more  time  for  our  war  activities,  more  time  for  the  family,  more 
.  elax,"  they  exclaim.  "To  say  nothing  of  more  energy  for  the  dozens 
,ns  we  want  to  do.  All  this,  thanks  to  the  wonder-working  magic  of 
eric  appliances!" 

day  .  .  .  these  "home  front  helpers"  will  again  be  available.  They'll 
^  TS  more  free  time  to  a  woman's  day  ...  do  all  manner  of  household 
'i  vh  a  mere  flip  of  a  switch.  But  at  Westinghouse,  war  work  comes 
'  must,  as  long  as  it's  necessary.  Meanwhile  let's  dream  of  the  day 
America  will  know  firsthand  "the  Lift  of  Living  Electrically!" 
itGHOtJSE  ELECTRIC  &  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 
25   Cities  •  MANSFIELD,   OHIO  •  Offices   Everywhere 

Tune  in:  John  Charles  Thomas   •   Sunday  2:30  EWT.,  N.B.C. 
Hear  Ted  Malone  •  Mon.  Tues.  Wed.  Evenings,  Blue  Network 


174 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Dottie-lkeDual 


TELLS      ALL      ABOUT      THE      NEW      IMPROVED 
WAT-A-SET      FINISH      FOR      RAYON      CURTAINS 


GINNY:  You're  a  marvel  to  me.  Dot.  How  ever 
do  you  pound  a  typewriter  all  day  and  still  have 
such  fresh-looking  curtains? 

DOTTIE:  It's  a  cinch  with  the  new  improved 
Wat-a-set  finish  for  rayon  curtains. 


GINNY:    What's    Waf-a-sef   got   to   do   with    your 
"double  life?" 


DOTTIE;  Why,  Ginny,  don't  you  know  that  the  new 
Wat-a-set  is  a  big  time-saver?  Wat-a-set  curtains 
now  wash  more  easily  than  ever,  and  retain  their 
crisp    appearance    throughout   their   lifetime. 


i^\m^ 


GINNY;  Golly,  no  wonder  you  save  time  .  .  .  but  do 
Wat-a-set  Curtains  look  just  as  crisp  AFTER  washing? 

DOTTIE;  Definitely,  the  new  Wat-a-set  curtains  look 
fresh  as  a  daisy  after  many  tubbings  .  .  .  the  weave 
is  undisturbed  and  those  horrid  silverfish  bugs  won't 
eat  it. 


GINNY:  Hold  it!  You've  sold  me.  I'm  a  Wat-o-set 
fan  from  here  on.  Now  I  see  the  secret  to  your 
dual-office  success. 

DOTTIE;  It's  no  secret,  Ginny.  Wat-a-set  Rayon 
Curtains  are  sold  from  coast  to  coast,  for  the 
new  Wat-a-set  finish  is  used  on  many  popular 
brands. 


Rayon  Marquisettes  with  IMPROVBD  Wat-a-set 
finish  after  washing.    Note  lack  of  distortion. 

Refer  to  "Where  to  Buy  It"  section  of  your  local  telephone 
directory  for  retailers  carrying  Waf-a-set  Curtains  If  yoo 
live  in  one  of  America's  50  largest  cities. 

MOUNT  HOPE    FINISHING    COMPANY 

NORTH     DIGHTON,     MASSACHUSETTS 


^ 


''°'^UOCUC'CL\ 


REGISTERED 


A   LASTING   FINISH   FOR   RAYON   AND   COTTON    CURTAINS 


PHOTO   BY    RICHARD   PI 

In  every  color  and  sise,  the  sinnia  delights  the  eye  all  summer. 

VOUTH-lD-OLD-ilGe 


THE  gardener  has  really  got  around  to 
zinnias  now  in  earnest.  As  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  they  gave  out  almost  too 
much  for  the  little  attention  they  took. 
Perhaps  there  was  something  as  well  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  way  at  the  back  of  the 
catalogue,  and  that  by  the  time  she  got  there 
her  appetite  was  almost  gone.  At  any  rate, 
to  get  on  with  what  finally  happened,  in  a 
recent  experimental  spring  mood  I  ordered 
one  small  packet  each  of  every  kind  of 
zinnia  I  could  find — which,  to  my  amaze- 
ment, and  maybe  to  yours,  came  to  more 
than  a  dozen,  and  counting  all  the  colors  to 
well  over  fifty.  And  when  the  gardener  saw 
this  extraordinary  collection,  I  could  see 
she  was  beginning  to  feel  there  might  be 
something  more  to  zinnias  than  meets  the 
eye  in  the  ordinary  garden  array. 

To  see  what  zinnias  were  all  about,  we 
first  separated  the  seeds  according  to  plant 
size— dwarf,  medium  and  large;  made  three 
parallel  rows  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  long, 
then  ])lanted  several  seeds  from  each  packet, 
right  down  the  rows.  No  attempt  at  any 
special  color  effect,  but  just  as  they  came; 
tlie  dwarfs  in  the  front  row,  mediums  in  the 
middle,  big  ones  in  the  back.  We  waited  until 
the  ground  was  good  and  warm  in  May,  as 
zinnias  like  hot  weather,  both  for  getting 
started  and  for  growing.  The  seeds  were  up 
in  a  week,  and  in  six  weeks  were  beginning 
to  bloom;  bloomed  all  summer,  and  all  the 
fall,  until  a  sharp  frost  turned  them  black. 

Black  was  the  only  color  besides  blue^ 
and  green,  of  course— that  the  flowers  didn't 
offer.  In  fact,  the  effect  was  a  little  too  vari- 
ous; but  it  was  a  sort  of  laboratory  test,  and 
didn't  matter.  And  what  I  can  report  is  the 
following: 

The  best  for  size  of  bloom,  and  really,  I 
guess,  for  range  of  color,  was  the  giant  dahlia- 
flowered  kind— running  from  pure  white  to 
rich  purple.  Very  good  reds,  yellows,  salm- 
ons, oranges  and  pinks;  you  couldn't  read- 
ily go  wrong  on  any  of  the  colors,  though 
after  the  first  season  you'll  probably  pick  on 
a  few  personal  favorites.  They  were  won- 
derful for  cutting;  and  the  trick  there  is  to 
strip  off  most  of  the  leaves. 

The  California  mammoths  were  just  as 
big  as  the  giant  dahlia-flowereds,  both  as  to 
bloom  and  plant,  and  with  just  as  many 
striking  colors— maybe  more.  The  main 
difference  between  the  two  types  was  that 
the  mammoths  had  a  flatter  flower,  and  I  for 
my  taste  liked  the  dahlia-flowered  form  a 
little  better.  Both  kinds  had  flowers  five  to 
six  inches  across,  which  isn't  bad. 


The  color  combinations  in  Super  Cro 
Gold  mostly  ran  to  pastel  shades,  dt 
at  the  base  of  the  petal,  and  lighter  at  tht 
making  this  type  of  zinnia  rather  spt 
large-flowered  and  long  stems,  though 
quite  so  large,  or  long,  as  the  first  two  t\ 

These  three  types  made  up  the  tall  ro 
the  back.  In  the  middle  row  were  five  t; 
that  grew  from  one  and  a  half  to  two 
high,  but  their  flowers  were  certainly  di 
ent.  The  Fantasy  type,  in  orange,  r 
yellow,  white  and  scarlet,  had  a  she 
flower  of  medium  size;  very  effective  in 
house — in  fact,  more  so  than  in  the  gan 
The  Liliput  or  Pompon  had  all  the  reg 
colors,  but  a  tighter,  pompon  flower  hea 
neat  and  very  floriferous.  The  Elegans  \ 
ding  type  is  more  the  old-fashioned  zin 
now  of  course  vastly  improved;  flower 
plant  markedly  uniform  in  size,  and  th 
fore  nice  for  arranging  indoors;  good  rang 
pastel  shades  and  one  special  variety  ca 
Black  Ruby  that  really  lives  up  to  its  na 
In  this  medium  group  the  other  two  type 
had  were  the  scabiosa-flowered  and 
Pumila  Picotee  Delight,  with  flower  foi 
as  their  names  imply;  the  former  look 
like  a  scabiosa  and  the  latter  with  gi 
tipped,  or  picoteed,  petals. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  little  ones,  ar 
can  only  tell  you  you  mustn't  pass  them 
because  they're  small.  The  Tom  Thu 
type  is  like  a  miniature  Elegans — col< 
growing  habit  and  all — and  makes  a  c 
plant  to  raise  in  pots  for  the  house.  Gra 
lima,  also  called  True  Red  Riding  Hood 
likewise  a  mihiature  of  the  regular  variet 
but  coming  only  in  a  single  color — a  rea 
brilliant  worth-while  red.  The  Haaieo 
type  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  gardenc 
favorites,  and  did  more  than  almost  a 
other  to  overcome  her  prejudice  ajaii 
zinnias  as  a  whole.  Its  color  markings  tna 
it  distinct  from  all  the  others  and  malje  i 
constant  surprise;  each  flower  variccflor 
and  full  of  charm.  And  last  but  not  lea*  w 
the  little  zinnia  Linearis,  which  we  sooti  d 
covered  had  to  be  handled  differently  th 
the  rest,  because  it  spreads — some  lian 
making  a  low  mat  as  much  as  two  or  thr 
feet  in  diameter.  The  flowers  are  sin; 
golden  orange,  with  lemon  stripes  thfoui 
every  petal,  and  the  profusion  makegea' 
plant  a  large  flat  pillow  of  gold. 

Zinnias  don't  need  a  common  name,  whii 
is  why  you  hardly  ever  hear  it ;  but  it  ha 
pens   to   be   Youth-and-Old-Age — what 
stands  for  I  couldn't  tell  you.  Maybe  som 
one  can  tell  me. 

Printed  in  U.  S. 


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'V^'-^^ 


RBODA  PKITZKER,  author  of  Lef- 
tenant  Macdonald  Takes  Oier,  says,  "I 
was  born  in  Manchester,  England,  which 
is  known  chiefly  for  its  rain  and  the  ship 
canal.  Mother  being  a  classical  pianist, 
and  father  a  singer,  a  succession  of  les- 
sons in  both  arts  convinced  them,  by  the 
time  1  was  eleven,  that  I  was  destined  to 
be  a  writer.  Left  school  at  sixteen,  went 
to  business  school,  became  a  gossip  writer 
on  a  Lancashire  paper;  wrote  scripts  for 
BBC,  had  a  short  fling  on  Lord  Beaver- 
brook's  Daily  Express  and  was  working  on 
another  paper  during  the  Battle  of  Britain. 
Took  a  much-bombed  and  ll-boat-chased 
ship  across  the  Atlantic  to  become  New 
York  correspondent  for  the  Associated 
Press  of  Great  Britain.  Married  a  lef- 
tenant — pronounced  'lootenant' — in  the 
Li.S.N.R.  and  am  now  stationed  in  Wash- 
ington, D.  C,  where  I  work  in  the  Red  Cross 
Speakers'  Bureau.  I  am  mad  about  Scot- 
ties,  chocolate  ice  cream  trimmed  with 
butterscotch  and  marshmallow.  and  I 
never  say  'cinema,'  'cheerio'  and  'old  girl,' 
and  dislike  people  who  ask  if  I  ever  do." 


GERALn  HIGGINS  says,  "I  was  born 
in  Somerville,  Massachusetts,  in  1904, 
but  now,  with  a  story  in  the  .JOURNAL,  I'm 
sure  life  really  begins  at  forty.  I  first  put 
a  typewriter  to  work  for  a  living  as  a  news- 
paper reporter,  and  from  then  on,  what 
with  editing  business  magazines  in  New^ 
York  and  Boston  and  serving  as  advertis- 
ing manager  of  a  Boston  utility,  I've 
wedged  in  a  rather  hard  apprenticeship  in 
fiction  writing.  I  have  absolutely  the 
nicest  wife  in  America  and  two  indispen- 
sable sons,  Brian  and  Barry.  Yes,  we  have 
an  old  house  in  the  country — at  Dover, 
Mass. — and  we  love  it  just  as  much  as 
Mr.  Peel  does  in  The  House  and  Mr,  Peel.^'' 


HENRY  VERBY 


MAIIL»IN\S  PIIV-IIP.  Sgt.  Bill  Maul- 
din,  author  of  Up  Front,  collects  "pin- 
ups." And  every  one  of  the  thirty-four  to 
date  is  a  picture  of  his  young  wife,  his 
yoving  son  (whom  he  has  never  seen),  or  a 
hai>py  combination  of  the  two.  Mrs. 
Mauldin  writes,  "Bruce  Patrick  was 
nearly  19  mitnths  ol<l  when  this  was  taken, 
32  inches  tall  and  31  pounds  solid.  He 
heard  his  daddy's  voice  for  the  first  time 
on  the  Command  Performan<'e  program. 
He  listened  intently  and  when  the  ra- 
dio    audience     applauded — so     did     he." 


y 

^ 


MA 

ITEI' 


h 


JUNE,  1945 

Vol.  LXII.  No.  6  • 

FICTION  PAGE 

THE  ROAD  AND  THE  TURNING Ruth  Rodney  King  17 

LOVE  STORY ISewUn  B.  Wildes  20 

LEiTENANT  MACDONALD  TAKES  OVER Rhoda  Pritzker  24 

THE  HOUSE  AND  MR.  PEEL Gr  A.  Higgins  2K 

THE  WHITE  DRESS  (Conclusion) Mignon  G.  Eberhart  30 

SPE4^IAL  FEATURES 

MEN    .    .    .    WOMEN  KEEP  OUT Judith  Chase  5 

HELP  THE  CHILDREN NOW  I 6 

HOW  NEW  WILL  THE  NEW  WORLD  BE? Dorothy  Thompson  6 

WHAT  THE  WOMEN  OF  ENGLAND  THINK 6 

UP  FRONT Bill  Mauldin  18 

ROMANTIC  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA:  HAUNTED  HOUSE.      .  Morris  Kantor  22 

what's  GOING  ON  IN  CHINA? Selivyn  Speight  23 

J.4NE  BARBOUR:  HOUSEWIFE  IN  THE  DARK Enid  Griffis  26 

IF"  YOU  ASK  ME Eleanor  Roosevelt  31 

EXPLAINING  THE  FACTS  OF  LIFE 

Milton  I.  Leiine,  M.D.,  and  Jean  H.  Seligmann  39 

j^jOMT  ENGLAND  lives:  MEET  THE  HOWARDS,  OF  ICKENHAM 

ipSP                                                                                                                    Dorothy  Black  111 

J  ,  wrf*  -.  -.  J- 

MEET  THE  DIVES,  OF  DOVER Ruth  Drummond  H() 

WILL  SOCIAL  WELFARE  WIN  OR   LOSE  IN   POSTWAR   ENGLAND? 

John  Mac  Cormac  123 

GENERAL   FEATURES 

NO  SISSY  HE!  (The  Sub-Deb) Elizabeth  Woodward  8 

OUR  READERS   WRITE   US » lO 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO  IN  THE  JOURNAL 15 

JOURNAL  ABOUT  TOWN 15 

WHEN  THE  CHILD  HAS  AN   EARACHE     .      .      .      Dr.  Herman  /V.  Bundesen  101 

THIS  IS  A  GARDEN-SPOILER Munro  Leaf  108 

ASK  ANY  WOMAN Marcelene  Cox  147 

REFERENCE  LIBRARY 148 

DIARY  OF  DOMESTICITY Gladys  Taber  153 

FASHIONS   AND   BEAI  TY 

GLAMOUR  IN  A  HATBOX Wilhela  Cushman  32 

COOL  AND  BEAUTIFUL Wilhela  Cushman  34 

A  DOZEN  G.\Y  IDEAS  FOR  SUMMER Dawn  Crouiell  36 

WISHING  ON  A  STAR Ruth  Mary  Packard  38 

ANY  WOMAN  CAN  BE  BEAUTIFUL Louise  Paine  Benjamin  156 

ARCHITECTURE,  INTERIOR   DECORATION 

OPUS  497 Richard  Pratt  138 

ACCENT  ON  LIVING Henrietta  Murdock  141 

FOOD   AND   HOMEl»lAKlNG 

HEARTS  AND  F-LOWERS Ann  Batchelder  40 

LINE  A  DAY Ann  Batchelder  42 

ARE  YOU  FREEZING? Judy  Barry  129 

CANNY  QUESTIONS  ON  CANNING Louella  G.  Shouer  130 

FOUR  SAVERS  FOR  FOOD  AND  FLAVOR Louella  G.  Shouer  132 

WINS  ORDERS   FROM   HEADQUARTERS      56,84,131,158 


POETRY 

GOD  WALKS  WITH  ME Jesse  Stuart 

SOLDIER  TO  HIS  SMALL  SON Ethel  Burnett  de  Vito 

BLUE  WINDOWS Robert  P.  Tristram  Coffin 

MARTHA         Joseph  Auslander 

TO  AN  AIRMAN Rosalie  Schwimmer 

NEVER  IS  A  MIRACLE Elaine  V.  bmans 

Cover  Design  by  Al  Parker 


5« 
86 
96 
99 
151 


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iSHES  SO  CLEAN 

7esf  ivasA  comes 

KITE 

BLEACHING 

["PsinPreventinqOirtyGwy"**'* 


except  of  course  for  unusual  stains — 
come  so  clean  they're  White  Without 
Bleaching.  Sparkling  ■white! 

So  Saie  for  Colors,  Too/With  Oxydol 
colors  fairly  sparkle.  It's  so  safe  for 
wash  colors,  rayons  and  your  own 
precious  hands. 

Next  washday  use  Oxydol— and 
enjoy  a  ■wash  so  clean  it's  White 
Without  Bleaching! 


ishes 
HITER! 


n  many 
ciol,  fail 
trace  of 

>f  Wash' 

behind 
|d  by  dirt 
less"  of 
iirn  gray 
Jut  Oxy- 
|in  an  un- 
pr  event 

\tt\  Out! 
'suds are 
I  dirt  out. 
I  things — 


ISoap  is  made  of  vifal  war  materials,  so  soap  waste 
ie.   Make  your  Oxydol  go  farther! 


Change  must  rtach  us  at  least  five  weeks  before  the 
date  of  the  issue  with  which  it  is  to  take  effect. 
Send  old  address  with  your  new.  enclosing  if  pos- 


sible your  address  label.  Duplicate  copies  cannot 
be  sent.  The  Post  Office  will  not  forward  copies 
unless  you  provide  extra  postage- 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


th  just  One  Cake  of  Camay 

Doctors  have  tested  Camay's  amazing  beauty 
promise  on  scores  of  complexions.  They  found 
that  woman  after  woman— with  her  very  first 
cake  of  Camay— won  a  softer,  clearer,  younger- 
looking  skin.  For,  Camay  is  really  mild  and 
it  cleanses  without  irritation.  Go  on  the 
Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet  today  — just  follow 
the  directions  on  the  wrapper. 


Please— make  each  cake  of  Camay  last! 
Precious  war  materials  go  into  soap. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


KEEP  OUT/ 


TIME  was  when  the  world  was  divided  into  two  parts — man's  and  woman's. 
But  now,  with  the  weaker  sex  in  everything  from  pants  to  pohtics  and 
man  as  much  at  home  wielding  a  chafing  dish  as  a  club,  we've  begun  to 
wonder  just  where,  if  at  all,  is  the  dividing  line. 

When  we  popped  the  question  to  these  unsuspecting  celebrities,  on  just 
what  activities,  antics,  places  or  professions  they'd  like  to  post  the  Keep 
Out  sign  for  the  opposite  sex,  here's  what  they  answered. 

From  here  on  they're  on  their  own.  Maybe  you  agree.  Maybe  you  don't. 
At  any  rate,  we'll  wager  you'll  think  twice  the  next  time  you  step  where 
you  should  fear  to  tread.       *       •        *       *        BY  JUDITH  CHA<i»E 


"Men  should  keep  out  of  one  of  the 
phases  in  a  woman's  hfe  which  is  no  man's 
land — her  diary." 

Sgt.  Edith  itorathy  MaoMiUan, 
VSMCWR. 

"Men,  keepout  of  a  woman's  past.  Don't 
keep  reminding  her  of  her  former  beaus. 
Distance  lends  enchantment,  and  you  should 
remember  that  human  tendency  to  senti- 
mentalize about  the  'good  old  days.'  She 
might  get  to  making  mental  comparisons, 
and  you  might  be  sorry." 

—I^auren  Mtaeall. 

"There  are  few  fields  from  which  I  believe 
men  should  be  debarred — certainly  not  the 
fields  of  either  the  feminine  wardrobe  or  the 
kitchen.  Li  my  job  as  clothes  adviser  I  have 


discovered  almost  unfailing  good  taste 
among  males  in  the  garbing  of  women — and 
I  have  not  only  eaten  with  relish,  but  di- 
gested with  comfort,  dinners  tossed  together 
by  men. 

"However — we  women  fought,  bled  and 
cried  for  the  vote.    So  why  is  it  that  the 

phrase  'My  husband  says '  is  still  so 

often  the  opening  gun  in  female  political  dis- 
cussions? Men  might  well  amplify  our 
thinking,  but  they  should  not  form  our  con- 
clusions. In  that  field  it  should  definitely  be 
'Men,  Keep  Out!'  Of  course,  it  is  possible 
that  in  this  case  the  fault  is  ours,  not  theirs. 
It's  a  temptation  to  hitchhike  on  the  thinking 
of  others."      —Eleanor  Arnvtt  JVanh. 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  men  should 
keep  out  of  a  (Continued  on  Page  142) 


WOMEN 

KEEPOtfT. 


"I  think  women  ought  to  keep  out  from 
in  front  of  brass  bands.  The  drum  majorette 
is  one  of  Nature's  worst  monstrosities. 
Neither  the  clothing  nor  the  strutting  is 
in  line  with  women's  talents.  That's  one 
job  they'd  better  leave  to  the  men." 

—Paul  Popenoe, 

"I  happen  to  be  a  bachelor,  so  it  is  rather 
difficult  for  me  to  speak  with  authority  on 
what  women  should  keep  out  of.  However, 
I  think  my  chief  complaint  would  be  the 
old  cliche  of  arranging  my  desk,  pipes, 
manuscripts,  and  so  on.  If  that  doesn't  ex- 
plain why  I'm  still  a  bachelor,  I  don't  know 
what  does."  -Mo»h  Hart. 

"I  wish  women  would  keep  out  of  slacks! 
I'm  a  sucker  for  nylons,  high-heeled  shoes, 
dresses,  peekaboo  waists  and  no  hats,  but 
if  a  woman  must  wear  pants,  let  it  be  those 
that  are  worn  under  dresses." 

^Groucho  Marx. 


"Women  should  stay  out  of  a  man's  con- 
versation when  he  is  talking  about  another 
girl  he  knows." 

—Ptc.  l^arren  A.  Gabriel,  lJS3fCn. 

"The  only  place  I'd  like  women  to  keep 
out  of  is  my  club— and  that's  m^ely  preju- 
dice. The  fact  that  I  go  to  the  club  only  once 
or  twice  a  year  indicates  how  rarely  I  want  to 
get  away  from  the  other  sex.  Most  objec- 
tion to  women  may  be  traced  to  habit  or  a 
fixation.  For  instance,  I  don't  like  to  see 
women  smoke  in  the  street.  I  don't  know 
any  reason  why  they  shouldn't  smoke  in  the 
street,  any  more  than  why  men  shouldn't, 
but  there  you  are. 

"Since  I'm  for  giving  women  the  run  of 
the  cosmos,  I  do  wish  they'd  mend  some  of 
their  ways.  A  woman  with  an  umbrella  is  a 
dangerous  thing,  and  shouldn't  be  permitted 
abroad  without  taillights  and  a  license.  A 
woman  searching  for  change  among  lipsticks 
and  ration  books,         (Continued  on  Page  142) 


OXYPOL  WASHES  SO  CLEAN 

your  A/f^esf  lYcrs/t  comes 

WHITE 

WITHOUI  BLEACHING 


f^R  AHf AO  «rf  'Wo't  Soaps  in  Preve„tinq"Dirty  6r<.y"<^*"' 


except  of  course  for  unusual  stains — 
come  so  clean  they're  White  Without 
Bleaching.  Sparkling  white! 

So  Saie  For  Colors,  Too.' With  Oxydol 
colors  fairly  sparkle.  It's  so  safe  for 
wash  colors,  rayons  and  your  own 
precious  hands. 

Next  washday  use  Oxydol— and 
enjoy  a  wash  so  clean  it's  White 
Without  Bleaching! 


Tests  Prove  Oxydol  Washes 
Clothes  CLEANER  and  WHITER! 

YeSf  Whiterl  In  wash  test  after  wash 
test — Oxydol  proved  that  it  washes 
clothes  cleaner  and  whiter  than  many 
other  soaps  which,  unlike  Oxydol,  fail 
to  get  out  that  last  possible  trace  of 
stubborn  dirt  and  grime! 

W/i/fe  and  Bn'g/if  Wash  After  Washl 

You  know,  soaps  often  leave  behind 
tiny  discoloring  particles  caused  by  dirt 
in  the  clothes  and  the  "hardness"  of 
the  water.  These  impurities  turn  gray 
or  yellow  under  ironing  heat.  But  Oxy- 
dol combats  "dirty-grayness"  in  an  un- 
usual way.  It  actually  helps  prevent 
grayness  particles  from  forming! 

"Hustle-Bubble"  Suds  Lift  Dirt  Out! 

Oxydorsnew"Hustle-Bubble"sudsare 
so  lively,  so  active  they  ////  the  dirt  out. 
Yes,with  Oxydol  all  your  white  things — 


AVOID   SOAP   WASTE!  Soap  is  made  of  vital  war  materials,  so  soopwaslo 
is  war  waste.    Make  your  Oxydol  go  farther! 


Help  (he  fliildren- 
N(iw! 

rAURIE  is  a  war  baby.  Before  she 
J  learned  to  walk,  she  was  acquainted 
with  day  coaches,  housing  problems  and 
the  shadow  of  death.  The  day  Laurie 
was  born  in  1943.  her  mother  was  on 
leave  from  a  job  in  Boom  Town,  U.  S.  A., 
and  her  father  was  fighting  Japs  in 
New  Guinea. 

For  her  first  few  months,  there  was 
always  grandma—and  once  in  a  while 
mother — ready  with  bottles,  a  word  and 
a  kiss.  Then  suddenly  there  was  no 
grandma;  there  was  a  hot  and  tearful 
trip  with  mother,  ending  in  a  big  white 
room  with  other  babies  and  strange 
grown  people. 

Laurie  is  not  sick.  Nor  are  the  other 
babies  in  the  hospital  ward  with  her. 
But  there  is  no  one  to  keep  her  while 
mother  wraps  parachutes— and  in  Boom 
Town  landlords  welcome  only  mothers 
without  babies. 

Recently  there  were  200  babies  like 
Laurie  in  New  York  City  hospitals — 
most  of  them  perfectly  well,  but  home- 
less. About  120.0(X)  youngsters — Jew- 
ish, Catholic  and  Protestant — are  al- 
ready living  in  temporary  foster  homes 
throughout  the  United  States.  Tempo- 
rary foster  parents  and  homes  are  still 
desperately  needed.  Day  nurseries  are 
of  no  avail  for  these  children,  since  their 
homes  have  been  completely  disrupted, 
at  least  for  the  time  being.  These  small 
evacues  range  from  ten-day-ol(J  infants 
to  teen-agers  whose  adolescent  confu- 
sion is  sharpened  by  bereavement  and 
a  loss  of  family  and  gang  roots. 

These  children  are  not  for  permanent 
adoption.  Most  of  them  will  be  dura- 
tion orphans  only.  But  they  need  help 
now— not  only  food  and  shelter,  but  a 
place  of  belonging  and  a  family  to  care 
whether  they  come  home  before  dinner 
gets  cold. 

Information  about  this  chance  for 
supremely  important  human  service 
can  be  gotten  from  Foster  Homes  for 
Children,  105  East  22nd  Street,  New 
York  City,  or  from  any  Welfare  De- 
partment in  your  state.  Medical  and 
dental  care,  and  clothing,  are  furnished 
by  the  placing  agencies.  A  monthly  sum 
is  paid  to  foster  parents  for  the  child's 
board. 

Our  men  who  have  seen  homeless 
refugees  in  Europe  and  Asia  know  what 
home  and  parents  mean  to  children. 
And  Laurie's  father,  coming  back  from 
Guam,  will  be  grateful  to  her  foster 
family,  who,  also,  will  have  come  to 
love  Laurie. 


BRrCE  GOl'LD  and  BEATRICE  BLACKMAR  GOULD,  EMtmrm 

N^MC<  COOKMAN,  Executive  Editor  LAURA  LOU  BROOKMAN,  Managing  Editor 

Atsocia^  Editors:  HUGH  MAC  NAIR  KAHLER  •  JOHN  SCOTT  AAABON  •  BERNARDINE  KIELTY  •  ANN  BATCHELOER 
WILHELA  CUSHMAN  •  FRANK  EITONHEAD  •  AUCE  BUNN  •  LOUISE  PAINE  BENJAMIN  •  ELIZABETH 
WOODWARD     •     RICHARD  PRATT    •     HENRIETTA  MURDOCK    •     LOUEILA  G.  SHOUER     •     MARY  LEA  PAGE 

Assistant  Editors:  JOHN  WERNER'CHARLOHE  JOHNSON. ROBERT  ATHERTON. DONALD  STUART« EUGENIA  WHITMORE 
BROWN  •  RUTH  MARY  PACKARD  •  BETTY  HANNAH  HOFFMAN  •  DAWN  CROWEIL  •  RUTH  MAnHEWS  •  NELL  GILES 
NORA  O'LEARY  •  AUCE  CONKUNG  •  MILDRED  ARNOLD  •  JUDY  BARRY  •  NOEL  SMYTH  BUTCHER  •  JUN£  TORREY 


HOW  ra  WILL  THE  EVi  WORLO  BE? 


THE  title  of  Professor  Carl  Becker's 
book.  How  New  Will  the  New  World 
Be."*,  puts  the  que.stion  which  was  in 
my  mind  in  undertaking  a  trip  to 
Europe  during  these  last  decisive  days  of 
the  European  war.  It  begins  with  How 
New  Will  Old  Britain  Be?  If  one  reads 
I)ublications  and  listens  to  the  world's 
publicists  and  politicians  of  the  extreme 
left,  one  gets  the  idea  that  social  revolu- 
tion is  brewing  in  England,  bringing  a 
completely  new  world  in  which  land  re- 
.sources  and  industry  will  be  nationalized, 
and  a  new  age  in  which  streamlined 
machinelike  efficiency  will  be  the  rule.  I 
am  sure,  however,  that  nothing  of  this 
kind  is  going  to  ha])pen;  nor  is  it  desired 
by  the  overwhelming  majority  of  the 
British  people,  unless  my  investigations 
have  greatly  misled  me.  They  don't  want 
a  brave  new  world,  but  their  own  old 
world  with,  as  the  British  put  it.  "hot  and 
cold  water  laid  on,"  new  wiring,  along 
with  many  modern  improvements.  But 
the  old  house  is  home — and  never  has 
home  .seemed  dearer  and  sweeter  than  in 
all  the  years  in  which  it  was  tumbling 
over  their  heads,  and  there  was  a  question 
whether  it  would  survive  at  all. 


When  a  people  are  confronted  with  life 
and  death  for  themselves,  their  families, 
their  fighting  sons  and  their  country  itself, 
many  issues  that  once  seemed  important 
depreciate  in  significance.  Britain  would 
never  have  survived  had  it  not  wrung 
strength  from  all  the  people  and  estab- 
lished remarkable  unity  between  all  classes. 

Theoretically,  an  unbridgeable  gulf  di- 
vides the  two  chief  parties.  Labor  is 
theoretically  committed  to  socialism — 
nationalization  of  all  means  of  production. 
The  Conservatives  want  the  largest  meas- 
ure of  free  enterprise,  and  they  want  gov- 
ernment interference  only  to  set  the  rules 
of  the  game.  But  in  practice  Britain  is 
moving  quite  unitedly — except  perhaps 
during  a  national  election — toward  the 
view  that  a  floor  must  be  put  under  all 
people  below  which  they  may  not  sink — 
every  English  family  must  have  a  decent 
home;  they  all  must  be  protected  against 
the  major  hazards  of  life;  every  child  must 
have  access  to  all  the  etlucation  of  which 
he  is  capable — and  that  otiierwise  people 
must  stand  on  their  own  feet. 

OnAjiril  first  of  thisyear,  Britain  put  into 
effect  an  education  act  which  constitutes 
one  of  the  greatest      (Continued  on  Page  84) 


***•**••*••••••••••**•••**•*•••••• 
•  * 

:  What  the  Women  of  England  Think  : 


T' 


IHE  "class  system"  of  England — the  influence  of  the  proper  accent,  the  "old 

1  school  tie"  in  Britain's  political  and  governmental  life — has  always  been  of 
interest  to  Americans.  Whether  the  stresses  of  a  six-year  war  would  liberalize 
this  class  system  or  sweep  it  away  entirely  has  been  discussed  by  every  Amer- 
ican commentator  and  writer  who  has  visiteci  England  during  the  war  period. 

To  find  out  what  sentiment  really  was,  among  Englishwomen,  on  this  ticklish 
subject,  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal  has  conducted  a  survey  through  the  Brit- 
ish Institute  of  Public  Opinion,  an  affiliate  of  America's  Gallup  Poll.  This  is 
probably  the  first  survey  of  its  kind  ever  conducted  to  ask  British  people  what 
they  themselves  think  of  their  class  system — whether  they  are  content  or  dis- 
satisfied with  it. 

Women  were  asked:  "If  you  had  to  say  to  which  cl€iss  you  belonged,  which 
uiould  it  be?''' 

Three  per  cent  said  Upper;  43  per  cent  claimed  Middle;  47  per  cent  said 
Working. 

The  next  question  was:  "If  you  could  have  been  born  into  a  family  of  your 
choosing,  in  tchich  social  class  ivould  your  family  have  been?" 

Sixty-nine  per  cent  replied  that  they  would  prefer  to  have  been  bom  in 
the  Working  or  Middle  class.  In  as  much  as  85  per  cent  of  the  women  ques- 
tioned were  already  in  these  two  classes,  the  results  show  that  only  about  one 
sixth  of  the  Englishwomen  are  seriously  enough  dissatisfied  in  their  present 
position  to  even  wish  for  a  higher  one. 

When  asked,  however,  if  they  would  like  to  see  their  children  lift  themselves 
into  a  higher  class,  41  per  cent  of  the  women  said  they  would  like  to  see 
their  children  better  oflf  socially.  But  a  slightly  higher  number— 43  per  cent — 
said  they  would  gladly  see  their  children  remain  in  the  class  in  which  they 
were  bom.  (Continued  on  Page  122) 


•   •••••••••••••••••••••••••••rt^** 


* 

* 
• 
* 
* 
* 
* 
■k 
r* 
• 

* 

• 

* 
* 

* 
•    •    • 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


"tfof  a  chance. 


Swell  ha r" 

like  this'' is  scarce! 


RECIPES 

When  all  ham  is  hard  to  get  there's  a 
feeling  of  triumph  when  you  find  the 
best  ...  an  urge  to  celebrate.  So  .  .  . 
satisfy  that  urge!  Serve  up  your  slice  or 
two  of  Swift's  Premium  Ham  with  a  full 
measure  of  glamour!  These  recipes,  from 
Martha  Logan,  Swift's  chief  Home  Econ- 
omist, are  gala  to  look  at,  grand  to  eat, 
and  they  extend  that  precious  ham. 


Ike  ham 


mats  nrown-du0ar-  Cured! 


It's  voted  America's  favorite.  Our  fighting  forces 
want  ham,  too.  So  please  don't  blame  your  dealer  if 
you  can't  always  get  Swift's  Premium.  He's  doing 
his  very  best  for  you  .  .  .  and  so  are  we. 


/  Ih.  serves  6.  Gash  edge  of  1  lb.  slice 
of  ham  (center  slice,  or  slices  from  shank 
or  other  small  slices).  Broil  or  pan-broil 
until  well  done  and  brown  on  both  sides. 
Cut  into  6  servings  and  place  on  top  of 
hot  potato  salad  flavored  with  ham 
drippings.  Pour  well-seasoned  tomato 
aspic  (use  tresh  tomatoes)  into  shallow 
pan.  When  firm,  cut  into  shield  shapes. 
Decojate  with  sieved  cottage  cheese  to 
which  a  little  milk  has  been  added.     , 


Thin  slices  go  a  long  way  served  on 
rice  with  Strawberry-Rhubarb  Sauce. 
To  make  enough  sauce  tor  8  slices,  com- 
bine yi  c.  sugar,  1  tbsp.  cornstarch,  ^2  c. 
water.  Bring  to  a  boil;  add  1  lb.  rhu- 
barb, cubed,  and  1  pt.  berries;  simmer 
about  5  min.  stirring  occasionally  with  a 
fork.  Simmer  ham  slices  in  sauce  until 
heated  (about  5  min.).   Serve  on  rice. 


Leftover  bits  make  a  grand  ham 
salad.  Combine  diced  cooked  Swift's 
Premium  Ham,  macaroni  (broken  in 
bits  before  cooking),  sliced  stuffed  olives, 
sliced  radishes,  chopped  celery.  Sea- 
son. Toss  with  French  Dressing  and 
serve  on  greens  in  a  salad  bowl. 


Your  first  duty  to  your  country:  BUY  WAR  BONDS! 


Nvntcc 


THE 


S   U   B  -  D   E   B 


BY         ELIZABETH         WOOD   W   A   R   D 


IISTEN  to  the  story  of  Johnny.  A  guy  who  hkes  his 
lumber  shirts  loud.  Who  beUeves  that  color  keeps  you 
/  warm  and  lively.   He  looks  a  lot  like  the  rest  of  you 
I  in  the  hair-do,  wilted  socks,  cords  and  necktie  de- 
partments.  But  Johnny  has  his  other  side. 

On  a  sixteen-mile  hike  with  sixteen  other  lads  and  three 
Spartan  dogs,  he  doesn't  have  to  be  polite  to  many 
women.  And  he  isn't.  Crouched  with  a  crony  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  garage,  in  manly  pursuit  of  a  cure  for  his  bike's 
ailments,  manners  don't  matter  to  Johnny.  He  reasons 
that  there's  a  time  and  a  place  for  all  things. 

In  the  wilderness,  or  surrounded  by  kindred  males, 
Johnny  is  practically  antisocial.  He  ignores  the  way  the 
other  half  of  the  world  lives.  But  when  he's  with  women, 
Johnny  changes.  'Cause  he  likes  women.  And  women 
don't  like  Daniel  Boones  on  the  dance  floor ! 

HE  MADE  A  DATE 

It  was  Joannie  he  decided  he'd  ask.  He  eyed  the  calen- 
dar and  gave  her  enough  notice.  Then  he  lifted  the  re- 
ceiver and  gave  her  number.  He  could  have  sent  her  a 
note  or  asked  her  in  person.  But  Johnny  likes  modern 
inventions.  A  party  invitation  doesn't  beat  around  the 
bush,  but  gives  time,  place  and  what  is  it.  So  Johnny, 
after  a  little  "how  are  you,  and  how's  everything? "  came 
straight  out  with  "date  at  eight  on  Friday  night,  what- 
ever you'd  like  to  do— maybe  movie,  maybe  skate,  maybe 
bowl,  maybe  dance."  And  Joannie  took  her  pick— which 
gave  Johnny  time  to  insure  the  financing  of  said  project. 

When  Friday  came  he  eyed  his  wardrobe.  It  ran  pretty 
much  to  cords.  But  he  always  had  a  clean  pair  ready  for 
big  moments.  The  grime  came  off,  his  hair  slicked  down, 
his  tie  went  on,  his  socks  stayed  up.  Johnny  was  ready. 

And  over  to  Joannie's  house  he  went.  He  knew  she 
wouldn't  be  ready— but  was  he  scared?  Her  ma  and  pa 
were  just  like  his  own— a  couple  of  people  who  listened 
to  the  same  news  broadcasters,  who  endured  the  same 
weather,  who  commuted  on  the  same  trains  and  knew  the 
same  teachers.  He  didn't  have  any  trouble  talking  to  his 
own  folks— so  why  fret  while  waiting  for  Joannie?  And 
he  didn't.  When  she  breezed  in,  he  rose  rapidly  to  his  feet 
to  indicate  "glad  to  see  you,  and  now  you're  here,  let's 
get  going."  Winding  up  the  threads  of  polite  conversa- 
tion, he  helped  Joannie  on  with  her  coat.  And  with  a  "we 
won't  be  late"  to  parents  in  farewell— out  they  went. 


HE  KEPT  IT 

No  chance  of  his  welching.  Had  he  broken  a  leg,  he'd 
have  kept  the  date  but  changed  it  to  "come  autograph 
my  cast."  And  nothing  better  could  have  come  along— 
'cause  to  him  one  bargain's  as  binding  as  another. 

So  Joannie  and  Johnny  went  out  on  the  town.  His 
object  being  to  see  that  she  had  fun  and  he  had  fun,  a 
pleasant  way  to  spend  an  evening,  one  of  a  series  of 
pleasant  evenings.  To  see  that  she  had  fun  meant  first  of 
all  doing  something  she  wanted  to  do.  And  trimming  it  up 
with  politenesses.  He  opened  every  door  for  her,  picked 
up  everything  she  dropped,  censored  his  language,  came 
through  with  plenty  "please"  and  "thank-you,"  helped 
her  on  with  her  coat  or  her  skates,  walked  on  the  curb  side, 
gave  the  assist  at  crossings,  and  gave  her  a  chance  to 
talk.  He  liked  Joannie,  so  it  was  easy  to  have  fun  with 
her,  and  to  show  it.  Alone  with  Joannie,  she  was  his 
sole  responsibility.  He  devoted  his  steam  to  being  con- 
siderate. 

THEY  MINGLED 

Another  date  with  Joannie  was  mixed.  He  was  to  escort 
her  to  Anna's  party.  That  called  for  different  technique — 
though  the  same  politeness.  This  was  no  time  for  concen- 
tration. He  had  to  share  her,  and  his  own  attentions. 
That's  what  a  party  is.  But  he  remembered  he  took  her. 
He  kept  a  weather  eye  out  to  see  that  she  was  comfy,  and 
wasn't  stuck.  He  didn't  huddle  with  the  boys,  leaving 
the  girls  to  their  own  devices.  He  kept  a  delicate  balance 
between  being  the  guest  of  his  hostess  and  guardian  of 
his  girl.  This  didn't  call  for  Wild  West  antics— but  amiable 
co-operation.  No  yippee— but  plenty  of  general  conver- 
sation. Just  being  lively— not  raising  the  roof.  And  they 
left  when  Joannie  gave  him  the  signal. 

The  night  he  took  her  to  the  K.I. P.  dance  was  some- 
thing else  again.  She  didn't  know  a  soul.  When  they  got 
there,  he  showed  her  where  to  leave  her  coat  and  where 


KOME   Uini.S    HAVE   Al.l,   THE    I.I  «K 

Tlicy  crodk  a  pinkie,  caflt  a  glance  and  Ji>hnnieB  Hwarni! 
TIkv  have  twoeyen,  a  tiiise,  a  niiiiuli,  Juki  likr  ymi,  hut  eluri-'n 
a  .liff.ri-nec!  Tlley'v,;  r.aci  llic  .Siih-D.E.  l..,<,kl<tH!  Writ.-  In 
llli-  Hi-frrem:i!  Library,  I.adiIvi'  IIoimk  Joijhnai,,  In<li-|U'niienre 
.Square,  IMiilailelpliia  fi,  I'ennnylvania,  for  SlJli-I>Klt  UooKLET 
Ll.sT  No.  lU*)r>.  (iive  a  gander  and  smarten  np  for  your  Johnny! 


he'd  be  waiting.  Then  he  led  her  to  the  chaperons,  intro- 
duced her  carefully  down  the  line,  then  spun  her  out  on 
the  dance  floor  to  look  things  over.  He  spotted  plenty 
guys  he  knew,  and  steered  toward  them  when  the  music 
stopped.  He  presented  the  lads  to  Joannie,  who  was 
beaming  with  expectancy  that  everything  would  prob- 
ably be  all  right  after  all.  While  Joannie  talked  with  the 
other  girls,  he  buried  in  some  male  casuals  the  arrange- 
ments for  exchanging  dances.  Then  ofT  they  went  to 
dance  again,  steering  toward  another  lad  he  knew.  Danc- 
ing with  Joannie  all  evening  would  have  been  all  right 
too — but  he  thought  she'd  like  to  meet  somebody,  she'd 
prefer  a  little  variety.  Dancing  with  another  girl  himself 
didn't  prevent  Johnny  from  knowing  that  Joannie  was 
getting  along.  He  dropped  whatever  time  he  was  making 
in  other  directions,  to  prevent  Joannie  from  being 
stranded.  He  kept  thinking  that  he'd  got  her  into  this 
gang  of  strangers,  and  it  was  up  to  him,  not  the  flower  in 
her  hair,  to  see  that  at  least  a  few  people  knew  she  was  there. 
So  he  didn't  leave  her  long.  He  saw  to  it  that  she  had  punch 
when  she  wanted  it,  and  a  breath  of  fr^sh  air.  They  joined 
forces  with  the  other  couples  to  nibble  before  going  home. 
Though  the  party  was  the  K.I.P.'s,  it  was  John  Joannie 
thanked.  Those  stars  in  her  eyes  were  for  him  alone. 

HE  LIKED  IT 

Men  can  be  led  around  by  the  noses  by  their  women. 
But  Johnny  doesn't  care  for  it.  When  he's  being  sociable, 
he  wants  to  pull  his  own  weight.  Maybe  girls  know  more 
about  manners  sooner  because  they're  girls.  And  because 
they  do  more  entertaining  at  home.  But  it  needn't  be, 
Johnny  decided. 

He'll  concentrate  on  table  manners  at  home  as  practice 
for  public.  He'll  spend  some  time  with  his  family's 
friends,  so  women's  parents  won't  get  him  down.  Now 
that  he's  dating,  he's  going  to  do  the  little  things  in  a  big 
way.  If  he's  not  sure,  he'll  experiment  first  to  get  the 
angle.  He'll  go  stag  once  to  the  dance  to  get  the  lay  of  the 
land.  He'll  go  somewhere  that  needs  reservations  or 
tickets  with  a  couple  of  other  lads  before  he  takes  a  girl 
alone.  He  has  the  right  idea.  When  he  dates  a  girl,  he 
wants  the  mechanics  smooth,  the  know-how  tucked  un- 
der his  curly  thatch.  He  wants  to  be  in  the  driver's  seat — 
and  know  where  he's  going.  So  he  can  devote  himself 
to  enjoying  her.  That's  not  being  sissy.  Johnny's  a  gent! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


''What  had  I  said  to  him?.. what  had  I  done?'' 


Lhis  was  the  night  I  had  dreamed  about  for 
weeks  .  .  .  the  gay  places  we  would  go  .  .  .  the 
sweetness  of  seeing  him,  for  three  whole  days 
on  his  first  furlough  since  our  love-at- first- sight 
meeting.  And  now,  what  a  rude  awakening! 
Home  before  midnight,  after  an  evening  which 
began  romantically  enough  and  then  grew 
strained  and  different!  What  had  I  said  to  him? 
.  .  .  what  could  I  have  done  to  change  his  atti- 
tude from  one  of  warmth  and  admiration  to 
cool  indifference? 

Never  Take  a  Chance 

When  a  woman  attracts  one  day  and  re- 
pels the  next,  something  must  be  wrong. 
The  answer  in  this  case,  as  in  so  many, 
many  others,  was  halitosis  (bad  breath). 
This  social  offense  puts  one  in  the  worst 
possible  light,  nips  many  a  romance  in 
the  bud. 

Since  you,  yourself,  may  not  realize  when 
your  breath  is  "that  way"  .  .  .  why  not  take 
a  sensible  precaution  against  it.^  .  .  .  Why 
not  use  Listerine  night  and  morning  and 
between  times,  before  social  engagements 
when  you  want  to  be  at  your  best?  Listerine 
Antiseptic  helps  to  make  your  breath 
sweeter,  purer,  less  likely  to  offend. 

While  some  cases  of  halitosis  are  of 
systemic  origin,  most  cases,  say  a  number 
of  medical  authorities,  are  due  to  the  bac- 
terial fermentation  of  tiny  food  particles 
clinging  to  mouth  surfaces.  Listerine  Anti- 
septic halts  such  fermentation  then  over- 
comes the  odors  fermentation  causes. 

If  you  would  be  pleasing  to  others  never, 
never  omit  Listerine  Antiseptic  as  a  part 
of  your  daily  toilette. 
LAMBERT  PHARMACAL  CO.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


LISTERINE   ANTISEPTIC 

for  Oral  Hygiene 


P,  S*  Your  money  buys  less  today,  so  spend  it  wisely.  You  must  try  the  new  Listerine  Tooth  Paste, 


10 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1943 


Famous  beauty  pack  helps 
(/ef/ake  faded,  coarse,  aging 

TOP  SKIN' 


This  Remarkable  Development  In  Skin  Culture 

Also  Marvelous  To  ""Perk-Up'  Weary  Complexions 

On  Short  Notice! 


Your  skin  (even  when  you're 
young)  must  constantly  'flake  off' 
or  'shed'  dricd-up,  faded,  aging  top- 
skin  cells.  If  not  —  this  is  often  the 
reason  your  complexion  appears 
muddy,  drab,  coarse-textured  —  so 
dull  and  lifeless. 

One  of  the  most  effective  and 
quickest  ways  to  hasten  this  dcflak- 
ing  process  along  is  famous  Edna 
Wallace  Hopper's  White  Clay 
Pack— a  perfect  honey  of  a  'pepper- 
upper'  for  tired,  bored  complexions. 

Marvelous  'Blushing'  Action 

All  you  do  is  spread  Hopper's 
White  Clay  Pack  over  your  face 
and  neck.  Lie  down  and  relax.  You 
can  actually  feel  its  tightening, 
stimulating  effect  on  tired  tissues 
and  muscles.  Wash  off  after  8 
minutes. 

It's  almost  unbelievable  —  but 
your  mirror  will  confirm  the  lovely 
results.  Notice  how  that  tired, 
faded  look  seems  to  disappear.  Your 


skin  appears  so  fl/;Te  looking  with 
such  a  thrilling  glow  and  charm. 
This  is  due  to  the  mild  rubefacient 
or  'blushing'  action  of  Hopper's. 

Let  Hopper's  White  Clay  Pack 
show  you  the  secret  of  looking  your 
dazzling  best  on  short  notice  when 
that  'important  man'  unexpectedly 
comes  to  town.  Also  to  help  main- 
tain enchanting  natural  'top-skin' 
lo\cliness  thruout  the  years.  At  any 
cosmetic  counter. 


GIRLS  IN  YOUR  'TEENS'! 

Don't  forget  Hopper's  White 
Clay  Pack  is  also  marvelous  for 
enlarged  pore  openings  and  to 
loosen  blackheads.  Notice  how 
much  fresher,  clearer  your  skin 
appears. 


HOPPER'S  '^"SK:?''^ 


Our  Readers  Write  Us 


U.  S.  Baby  Bond 

Osceola,  Iowa. 

Dear  Editor:  Enclosed  is  a  picture  of 

a  "Baby   Bond."     She   is   Susan  Jeanne 

Bond,   daughter  of  Mr.  and   Mrs.  U.   S. 


The  shirt  off  her  back  .  .  . 

Bond,  of  Osceola.  She  would  give  the 
shirt  off  her  Ijack  to  buy  as  many  War 
Bonds  as  possible.  Yours  truly, 

LILLIAN  BOND. 

Sny!«  1%'ahl  lo  Dahl, 
**l  think  yaiii'rt'  swahl." 

SayN  Ikahl  la>  Wahl. 
"Why.  (hankN,  old  pahl." 

Atlantic  City,  New  Jersey. 
Dear  Editor:   Thanks  for  printing  the 
story   in   March   issue.    They   Shall    Not 
(;row  Old,  by  Roald  Dahl. 
Sinceri'ly, 

JU.^NITA  WAHL. 
Corporal,  Air  Corps. 

Itoivn  to  the  Sea  Atiain 

The  Duke's  Cottage 
Rudgwick,  England. 
Dear  Bruce:  I  had  the  influenza.  It  got 
nie  by  the  throat  like  the  British  bulldog 
and  showed  the  same  disinclination  to  let 
go.  However,  1  am  now  recovered.  Maybe 
it  would  have  come  about  .sooner  if  I  could 
have  gone  to  bed.  In  England,  today,  you 
can't  go  to  bed  until  the  very  last  mo- 
ment. So  one  totters  around  thinking 
fondly  of  the  tomb,  which  begins  to  take 
on  an  air  of  great  restfulness. 

They  have  given  us  back  our  sea,  and 
very  shortly  there  is  going  to  be  a  terrible 
rush  at  it.  But  the  prospect  is  not  without 
drawbacks.  Half  the  hotels  are  out  of 
action  through  blitz  and  blizzard.  And 
those  that  are  open  can't  get  staffs  of  any 
kind.  The  minefields  and  invasion  traps 
have  all  been  removed,  as  far  as  humanly 
possible.  But  shifting  sands  and  raging 
winds  do  odd  things — and  little  Willie, 
dredging  for  shrimps,  may  land  more  than 
he  bargained  for.  for  many  a  year  to  come. 
But  I  fancy  many  a  family  will  be  off  to 
paddle,  and  hang  the  consequences. 

Later.  Daughter  Mary  is  coming  back  to 
her  own  cottage  (Bruce  Cottage)  at  any 
moment.  Her  husband  is  going  to  France 
and  is  installing  her  and  Gentle  Annie,  the 
baby,  before  he  goes.  The  housing  question 
is  absolutely  beyond  all  imagining,  and 
blessed  was  I  when  I  snapped  up  that  little 
bargain  down  the  lane.  There  are  four 
families,  all  with  young  children  and  no- 
where on  earth  to  go,  in  this  village.  The 
cuckoo,  when  put  to  it,  can  lay  her  eggs  in 
someone  else's  nest.  The  human  mother, 
poor  soul,  merely  sits  out  in  the  road 
moaning,  with  the  toy  box  and  the  linen 
chest.  Lucy  Liphook  is  infinitely  better 
off.  Mr.  Wingate  has  already  planned  a 
little  receptacle  for  her  calf. 

Later.  I  have  just  eaten  my  way,  at  a 
horrible  Sunday  lunch,  through  what  I 
swear  was  a  lump  of  horse.  Or  a  bit  off 
somebody's  suitcase.  The  meat  is  awful. 


But  there  is  a  lot  to  be  said  for  living  on 
an  island.  Fish  knocking  at  front,  side 
and  back  doors. 

These  days  so  many  people  write  to  me, 
who  have  lost  someone  in  the  war.  People 
who  wrote  condoling  with  me  about  Jock, 
now  tell  me  the  same  thing  has  happened 
to  them.  I  do  wonder  why  the  films  al- 
ways made  out  American  women  to  be  so 
abandoned  and  sentimental  over  this  kind 
of  thing.  The  letters  I  get  are  just  the  op- 
posite. So  calm  and  resigned — and  some- 
how dignified.  How  I  hope  this  is  the  end 
of  it,  and  that  daughter  Mary's  Annette, 
now  six  months  old  and  plump,  hasn't  to 
go  through  the  same  thing  in  years  to 
come.  Love, 

DOROTHY  BLACK. 

From  the  Watkins  Home  Front 

The  following  letter  came  from  our  Oc- 
tober How  America  Lives  heroine,  Mrs. 
Nelson  Watkins.  ED. 

Berkeley,  California. 

Dear  Editor:  These  da5's  for  me  have 
been  packed  with  excitement:  joy  over  the 
release  of  friends  in  Manila;  heartbreak 
over  the  loss  of  many  others.  The  over-all 
picture  is  not  a  happy  one,  as  those  freed 
represent  such  a  pitifully  minute  quota  of 
those  who  fell  under  the  cruel  boot  of  the 
Japanese. 

Linda  was  christened  Sunday  by  Chap- 
lain A.  C.  Oliver,  just  returned  from  three 
years  of  indescribable  hell  as  a  prisoner  in 
Cabanatuan.  He  married  us  in  Manila 
shortly  prior  to  the  war,  so  I  felt  it 
fitting  he  should  christen  our  daughter. 

My  husband  is  now  out  on  submarine 
patrol.  I  know  he's  happy  to  be  back  in 
harness.  Sincerely, 

ELLIE  WATKINS. 

World  War  I  Journal 

Anti  Tank  Co. Infantry, 

APO  79,  c/o  Postmaster, 
New  York.  New  York. 
Dear  Editors:  Passing  through  a  French 
village  I  found  this  copy  of  the  Journal. 


From  the  writing  inside,  I  assumed  that  it 
was  sent  to  some  G.I.  during  the  last  war. 
Respectfully  yours, 
PRIVATE  STANLEY  SACHS. 

How  it  Feels  to  be  Free 

Courtrai,  Belgium. 

Dear  Sir:  We  are  very  happy  to  be  al- 
lowed to  write  to  America  again,  as  we 
want  to  ask  you  if  it  could  be  possible  to 
have  your  magazine  kept  for  us  from  the 
beginning  of  this  year,  1945,  to  be  sent  on 
as  soon  as  allowed.  We  were  regular 
readers  before  the  war  and  we  missed  your 
dear  magazine  very  much  during  all  these 
dark  years.  So  we  read  and  reread  the  old 
numbers  till  they  were  nearly  shreds. 

Allow  me  to  tell  you  how  grateful  we  all 
are  to  the  people  of  V,  .S.,  without  whose 
help  Europe  would  never  have  been  able 
(Continued  on  Page  IJ) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


13 


(Continued  from  Page  JO) 
t(i  lnat  the  Nazis.  We  never,  one  moment, 
^Iciiljted  the  final  issue  of  this  war — even 
111  the  darkest  days.  And  we  never  failed 
tu  listen  to  the  BBC. 

We  can't  explain  to  you  what  it  feels 
like  to  he  free!  We  can  hardly  realize,  even 
niiw,  that  we  have  no  more  to  fear  when 
tin  doorbell  rings  at  an  unusual  hour,  or 
whin  we  are  listening  to  the  BBC,  or 
whin  the  bombers  pass  overhead.  But  we 
ha\  (■  had  to  pay  the  heaviest  price  for  our 
lilji  rty.  Our  son — aged  21 — who  was  in 
thi-  Secret  Belgian  Army,  was  killed  by 
till-  retreating  Boche,  and  our  storehouses 
lia\  r  been  smashed  by  the  air  raids,  but 
wf  are  only  like  so  many  millions  who  had 
to  suffer  through  the  Nazis. 

I  suppose  you  know  that  our  poor  Bel- 
gian people  are  still  suffering  hard — mostly 
through  lack  of  food,  clothing  and  coal  — 
but  nevertheless  we  keep  our  spirits  high 
and  we  all  hope  that  in  the  near  future 
tins  burden  will  also  be  lifted  with  the 
hel|)  of  our  dear  great  Allies. 

Vou  have  heard,  haven't  you.  that  your 
boys  over  here  are  being  welcomed  every- 
where with  great  enthusiasm?  You  see 
we  want  them  to  feel  our  gratefulness,  to 
make  up  for  the  loss  of  their  dear  comfort- 
able homes  they  have  left  to  come  here. 

Please,  sir,  excuse  this  long  letter,  but 
I  wanted  to  explain  how  we  feel  towards 
the  dear  American  people,  in  general  — 
and  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal  in  par- 
ticular. Yours  very  sincerely, 

A.  BUYSSCHAERT. 

Somewhere  in  the  Aleutians. 
Dear  Rdilor :  Marines  here  at  this  Aleu- 
tian base  recently  held  a  contest  to  deter- 
mine   their    "Queen    of    the    Williwaw" 
(Arctic  storm)  and  her  attendants.    Mary 


J     I 

Queen  of  the  Williwaw 


Patricia     Kanealy,     four-and-a-half-year- 
old    daughter    of    Marine    Private    First 
Class  and   Mrs.   Thomas  J.   Kanealy,   of 
Perry,  Iowa,  was  elected  Queen. 
Sincerely  yours, 
Capt.  ARTHUR  C,  GAYVERT, 
USMCR. 

Our  Men  Can  Take  It 

Norolon,  Connecticut. 

Dear  Sir:  I  believe  that  it  is  regrettable 
that  you  accept,  and  print  at  face  value — 
a  value  that  obviously  is  based  on  un- 
authoritative theory — a  paper  like  What 
You  Can  Do  to  Help  the  Returning 
Veteran,  by  Willard  Waller. 

The  real  fact  is,  nearly  all  the  men  of 
our  Army  will  step  out  of  uniform  into 
civil  garb  with  a  matter-of-factness  that 
is  the  greatest  heritage  America  has  given 
them.  Less  than  ten  days  ago  my  son  was 
given  a  medical  discharge,  and  is  now  at 
home.  His  military  record  is  one  of  great 
hardship  and  contact  with  the  worst  that 
war  has  to  offer.  After  training  for  a  little 
less  than  a  year  in  the  infantry,  he  was 
sent  to  North  Africa,  arriving  at  Gran  on 
March  18,  1943.  On  April  sixth,  at 
Mackassey,  he  was  wounded  by  shell  fire, 
a  fragment  lodging  in  his  right  lung,  where 
a  portion  is  still  "walled  in."  After  a  few 
weeks,  he  participated  in  the  cleaning  up 
of  Bizerte,  and  then  was  sent  to  Sicily. 
He  campaigned  there  all  the  way  from 
Palermo  to  Messina,  suffering  from  shell 
concu^ion.  After  Messina  he  went  to  a 
rest  camp  from  which  he  emerged,  with 
thousands  of  his  comrades,  a  malarial 
wreck.  Returned  to  the  United  States  in 
February,  1944,  he  has  been  doing  limited 
service  at  an  Eastern  base  ever  since. 


My  son  is  just  an  average  American 
boy.  He  is  a  good  musician,  and  voca- 
tionally he  is  an  artist,  the  type  whose 
nervous  make-up  is  said  to  be  the  most 
vulnerable  to  war  experiences.  Is  my  son 
back  a  neurotic  wreck,  and  in  need  of  the 
kid-glove  treatment  and  psychological 
handling  that  your  article  implies?  Not 
at  all.  He  has  been  home  only  a  short 
time;  but  his  mother  and  I  cannot  see  the 
slightest  difference  in  him.  His  own  state- 
ment is,  "Why  worry  about  it?  All  the 
fellows  are  taking  it  in  stride.  They  don't 
let  it  get  them  down.  All  they  want  is  to 
get  it  over  and  get  back  on  the  job." 

His  experiences  have  impressed  him; 
and  he  speaks  about  his  worst  moments 
calmly.    He  is  simply  matter-of-fact. 

This  is  the  normal  attitude  of  nearly  all 
the  men  I  have  encountered  who  have  left 
the  service  because  of  some  honorable 
reason.  American  men,  your  readers  know, 
are  imaginative  but  not  mawkish;  and  as 
a  class  they  cannot  remain  dispirited  very 
long.  They  will  surely  resent  it,  and  it  will 
confuse  and  annoy  them  if  they  are  treated 
as  quasi-mental  cases.  The  originally  neu- 
rotic type  will  react  most  negatively  from 
his  Army  experiences.  But  his  reactions 
are  simply  normal,  and  he  will  require  no 
more  special  treatment  than  he  has  ever 
needed.  Other  men  who  have  lost  a  limb 
or  been  permanently  crippled  will  need 
help;  but  they  will,  and  do,  resent  any  of 
the  particular  behavior  from  their  family 
that  your  article  suggests. 

Instead  of  printing  articles  such  as  Mr. 
Waller's,  step  hard  on  the  foolish  mothers 
who  will  try  to  "adjust"  their  boys;  slap 
the  uncles  and  aunts  who  butt  in  with 
stuff  that  might  go  well  in  an  institution 
for  the  mentally  unsound.  Wave  the  go- 
ahead  flag  to  the  crowd  who  greets  the 
returned  soldier  with,  "Good  work!  You 
look  fine !  The  crowd  down  at  the  place 
is  expecting  you  on  the  job  soon.  .  .  . 
And  by  the  way,  what  are  you  doing  next 
Tuesday  night?  There's  a  little  number 
I'd  like  you  to  meet,  etc.  etc." 

Yours  truly, 
JOHN.   L.   BRATTON. 

^o  Mwnwpwiy  on  l*ain 

San  Diego,  California. 

Dear  Editor:  Now  I'm  "burning  with 
rage."  In  the  Our  Readers  Write  Us  de- 
partment Mrs.  Knapp  berates  Dr.  Bunde- 
sen  for  his  article,  Needless  Fear  of  Child- 
birth. I  quote,  "just  let  me  see  a  man 
who  can  stand  even  the  smallest  pain." 
Is  Moundsville,  West  Virginia,  so  far  re- 
moved from  the  world  that  Mrs.  Knapp 
actually  hasn't  heard  of  the  war?  I  could 
show  her  lots  of  men  and  boys  who  are 
standing  a  greater  pain  than  childbirth 
ever  could  be,  and  they  are  braver  than 
any  woman  in  a  labor  room.  The  battle- 
fields and  the  hospitals  would  be  pretty 
noisy  places  if  those  men  couldn't  stand 
even  the  "smallest"  pain,  considering 
what  they  do  stand.  Won't  someone  show 
Mrs.  Knapp  those  men? 

Just  to  keep  the  records  straight — I'm 
a  mother,  too,  a  very  proud  one ! 

Sincerely, 
MRS.  JOE   KISLER. 

Educate  for  Education 

Sati  Bernardino,  California. 

Dear  Editor:  I  was  very  interested  in 
the  articles  on  education  by  Dorothy 
Thompson  and  Sir  Richard  Livingstone. 
I  teach  U.  S.  history  to  high-school  jun- 
iors, and  the  problems  which  so  many  are 
presenting  affect  me  quite  deeply. 

Perhaps  those  who  specialize  in  study- 
ing trends  can  explain  why  so  many 
American  youngsters  resent  school.  If  we 
practice  democracy  in  our  classrooms, 
they  take  advantage  of  it.  Not  because 
they  do  not  know  how  to  use  it,  but  be- 
cause since  preschool  age  they  have  re- 
garded the  teacher  and  principal  as  their 
foes,  to  outwit  on  every  occasion !  I  have 
even  had  parents  say  to  me,  "Ugh,  how  I 
hated  history,"  or  English,  or  science.  I 
believe  these  attitudes  are  developed  be- 
fore school  age;  students  start  with  a  nega- 
tive approach  and  for  the  twelve  years  we 
have  them,  we  too  often  have  to  resort  to 
policeman's  tactics  instead  of  practicing 
democratic  procedures  to  give  them  a 
basic  philosophy. 

We  must  educate  for  education.  I  wish 
some  of  your  contributors  could  tell  us 
how.  Sincerely, 

RUTH   R.  LEWIS. 

(Continued  on  Page  134) 


l\\ 


AS  A  DAISY! 


/ 


THE 
the 


'  OOL 
please 
cool  t_ 
For  instance 


THERMOMETER  and 

.      :i.,    with    crisp, 

house. 


ease    i"- 

,„1  touches  about 


of  beauty  and  a  )oy 


l#    back 


,eU    as    January 


if  you 


me 


ill 
;sh 


^" 


wire 

an.aro.oi-^l^P-°'      - 
painted  vvhite. 

\nd.nheUvingroo.«- 
isoldandpamed_.^^_^      .^^ 

it  a  gay  drebs  ,u„,mer? 

^h.te  stnpes  for  tn  ^^_ 

Another  coat  ot^pa^^      ^^^^_ 

,,ore  it  t°"\'to\v  fresh  and 
-V"'''utel^heneverthe 
cool  you  11  teei 
temperature  soars. 

O 


■i^.- 


Then,   just  to   ^^^l^:;^:, 
spirit  of  things,  ge^-;  J,,,, 

P-^'^"tdChe"upyour 
P"";'\TeEvenpremer,wben 

Ifphilodendron^ave    ^^^^^^ 

Fresh,  to°'^^^2les  you  find 

»^'^^""w^tm"nt  Sampler^ 

i"    the   W^'*y"f  J,tive  note  to 
andtheylenda    e-^^^^^yj 

^"^'"^They-ake    deUghtfu 
them.     1"®>         r,..      chocolate 
„eek  end  gifts.  ^  he  ^^,,ly 

delicious.    Ih^         chevviest  of 

sort  y°"  '''^' .  ev're  caramels-- 
,^,e^vy^vhenthey  ^^^^^    ^^^ 

crisp    and    «^""^^^„ther  words 
velvety  creams  J^        ^^^^^^,^,3. 
.distinctively  —  '*^ 


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CHOCOLATES 


CoDr.  1946,  Stephen  F   WbitmsD  ft  Son,  Inc..  Pblladelphis 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


'5///  Vfif^^^  TnaAiyiA.  ^^h^ 


How  a  pretty  newlywed  dazzled  her  husband 
with  a  dream-wardrobe  Singer  helped  her  moke 


UCH  compliments  from  a  husband!  And  to  think 
1  came  near  missing  them! 

iaai  "When  Jim  wrote  me  to  come  join  him,  I  really 
hesitated.  I  did  want  him  to  be  proud  of  me  —  But  I  didn't 
have  the  right  clothes,  or  enough  money  for  new  ones! 

"I  was  sunk  in  gloom,  when  an  idea  dawned.  If  1  could 
make  my  own,  I  could  afford  the  clothes  I  needed.  And 
Singer's  Home  Dressmaking  lessons  would  show  me  how! 

"So  I  dashed  to  my  Singer  Sewing  Center*  and  signed 
up!  Their  smart  instructor  showed  me  everything — how 
to  cut  .  .  .  fit  .  .  .  stitch  .  .  .  finish  up.  Results:  super! 

"Never  did  I  own  more  becoming  clothes !  Wallpaper-fit. 
Jim's  favorite  colors.  No  wonder  he's  been  whispering  nice 
things  from  the  mmute  1  got  off  the  train!" 


tUhi 


.        «  r.ttle'  Evening  dress,  sports 

"So  mueh-for  *«>.  '"'^f     i^,,  ,han  the  price  ot 

,  .u^o  K^thinff  suit . .  •  I"'      .._,„  T'Up  \essons, 


"SO  mu...-;-.-       .   "'    for  less  than  the  price  ot 
clothes,  bathmg  ^"^'^- •  j^'^outfits!"  The  lessons. 


•  "Gay  Braid  for  my  bathing  suit  —  from  Singer! 
This  colorful  trimming  just  7nakes  the  outfit."  A 
real  find  — from  Singer's  Sewing  Center— wide 
selections  of  rufilings  and  novelty  trims. 


•  "Covered  buttons — a  Singer  job.  The  last 
smo-o-o-ooth  touch  to  this  sports  dress."  Singer 
Centers  also  do  custom-made  belts,  button- 
holes .  .  .  picoting  .  .  .  hemstitching. 


•  "Sweet  flower  clusters- for  dress,  hat,  or  hair. 
Just  one  of  the  dream  items  in  Singer's  Accessory 
Department."  Others:  Dickies,  Collar-cufF  Sets, 
Jabots,  Bows,  and  Scarfs. 


•  "My  Singer  Sewing  Machine  made  these  wonders  possible.  Lucky 
I  got  mine  when  1  did!"  If  you  need  a  machine  ask  your  Singer 
Sewing  Center  about  a  reconditioned  Singer.  Or  you  may  rent  a 
Singer  by  the  month  for  use  at  home. 

*FOR  YOUR  PROTFXTION:  Singer  Sewing  Machine  Co. 
continues  its  long-time  policy  of  selling  its  machines  only 
through  Singer  Sewing  Centers  identified  by  the  famous  Red 
"S"  trade-mark  on  the  window — never  through  department 
stores  or  other  sewing  machine  dealers. 


SINGER 


SEWING   CENTERS 
EVERYWHERE 


Singer  Sewing  Machine  Company 

Copyright  U.S.A.  194G.  bf  Tha  SlDK«r  MaoufacturlDK  Company.  All  rlghU  reaervad  for  all  countrlaa. 


Fifty  Years  Affo 
in  the  ^Journal 


T 


nHE  most  popular  and  beautiful 
X  stage  actresses  of  June,  1895, 
ncre  "The  Jersey  Lily"  Langtry, 
iged  forty -three,  Ellen  Terry,  forty- 
jeven,  and  Sarah  Bernhardt,  fifty. 
Brooklyn  was  in  a  dither  over  the 
new  high-speed  electric  trolleys, 
which  were  knocking  down  its  citi- 
zenry at  thirty  miles  an  hour.  Every- 
one was  whistling  the  new  song.  The 
Bund  Played  On;  butlers  were  in  de- 
mand for  private  seagoing  yachts; 
and  ladies  of  fashion  wore  godet 
skirts  seven  yards  wide,  no  matter 
how  sizzling  the  weather. 

"Kvery  woman  has  the  right  to  ask 
of  her  husband  that  the  fumes  of 
tobacco  be  excluded  from  her  bed- 
chamber, especially  cigars,"  de- 
crees JOURNAL  Editor  Edward  Bok 
in  the  June,  1895,  issue. 

"(irace:  Black  stockings  reaching 
to  tlie  knees  look  best  for  babies  in 
short  dresses  that  reach  an  inch 
aboie  the  ankle." 

'Women  who  want  the  vote,"  com- 
ments the  Rev.  Charles  Parkhurst, 
"should  realize  that  the  fault  of  so- 
ciety is  not  primarily  with  its  laws 
but  with  its  people.  No  ballot,  even 
cast  by  the  hand  of  an  honorable 
woman,  will  make  people  better." 

'' Jennie:  Do  not  bathe  your  baby 
oftener  than  every  other  day,  and 
then  only  a  part  of  the  body  at  a 
time.  Too  much  bathing  of  the 
whole  surface  exhausts  the  vital- 
ity." 

"My  dears,"  Ruth  Ashmore  tells 
her  young  JOURNAL  fans,  "when 
you  love  a  man  you  will  feel  no 
doubt  about  it. 
Your  heart  will  go 
out  to  him  as 
does  the  song  of 
the  lovebird, 
which  is  lacking 
in  melody  unless 
its  partner  comes 
in  with  a  tender 
cooing  note  like 
an  accompani- 
ment played  on 
some  heavenly 
instrument." 

"L.  B.:  I  think  it 
is  in  best  taste 
for  your  mother 
to  remain  in  the 
room    when    you 

have  visitors,^'  advises  the  author 

of  Sidetalks  with  Qirls. 

Customs  of  mourning:  "The  closing 
of  the  house  and  bowing  of  the  shut- 
ters with  broad  black  ribbons  no 
longer  obtains,  except  in  Philadel- 
phia." 

"Flossie:  It  would  be  proper,  since 
you  know  him  but  slightly,  to  call 
a  young  boy  of  fifteen  'Mister.'" 

"Lucille:  It  is  not  customary  to 
shake  hands  with  people  when  in- 
troduced." 

"A  Seeker:  A  red  nose  frequently 
comes  from  indigestion  or  tight  lac- 


(jimiaf  ofMwK 


Gossip  about  pfopiv  you 
hnoir,  editors  you  lihv  ami 
what  goes  on  In  Neim  York. 

SCREAMS  startled  the  Workshop 
here  the  other  day  when  a  room- 
ful of  secretaries  suddenly  saw  a  big 
silver  balloon  lurch  above  the  balus- 
trade oulsi<le  their  window.  Turned 
out  to  be  one  of  U«nrii  .#.  Kaitmr'n 
doings,  whose  United  National  Cloth- 
ing Collection  was  urging  people  to — 
well,  you  can  see  for  yourself  on  the 
balloon  in  the  picture.  Looks  now  as 
though  eightshiploadsofclothingand 
bedding  had  been  collected,  including 
all  the  costumes  from  JANIE  and 
TOMORROW  THE  WORLD  and  THE 
DOUGHGIRLS  and  two  and  a  half 
spare  suits  from  Mr.  K.  himself.  .  .  . 
What  did  you  give? 

A  name  to  reckon  with,  as  author  of  the 
new  smash  hit.  The  Glass  Menag- 
erie, is  Titnnvsttee  Williumti,  born 
in  Mississippi.  We  reckoned  with  him 
about  his  first  name.  Adopted  it,  he 
said,  because  "Thomas  Lanier  Wil- 
hams"  sounded  too  much  like  "Wil- 
liam Lyon  Phelps." 

Georae  S.  Kaufman  has  been  tell- 
ing ttU'hard  Pratt  about  his  new 
version  of  PINAFORE  that's  about  to 
appear.  Says  he  expects  to  have  the 
h  ide  peeledoff  h  im  by  f ana  t  ical  Gilbert 
and  Sullivan  followers.  "If  so,  do  you 
ivant  a  piece?"  he  asked  Mr.  P.  "It 
would  look  nice  on  the  mantel.'^ 


SIGNAL  CORPS 


Ly|^H 

1 

Ik^^t^k 

1 

^^SH 

■ 

hP^^' 

"''SdMlE^tt 

w 

'^  4  ^mi 

J  t  fl 

'» 

- 1 

i 

Ji 

Mrs.  Gould  and  Mrs.  Cookman 
visit   General   Clark   in   Italy. 

When  Beatrice  Blaeltmar  Oould 
and  Marti  C'oakinan  took  a  shufty  at 
the  liberated  countries  and  battle 
fronts  of  Europe,  they  picked  up  pages 
of  G.L  slang,  or  gobbledegook,  that  you 
might  as  well  try  to  figure  out  now. 
They  went  over  in  the  plush  plane 
whose  crew  had  carried  J^-illkUs  and 
W'allaee.  Mary  got  browned  off  in 
Paris  at  military  red  tape  and  took  a 
strip  off  the  paddlefoot  who  threatened 
to  scrub  off  her  trip  to  the  front;  but 
was  lucky  to  get  hot  water  once  a  week 
in  her  silver  foxhole  at  the  Ritz.  They 
both  came  back  with  the  pukka  gen,  or 


Result:  eight  shiploads  of  clothing,  bedding  for  devastated  areas. 


real  dope,  which  you'll  be  getting  in  the 
Journal. 

On  the  Italian  front  our  editors  not 
only  visited  with  tien.  Mark  dark, 

but  hobnobbed  with  numerous  G.I.'s  such 
as  the  one  below,  who  let  them  see  his 
latest  fox  hole.  Earlier,  in  Rheims,  gather- 
ing material  for  How  France  Lives,  Mrs. 
G.  and  Mrs.  C.  first  considered  a  family 
whose  home  had  been  bombed  to  a  hole  in 
the  ground,  the  family  then  having  been 
placed  on  a  farm  eight  miles  out  of  town, 
and  the  crater  used  by  our  Army  as  an 
antiaircraft-gun  emplacement.  But  every 
day  the  two  small  boys  of  the  family  would 
trudge  back  to  where  their  house  had  been  ; 
partly  out  of  homesickness,  and  partly 
because  they'd  become  bosom  pals  of  the 
American  gun  crew,  who  shared  their  ra- 
tions with  them. 


chance  to  see  what  a  steam  shovel 
looks  like — high  holes  for  large  people, 
low  holes  for  little.  A  good  idea  for 
baseball  parks. 


MAX  HAAS 


A  G.  I.  proudly  displays  liis 
foxhole  to  Journal  editors. 

Here  we  have  to  dig  the  holes  where 
new  buildings  will  go  up  after  the  war; 
and  the  fences  that  protect  the  ex- 
cavations    again     give     passers-by     a 


l'c<'l>h(>lt's  for  all  sizes. 

Three  June  books:  COMMOHORE 
IIORNBLOWER  is  a  "must"  for  f.  S. 
ForeHler  fans — the  valiant  Rrilishcr 
pushing  off  now  for  the  North  Sea 
while  his  archenemy  Napoleon  is  plow 
iiig  on  toward  his  nemesis  in  Rui 
sia.  .  .  .  One  WHO  SURVIVED  is  a  book 
that  will  cause  controversy:  the 
personal  account  of  a  Soviet  olTicial, 
Alexander  Uarmine,  who,  find- 
ing that  the  Stalin  dictatorship  was, 
in  his  experience,  devouring  the 
ideals  of  true  so<'ialists,  left  the  party 
and  escaped  the  GPU.  .  .  .  And  far 
far  away  from  world  affairs  is  WIND 
OFF  THE  Water,  a  good  Maine  novel 
by  Miriam  f'olirell  abounding  in 
salty  Down  East  talk,  and  concern- 
ing three  fishermen  brothers  with 
problems  of  their  own. 


fHti^ teann  ^  Uvc  t4AitA.  ot^ien.  Hatc<t4U ^  ^nn.  *HutucU  food.''        —president  truman. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


FOR  FASHIONS  BAINBOW 
WITH  COOL  WATER  IVORY  SNOW 


Make  this  "snowdrop''  soap  your  "color  guard"  .  .  . 
it  carries  protection  a  step  farther! 


Take  care  of  those  gay  colors  that 
make  spun  rayon  prints  hke  "Mexi- 
cana"  (right)  so  smart.  Help  protect  the 
bold  crisscrosses  on  cottons  such  as 
"Supermarket"  (below).  Refresh  them 
often  the  life-prolonging  way — with 
wonderful,  cool-water  Ivory  Snow.     . 

Ivory  Snow  is  different  from  cake 
soap,  or  flakes— for  it  is  not  only  Ivory- 
pure  and  mild,  but  granulated  for 
quick  sudsing  even  in  cool  water. 

Just  compare!  For  a  montli,  wash 
all  your  nice  things  only  with  Ivory 
Snow.  Decide  whether  any  other  soap 
has  ever  given  you  all  these  wonders . . . 

V  Such  suds — even  in  cool  water! 
/  Such  quick-ilisxolcing 
"snowdrop"  granules 


<t  So  kind  to  colors! 
<f  Suds  that  go  so  far! 
</  Inexpensive  to  use! 
/  So  quick-cleansing! 
^  So  easy-rinsing! 
^  Marvelous  for  wools! 
^  Gives  IcHifjtT  life  to  the 

glamorous  new  look  of  nice 

washables! 

Wonderful  Ivory  Snow  is  the  only 
soap  that  combines  Ivory-purity  with 
this  speedy-sudsing,  granulated 
"snowdrop"  form.  It  carries  protection 
a  step  farther  than  other  soa{)s  not 
Ivory-mild.  So  make  Ivory  Snow  your 
"color  guard".  .  .  give  your  exciting 
new  washables  longer  life! 

UKGENT  — TO  WOMEM 

You  can  really  help  the  War  effort — right 
in  your  home  loivn.  Be  a  Nurse'' s  Aide — 
apply  at  your  local  Red  Cross  Chapter  now ! 


'""''-^  IVORY  SNOW 

Longer  10  for  Mce  Ji^skabies 


Ivory  Snow  is  the  only  soap  that 

is  both  Ivory-mild  and  granulated^ 

for  speedy  sudsing t 

99  44/100%  PURE 


She  had  gone  to  him  wanting 
help  for  Taddy.  Why  should 
she  expect  more?  Didnt  she 
know  a  Yesterday  is  nobody''s 
heartache    but  your    own? 


w 


m 


"% 


iy<T*>^ 


..■MX' 


■\^' 


BY  RUTH   RODNEY   KING 

MORE  often  than  not,  the  turning  points  in  people's  lives  occur  so  incon- 
spicuously as  to  be  invisible.  This  is  a  commonplace,  but  it  was  not  so  to 
Mary  Harper,  whose  eyes  stared  blankly  across  the  subway  car  from 
her  pale  young  face.  Her  return  back  here  to  the  East  was  clearly  a  turn- 
ing point,  so  much  for  the  worse  that  it  dazed  her. 

Why?  And  having  to  extend  to  every  aspect  of  her  life  here?  Even  that 
Doctor  Neeland  she  had  taken  Taddy  to — there  was  nothing  good  about  him 
but  his  Navy  uniform.  And  that  he'd  been  nice  to  Taddy;  as  he  should  be,  be- 
ing a  pediatrician.  But  there  was  a  stoniness,  a  condemning  quality  about  him 
that  had  made  Mary  feel  she  was  in  bad  taste,  as  if  it  were  reprehensible  to  have 
suffered  tragedy.  Staring  bitterly  across  the  car,  she  saw  him  two  days  past, 
tall,  with  broad  bony  shoulders  bent  over  the  desk,  his  eyes  lowered,  writing 
the  prescription  with  a  clean,  capable,  impersonal  hand,  while  Mary  had  spoken 
what  she  thought.  {Continued  on  Page  86) 

17 


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1 


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^    •     m,^ 

^.     -    ^i^^^^H^B^^ 

^^«v1^Bh 

KJi^     "•>: 

miz!ml^M 

•mfl/ti/ 


ROM     THE      BOOK     TO     BE      PUBLISHED      THIS      MOXTH      BY      HENKYHOLT 


I  ■'Y  business  is  drawing,  not  writing,  and  this  is  not 
I 'I  about  my  personal  life  or  experiences.   I  don't  think 

I I  that  would  be  very  interesting  to  anyone  but  myself. 
i-i.  During  the  three  years  I  spent  in  the  45th  Division, 

was  certain  that  it  was  not  only  the  best  division  in  the 
irny,  but  that  it  was  the  Army.  Since  then  I  have  kicked 

ound  in  more  than  fifteen  other  divisions,  and  I  have 

ind  that  the  men  in  each  of  them  are  convinced  that  their 
iNision  is  the  best  and  the  only  division.  That's  good. 
sprit  is  the  thing  that  holds  armies  together. 

Since  hanging  around  many  different  divisions,  I've  just 
X)ut  come  to  the  conclusion  that  when  15,000  men  from 
rty-eight  states  are  put  together  in  an  outfit,  their  think- 
and  their  actions  are  going  to  be  pretty  much  like  those 
■  any  other  15,000.  Their  efficiency  and  their  accomplish- 
lents  are  altered  to  a  certain  extent  by  the  abilities  of  their 
>mmanders,  but  the  guys  themselves  are  pretty  much  the 
ime.  I  certainly  have  more  affection  for  battered  old  out- 
ts  like  the  34th,  3rd,  36th,  1st,  9th,  1st  Armored,  2nd  Ar- 
ored  and  my  old  45th,  which  have  been  over  here  for  two 
•  three  years  and  have  fought  through  dozens  of  campaigns 
id  major  battles.  I  think  they  and  the  old  divisions  in  the 
acific  have  carried  the  major  portion  of  the  burden.  And 
et  when  you  go  through  the  line  companies  in  those  outfits 
ou  find,  as  I  did  in  my  old  company,  only  four  or  five  men 
ho  have  been  through  the  whole  war.  The  rest  have  died 
r  been  crippled. 

I'm  convinced  that  the  infantry  is  the  group  in  the  Army 
hich  gives  more  and  gets  less  than  anybody  else.  I  draw 
ictures  for  and  about  the  dogfaces  because  I  know  what 

eir  life  is  like  and  I  understand  their  gripes.  They  don't 
et  fancy  pay,  they  know  their  food  is  the  worst  in  the 
jmy  because  you  can't  whip  up  lemon  pies  or  even  hot 
3up  at  the  front,  and  they  know  how  much  of  the  burden 
hey  bear. 

I  haven't  tried  to  picture  this  war  in  a  big,  broad-minded 
ray.  I'm  not  old  enough  to  understand  what  it's  all  about, 
nd  I'm  not  experienced  enough  to  judge  its  failures  and 
accesses.  My  reactions  are  those  of  a  young  guy  who  has 
een  exposed  to  some  of  it,  and  I  try  to  put  those  reactions 
ito  my  drawings.  Since  I'm  a  cartoonist,  maybe  I  can  be 
unny  after  the  war,  but  nobody  who  has  seen  this  war  can 
e  cute  about  it  while  it's  going  on.  The  only  way  I  can  try 
0  be  a  little  funny  is  to  make  something  out  of  the  humor- 
us  situations  which  come  up  even  when  you  don't  think 
ie  could  be  any  more  miserable.  It's  pretty  heavy  humor, 
nd  it  doesn't  seem  funny  at  all  sometimes  when  you  stop 
nd  think  it  over. 

Since  my  drawings  have  been  kicking  around  in  some  pa- 
pers in  the  States,  a  lot  of  dogfaces  over  here  have  been  very 
urprised,  and  so  have  I.  Some  of  the  drawings  are  mean- 
ngless  even  in  Rome,  Naples  or  Paris.  But  the  guys  are 
lad  and  so  am  I,  even  if  we  are  still  surprised.  If  it  means 
hat  people  are  interested  in  seeing  how  the  dogfaces  look 
it  themselves,  that's  swell.  If  it  means  that  people  at  home 

I  ire  beginning  to  understand  these  strange,  mud-caked 
:reatures  who  fight  the  war,  and  are  beginning  to  under- 
stand their  minds  and  their  own  type  of  humor,  that's  even 
nore  swell,  because  it  means  that  the  dogfaces  themselves 
ire  beginning  to  be  appreciated  a  little  by  their  countrymen. 

J  HEY  are  very  different  now.  Don't  let  anybody  tell  you 
hey  aren't.  They  need  a  lot  of  people  speaking  for  them 
md  telling  about  them — not  speaking  for  fancy  bonuses 
ind  extra  privileges.  You  can't  pay  in  money  for  what  they 
lave  done.  They  need  people  telling  about  them  so  that 
i:hey  will  be  taken  back  into  their  civilian  lives  and  given  a 
;hance  to  be  themselves  again. 

One  of  the  foremost  objections  to  a  steady  portrayal  of 
he  troubles  and  lives  of  combat  infantrymen  and  those 
•ho  work  with  them — medical-aid  men,  combat  engineers, 
illery  observers  and  others — has  been  that  these  guys 
going  to  feel  that  the  nation  owes  them  a  living,  and 
:hat  they  will  become  "social  problems."  This  feeling  has 
Deen  so  strong  in  some  places  that  veteran  combat  men  are 

poked  at  askance  by  worried  and   peaceable  citizens. 

That's  a  sad  thing  for  a  guy  who  was  sent  off  to  war  with  a 
lare  of  patriotic  music,  and  it's  really  not  necessary. 
There  will  be  a  few  problems,  undoubtedly,  because 
:omba^  soldiers  are  made  up  of  ordinary  citizens — brick- 
yers,  farmers  and  musicians.  There  will  be  good  ones  and 
iome  bad  ones.  But  the  vast  majority  of  combat  men  are 
;oing  to  be  no  problem  at  all.  They  are  so  damned  sick  and 


'i>pyright,  1945^  by  Henry  H<tlt  and  Cujnpany,  Inc. 


tired  of  having  their  noses  rubbed  in  a  stinking  war  that 
their  only  ambition  will  be  to  forget  it. 

And  there  are  so  few  men  in  the  Army  who  have  really 
gone  through  hell  that  when  they  return  they  will  be  soaked 
up  and  absorbed  by  their  various  communities  and  they 
couldn't  be  problems  if  they  wanted  to.  There  are  millions 
who  have  been  inconvenienced.  There  are  millions  who 
have  done  a  great  and  hard  job.  But  so  far  there  are  only 
a  few  hundred  thousand  who  have  lived  through  misery, 
suffering  and  death  for  endless  168-hour  weeks  and,  as  I 
said,  they  are  going  to  be  too  tired  and  sick  of  it  to  bother 
anybody  who  might  be  worrying  about  their  becoming 
problems. 

They  don't  need  pity,  because  you  don't  pity  brave 
men — men  who  are  brave  because  they  fight  while  they  are 
scared  to  death.  They  simply  need  bosses  who  will  give 
them  a  little  time  to  adjust  their  minds  and  their  hands, 
and  women  who  are  faithful  to  them,  and  friends  and  fami- 
lies who  stay  by  them  until  they  are  the  same  guys  who  left 
years  ago.  No  set  of  laws  or  Bill  of  Rights  for  returning 
veterans  of  combat  can  do  that  job.  Only  their  own  people 
can  do  it. 

JVIany  celebrities  and  self-appointed  authorities  have  re- 
turned from  quick  tours  of  war  zones  (some  of  them  getting 
within  hearing  distance  of  the  shooting)  and  have  put  out 
their  personal  theories  to  batteries  of  photographers  and 
reporters.  Some  say  the  American  soldier  is  the  same  clean- 
cut  young  man  who  left  his  home;  others  say  morale  is 
sky-high  at  the  front  because  everybody's  face  is  shining 
for  the  great  Cause. 

They  are  wrong.  The  combat  man  isn't  the  same  clean- 
cut  lad  because  you  don't  fight  a  kraut  by  Marquis  of 
Queensberry  rules.  You  shoot  him  in  the  back,  you  blow 
him  apart  with  mines,  you  kill  or  maim  him  the  quickest 
and  most  effective  way  you  can  with  the  least  danger  to 
yourself.  He  does  the  same  to  you.  He  tricks  you  and 
cheats  you,  and  if  you  don't  beat  him  at  his  own  game  you 
don't  live  to  appreciate  your  own  nobleness. 

But  you  didn't  become  a  killer.  No  normal  man  who  has 
smelled  and  associated  with  death  ever  wants  to  see  any 
more  of  it.  In  fact,  the  only  men  who  are  even  going  to 
want  to  bloody  noses  in  a  fist  fight  after  this  war  will  be 
those  who  want  people  to  think  they  were  tough  combat 
men,  when  they  weren't.  The  surest  way  to  become  a 
pacifist  is  to  join  the  infantry. 

I  don't  make  the  infantryman  look  noble,  because  he 
couldn't  look  noble  even  if  he  tried.  Still,  there  is  a  certain 
nobility  and  dignity  in  combat  soldiers  and  medical-aid 
men  with  dirt  in  their  ears.  They  are  rough  and  their 
language  gets  coarse  because  they  live  a  life  stripped  of 
convention  and  niceties.  Their  nobility  and  dignity  come 
from  the  way  they  live  unselfishly  and  risk  their  lives  to 
help  one  another. 

I  know  that  the  pictures  I  draw  have  offended  some 
people,  and  I  don't  blame  a  lot  of  them.  Some  men  in  the 
Army  love  their  profession,  and  without  those  men  to  build 
the  Army  we'd  be  in  a  sad  fix  indeed.  Some  of  them  I  do 
blame,  because  the  pictures  don't  offend  their  pride  in  their 
profession — they  only  puncture  their  stiff  shirt  fronts. 

I'm  sorry  if  I  disturb  the  others,  but  they  seldom  com- 
plain. They  know  that  if  their  men  have  a  gripe,  it  is  not 
good  for  them  to  sit  in  their  holes  and  brood  about  it  and 
work  up  steam.  Men  in  combat  are  high-strung  and  ex- 
citable, and  unimportant  little  things  can  upset  them.  If 
they  blow  that  steam  off  a  little  bit,  whether  it  is  with 
stories  or  pictures  or  cartoons,  then  they  feel  better  inside. 

Not  all  colonels  and  generals  and  lieutenants  are  good. 
While  the  Army  is  pretty  efficient  about  making  and  break- 
ing good  and  bad  people,  no  organization  of  eight  n>illion 
is  going  to  be  perfect.  Ours  are  not  professional  soldiers. 
They  have  recently  come  from  a  life  where  they  could  cuss 
and  criticize  their  bosses  and  politicians  at  will.  They  real- 
ize that  an  army  is  held  together  with  discipline,  and  they 
know  they  must  have  authority.  They  accept  orders  and 
restrictions,  but  they  are  fundamentally  democratic. 

Soldiers  are  avid  readers:  some  because  they  like  to  read 
and  others  because  there  is  nothing  else  to  do.  Magazines 
and  newspapers  for  which  they  subscribe  arrive  late  and 
tattered,  if  they  arrive  at  all.  Half  the  magazines  carry 
',erial  stories,  which  are  a  pain  in  the  neck  to  the  guys  who 
them  and  can't  finish  them  as  the  magazines  pass 

m  hand  to  hand.  (Continued  on  Page  59) 


'-^'"'aimmeac, 


"'^''^'"■/a/n 


'"'''""^^ur^Ul^e. 


'^"'/o.. 


I IX  o'clock  was  the  best  part  of 
the  day.  Six  o'clock  in  the  fall, 
when  the  twilight  was  drifting 
down,  softly,  quietly,  shutting 

you  into  a  smaller  world  of  your  own.  And  his.  Six 
o'clock  was  when  you  went  into  the  den,  and  the  dogs 
knew  it,  too,  and  got  up  on  the  big  sofa,  one  on  each  side 
of  you,  and  you  all  peered  out  the  window  into  the  gath- 
ering dusk  and  waited  for  him  to  come.  That  was  the  most 
wonderful  time  always.  Tonight  it  was  extra  important. 

It  was  six  o'clock  now,  and  she  knelt  there  with  her  big  eyes 
fixed  on  the  entrance  to  the  driveway,  watching  steadily,  si- 
lently. She  was  quite  small  for  twelve,  and  her  eyes  were  very 
deep  and  a  serious  blue  and  her  nose  was  a  very  tiny  turned-up 
thing,  just  a  button  really,  and  the  two  short  pigtails  were 
heavy  gold,  with  the  hair  drawn  tight  away  from  her  forehead 
and  back,  the  way  her  mother  had  worn  her  hair  so  long  ago. 
It  was  six  o'clock  and  then  he  came  up  the  driveway. 

He  walked  very  fast  up  the  long  driveway  and  his  shoulders 
were  so  big  under  the  greatcoat,  and  he  was  very  tall.  And 
there  was  that  angle  to  his  hat,  that  tilt,  and  the  flash  of  his 
teeth  that  were  very  white  and  the  eager  sparkle  to  his  eyes  as 
he  came  closer  and  waved  to  her.  It  made  a  thrill  run  down 
her  back,  right  from  the  nape  of  her  neck  down  to  the  very  tips 
of  her  toes.  Because  she  loved  him.  She  loved  him  very  much. 
Jim.  ,Jim,  her  father. 

Then  he  was  at  the  door  and  in,  lifting  her  up.  kissing  her— 
"How's  my  girl  tonight?  "—holding  her  very  close,  as  if  he  had 
been  away  for  a  long,  long  time  and  could  not  hold  her  close 
enough.  "How  are  you,  Andy?"  And  it  was  a  funny  name 
that  he  had  given  her,  because  her  name  was  Anne,  really,  but 
if  he  liked  Andy  then  she  liked  Andy. 

Then  she  noticed  the  box.  A  big  box  and  round.  A  hatbox 
perhaps.  "What's  in  that?"  she  said,  and  he  laughed  at  her, 
hanging  up  his  coat. 

"Aha,"  he  said,  teasing,  "that's  news  you're  after.  Come  on 
now,  tell  me  things."  And  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  the  way  he 
always  did,  and  they  went  on  upstairs,  her  voice  prattling  fast 
about  all  the  things  she  had  stoVed  up  to  tell  him.  All  but  one. 

She  waited  while  he  washed  for  dinner,  waited  in  the  big 
room  that  she  loved,  with  the  lights  shaded  low,  the  silver 
gleaming  dull  on  his  dressing  table,  and  that  smell,  very  faint, 
of  tobacco  and  leather. 

"How  was  The  Flashlight  today?"  he  asked,  brushing  his 
hair  at  the  tall  dresser.  His  hair  was  black  and  very  thick  and 
his  face  was  tanned  almost  black,  too,  from  the  outdoors,  and 
there  was  that  strong  straight  line  to  his  mouth.  A  very  diffi- 
cult mouth  it  could  be.  For  some  people. 

"Fine,"  she  said.  She  knew  what  he  would  ask  next.  It  was 
part  of  what  she  dreaded  to  tell  him. 

"Do  any  leaping  with  him? "  he  said,  very  casually  but  with 
his  eyes  watching  her  from  the  mirror.  And  she  shook  her  head, 
twining  an  arm  around  one  of  the  posts  of  his  wide  bed,  some- 
thmg  to  hold  on  to  in  her  embarrassment.  She  couldn't  tell 
him  now.  Later.  He  put  on  his  jacket  before  he  said  anything 


ByiEiiiiBjiiin 


more.  Then  it  was  half  in  laughter, 
half  in  warning.  "Don't  forget,"  he 
said,  "that  the  show  is  Saturday." 
and  they  went  downstairs  with  her 
hand  very  small  in  his.  and  the  worry  churning  round,  un- 
spoken, in  her  heart.  Maybe  after  dinner  she  could  tell  him. 

But  after  dinner  he  remembered  the  round  box,  and  brought 
'it  into  the  den.  "Here's  a  present  for  you,"  he  said.  "You  can 
wear  it  in  the  show." 

And  it  was  a  hunting  derby,  gleaming  black  and  very  heavy. 
She  held  it  in  her  hands  and  it  seemed  so  much  heavier  than  it 
really  was  because  it  was  part  of  her  fear. 

"Why  is  it  so  heavy?"  she  said,  just  so  that  he  would  not 
notice  how  she  felt,  and  he  said.  "Oh,  just  in  case  you  come  a 
cropper— something  for  a  little  protection."  and  that  made  the 
cold  run  up  and  down  her  back. 

"It's— it's  very  nice."  she  said,  and  he  made  her  try  it  on 
and  it  fitted  perfectly. 

"We'll  have  your  stock  tied  right."  he  said,  planning  things 
with  his  quick,  definite  eagerness,  "and  your  boots  all  boned 
up  and  The  Flashlight  braided,  mane  and  tail,  and  you'll  win 
the  Junior  Jump  and  be  the  prettiest  and  the  best-turned-out 
young  rider  there  could  ever  be."  He  kept  walking  round  her, 
looking  at  her  so  very  proudly,  and  she  prayed  that  nothing 
showed  in  her  eyes.  It  was  absolutely  impossible  to  tell  him 
now.  She  would  have  to  wait  and  tell  him  in  the  morning.  She 
would  have  to  tell  him  in  the  morning.  But  she  never  did.  Be- 
cause of  what  happened  that  night,  later. 

He  had  come  up  at  nine  o'clock,  after  she  had  washed  and 
had  brushed  her  teeth  and  was  in  her  blue  pajamas,  and  he  had 
tucked  her  into  bed  very  carefully,  the  way  he  always  did.  and 
bowed  his  big  head  so  that  she  could  put  her  arms  around  his 
neck  while  she  said  her  prayers.  Then  he  had  said,  "You're  a 
great  kid,  Andy."  His  voice  had  been  a  little  gruff  and  she  had 
clung  to  him  for  just  a  second,  a  very  wonderful  second.  Then 
he  had  gone  downstairs  and  then  the  doorbell  had  rung. 

Her  door  was  open  a  little  and  she  could  hear  the  new  voice. 
It  was  Mr.  McCullogh,  Mr.  Tip  McCulIogh,  the  very  great 
friend  of  her  father,  who  hunted  with  him  in  the  Valley  Drag 
and  spent  a  great  many  evenings  there  in  the  house  bemoaning 
the  football  injuries  that  kept  them  both  out  of  the  service  and 
talking  about  horses  and  hounds  and  all  the  outdoor  things 
that  they  were  interested  in. 

Her  father  must  have  shown  Mr.  Tip  McCullogh  the  hunt- 
ing derby,  because  he  said,  "Cute  hat."  Then  there  was  a 
pause,  and  then  the  words,  "Think  you'll  ever  make  a  rider  out 
of  the  kid.  Jim?" 

"Oh.  I  guess  so,"  her  father  said.  "I  certainly  haven't  given 
up  yet,  anyway,"  and  then  there  was  another  silence. 

And  something  made  her  get  up  out  of  bed,  very  quietly,  and 
go  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  where  she  could  hear  better.  Her  lis- 
tening post,  as  she  called  it,  because  sometimes  she  liked  to 
hear  what  the  men  were  talking  about  downstairs.  Tonight  it 
was  a  different  reason.  Tonight  they  were  talking  about  her  and 
it  was  very  important.  (Continued  on  Page  102) 


BIS  PIIDE  m  illlGEl  !HM  SHE  M,  CDlIlin  ME  SEE? 


20 


I  L  L  U  S  T  n  A  T  E  l>      BY      R  o  B  B  It  T      C.  .     II  A  It  II  I  S 


^S' 

•'^^*. 


mmv nuiipii^^rapw"*^  -^w" 


■■■■ -IN^P  MW 


^uuinied  ^Coi 


a^e 


PAiNTEo  iiv  in.-io  nv  Moititis  kantor 


COURTESY  OF  THE  ART  INSTITUTE  OF  CHICAGO 


23 


rr? 


muM 


JUST  what  is  happening  in  China?  I  have  had  to 
try  to  answer  this  question  many  times  since  my 
return  from  Chungking  and  I  still  find  it  difficult. 
Two  years  are  scarcely  adequate  to  see  China, 
but  in  that  time  I  did  see  how  Chinese  armies 
live  and  fight,  with  and  without  foreign  assist- 
ance. I  traveled  many  thousands  of  miles  by 
airplane,  truck,  train,  junk,  horseback  and  on 
foot.  I  saw  something  of  what  happens  to  the  civilian 
population  when  Japanese  soldiers  sweep  into  a  peace- 
ful district,  and  what  happens  when  Chinese  troops 
move  about  their  own  country.  I  also  tried,  as  far  as  a 
foreigner  can,  to  understand  the  people  of  China  and 
their  point  of  view. 

China  is  too  big  and  too  complex  to  be  explained 
easily  in  terms  of  armies,  battles  and  personalities. 
Some  broad  conclusions  do  seem  justified. 

The  Chinese  contribution  in  the  war  could  probably 
be  substantially  increased  if  Kuomintang  troops  which 
are  watching  the  Communist  areas  and  Communist 
troops  which  must  watch  the  Kuomintang  could  be 
used  instead  against  the  Japanese.  The  Generalissimo 
regards  this  as  an  internal  issue,  and  there  is  little 
prospect  of  its  being  done. 

An  improvement  could  also  be  expected  if  U.  S. 
Army  officers  in  China  had  a  greater  say  in  the  training 
of  Chinese  troops,  the  planning  of  operations  and  the 
control  of  armies  in  the  field. 

Chinese  soldiers  do  fight — sometimes  very  gallantly. 
Potentially  they  are  as  good  as  the  soldiers  of  any 
other  country.  I  know  of  instances  where  they  have 
advanced,  under  orders,  directly  into  shellfire  and 
machine-gun  fire,  and  they  are  particularly  stubborn 
in  defense.  When  they  do  not  fight,  it  is  usually  under 
conditions  no  other  soldiers  would  tolerate.  Many  Chi- 
nese armies,  however,  are  mere  assemblies  of  men — 
and  men  suffering  from  malnutrition,  disease  and  ex- 
ploitation—rather than  effective  fighting  machines. 


HA1J]\TED  HOUSE.  The  macabre  ele- 
ment is  very  strong  in  American  roman- 
tic painting.  Many  living  artists  have 
painted  the  lonely,  abandoned  Victorian 
houses  of  our  towns  and  cities,  or  their 
spooky  parlors,  haunted  by  ghosts  of  the 
gaslight  era.  Morris  Kantor  has  done 
several  of  these  canvases,  reflecting  the 
sad,  troubled  beauty  of  our  Victorian  past. 
In  Haunted  House,  however,  the  room  is 
of  an  earlier  period — a  room  in  which  the 
suggestion  of  a  ghostly  presence  is  ex- 
traordinarily real  and  convincing,  and 
the  illusion  of  a  supernatural  silence 
unusually  strong. 


0if  ^mrm  pMji^ 


[.Selwyn  Speight,  war  correspondent  of  the  Sydney 
(Australia)  Morning  Herald,  and  of  Overseas  Press, 
Inc.,  New  York,  spent  two  years  in  China,  during 
which  he  saw  the  war  against  Japan  firsthand,  visit- 
ing the  battle  fronts,  as  well  as  making  frequent 
trips  to  other  parts  of  the  country.  In  the  following 
article  he  gives  uncensored  answers  to  questions 
about  our  Ally,  the  Chinese.  — The  Editors.] 


The  Chinese  do  trade  with  the  Japanese,  through 
intermediaries.  They  must,  to  bolster  a  tottering  econ- 
omy. The  trading  is  defensible  and  even  desirable 
when  the  goods  imported  are  of  real  use  to  China  and 
those  exported  of  little  use  to  the  enemy.  Unfor- 
tunately, China  gets  more  cheap  jewelry,  fountain 
pens,  watch  straps  and  drugstore  goods  than  she 
should,  and  Japan  gets  more  strategic  metals  than  she 
should. 

Chiang  Kai-shek  is  still  the  most  important  person 
in  China.  The  influence  of  his  wife  has  been  much 
greater  outside  China  than  inside  it.  And — since  this 
seems  to  be  a  subject  in  which  most  Americans  show  a 
remarkable  interest — Madame  Chiang  really  is  ill. 

There  are  other  questions  about  China  which  cannot 
be  answered  so  easily.  Recent  disclosures  of  some  of 
the  facts  about  the  Chinese  and  their  war  effort  have 
inevitably  brought  criticism  which  has  not  always  been 
fair  or  well  balanced,  but  which  has  been  explosive  be- 
cause of  years  of  censorship  and  unwise  propaganda. 
It  would  be  unfortunate  if  this  criticism  were  to  ob- 
scure China's  already  great  sufferings  in  the  war 
against  Japan,  and  the  contribution  she  is  still  making 
in  tying  up  Japanese  armies  of  between  500,000  and 
750,000  men,  however  the  war  goes  in  her  territory. 

Let  us  look  at  the  new  China  which  has  risen  on  the 
ruins  of  a  grim  old  empire  and  which  is  as  vital  and  as 
firmly  based  today  as  ever  it  was  in  its  3700  years  of 
known  history. 

The  population  of  China  is  usually  given  as  450,- 
000,000,  which  would  make  it  about  one  fifth  of  the 
population  of  the  world.  But  that  figure  is  an  estimate, 
based  on  estimates.  The  real  figure  could  be  just  as 
easily  400,000,000  or  less.  It  could  be  500,000,000  or 
more.  Figures  and  statements  about  China  always 
have  this  disadvantage.  No  one  knows  the  whole  truth, 
because  there  is  no  adequate  machinery  to  collect  the 
information  which  will  give  the  truth. 

The  republic  of  China  is  not  a  democracy  or  even  a 
republic,  as  the  peoples  of  the  democracies  understand 
the  words,  although  millions  of  its  poorer  people  have 
a  soundly  based  democratic  outlook  and  practice 
democracy  in  their  daily  lives. 

Among  the  future  difficulties  of  democratic  govern- 
ment in  China,  lack  of  education  or  even  of  literacy 
among  the  mass  of  the  population  has  been  stressed. 
The  peasants  are  inclined  to  infer  a  literal  translation 
into  action  of  such  words  as  "liberty  "  and  " freedom," 
which  in  Chinese  are  translated  by  the  ideographs 
phoneticized  as  "Tzu-yu,"  which  means,  literally,  "Do 
as  I  like."  The  difference  between  a  literal  realistic  in- 
terpretation of  "Do  as  I  like"  by  unlettered  masses, 
and  the  Western  understanding  of  "liberty"  and 
"freedom,"  is  extreme.    So  also  with  the  Chinese 


ideographs  for  "liberate,"  which  are  phoneticized 
as  "Chieh  fang"  and  mean,  literally,  "untie — let 
loose." 

The  peoples  of  China  generally  belong  to  one  great 
race,  but  they  also  include  many  minor  peoples  who 
have  been  conquered  and  absorbed,  or  who  have  come 
as  conquerors  and  traders  and  again  been  absorbed. 
The  "Chinese"  include  peoples  of  Turkish,  Arab, 
Mongol,  Tibetan  and  Siamese  blood — to  name  only  a 
few.  There  are  Chinese  in  the  northwest  with  fair  skins 
and  blue  eyes.  There  are  Chinese  who  have  descended 
from  a  Jewish  tribe.  There  are  about  40,000,000  Mos- 
lems in  whom  the  flame  of  Islam  still  burns  strongly. 
There  are  a  few  million  Christians.  Some  of  these  peo- 
ples, particularly  those  in  the  more  mountainous  areas, 
have  never  been  under  really  effective  central  control. 

To  move  about  China  is  to  move  not  only  in  space 
but  in  time.  Chinese  from  the  cities  and  schools  of  the 
coastal  areas — now  largely  in  Japanese  hands — belong 
to  the  twentieth  century  as  much  as  any  Occidental. 
To  go  inland  and  away  from  the  main  ports  is  to  go 
back  through  the  centuries  into  a  world  not  very  differ- 
ent from  medieval  Europe,  where  nearly  all  goods  are 
still  produced  by  hand  labcff,  where  there  are  scarcely 
any  means  of  transport  and  no  sanitation,  where  the 
outlook  of  rulers  and  ruled  is  still  semifeudal. 

In  the  mountains  of  Southwestern  China,  in  a  city 
near  the  Burma  Road,  I  saw  descendants  of  Kublai 
Khan's  soldiery.  They  were  Chinese,  but  there  were 
men  among  them  who  wore  green  in  their  clothing  to 
signify  they  had  made  the  long  journey  to  Mecca. 

In  Chungking  I  met  many  exiles  from  the  coastal 
cities.  Some  of  them  were  sincere  patriots.  Some  were 
only  waiting  for  the  chance  to  go  back.  "You  should 
see  the  coast,"  they  said.  "Boy,  you  don't  know  what  a 
night  club  is  like  until  you've  been  in  Shanghai." 

In  Chungking,  also,  I  met  a  Communist  general 
who  had  received  his  military  training  from  the  Ger- 
mans. He  kept  politely  murmuring  during  the  con- 
versation, "Ach,  so?" 

In  Central  China,  after  Japanese  invaders  had  been 
driven  out  of  parts  of  Hunan,  a  party  of  correspond- 
ents of  whom  I  was  one  passed  through  a  typical  Chi- 
nese village.  There  were  Americans,  British,  French 
and  Russians  in  the  party,  wearing  an  amazing  variety 
of  clothing.  A  Chinese  farmer  who  welcomed  some  of 
us  to  a  shed  that  was  his  home  was  asked  in  good  Chi- 
nese, "Have  you  ever  seen  foreigners  before? "  He  an- 
swered in  all  innocence,  "Are  you  really  foreigners?" 

According  to  the  estimates,  four  fifths  of  the  people 
of  China  are  peasants  very  much  like  this  farmer — 
that  is  to  say,  they  may  outnumber  the  total  popula- 
tion of  all  Soviet  Russia,  the  United  States  and  the 
white  population  of  the  British  Empire. 

These  people  have  a  mournful  proverb  which  says, 
"Seven  buckets  of  water  go  to  make  one  grain  of 
rice,"  and  this  is  their  life — unceasing  labor  in  their 
fields  by  daylight  and  by  moonlight.  They  are  the  in- 
destructible base  of  China,  and  war,  revolutions  and 
invasions  are  only  incidents  in  their  terrible  lifelong 
struggle  to  exist.  To  say  that  life  is  cheap  in  China 
hardly  conveys  the  (Continued  on  Page  S3) 


f.,? 


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V.  e^tM^e  t^em,  ^  tAu  AUelien.  atoned  cxtna  ^tOfteU 


'4S^ 


"ma 


I  AM  just  about  to  drop  a  note  to  Johnny  to  tell 
him  about  my  engagement.  I'd  hate  him  to  think 
I  am  marrying  Andrew  Gordon  Macdonald  out  of 
any  spirit  of  retaliation,  though.  Looking  back, 
I  can  see  I  was  in  love  with  that  smiling  Scot  right 
from  the  first  second  I  saw  him  through  the  store 
window. 

One  day,  when  I  am  living  in  a  small  Highland 
town  with  a  name  that  sounds  like  a  sneeze,  and 
watching  my  grandchildren  cut  their  first  teeth  on  a 
haggis,  perhaps  I  shall  agree  at  last  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  Fate. 

But  a  very  specialized,  man-made  Fate.  You  take 
one  war,  one  railway-depot  farewell,  one  uniform, 
one  separation,  one  jilting,  and  presto!  Fate. 

Yes,  I  said  jilting.  The  more  you  think  about  be- 
ing jilted,  the  more  humiliating  it  seems — at  least  at 
the  time.  If  one  had  two  left  legs,  or  suffered  from 
some  of  those  things  they  write  about  in  advertise- 
ments, or  had  absolutely  no  sex  appeal,  it  might  seem 
understandable.  But  I  have  two  good  eyes — attrac- 
tive blue  ones  too — a  better-than-average  figure, 
naturally  curly  brown  hair  and  a  fine  complexion. 
I  am  five  feet  seven,  and  if  I  weren't  such  a  good 
window  dresser,  I'd  be  a  model. 

I  dare  say  you  are  given  the  impression  that  I  am 
a  very  conceited  young  woman  and  probably  quite 
insufferable.  My  mother  is  responsible  for  this,  be- 
cause she  grew  up  in  a  generation  that  absolutely 
refused  to  acknowledge  its  own  good  points.  If  any- 
one remarked  on  her  pretty  face,  she  would  turn  pink 
and  gurgle  deprecatingly  and  leave  the  flatterer  with 
the  impression  he  had  said  something  indelicate. 
"There's  no  harm  in  being  aware  of  your  own  good 
points,"  she  finally  broke  down  and  told  me,  after 
years  of  gurgling  deprecatingly  and  acquiring  an  out- 
size inferiority  complex.  All  the  more  so  when  you  go 
around  with  cavaliers  whose  most  endearing  nick- 
narpe  for  you  is  "pie  face."  All  this  to  point  out  that 
I  am  not  anything  to  frighten  a  child  with  in  a  dark 
lobby. 

So  I  am  not  a  model,  but  I  have  a  job  I  love  much 
more.  I  go  around  from  one  window  to  another  in 
one  of  the  biggest,  shiniest  Fifth  Avenue  stores,  ar- 
ranging the  clothes  and  merchandise,  tilting  a  lan- 
guid wax  arm  a  little  more  to  the  left,  pushing  a  hat 
at  a  still  more  menacing  angle. 

I  expect  every  reader  will  now  begin  to  try  and 
categorize  this  story  before  it  is  six  paragraphs  under. 
"  Rebound,"  you  murmur.  Or  "out  of  sight,  and  into 
next  man's  arms"  pattern.  But  not  a  bit  of  it.  I 
hope  you  can  index  this  story  when  I  have  finished 
it.  Then  perhaps,  in  fifty  years'  time,  I  shall  be  able 
to  understand  it  myself. 

Johnny  wrote  from  England,  where  he  is  stationed, 
and  declared,  "Darling,  I  know  you'll  understand — it 


wasn't  as  if  we  were  engaged  or  anything  like  that. 
And  I  know  you've  been  dating  while  I've  been  gone; 
and  somehow,  something  as  lighthearted  as  our 
relationship  could  never  have  been  successful  per- 
manently. Oh,  well,  I've  just  got  to  let  you  know 
I'm  marrying  this  girl,  and  I  couldn't  do  it  without 
letting  you  know  first." 

Of  course  I  was  furious.  Just  like  that,  he  is  bil- 
leted at  some  obscure  house  in  a  town  in  Great 
Britain  which  he's  not  allowed  to  mention  and  falls 
in  love  with  the  Daughter  of  the  House.  He  writes 
she  is  a  sergeant  in  the  ATS — that's  the  same  as  our 
WAG.  A  sergeant ! 

It  would  be  nice  to  describe  here  how  it  broke  my 
heart  and  how  I  locked  myself  in  my  room  for 
twenty-four  hours  and  emerged  pale  and  shadowy- 
eyed,  a  bitter,  enlightened  woman.  It  wasn't  quite 
as  bad  as  that,  but  I  must  admit  I  was  angry. 

Was  I  madly  in  love  with  Johnny? 

I  met  him  over  a  year  ago  at — you'll  never  guess — 
a  USO  dance.  Johnny  had  lived  on  the  West  Side  of 
New  York  all  his  life,  usually  not  more  than  ten 
blocks  from  us,  but  we'd  never  met  before.  He  was 
stationed  within  reasonable  distance  of  Manhattan 
and  came  in  almost  every  week  end.  He  explained 
that  he  came  to  the  USO  to  collect  a  ticket  for  the 
Philharmonic  concert  on  Sunday  afternoon,  but 
when  I  was  through  doling  out  the  free  seats  he 
might  consider  dancing  with  me.  He  knew  all  the 
questions  and  I  knew  all  the  answers.  I  dated  him 
every  week  end  after  that  and  developed  a  beauti- 
ful case  of  war  emotion  and  apprehension-about- 
separation  hysteria. 

Now  Johnny,  for  all  his  flippancy,  was  no  fool. 
Sometimes  it  used  to  terrify  me,  especially  when  my 
own  intellect  was  dragged  into  the  cold  light  of  day 
and  could  barely  be  found,  even  after  exhaustive 
search  with  high-powered  microscopes.  Johnny  was 
a  very  junior  reporter  on  a  suburban  New  York 
newspaper  before  going  into  the  Army,  and  intended 
to  go  back  to  his  work  in  a  bigger  and  better  way 
after  the  war. 

Sometimes  it  scared  me  a  little.  It  wasn't  that  we 
argued,  because  I  hadn't  anything  to  contribute  to 
his  kind  of  discussion.  If  only  he'd  discussed  the 
postwar  prospects  of  fashion  monopoly,  or  something 
that  interested  me !  Or  even  not  talked  at  all — but 
no,  Johnny  liked  to  talk.  I  hope  his  sergeant  is  a 
good  listener. 

That's  how  it  went  on  for  months.  Sometimes  he 
wouldn't  call  me  when  he  came  in,  so  I  would  pro- 
vide light  and  inspiration  for  a  member  of  the  Sea- 
bees,  or  the  Air  Corps,  or  a  young  man  who  had  a 
fixation  about  a  heavy  tank. 

Naturally  he  had  to  go  overseas,  and  of  course 
I  saw  him  off  at  Penn  (Conlmued  on  Fage96) 


7(/^a€  cf  dAe  did  fail  fo^  cuJU^-6na<Mt  e^^<M^  €utd 


lLLUSTn\rEU      BY      JON      WHITCt 


25 


26 


^^r  r^ 


KJ 


VJ 


SEIIFE 


r\'ERY  time  I  hear  some  harassed  housewife 
wailing  about  the  shortage  of  domestic  help 
.    and  wondering  how  much  longer  she  can  carry 

J    the  burden  of  looking  after  home,  husband  and 

^  child  without  benefit  of  cook,  cleaning  woman 
.  or  nurse,  my  mind  leaps  to  Jane  Barbour.  Jane 
I  is  in  exactly  the  same  situation  as  thousands  of 

_J  other  American  housewives  today.  She,  too, 
has  a  home,  a  husband  and  a  child;  and  she,  too,  has 
to  do  all  her  own  cleaning  and  cooking  and  caring 
for  the  baby.  Not  only  that;  she  also  holds  down  a 
part-time  job  which  helps  swell  the  family  income  in 
these  days  of  increased  wartime  living  cost.  But 
there  are  two  main  differences  between  Jane  and 
most  of  her  housebound  sisters:  Jane  never  wails — 
and  Jane  is  blind. 

I  called  on  her  the  other  day  in  the  inviting  four- 
room  flat  in  the  New  York  suburb  where  the  Bar- 
bours  live;  and  I  came  away  struck  all  over  again  by 
the  limitless  capacity  of  human  beings  to  overcome 
seemingly  insurmountable  obstacles. 

Jane  Barbour  would  be  the  first  to  pooh-pooh  such 
expressions  as  "limitless  capacity"  and  "insur- 
mountable obstacles."  She  maintains  stoutly  that 
what  she  has  done  anyone  could  do  who  really 
wanted  to,  and  who  was  willing  to  make  the  neces- 
sary effort.  She  won't  ';ven  concede  that  blindness  is 
a  handicap.  "I'll  admit  it's  inconvenient,"  she  says. 
But  that  is  as  far  as  she  will  go.  In  her  company  you 
simply  cease  to  remember  that  she  can't  see. 

\Vhen  I  buzzed  her  bell  the  other  day,  I  heard  a 
pleasant  voice  with  a  musical  lilt  in  it  hailing  me 
from  the  third-floor  landing. 

"Hi!  "it  said.  "Come  on  up!" 

At  the  top  of  the  rather  longish  flight  of  stairs  she 
was  waiting  to  receive  me,  her  piquant  face,  framed 
in  a  dark  brown  wavy  bob,  already  alight  with  a 
smile  of  welcome. 

"I'm.  not  dressed  up  or  anything,"  she  warned. 
"Look — I'm  still  in  my  apron.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind.   I'm  terribly  slow  today." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting  when  I  reached 
the  landing,  showed  me  inside  a  warm  inviting  room, 
furnished  in  excellent  taste. 

Jane  whisked  off  her  apron,  that  had  covered  a  be- 
coming frock  of  wine-colored  wool,  waved  me  to  the 
settee  and  took  her  place  beside  me.  "You  won't 
mind  if  I  go  right  on  with  my  work,  will  you?"  she 
asked. 

To  Jane,  blind  from  birth,  there  is  nothing  re- 
markable in  the  fact  that  she  is  living  and  enjoying 
exactly  the  same  kind  of  life  as  people  who  can  see. 
She  always  has,  thanks  to  the  good  sense  of  her  par- 
ents, who  treated  her  exactly  as  they  did  her  older 
sister  and  younger  brother.  They  expected  her  to  do 
the  same  things  as  the  other  children,  and  exacted 
the  same  kind  of  behavior.  The  result  was  that  Jane 
had  a  happy,  normal  childhood.  She  learned  to  roller 
skate  and  to  ice  skate,  to  swim  and  to  dive,  went 
coasting  and  hiking,  and  even  learned  to  ski. 

"They  talk  a  lot  about  children  being  cruel  to  one 
another,"  Jane  observed  at  this  point.  "I  never 
found  them  so.  My  sister  and  brother  used  to  grum- 


ble sometimes  because  when  we  went  anywhere  to- 
gether they  had  to  take  me  by  the  hand  and  keep  an 
eye  on  me  when  we  were  playing.  But  I  didn't  think 
anything  of  that,  because  other  boys  and  girls  grum- 
bled, too,  when  they  had  to  drag  their  kid  sisters 
along  with  them." 

The  first  time  Jane  realized  that  there  was  any 
difference  between  herself  and  other  children  was 
when  she  was  around  six  years  old.  She  had  never 
heard  the  word  "blind."  Then  one  day  when  her 
mother  was  entertaining  a  guest,  Jane  ran  into  the 
living  room  from  the  yard.  There  was  a  chair  in  her 
path,  and  as  she  skirted  it  adroitly  the  guest  ex- 
claimed, "How  can  she  do  that  when  she  can't  see?" 

That  set  Jane  thinking,  and  in  the  evening  the 
child  asked  if  it  were  true  that  she  couldn't  see  and 
other  people  could.  Her  mother  said  yes,  it  was  true. 
Then  Jane  wanted  to  know  why  she  couldn't  see. 
Her  mother  replied,  "We  really  don't  know,  dear. 
You  were  bom  that  way." 

There  was  nothing  shocking,  nothing  horrible 
about  it,  Jane  says.  It  was  just  a  fact.  Nobody  else 
made  a  fuss  about  it,  so  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should.  The  subject  ceased  to  be  of  interest  or  im- 
portance. 

Jane's  education  was  almost  exactly  that  of  any 
normal  girl  of  similar  background  and  circum- 
stances. Her  father  was  a  successful  consulting  engi- 
neer, and  the  family  had  a  comfortable  share  of  this 
world's  goods:  lived  in  a  large  house  with  plenty  of 
grounds;  had  a  car  and  chauffeur,  and  adequate  do- 
mestic help.  At  first  she  was  taught  at  home  by  a 
special  teacher.  She  learned  to  read  and  write  braille, 
and  to  use  the  arithmetic  slate  designed  for  sightless 
students. 

At  the  age  of  six  she  entered  the  second  grade 
in  a  regular  private  school.  Her  first  teacher  there 
learned  braille  in  order  to  help  Jane.  She  used  to 
put  the  arithmetic  problems  down  on  Jane's  braille 
slate.  Then,  as  the  other  children  followed  the  work 
from  their  books  or  from  the  blackboard,  Jane  fol- 
lowed it  from  her  braille  slate.  The  oral  lessons  and 
recitations,  of  course,  she  followed  easily  by  ear. 
When  she  was  about  ten,  she  learned  to  tjiJe  so  that 
she  could  take  her  examinations  and  write  composi- 
tions without  resorting  to  braille. 

On  graduation  from  elementary  school,  she  en- 
tered public  high  school  in  Scarsdale.  Here  she  was 
able  to  get  most  of  her  textbooks  in  braille.  The  few 
not  available  the  family  had  transcribed  for  her. 

After  two  years  in  high  school  she  went  to  Bum- 
ham  School,  in  Northampton,  Massachusetts,  a 
preparatory  school  for  Smith  College.  Here  she  had 
a  wonderful  time,  studying  and  engaging  in  what 
she  terms  "high  extracurricular  activities";  but 
after  one  year  there  she  decided  that  she  didn't  want 
to  go  to  Smith  after  all.  "I  was  too  stupid  in  math, 
anyway,"  she  added  frankly.  From  Bumham  she 
went  to  Finch,  the  fashionable  school  for  girls  in  New- 
York,  where  she  studied  music,  languages,  English 
literature  and  other  cultural  subjects. 

After  Finch,  she  went  to  Europe  and  attended  a 
school  for  girls  just  outside  of  Verona,  Italy,  con- 
ducted by  a  woman  who  had  been  her  Italian  teacher 


I 


(JMOi  ^W^  (kiidd  ,W  lA/(nt 


at  Finch.  Here  she  was  one  of  four  American  stu- 
dents. 

Back  in  America,  Jane  lived  at  home  and  enjoyed 
the  social  life  of  other  girls  of  her  age:  going  out  to 
parties,  to  dinners,  dances  and  the  theater.  She  al- 
ways had  plenty  of  men  friends,  which  is  what  any- 
one knowing  Jane  would  expect,  for  she  is  exception- 
ally attractive,  charming  and  vivacious. 

Her  attractiveness  and  her  smooth  dancing  got  her 
into  an  embarrassing  situation  one  night  when  she 
and  her  escort  were  picked  out  at  the  Rainbow  Room, 
in  Rockefeller  Center,  New  York,  as  being  one  of 
the  three  most  graceful  couples  on  the  dance  floor. 
Pictures  were  taken,  and  when  it  was  discovered  that 
Jane  was  blind  much  was  made  of  it.  Her  picture  ap- 
fxjared  in  several  New  York  papers,  and  for  weeks 
afterward  someone  was  always  recognizing  her  in 
public. 

Ihey  would  come  right  up  and  speak  to  me,"  re- 
lates Jane,  "and  ask  the  most  personal  questions — 
and  the  craziest.  They  seem  to  think  that  just  be- 
cause a  person  can't  see,  it  follows  that  she — or  he — 
must  be  half-witted  or  something." 

Since  that  experience,  Jane  has  never  permitted 
her  picture  to  be  used  in  a  publication. 

Being  the  kind  of  person  she  is,  before  she  had 
been  back  in  America  long  she  began  looking  around 
for  work  of  some  kind.  She  found  it  with  a  national 
organization  engaged  in  work  for  the  blind  which  was 
looking  for  someone  to  proofread  the  master  records 
of  Talking  Books  (books  recorded  on  long-playing 
disks  for  the  use  of  blind  people).  The  work  con- 
sisted of  listening  to  the  recordings,  keeping  a  careful 
ear  out  for  stumbles,  mispronunciations,  and  so  on, 
and  reporting  them  to  the  director  of  the  Talking 
Book  studio. 

The  director  of  the  studio  happened  to  be  a  charm- 
ing and  gifted  young  man  of  Jane's  own  age.  They 
fell  in  love,  and  the  young  man  propMjsed  marriage. 
Now,  for  one  of  the  few  times  in  her  life,  the  thought 
of  her  lack  of  sight  made  Jane  stop  and  do  some 
heavy  thinking.  She  wanted  marriage,  and  wasn't 
afraid  of  the  responsibilities  which  it  would  entail. 
But  she  and  Bill  both  wanted  children,  and  Jane  had 
to  be  sure  that  there  was  no  danger  of  passing  on  her 
lack  of  sight  to  the  younger  generation. 

"I  dug  back  into  the  family  history  and  assured 
myself  that  there  was  no  record  of  anyone  else  in  the 
connection  ever  having  been  without  sight.  Then  I 
talked  to  my  doctor  and  to  a  reputable  ophthalmol- 
ogist. They  both  told  me  that  if  I  had  a  blind  child 
it  would  be  just  as  much  a  fluke  as  if  I  had  a  Mon- 
golian idiot." 

Jane  and  Bill  were  married  about  three  years  ago. 
Jennifer,  their  first  child,  is  now  sixteen  months 
old — a  pretty,  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  baby,  as 
healthy  and  happy  and  bright  as  you  could  find  any- 
where in  America. 

For  a  week  or  two  after  she  came  from  hospital, 
following  Jennifer's  arrival,  Jane  was  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  have  a  nurse  for  the  baby,  and  a  part- 
time  maid;  but  since  then  she  has  taken  full  charge 
of  everything  herself.    She  lightens  her  housework 


1H^ii  Y7I 


mi^ 


27 


m 


-\ 


MENiD  aum 


by  sending  out  as  much  of  the  laundry  as  possible — 
shirts,  sheets,  pillowcases,  towels,  tablecloths  and 
other  big  pieces;  and  to  keep  the  laundry  bill  within 
bounds,  she  and  Bill  use  luncheon  cloths  or  plastic 
luncheon  sets  and  paper  napkins  when  they  are  din- 
ing alone.  When  the  baby  was  younger  she  sub- 
scribed to  a  diaper  service,  but  she  has  discontinued 
that  now  that  she  is  "housebreaking"  Jennifer. 

Because  she  finds  ironing  one  of  the  hardest  things 
she  has  to  do,  Jane  tries  to  keep  this  part  of  her  work 
down  to  a  minimum.  She  refuses  to  iron  the  baby's 
crib  sheets,  pajamas  or  anything  else  that  doesn't 
actually  require  it.  "I  can  manage  most  things,"  she 
says,  "but  ironing  takes  me  a  long  while,  and  I  have 
to  do  a  few  pieces  at  a  time.  The  flat  things  aren't  so 
bad — but  when  you  get  up  against  a  baby's  puffed 
sleeve,  that's  no  cinch ! " 

Like  most  busy  housewives,  Jane  has  a  fairly  regu- 
lar routine.  She  says  "fairly  regular"  because  she 
maintains  that  you  can't  have  an  iron-bound  routine 
with  a  baby  in  the  house,  unless  you  intend  to  regi- 
ment the  child  unmercifully;  and  she  is  all  against 
that. 

Here  is  how  her  day  usually  goes:  They  get  up 
about  a  quarter  to  seven.  Jane  washes  her  face, 
combs  her  hair,  "jumps  into  a  horrible  apron,"  and 
starts  breakfast.  Meanwhile,  Bill  dresses  himself 
and  partially  dresses  Jennifer.  They  all  have  break- 
fast together  now  that  the  baby  can  eat  pretty  much 
what  they  do — fruit  juice,  cereal  or  eggs,  toast  or 
English  muffins.  Once  in  a  while,  when  she's  feeling 
particularly  ambitious,  Jane  turns  out  a  batch  of  hot 
biscuits. 

Before  Bill  goes  to  work,  if  it's  a  fine  day  he  sets 
up  the  baby's  play  pen  in  the  yard.  After  he  leaves, 
Jane  takes  Jennifer  to  the  bathroom,  finishes  dressing 
her  and  carries  her  downstairs  to  play  with  her  toys 
and  books  in  the  play  pen.  On  dull  or  rainy  days,  the 
play  pen  is  set  up  in  the  living  room;  if  the  weather 
clears  later  in  the  day,  Jane  carries  the  pen  down- 
stairs, sets  it  up  in  the  yard  and  then  comes  back  for 
Jennifer. 

Once  the  baby  has  been  "tethered  out,"  the  day's 
work  really  starts.  First  come  the  dishes,  then  the 
beds.  Between  nine  and  nine-thirty  Jane  does  her 
marketing  by  phone,  since  she  can't  get  to  the  stores 
alone,  and  most  places  won't  deliver  unless  orders 
are  in  early  in  the  morning.  Next,  she  gathers  up  the 
day's  washing — Bill's  socks,  her  own  underwear  and 
stockings,  Jennifer's  pajamas,  stockings,  and  so  on — 
and  goes  to  work  on  that  in  the  basin  in  the  bath- 
room. 

"How  do  you  know  when  you  have  things  clean?  " 
I  asked  her. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place  I  make  sure  that  things 
don't  get  really  dirty,  by  washing  every  day,"  she 
replied;  "and  then  I  wash  them  so  thoroughly  and 
rinse  them  so  many  times  that  I  figure  they  can't  be 
anything  else  but  clean.  If  I  do  miss  something,  Bill 
soon  tells  me!" 

After  the  washing  is  hung  on  a  drier  in  the  kitchen 
that  lets  up  and  down  from  the  ceiling,  Jane  starts  in 
on  the  house.  This,  too,  she  does  every  day.  The  bed- 


rooms aren't  too  difficult,  since  the  floors  are  hard- 
wood, with  just  a  scatter  rug  in  each  room.  A  floor 
mop  takes  care  of  them.  But  the  living  room,  with 
its  large  rug,  is  something  else  again.  For  this  Jane 
has  to  get  down  on  her  knees.  Armed  with  a  dustpan 
and  a  short-handled  floor  brush,  she  goes  all  around 
the  hardwood  border.  Then  out  comes  the  carpet 
sweeper,  and  she  goes  to  work  on  the  rug.  Once  a 
week  she  uses  the  vacuum,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
she  goes  over  the  entire  rug  with  warm,  soapy  water 
to  brighten  it  and  remove  possible  food  spots. 

In  her  cleaning,  as  in  the  washing,  Jane  has  to  be 
extremely  thorough.  Not  being  able  to  see,  she  can't 
take  a  chance  on  skimming  over  things.  When  she 
dusts  she  removes  all  objects,  sets  them  carefully 
aside  in  one  spot  and,  when  she  has  finished,  replaces 
them  as  they  were  before.  The  same  painstaking  care 
goes  into  washing  kitchen  and  bathroom  floors  twice 
a  week. 

I  watched  her,  fascinated,  as  she  went  about  her 
work  the  day  I  was  there.  When  she  finished,  I  'd  have 
matched  her  house  with  that  of  the  most  meticulous 
housekeeper  in  the  neighborhood  for  cleanliness. 

Jennifer  wakened  at  about  two-thirty;  grumbled 
just  enough  to  notify  her  mother  that  she  expected 
attention,  and  then  broke  out  into  happy  chuckling 
as  Jane  went  in  and  picked  her  up.  First  there  was  a 
glass  of  orange  juice;  then  the  bathroom;  and  then 
the  washing  of  face  and  hands,  and  dressing.  While 
she  was  getting  Jennifer  into  her  clothes,  her  mother 
sang  little  songs,  recited  nursery  rhymes  and  played 
with  her  a  bit.  When  Jennifer  was  finally  attired  in 
her  spotless  white  corduroy  play  suit,  Jane  carried 
her  downstairs,  put  her  in  her  pen  with  her  panda, 
and  came  back  upstairs. 

Added  to  the  ordinary  problems  connected  with 
the  bringing  up  of  a  baby,  Jane  Barbour  has  many 
that  would  naturally  never  trouble  the  mother  who 
can  see.  When  the  baby  was  small,  for  instance,  and 
there  were  eye  drops,  and  nose  drops,  and  bath  oil, 
and  goodness  knows  what  all  to  be  used  after  the 
morning  bath,  Jane  had  to  devise  a  way  of  being 
sure  that  she  didn't  get  hold  of  the  wrong  thing  at 
the  wrong  time.  So,  instead  of  a  fancy  tray  with  a 
set  of  decorated  bottles,  Jane  had  an  ordinary  tray 
with  a  set  of  "perfectly  outlandish"  containers.  The 
bath  oil  was  in  an  empty  mayonnaise  jar;  the  eye 
drops  in  a  bottle  of  one  size  and  shape;  and  the  nose 
drops  in  a  bottle  of  another  size  and  shape.  "  It  must 
have  looked  weird,"  Jane  laughs,  "but  that  way  I 
could  tell  what  I  was  getting  hold  of." 

Speaking  of  drops — these  constituted  one  of  Jane's 
biggest  problems  at  one  time.  When  it  was  just  a 
matter  of  cleaning  out  the  baby's  eyes  and  nose,  she 
could  manage  nicely.  For  the  eyes,  she  moistened  a 
bit  of  absorbent  with  the  eyewash  and  swabbed 
gently.  For  the  nose,  she  rolled  a  cotton  spill  around 
a  toothpick,  removed  the  toothpick  and  went  to 
work  with  the  spill.  But  when  Jennifer  developed  a 
cold,  as  she  did  once  or  twice  during  her  first  year, 
and  had  to  have  drops  in  her  nose,  Jane  was  stumped 
for  a  while.  She  got  around  it  at  first  by  having  Bill 
put  the  drops  in  before  he  went  to  work  in  the 
morning,  and  when  he  came  home  at  night.  But  she 


knew  the  baby  should  have  treatment  during  the 
day  as  well,  and  with  the  help  of  her  doctor  the 
problem  was  soon  solved.  He  told  her  to  moisten 
bits  of  absorbent  with  the  drops  and  insert  them 
gently  in  the  baby's  nostrils.  "She  wasn't  breathing 
through  her  nose  anyway;  and  as  soon  as  the  plugs 
made  her  uncomfortable  she  fished  them  out ! " 

Jane  stopped  here  for  a  moment  to  pay  tribute  to 
her  doctor  for  the  way  in  which  he  dealt  with  situa- 
tions that  must  have  been  a  little  unusual  to  him. 
"Instead  of  saying,  'I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Barbour;  you'll 
have  to  get  a  nurse,  or  send  the  baby  to  hospital,'  he 
used  his  head  and  his  good  sense  to  help  me  find 
ways  of  doing  things  myself." 

Jane  says  friends  and  visitors  still  ask  her  how  she 
dresses  the  baby.  "Well,  how  would  you  dress  a 
baby?"  she  asked  rhetorically.  "You  pin  on  her 
diaper,  stick  on  her  shirt,  pull  on  her  stockings  and 
shoes,  and  so  on." 

"How  can  you  tell  the  left  shoe  from  the  right?" 
is  a  question  frequently  asked. 

With  all  due  respect  to  her  friends,  Jane  thinks 
that  is  just  plain  silly.  All  you  have  to  do  to  get  the 
answer  to  that,  she  says,  is  to  close  your  eyes  and 
try  differentiating.  There's  no  trick  to  that,  any 
more  than  there  is  to  finding  the  dress,  or  the  bonnet, 
or  anything  else  you  want.  Most  garments  have 
some  feature  which  distinguishes  them  from  any 
other  garment.  "I'll  bet  you  could  go  into  your 
clothes  closet  right  this  minute  and  pick  out  any 
dress  or  jacket  you  wanted  without  turning  on  a 
light  or  even  looking,"  she  challenged.  And  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  have  done  that  often,  as  has  probably 
everyone  else. 

To  make  things  easier  for  herself,  Jane  is  very 
orderly,  and  always  keeps  the  baby's  things — dresses, 
stockings,  shoes,  and  so  on — in  a  particular  place, 
as  she  does  her  own.  She  has  the  colors  of  the  baby's 
various  dresses  fixed  in  her  mind,  and  marks  the 
socks  on  the  inside  with  a  chain  stitch  so  that  when 
she  wants  to  she  can  match  socks  with  dress.  For 
socks  with  a  touch  of  blue,  she  does  a  horizontal 
chain  stitch;  for  pink,  a  vertical;  white,  she  leaves 
unmarked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can  sew,"  she  said  quickly.  "You  can 
get  self-threading  needles,  and  I  have  a  wonderful 
sewing  basket!" 

She  got  it  out  and  showed  it  to  me.  It  is  a  deep 
basket  with  two  trays.  The  top  tray  is  divided  into 
compartments,  in  each  of  which  she  keeps  a  par- 
ticular item:  buttons,  scissors  and  thimble,  and  so 
on.  The  second  tray  contains  ten  or  a  dozen  plastic 
spindles  to  hold  spools  of  thread.  With  an  ordinary 
penknife  Jane  has  notched  these  spindles  in  a  way 
that  tells  her  what  color  is  on  each.  She  says  she  has 
no  trouble  sewing  up  a  rip  or  replacing  buttons,  but 
admits  that  darning  socks  is  slow  and  tedious  work. 
She  darns  them  like  anyone  else,  except  that  in  her 
case  sensitive  fingers  have  to  guide  her  in  the  back- 
and-forth  weaving  instead  of  eyes. 

The  hardest  thing  she  has  to  cope  with  right  now, 
Jane  says,  is  trying  to  keep  track  of  the  stuff  Jennifer 
throws  around.  "Now  (Continued  on  Page  80) 


w  k(PJJ)i,A(d  J\i  Ao^  n^ii 


Wi/A 


ii! 


m:  srM:i^-»:  ai!aB8v 


MUJIGGliS 


MR.  PEEL  was  with  us  from  the  start.  Turn- 
ing in  from  the  road,  I  had  the  vaguest  idea 
of  a  shape  that  ghmmered  behind  the  bare 
bay  windows,  but  my  mind  was  all  on  this 
big  first  moment  of  moving,  at  last,  into  the  old 
country  house  we  had  bought  outside  Boston.  I 
drove  our  loaded  sedan  up  under  the  sugar  maples 
which  line  the  long  driveway  and  then  Dorothy 
and  I  squirmed  out,  balancing  lamp  shades  and 
china  dishes,  and  touched  foot  on  the  first  land 
we  had  ever  owned. 

We  walked  appraisingly  toward  the  side  door. 
Against  the  spring  sky  Mr.  Peel's  old  place,  ours 
now,  still  looked  wonderful  to  us.  Its  white  clap- 
boards could  stand  painting,  its  snug  dormers 
needed  some  carpentering,  there  were  a  thousand 
things  inside  that  we  had  been  losing  sleep  plan- 
ning to  do — but  it  was  ours.  Ours  and  Mr.  Peel's, 
counting  our  mortgage  with  him. 

I  tried  the  brass  key  Mr.  Peel  had  turned  over 
to  us — and  stared  at  Dorothy.  The  door  was  un- 
locked. Even  then,  I  thought  in  only  a  vague 
way  of  Mr.  Peel.  We  stepped  into  the  square 
white  hall  that  leads  to  the  parlor.  The  strong 
aroma  of  tobacco  smoke  greeted  us.  Then  Mr. 
Peel  was  there,  framed  against  the  empty  parlor 
and  shuffling  toward  us. 

"Mornin',"  he  murmured  from  behind  his 
short-stemmed  pipe.  "Mornin',  Mr.  Chandler. 
Mornin',  Mrs.  Chandler." 

He  was  trying  to  smile  under  his  frowsy  gray 
mustache  and  his  mild  gray  eyes  were  making 
merry  crinkles  at  the  sides,  but  his  shoulders 
seemed  more  frail  and  stooped  than  I  remem- 
bered, and  you  felt  a  drooping  quality  from 
within  him.    It  certainly  wasn't  merriment. 

"Cood  morning,  Mr.  Peel,"  I  said,  not  without 
irritation;  Dorothy  smiled  back  at  him,  her  effi- 
cient blue  eyes  already  marathoning  around  the 
room  and  seeing  it  blossom  into  new  life  when  the 
moving  men  would  arrive  with  our  things.  "We 
didn't  expect  you." 

Mr.  Peel  edged  defensively  back  into  the  parlor 
as  we  came  in.  He  halted  just  where  the  sun 
through  the  wide  bay  windows  splashed  across 
his  silvered  hair  and  transformed  his  pipe  smoke 
into  slow  blue  clouds.  He  gazed  up  at  me  like  a 
wrinkled  bad  boy.  One  veined  hand  fumbled 
with  the  cap  at  his  side;  the  other  came  up  and 
tucked  a  little  at  the  gray  sweater  he  wore,  warm 
as  it  was,  under  his  dark  jacket. 

"I  only  come  over  to  make  sure  things  were 
right  for  you  two  young'uns,"  he  said.  "I  come 
over  from  the  shack." 

I  peered  at  him.   I  was  pretty  sure  I'd  caught  the 
slenderest  thread  of  rebellion  in  his  wavering 
voice.   I  knew  he'd  had  to  sell  the  place  because 
he  was  alone  and  couldn't  keep  up  the  taxes; 
he'd  told  us  he  had  rented  a  two-room  bungalow 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  road.  It  was  too  bad. 
But  the  house  was  ours  now.    I  deposited  the 
lamp  shades  on  the  wide-boarded  floor  near  the 
dining-room  doorway,  straightened  up  to  my 
full  six  feet,  and  faced  him.   Dorothy  put  the 
china  dishes  on  the  too-fancy  mantelpiece. 
"Oh,"  I  said.  "And— you  got  in  all  right,  Mr. 
Peel?" 
■  "  I  had  the  old  key.   It  was  the  key  she  had — 
Phoebe  had.    My  wife."   His  eyes  left  mine 
and  went  moist  and  dreamy  the  way  I'd  no- 
ticed them  do  the  times  we'd  talked  before. 


"Oh,"  I  said  again.  I  was  about  to  ask  him  to 
hand  it  over  when  Dorothy  broke  in. 

"It's  going  to  be  fine.  Bill!"  she  was  exulting 
in  her  nice  voice.  "It's  all  right.  There's  a  lot  to 
do  and  plenty  we'll  want  to  change,  but  we'll " 

Mr.  Peel  had  veered  around  from  the  sunlight 
toward  Dorothy.  The  smile  had  melted  away;  the 
crinkly  lines  had  left  his  eyes.  "You  won't  need 
to  be  changin'  much,"  he  said;  then  added 
bleakly,  "Will  you?" 

I  glanced  over  toward  Dorothy  and  she  looked 
back.  "Yes,  some  things,  Mr.  Peel,"  she  said. 
"You  see,  we " 

"It  looks  pretty  nice  the  way  it  is,"  Mr.  Peel 
said.  "She — Phoebe — and  me  lived  here  thirty- 
eight  years.  We  was  always  fixin'  things  up  and 
then  puttin'  'em  back  like  they  were.  Sometimes 
I  don't  think  it  pays  to  go  changin'  things  a  lot." 

"People  have  different  ideas,  you  know,"  I 
started. 

Mr.  Peel  ignored  me.  He  shuffled  across  the 
bare  fioor  to  the  mantelpiece.  I  had  the  distinct 
feeling  he  had  seen  me  eying  it  with  some  dis- 
favor. "That  mantelpiece,"  he  said.  "I  paid 
seventy-five  dollars  for  that  in  Boston." 

I  said,  "  It's  a  little  mid-Victorian  for  a  Colonial 
house." 

' '  She  and  me  sat  here  hundreds  of  nights  lookin' 
at  that  mantelpiece,"  Mr.  Peel  went  steadily  on. 
"And  when  the  kids  were  here!  Jessica  used  to 
keep  her  music  ticker  right  ihere  'stead  of  on  the 
piano  where  it  belonged.  And  Davey  always  kept 
liis  slingshot  right  Ihere  on  this  end.  We  scolded 

'em  then — but  now "  His  eyes  took  in  both 

of  us.  "Jessica  was  my  daughter,  you  know — died 
a  year  before  Phoebe  did.  Beautiful  she  was — 
blond  like  her  mother.  Davey — he's  over  in  the 
Pacific  somewheres;  I  ain't  heard  from  him  for 
pretty  near  a  month."  Then  he  added,  "I  was 
born  in  this  house." 

"Yes,"  Dorothy  and  I  said,  almost  together. 

"Well,  you  won't  be  wantin'  to  change  much 
in  this  house,  I  guess,"  Mr.  Peel  said  then,  as  if 
he  had  settled  something.  His  look  dropped  down 
toward  the  fireplace. 

We  kept  a  wondering  little  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment. Dorothy  broke  it  with  that  diplomatic 
talent  she  has  on  occasion.  "We'll  see  how  it  goes, 
Mr.  Peel,"  she  said.  "We'll  see.  .  .  .  Bill,  you've 
just  got  to  unload  the  car  before  the  moving  men 
show  up." 

Mr.  Peel  was  not  diverted.  His  bent  head  sud- 
denly rose.  "You — still  want  the  place,  don't 
you?  You  know,  if  I'd  thought  you " 

Dorothy  only  stared.  But  I  came  back  at  him. 
I  was  already  feeling  pretty  possessive  about  the 
place.  "You've  sold  the  house,  Mr.  Peel,"  I  said 
flatly.  "You  signed  the  deed  and  I  gave  you  a 
mortgage  note  and  some  money.  We  think  we'll 
be  very  happy  here.  Vei^  happy."  I  looked  over 
once  more  at  Dorothy  and  then  I  turned  back 
toward  the  door. 

Mr.  Peel,  with  his  quiet  shuffle,  was  behind 
me.  "I  could  help  you  in  with  the  things,  Mr. 
Chandler.  I'm  kind  of  handy  with  most  any- 
thing around  a  house." 

I  said,  "No.  It  won't  take  me  a  minute.  No, 
thank  you,  Mr.  Peel." 

Janice  is  our  daughter,  aged  eleven,  and  Tommy, 
eight,  is  the  male  offshoot    (Continued  on  Page  144) 


The  parlor  was  terribly,  an  fully  silent  fur  a  long 
ute.  The  thing  was  there  around  us,  stark  and  very 


«  • 


28 


[LI.USTRATKD      BY      ALEXl 


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XX 

1B0AT  bumped  loudly  against  the  pier.  Wind  hurled  upon  the  casuarina 
trees.  The  bamboos  rattled  like  a  thousand  castanets.  She  must  get 
away;  she  must  escape  the  sightless,  faceless  thmg  that  Happed  like  a 
black  scarecrow  among  the  bamboos.  She  got  to  her  knees  and  was  Hung 
down  again,  and  somebody  shouted,  "Hi,  there — hi,  there!"  It  was  torn  and 
carried  off  by  the  wind,  but  it  was  a  man's  voice.  Again  she  struggled  to  get  to 
her  feet  and  somebody,  nearer  now,  shouted,  "  Marny,"  and  hands  came  under 
her  arms,  dragging  her  upward.   It  was  Charlie  Ingram. 

The  wind  swept  them  toward  the  bamboos;  he  shouted,  "Who  was  that? 
Looked  like  somebody  ran!  What  are  you  doing  out  in  the  storm?" 

She  caught  the  words  in  gusts.  Charlie  was  half  dragging  her  along,  his 
raincoat  flapping  madly.  She  stumbled  and  caught  up  the  chiffon  flounces 
and  stumbled  again.  The  bamboos  clattered  and  clashed;  the  sky  was  darker; 
rain  was  suddenly  slanting  straight  into  their  faces.  Charlie  was  panting, 
pulling  her  along  with  him.  They  reached  the  porch,  and  a  great  wave  rose 
from  the  bay  and  crashed  against  the  low  sea  wall,  spilling  over  it  and  rushing 
up  across  the  strip  of  flat,  wet  grass.  Charlie  got  the  door  open  and  thrust 
her  inside  the  porch  and  the  door  into  the  drawing  room  was  opened. 

Tim  shouted,  "Come  on,  you  fools,  come  on!" 

They  were  inside  the  drawing  room.  Tim  and  Charlie  both  flung  themselves 
against  the  door  and  bolted  it.  Charlie  collapsed  into  a  chair,  glaring  at 
Marny.  He  tried  to  speak  and  couldn't  get  his  breath. 

Tim  shouted,  "  What  were  you  doing  out  in  the  storm?  Marny,  you  might 
have  been  killed." 

The  house  had  come  alive  as  frantically,  as  madly  as  the  casuarinas  and 
the  bamboos;  it  was  creaking  and  banging  and  trembling. 

Charlie  got  his  breath.  "We're  only  getting  the  rim  of  the  hurricane!   I 

can  tell  by  the  wind!  Rain  straight  in  our  faces!   It'll  blow  itself  out " 

He  stopped  and  stared  at  Marny.  "  What  were  you  doing  down  there  by  the 
pier?" 

She  had  to  change;  quickly,  before  someone  saw  her  in  Winnie's  dress. 
Whatever  plan  Bill  had  had  must  have  failed.  He  had  not  come  to  the  pier 
at  all.  Instead,  that  flapping  scarecrow  figure,  half  seen  in  the  storm,  wholly 
unrecognizable,  had  come. 

Tim's  eyes  were  two  bright,  granite  points,  his  voice  was  loud  above  the 
crash  of  the  storm.  He  said  roughly,  "You'd  better  get  some  dry  clothes  on." 

Charlie  turned  to  Tim,  mopping  his  thin  hair  with  a  handkerchief,  and 
beginning  to  shed  his  long  black  mackintosh  with  its  shiny,  wet  cape.  "There 
she  was  down  by  the  pier;  wind  had  knocked  her  over  on  the  sand,  right  at 
the  edge  of  the  water;  another  minute  and  she'd  (Continued  on  Page  44) 


He  was  half  (Ira  filling  her  along,  and  she 
was  too  s[)ciil  to  struggle  against  hint. 

30 

I  L  LU  t  T  H  A  T  K  1)       D  T       !•  B  U  K  T  T       C  A  H  T  E  R 


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31 


^r    Would    boys    who    fiuve    been    seriously 
wounded  be  sent  back  into  battle? 

The  nature  or  seriousness  of  the  wounds  is  not 
what  decides  whether  a  man  goes  back  into  battle  or 
not.  It  is  his  condition  when  he  is  being  reassigned. 
No  man  who  cannot  pass  the  physical  requirements 
for  active  service  would  be  allowed  by  any  doctor  to 
go  bacJttitito  battle. 


go  badufit 
^TThou 


Thousands  of  us  housewives  waste  hours 
daily  in  mixing  coloring  into  oleomargarine. 
Why  can't  this  foolish  law  be  changed,  since 
every  variety  is  labeled  as  to  contents?  It  would 
take  less  time  to  add  the  coloring  at  the  factory. 

The  housewife  who  asked  this  question  is  quite 
correct  in  her  understanding  that  the  restrictions  on 
the  sale  of  colored  oleomargarine  were  intended  to 
prevent  its  sale  as  butter.  The  Oleomargarine  Act, 
which  is  enforced  by  the  Bureau  of  Internal  Revenue 
of  the  Treasury  Department,  was  passed  in  1886,  and 
in  addition  to  imposing  taxes  on  manufacturers  and 
distributors  of  all  oleomargarine,  that  Act  placed  a 
heavy  tax  on  the  colored  product.  It  is  to  avoid  that 
excess  tax,  which  of  course  would  be  passed  on  to  the 
ultimate  purchaser,  that  manufacturers  ship  most  of 
their  output  uncolored,  but  include  the  color  capsule 
for  home  mixing. 

In  January  of  this  year.  Senator  Maybank  intro- 
duced a  bill,  S.195,  which  was  referred  to  the  Com- 
mittee on  Agriculture  and  Forestry.  It  provides  for 
the  removal  of  the  special  tax  on  wholesale  dealers  and 
retailers,  as  well  as  the  ten  cents  per  pound  on  colored 
oleomargarine.  The  bill  provides  also  for  the  use  of  the 
alternative  name  margarine  in  lieu  of  oleomargarine. 

There  is,  of  course,  nothing  in  the  Federal  Food, 
Drug  and  Cosmetic  Act  which  prohibits  the  interstate 
shipment  of  the  colored  product,  and  at  the  present 
time  there  is  a  limited  amount  of  this  article  being 
made  and  shipped.  This  law  requires  only  that  the 
color  used  be  safe,  and  that  the  finished  product  be 
labeled  as  artificially  colored. 

It  might  be  added  that  there  probably  will  be  op- 
position by  certain  groups  to  the  passage  of  Senator 
Maybank's  bill,  and  housewives  who  want  to  see  it  go 
througli  had  better  be  articulate. 


through  f 
▼^  I  an 


'  am  a  fifteen-year-old  girl  in  senior  high. 
I  tvould  like  your  straight  opinion  on  teen-age 
girls'  personalities  today.  I  mean  how  a  girl's 
personality  should  be. 

It  is  a  little  difficult  to  tell  you  what  your  per- 
sonality should  be  when  you  are  still  in  your  teens.  In 
the  first  place,  everybody  in  the  world  is  different,  and 
if  you  are  wise  you  will  not  try  to  copy  someone  else, 
but  you  will  try  to  develop  what  you  have  within  you, 
to  the  best  of  your  ability.  The  most  attractive  per- 
sonality is  always  the  most  natural  one,  and  the  one 
which  is  least  affected  and  the  least  bothered  by  self- 
consciousness. 

A  girl  in  her  teens  cannot  have  a  great  deal  of  per- 
sonality because  she  hasn't  lived  long  enough,  but  she 
can  be  gay,  thoughtful  of  others  and  interested  in  life. 
That  will  give  her  a  good  foundation  on  which  to  build 
a  richeatoersonalitv  as  she  grows  older. 


a  rich^i^pe 
WWhy 


Why  do  soldiers'  wives  not  have  to  pay  in- 
come tax  on  the  wages  they  earn? 

This  is  not  true.  A  soldier's  wife  is  no  different 
from  anyone  else,  as  far  as  the  wages  she  earns  are  con- 
cerned. Her  wages  are  subject  to  withholding  tax. 
However,  in  cases  where  a  soldier's  pay  is  not  more 
than  $1500,  and  wife  is  employed,  she  may  claim  in 
such  case  not  only  her  own  exemption  of  $500,  but  her 
husband's  exemption  of  $500  as  well,  just  the  same  as 
any  other  couple  filing  a  joint  return.  The  amount  a 
wife  gets  from  her  husband  is  not  taxable  to  her,  it  is 
charged  against  the  soldier's  pay;  and  rf%oldier's  pay 
up  to  $1500  is  exempt  from  income  tax  under  a  special 
provision  of  the  law. 


Letters  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  c/o  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal.  //  should  be  understood  that  Mrs. 
Roosevelt's  answers  reflect  only  her  own  opinions,  and  are 
not  necessarily  the  opinions  of  the  Editors  of  the  Journal. 


L/ 


By  Eleanor  Roosevelt 

-W    WTty  does  an  Army  man  overseas  have  to 
request  a  package  and  a  Navy  man  doesn't? 

I  have  answered  this  question,  or  one  similar,  on 
a  previous  page,  but  perhaps  it  is  worth  the  repetition 
of  facts. 

The  Army  has  a  postal  service  and  the  Navy  has  a 
postal  service.  The  Navy  has  an  entirely  different 
problem  than  the  Army.  It  is  about  one  fourth  as 
large,  and  they  know  at  all  times  where  the  men  are, 
as  they  are  either  on  the  ships  or  in  port. The  Army 
does  not  know  where  each  man  is;  he  may  be  at  the 
front  and  might  advance  five  to  thirty  miles  during 
the  day.  So  many  unnecessary  and  unwanted  things 
were  being  sent  to  the  men,  such  as  heavy  sweaters  to 
those  in  the  Southwest  Pacific,  boxes  of  chocolates 
and  things  to  eat  that  were  in  unusable  condition  by 
the  time  they  were  delivered  to  the  men,  that  the 
Army  felt  it  must  enforce  these  restrictions.  The  Navy 
has  not  felt  such  a  need. 

Any  boy  in  the  Army  overseas  can  receive  a  parcel 
weighing  eight  ounces  or  less  without  a  request  from 
him,  as  that  parcel  could  go  first-class  mail,  and  he  is 
allowed  to  receive  a  package  weighing  up  to  five 
pounds  when  he  requests  it. 


What  can  be  done  to  give  domestic  work- 
ers the  Social  Security  already  given  to  other 
workers?  I  am  a  middle-aged  woman  and  for 
years  have  been  employed  as  working  house- 
keeper in  private  homes.  I  feel  tliat  a  more 
satisfactory  relationship  could  be  brought 
about  by  short  training  courses  for  household 
workers  and  honest  recognition  of  them  as  a 
respected  group  in  the  community,  with  the 
benefits  given  to  others. 

The  inclusion  in  the  Social  Security  program  of 
domestic  workers  and  of  farm  labor  is  before  Congress. 
If  Congress  feels  that  there  is  in  the  country  a  real 
desire  to  see  these  workers  included  under  the  Social 
Security  Act,  it  will  be  done. 

Up  to  this  time,  the  difficulties  of  administration 
have  kept  people  from  actually  tackling  the  possibili- 
ties of  finding  some  simple  method  by  which  this  could 
be  done.  In  England  they  do  it  by  a  system  of  stamps, 
and  I  think  we  have  found  a  method  which  will  be 
practicable  here. 

You  are  quite  right  that  household  workers,  if  they 
had  to  live  up  to  certain  standards,  could  make  their 
occupation  a  profession,  and  be  looked  upon  as  skilled 
workers,  but  of  course  this  would  necessitate  a  sense 
of  responsibility,  and  training  which  has  often  been 
lacking  in  the  past.  It  would  also  necessitate  the 
training  of  employers,  and  acceptance  by  them  of 
standards  for  domestic  employment,  and  many  em- 
ployers have  disliked  accepting  this  in  the  past.  I 
believe,  however,  that  this  is  coming  in  the  future. 


^rwh 


Why  do  women  sue  for  divorce  more  often 
tluin  men? 

I  think  men  usually  prefer  that  their  wives  ob- 
tain divorces  from  them.  It  is  not  considered  exactly 
chivalrous  for  a  man  to  insist  on  divorcing  his  wife, 
even  if  he  feels  she  is  at  fault.  I  do  not  think  there  is 
any  difference,  probably,  in  the  numbers  of  men  and 
women  who  desire  divorces,  or  who  reach  a  point 
where  they  feel  they  must  live  apart  from  the  persons 
whom  they  have  married;  but,  at  least  among  the 
people  I  know,  a  man  is  supposed  to  give  his  wife  a 
choice.  If  for  some  reason  she  does  not  desire  to  get 
the  diijcilte,  then  of  course  the  man  does  so. 


What  is  your  opinion  about  girls'  wearing 
slacks  to  high  school? 

I  have  never  liked  slacks  in  the  city  or  for  any 
kind  of  wear  where  they  were  not  indicated  as  being 
suitable. 

One  important  thing,  I  believe,  is  to  wear  clothes 
that  are  appropriate.  Slacks  are  very  nice  for  lounging 
at  home,  they  are  good  for  certain  kinds  of  outdoor 
activities,  but  I  think  they  should  not  be  worn  uni- 
versally any  more  than  any  other  kind  of  garment 
which  igjjot  appropriate  for  every  occasion. 


which  igjio 
^^How  I 


'  can  I  convince  my  mother  that  four- 
teen is  old  enough  to  get  a  job  and  also  to  drive 
the  car?  All  the  other  boys  in  town  drive  cars 
ami  they  look  on  me  as  a  "mommy's  boy." 

You  had  better  be  glad  that  your  mother  is 
strong  enough  in  character  to  stand  against  that  old 
cry:  "All  the  other  boys  are  doing  it." 

If  some  boy  of  your  age  has  a  bad  accident,  every 
mother  will  be  sorry  that  she  let  her  boy  drive  a  car 
around  town  when  he  was  not  legally  responsible. 

You  can  drive  at  fourteen  as  well  as  anyone  can 
drive,  but  in  many  states  licenses  are  not  issued  to 
people  until  they  are  older  than  you  are,  and  some- 
times then  they  are  issued  on  a  limited  basis.  The 
reason  for  this  is  that  boys  and  girls  of  your  age  may 
have  just  as  much  technical  skill  as  older  people,  but 
they  are  lacking  in  judgment  and  in  self-restraint. 

I  will  give  you  a  good  example.  I  was  driving  my 
own  car,  and  another  car  attracted  my  attention  be- 
cause it  shot  out  ahead  and  began  passing  other  cars 
on  a  road  where  there  was  a  great  deal  of  traffic.  In 
and  out  went  the  car,  showing  that  the  driver  was 
judging  his  distance  remarkably  well,  and  was  techni- 
cally very  expert;  but  my  heart  was  in  my  mouth  sev- 
eral times,  and  what  I  feared  eventually  happened — 
the  boy  misjudged  his  distance  by  a  few  inches  and  an 
accident  occurred.  It  turned  out  that  the  three  occu- 
pants were  in  a  car  belonging  to  their  elders  and  that 
they  had  taken  it  without  permission.  None  of  them 
had  enough  money  to  pay  for  the  damage  and  they 
were  three  very  frightened  and  unhappy  youngsters, 
not  because  they  could  not  drive  a  car,  but  because 
they  did  not  have  enough  judgment  and  at  their  age 
should  not  have  been  allowed  to  drive  a  car. 

In  addition,  if  you  were  to  get  a  job  now  when  your 
family  can  afford  to  give  you  additional  education  and 
get  along  without  your  wages,  you  would  be  doing 
yourself  a  very  great  disservice.  The  most  you  could 
do  would  be  to  get  a  war  job  which  would  give  you  one 
skill,  which  might  or  might  not  be  of  use  to  you  in  the 
future,  and  so  you  would  find  yourself  a  victim  of  a 
dead-end  job,  without  the  necessary  education  to  fit 
you  for  a  better  job. 

Do  not  worry  about  being  called  "  mommy's  boy." 
I  think  you  should  be  proud  of  your  mother's  courage. 


CARTOON  DRAWN  BY  ROY  WILLIAMS;  REPRINTED  PERMISSION  THE 
NEW   YORKER.       COPYRIGHT    THE    F.-R.  PUBLISHING    CORPORATION 


/// 

r^Ws 

Boy    , 
Wanted  . 

/ 


Four  or  five  daisy  camps  (fifty  cents  each 
made  into   a   wreath   or  worn   separatd\ 


Flower-printed  gloves,  afternoon  or  eve 
ning  accent  for  dark  or  pastel  dresses 


Jf  ,  ,r„s,  n,  her  o^vn  haibox  ^'''l^;;; '  T'^n  cotton  gloves. 

Bii=^'^^^ 


GUMOE  IN  1  HITBOX 

Fashion  Ktlitor  of  the  Journal 

A  man's  hatbox,  a  shiny  black  one  from  a  famous  men's  hatter  on  Park 
Avenue,  is  the  badge  of  the  New  York  models — those  lovely  creatures 
who  adorn  the  pages  of  the  magazines,  and  who  work  very  hard  making 
a  profession  of  glamour.  One  "booking"  may  be  with  a  famous  illustra- 
tor, the  next  with  a  fashion  photographer;  one  for  a  front  cover,  another 
for  a  beauty  ad,  then  a  day  for  television. 

All  models  have  learned  the  rare  ability  to  make  a  story  out  of  ac- 
cessories— to  use  all  the  bright  gadgets  of  fashion  as  the  tricks  of  the 
trade.  It's  like  a  sleight-of-hand  performance — with  the  hatbox  as  a  prop. 
Out  of  it,  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  necklace  for  one  picture,  a  wreath  of  flowers 
for  another,  a  hat  and  a  bag  or  a  bare-back  halter  for  a  third — using  them 
to  make  the  necessary  changes  on  a  few  simple  background  dresses  or 
suits.  It  works  in  real  life  as  well  as  in  pictures.  Any  girl  can  do  it — start 
her  own  hatbox  collection — build  up  a  personal  treasure  chest  of  glamour. 


/     I 


Bare-back  gilet  of  shocking-pink  jersey,  evenii 
cessory  worn  ivith  the  modeVs  black  shantung 


BY  MILTON  I.  LEVIIWE,  M.D.,  and  JEAN  H.  SELICMANN 


The  writers  of  this  article  are  the  authors  of 
the  authoritative  book  on  sex  and  reproduc- 
tion for  preadolescent  and  adolescent  chil- 
dren. The  Wonder  of  Life,  published  by 
Simon  and  Schuster,  and  now  in  its  fourth 
printing.  This  article  has  been  written  in  re- 
sponse to  many  requests  from  parents  and 
educators.  — The  Editors. 

SOONER  or  later  your  child  is  going  to  ask 
the  question  that  many  parents  dread,  and 
that  most  parents  consider  the  big  ques- 
tion: "Where  did  I  come  from?"  Some 
parents  have  prepared  themselves  ahead  of  time 
and  have  planned  the  kind  of  answer  they  are 
going  to  give.  Others  have — perhaps  uncon- 
sciously— avoided  the  issue  and  are  completely 
nonplused.  Still  others  are  embarrassed  and 
uneasy  and  emotionally  upset. 

This  last  attitude  is  probably  the  most  com- 
mon one,  and  is  based  to  a  large  degree  on  the 
kind  of  thing  that  people  were  taught  to  believe 
when  they  were  young.  Perhaps  they  were  told 
that  the  parts  of  the  body  and  the  facts  relating 
to  sex  were  "vulgar";  that  "we  do  not  speak  of 
such  things";  and  so  on.  But  to  the  child  who 
asks,  "Where  do  babies  come  from?"  this  is 
just  a  question  like  any  other  question.  To  him 
it  is  every  bit  as  natural  as  "Where  does  the 
wind  come  from?"  or  "Why  do  the  stars  come 
out  at  night?  "  He  is  merely  seeking  information. 
That  is  why  it  is  so  important  for  the  parent 
at  this  early  stage,  and  through  all  the  later 
stages,  to  answer  the  child  in  exactly  the  same 
spirit  in  which  he  asks.  If  we  want  our  children 
to  have  a  normal  and  healthy  outlook  toward 
sex,  we  must  give  to  them  from  the  beginning  a 
normal  and  healthy  attitude.  We  must  realize 
that  the  effects  of  this  attitude  are  tremen- 
dously far-reaching,  and  that  the  wrong  atti- 
tude may  affect  the  child's  entire  future  life. 

Make  every  attempt  to  remember,  therefore, 
that  this  is  an  utterly  natural  and  normal  curi- 
osity on  the  child's  part,  and  should  be  re- 
sponded to  in  exactly  the  same  way  that  any 
other  evidence  of  curiosity  is  answered.  If  you 
can  really  believe  this  yourself,  then  you  will 
have  made  a  good  start  toward  giving  the  child 
a  healthy  attitude.  It  may  be  quite  difficult  for 
you  to  be  calm  when  your  child  broaches  the 
subject,  but  for  his  sake,  for  his  future  well- 
being,  you  must  make  a  valiant  effort  to  be  calm 
and  collected — even  if  you  do  not  feel  it.  Try  to 
make  your  explanations  in  a  perfectly  easy  and 
natural  tone  of  voice,  so  that  there  is  no  aura  of 
"specialness"  about  this  type  of  question. 

A  GREAT  deal  of  the  confusion  which  a  parent 
feels,  on  the  other  hand,  is  due  not  to  embar- 
rassment, but  to  not  knowing  exactly  what  to 
tell  the  child.  One  mother,  who  had  told  her 
child  the  stork  story,  was  going  to  visit  a  new 
mother  in  the  hospital.  The  child  very  reason- 
ably asked  her  mother, "  If  the  stork  brought  the 
baby,  why  did  he  bring  it  to  the  hospital?  Why 
didn't  he  bring  it  right  to  its  home?"  The 
mother  thought  quickly.  "Well,  you  see,  dear," 
she  replied,  "the  stork  bit  the  baby's  mother." 
Other  mothers  sometimes  tell  their  children 


that  babies  come  from  the  doctor's  bag.  Or 
from  cabbages. 

Now,  any  of  these  stories  will  most  likely 
satisfy  the  young  child,  and  perhaps  you  do  not 
see  why  it  is  wrong  to  tell  them.  It  is  wrong  for 
two  very  important  reasons.  First  of  all,  the 
child  is  apt  later  to  get  half-true  or  false  infor- 
mation on  sex  facts  from  the  outside,  perhaps 
in  a  vulgar  fashion.  Second,  when  the  child 
does  find  out  that  you  were  not  telling  the 
truth — which  he  undoubtedly  will  sooner  or 
later — he  will  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  the  feel- 
ing of  trust  and  confidence  in  you  as  a  parent. 

"Well,  then,  what  do  I  tell  my  little  three- 
year-old?"  you  ask. 

The  answer  to  that  is,  very  simply,  the  truth. 
Answer  only  what  he  asks,  however,  simply  and 
accurately.  As  the  child  gets  older,  his  questions 
naturally  become  more  detailed,  and  the  story 
is  built  up  little  by  little.  But  remember,  it  is 
his  questions  that  you  are  answering,  not  your 
information  that  you  are  giving. 

Let  us  invent  a  little  sample  dialogue,  the 
characters  being  the  three-year-old  and  his 
mother: 

Child:  Where  did  I  come  from,  mommy? 

Mother:  From  your  mommy. 

Child:  But  where? 

Mother  (placing  her  hand  on  her  abdomen): 
From  a  place  inside  here,  near  mommy's 
stomach. 

Usually,  something  like  this  will  be  adequate 
and  satisfying  for  the  child  at  this  age.  (We 
have  purposely  said  from  a  place  near  the 
stomach,  because  of  the  confusion  many  chil- 
dren have  when  told  that  the  baby  is  in  the 
stomach.  One  child,  for  instance,  said,  "What! 
With  all  the  beans  and  carrots?") 

Parents  should  not  be  surprised,  incidentally, 
if  the  child  asks  the  identical  questions  over  and 
over  again  at  periodic  intervals.  Many  times  he 
is  satisfied  with  the  same  answers  that  were 
given  previously.  If  this  is  so,  then  no  further 
information  should  be  given  gratuitously.  If  a 
good  relationship  has  been  built  up  between 
him  and  his  mother,  when  he  is  ready  to  know 
more  he  will  usually  ask  for  it  himself.  He  may 
not,  however,  refer  to  the  subject  again  for  as 
long  as  a  year  or  more. 

Later  on,  the  child  may  inquire,  "But  how 
did  I  get  there?"  Here  again,  a  direct,  simple, 
truthful  answer.  A  baby  begins  as  a  very  tiny 
egg,  which  grows  and  grows  until  it  becomes  a 
baby.  Eventually  the  thought  will  occur  to  the 
child,  "Well,  how  did  I  get  out?"  He  should 
then  be  told  with  utter  simplicity  about  the 
birth  process:  that  there  is  a  special  place  (the 
birth  canal)  where  the  baby  comes  out  when  it 
is  time  for  him  to  be  born.  Do  not  describe 
labor  or  labor  pains  at  this  age,  unless  the  child 
specifically  asks  about  it.  When  he  is  older,  he 
may  wonder  whether  or  not  it  hurts  when  the 
baby  comes  out.  You  may  tell  him  that  there  is 
some  pain,  but  that  it  is  worth  it  to  be  able  to 
have  a  lovely  baby. 

In  your  answers  to  your  child's  questions  on 
reproduction,  as  well  as  his  direct  questions 

39 


about  the  parts  of  the  body,  you  will  find  it 
necessary  to  give  the  names  for  these  parts.  No 
matter  how  young  he  is  when  he  asks  about 
them,  always  give  him  the  correct  names. 
Words  like  "private"  should  never  be  used,  nor 
should  any  other  manufactured  terms.  There  is 
no  need  for  them.  Here  again,  the  use  of  the 
real  technical  terms — and  be  sure  that  you 
know  them  yourself — helps  to  keep  the  child 
from  thinking  that  certain  parts  of  the  body, 
and  the  things  they  do,  are  of  special  interest. 
From  earliest  infancy,  children  should  have  con- 
stant opportunity  of  seeing  the  human  body  in 
the  nude,  both  male  and  female,  in  a  perfectly 
natural  and  unforced  way.  If  this  is  done,  then 
the  child  should  have  no  embarrassment  or 
fascinated  curiosity  about  the  "covered"  parts 
of  the  body,  but  will  accept  them  as  casually  as 
eyes,  ears,  nose  and  mouth.  As  he  grows  older 
and  more  personally  conscious  of  sex  and  sex 
differences,  it  is  advisable  to  stop  this  free 
mingling  gradually  and  unobtrusively. 

If  you  have  given  your  child  this  background 
of  familiarity  with  the  human  body  and  correct 
names  for  its  parts,  it  becomes  quite  simple  to 
present  the  story  of  reproduction  to  the  child  as 
his  curiosity  grows.  The  direct,  matter-of-fact, 
truthful,  understanding  manner  in  which  you 
answer  your  three  or  four  year  old  will  be  in- 
finitely helpful  in  giving  him  a  healthy  outlook 
toward  the  sex  facts  which  will  come  later. 

A  natural  and  effective  way  for  children  to 
learn  some  of  the  facts  of  reproduction  is  for 
them  to  observe  pets  or  farm  animals.  The  first- 
hand information  obtained  in  this  manner  may, 
with  the  assistance  of  adults,  become  a  very 
healthy  and  educational  experience. 

"Shall  I  give  my  child  a  book?" 

Since  we  have  written  a  book  on  this  subject, 
it  might  reasonably  be  expected  that  we  advise 
giving  one  to  every  child.  But  this  is  not  neces- 
sarily the  case.  A  child  who  has  come  through 
adolescence  with  a  wholesome  attitude  toward 
the  facts  of  reproduction,  and  with  a  thorough 
and  decent  understanding  of  these  facts,  needs 
no  book  unless  he  asks  for  one.  It  is,  indeed, 
better  for  him  to  have  achieved  this  through  a 
good  relationship  with  one  or  both  of  his  par- 
ents. On  the  other  hand,  there  are  some  parents 
who  are  so  overcome  by  embarrassment  that 
they  cannot  control,  or  who  are  so  lacking  in  the 
necessary  knowledge  themselves,  that  they  are 
unable  to  impart  this  information  to  their  chil- 
dren. In  cases  like  this,  books  are  actually  de- 
manded and  should  be  given  as  soon  as  the  child 
starts  questioning  the  parent.  If  the  child  is  too 
young  to  read,  the  mother  should  try  to  read 
from  the  book  only  those  things  which  he  has 
asked  for. 

Let  us  remember  that  our  main  object  is  to 
give  our  children  a  healthy  attitude  toward  sex. 
Parents  who  fear  that  the  effects  of  sex  educa- 
tion are  harmful  should  be  reminded  that  more 
harm  is  likely  to  come  to  the  child  who  has  had 
the  wrong  kind,  or  no  education  at  all  on  this 
subject,  than  to  the  child  who  has  been  given 
intelligent,  sympathetic  help. 


;^rw^ 


^  Ji 


BY  ANN  UAT4'IIKL»Kll 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  girl— to  be  truthful,  I  was  three — I  went  to  a  wedding. 
It  was  my  first.  But  not  my  last,  not  by  a  month  of  Sundays.  Going  to  wed- 
dings—other people's— looked  for  a  time  as  if  it  might  be  my  career.  Later 
I  reformed  and  took  up  other  and  more  urgent  matters.  But.  thinking  back 
as  I  write  this  piece,  I  couldn't  help  but  tell  you  about  my  wedding  debut — as  fresh 
in  my  mind  as  if  it  happened  day  before  yesterday. 

inHtumv  in  all.  One  thing  has  been  a  lifelong  regret  to  me.  And  that  is  that 
the  bonnet  I  wore  on  that  memorable  day  has  been  lost  to  posterity.  It  was  of 
pale  blue  satin,  and  fitted  my  head  like  a  helmet  of  Navarre.  It  had  a  wide  shelf 
or  portico  in  front,  underneatli  which  layer  upon  layer  of  fine  narrow  lace  framed 
my  rather  unspectacular  countenance,  tending  to  lend  glamour  or  to  hide  as  much 
as  possible  of  my  face  as  the  bonnet  maker  could  decently  contrive. 

Pink  rosebuds  nestled  hiiher  and  yon  on  this  confection,  and  broad  ribbons 
wiUi  rosebuds  tacked  on  the  ends  completed  its  -  to  me,  anyway  altogether  ador- 
able appearance.  I  was  enchanted.  And  utterly  complacent— an  emotion  relating 
to  my  appearance  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  recapture  from  that  time  to  this. 


The  aitt  prwhlt'in  mtlrt'd.  It  had  been  agreed  that,  youthful  as  I  undeniably 
was,  I  was  to  select  my  own  present  for  the  bride.  Not  for  me  the  velvet  plaque, 
the  hand-painted  washbowl  and  pitcher,  the  cut-glass  inkwell  or  the  silver-plated 
ladle.  Out  upon  such  banalities.  I  would  be  unique,  original,  different.  And  I  was. 
Repairing  to  the  hardware  store,  which  was  my  favorite  shopping  center  anyway 
(later  I  got  my  hatchet  there,  and  someday  I  shall  tell  you  how  that  came  about),  I 
selected  my  wedding  present.  It's  all  right  to  tell  you  these  things,  isn't  it?  After 
all,  this  is  a  piece  about  weddings.  And  are  they  the  vogue  right  now?  Well,  are 
they ! 

My  present  was  a  broom.  A  fine  upstanding  broom  with  a  silver-paper  label  on 
the  handle,  and  as  handsome  a  bundle  of  broomcorns  as  anyone  could  find  in  the 
North  American  continent — or  in  the  state  of  Vermont.  It  cost  one  dollar.  That 
was  an  awful  lot  of  money  for  a  three-year-old  to  handle.  But  I  felt  it  well  in- 
vested. Besides,  I  was  sure  no  one  else  would  think  of  a  broom  for  that  occasion. 
Andlwasdeadright.  Nooneelsedid.  I  will  pass  over  any  comments  that  were  made 
at  home  regarding  my  choice.  They-meant  nothing  to  me.  About  a  yard  of  beauti- 
ful white  ribbon  being  given  to  me,  I  devised  a  bow  and  attached  it  to  my  broom. 
And  presently  the  great  day  came.  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  wedding,  armed  with 
my  broom,  partially  hidden  as  to  personality  by  my  bonnet,  my  tiny  blue-and- 


40' 


ite  dotted  dress,  my  white  kid  shoes  with  their  blue  tassels.  Into  the  carriage 
climbed  and  off  we  set,  broom  and  all.  for  the  beautiful  little  town  of 
arlestown.  New  Hampshire — and  the  wedding. 

f  iraa  irvll.  My  adorable  broom,  conspicuous  among  the  many  lovely  gifts 
lovely  bride  received,  white  bow  and  all.  stood  aloof,  conscious  of  its 
que  position,  the  only  broom  thereabouts.  You  bet  it  paid  off  for  that  dollar 
)ent.  It  made  that  set  of  casters  look  like  thirty  cents.  It  had  c/ass.' 
And  so  has  our  bride's  buffet,  whether  it's  served  as  a  breakfast,  a  supper  or 
t  "refreshments"  for  a  reception — depending  on  the  hour.  The  day  is  a  June 
•,  the  bridal  month,  the  month  of  roses  and  love  and  happiness.  Let  us  never 
get  that  neither  the  presents  nor  the  food  is  so  important  as  the  love-and- 
jpiness  part  of  this  day. 

ffet  miml^'  As  you  can  readily  see,  our  wedding  breakfast — yes.  I  guess 
;ould  be  a  breakfast,  because  most  any  meal  at  a  wedding  goes  by  that 
ne — is  strictly  buffet.  That  makes  it  easier,  handsomer  and  a  lot  handier  for 

guests.  So  it's  a  buffet  planned  to  serve  about  twenty  to  twenty-five  guests, 
d  we  start  right  off  with  a  main  dish,  leaving  out  the  jellied  consomme  and 

fruit  melange  and  such  fripperies.  (Continued  on  Pagci26 


!(■/:  'i 


1  Don't  read  all  the  time,  for  it's  summer. 
But  take  time  out  to  get  lost  in  The  Bal- 
lad AND  THE  Source,  by  Rosamond  Leh- 
mann.    It  is  an  unforgettable  book. 

2  A  nickname  that  was  never  shed  is 
Bombay  duck.  Well,  it's  anything  but  a 
duck— except  it  takes  to  water.  It's  a  fish; 
and  dried  and  crumbled  up,  it  accompa- 
nies curry  along  with  chutney  and  coconut. 

3  Rhapsody  in  two  movements :  Knead  to- 
gether half  a  cup  of  margarine,  three  tea- 
spoons each  of  minced  parsley  and  chives. 
Add  a  little  grated  onion,  a  bit  of  tarragon 
and  a  touch  of  nutmeg.  Salt  and  pepper 
to  taste.  First  movement. 

'1  Second  movement:  Line  a  shallow  cas- 
serole with  this  butter,  keeping  back  part 
of  it  for  reasons  you'll  soon  know.  Arrange 
large  peeled  mushrooms  in  the  casserole. 
Fill  each  cap  with  the  butter,  add  a  cup  of 
cream,  seasoned,  and  bake  in  a  very  hot 
oven  for  about  ten  or  twelve  minutes. 
Serve  instantly  with  thin  hot  toast. 

a  Lobsters  are  now  at  their  best.  If  you 
are  inspired  to  a  lobster  farci  or  a  New- 
burg,  don't  forget  that  last  squeeze  of 
lemon  juice.   It  pays  off. 

O  Do  you  ever  get  around  where  salt 
salmon  abound?  If  so,  soak  the  salmon  in 
cold  water  overnight.  Dry  it.  Put  it  in  a 
baking  dish.  Cover  with  seasoned  whole 
milk— or  cream— and  bake  until  the  milk 
browns  in  patches.  Serve  with  baked  po- 
tatoes and  fresh  green  peas. 

T  I'll  try  anything  once.  And  I'd  try 
shrimp  fritters  any  time.  Cut  the  shrimp 
in  two,  then  put  them  together  with  sar- 
dines mashed  with  cream  cheese.  Dip  m 
beaten  egg  and  then  in  crumbs  and  fry. 

8  Spice  notes:  Poppy  seeds  do  a  wonderful 
job  with  cauliflower — in  a  sauce  or  on  the 
job.  And  baked  squash  minus  a  little  cin- 
namon is  like  a  flatiron — flat. 

9  Croutons  covered  with  grated  cheese, 
neatly  melted,  are  something  new  m  cream 
soups.  Cover  your  bread  with  cheese  before 
you  toast  it.  Then  cut  into  little  squares. 
Simple  as  putting  on  your  hat. 

10  Answer  to  query:  No,  Esmeralda,  Har- 
vard beets  did  not  originate  at  Harvard. 
Just  sliced  beets  flxed  up  with  lemon  juice 
or  vinegar,  butter,  sugar  and  cornstarch. 


11  Poached  eggs?  You  bet.  Do  them  the 
French  way.  Break  carefully  and  slip  each 
egg  carefully  into  boiling  salted  water.  Let 
the  water  boil  like  mad.  The  eggs  will  turn 
over  and  over  and  kick  up  quite  a  spray. 
They  are  done  in  a  minute. 

12  Don't  stop  me  if  I've  said  this  before, 
but  onions  glazed  in  butter  and  honey  are 
as  delicate  as  pearls  on  the  bosom  of  a  lady 
in  a  portrait.  And  much  more  to  the  point. 

1*1  That  reminds  me,  forgetful  as  I  am, 
to  mention  deep-dish  apple  pie  with  honey 
and  brown  sugar.   Believe  me,  it's  a  dish. 

II  Should  you  make  a  rice  pudding,  serve 
it  cold  with  black  Bing  cherries,  juice  and 
all.  A  beautiful  creation. 

15  Dept.  of  notions,  counter  on  the  left: 
Tomato  catchup  in  baking-powder  bis- 
cuits. I'll  save  mine  for  baked-beans  day. 

10  Chopped  green  pepper,  minced  onion 
and  a  teaspoon  of  thyme  and  marjoram, 
cooked  in  butter  or  margarine  and  poured 
over  boiled  new  potatoes,  is  a  tasty  dish. 

17  Broiled  mushrooms  are  delicious. 
Served  on  toast,  covered  with  asparagus 
puree,  doubly  so.  A  little  grated  cheese  and 
under  the  broiler  to  brown. 

Itl  Here's  another  two-chapter  receipt. 
Buy  a  pound  of  sausage.  Mash  with  half  a 
cup  of  chopped  green  pepper,  a  pimiento 
and  a  minced  onion.  So  far  so  good. 

Ift  Now  roll  out  biscuit  dough  real  thin. 
Cut  into  squares.  Put  a  tablespoon  of  the 
sausage  in  the  middle  of  each.  Brush  the 
edges  with  egg  white  and  roll  them  up. 
Brush  with  seasoned  egg  yolk  and  bake 
half  an  hour  in  an  oven  at  375-400"  F. 


WHY? 

M  arvif  a  little  onion 

With  heart  aa  ichitv  u»  anoic. 
And  everuifhvrtf  1  trui-vlvtt 

That  bulb  iea»  nurv  to  ao. 

i  tcent  into  a  buit  one  dau. 
And  there  that  onion  Kent; 

Vownpetina  tcith  a  aarliv  bud, 
H'«  traded  uvent  tor  neent, 

M  areir  a  little  onion, 
Aa  prettu  aa  t-ould  be. 

iVoir  ichy  do  people  paaa  me  by 
And  never  apeak  to  ntef 

42 


20  Iced  cantaloupes  filled  with  cut  straw- 
berries or  raspberries  sprinkled  with  fine 
sugar  bring  summer  right  to  the  table. 

21  Talking  about  cold  things,  the  chilled 
soups  come  to  mind.  Cold  cream  of  green 
pea  with  finely  minced  mint  on  top  is  one. 
Another  is  Boula-Boula — green-turtle-and- 
pea  soup  served  with  salted  whipped  cream 
on  top.  All  cold,  all  good.  (Don't  have 
them  too  thick.) 

22  News  item:  Papaya  juice  and  black- 
berry juice  are  running  neck  and  neck  for 
breakfasts  and  brunches. 

23  Who  mentioned  currants?  I  used  to 
spend  days  picking  the  seeds  out  with  a 
darning  needle  to  make  a  mess  of  Bar-le- 
Duc.  Well,  I  didn't  know  any  better.  I  do 
now. 

2  f  There's  an  avocado  cocktail  dressed 
with  chilled  tomato  juice  and  minced 
chives  they  say  is  first-rate.  I  share  the 
news,  same  as  a  party  line. 

25  Two  places  where  celery  seed  may 
give  .you  something  to  think  about  are  po- 
tato salad  and  coleslaw.  But  remember,  a 
seed  in  the  salad  is  worth  two  in  the  bottle. 

20  Brighter  days  are  on  the  way.  I  hear 
they  are  going  to  make  sage  cheese  in  Ver- 
mont this  year.    Maybe  we'll  get  some. 

27  From  an  old  cookbook  .• "  To  cook  trout, 
boil  them  in  vinegar,  water  and  salt  with  a 
piece  of  horse-radish,  white  sauce,  anchovy 
sauce  and  butter.  When  they  be  cooked 
enough,  pour  on  them  oysters  and  gar- 
nish with  barberries."  -And  then  you 
wonder  why  people  say,  "the  poor  fish!" 

28  A  little  different  sauce  on  asparagus 
or  Lima  beans  is  done  with  a  cup  of  sea- 
soned cream  into  which  you  beat  two  riced 
hard-cooked  eggs.  Heat  it  and  beat  it. 

20  Oranges  cut  into  sections,  white 
grapes,  an  apple  or  two  and  a  banana,  all 
cut  and  mixed  with  three  cups  of  cooked 
white  meat  of  chicken,  dressed  with  may- 
onnaise, makes  a  pretty  fancy  and  de- 
licious salad  for  some  very  special  luncheon. 

30  June  has  thirty  days,  and  things  have 
come  along  in  the  garden  as  usual.  Still,  it's 
always  a  surprise  when  the  first  rose  un- 
folds. You  can't  believe  it,  but  the  miracle 
is  there.  And  wish  on  the  first  falling  star. 


nA 


C.I 


)' 


i'c^ 


>! 


They  call  it  brofh. 
But  Mon  alive  I 

'Tis  hearty  soup 

On  which  to  thrive  ! 


or  &ooV  ^/?/?g/ 

—  a  hearty  soup  of  meat  and  vegetables 


Who  says  that  you  have  to  fix  and  fuss,  and  get  the  whole 
kitchen  heated  up  to  produce  a  main  dish  all  the  family  will 
be  sure  to  like  ?  Maybe  that  person  hasn't  heard  about 
Campbell's  Scotch  Broth.  Have  you? 

Flavorful,  nourishing  meat  stock,  brimming  with  garden 
vegetables,  good  barley  and  tender  pieces  of  mutton— that's 
Campbell's  Scotch  Broth !  And  that's  why  it's  all  set  to 
greet  rugged  appetites  right  on  their  own  ground.  It  didn't 
get  its  start  in  Scotland  for  nothing !  It  has  the  homey  taste 
to  win  you  instantly—  and  the  substantial  heartiness  to  let 
you  know  the  going  will  be  good  till  the  next  meal.  Plan  to 
build  lots  of  your  summer  lunches  and  suppers  around  this 
delicious,  satisfying  soup. 


44 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


BOYo'  Qirl? 


1.  Will  Mother  have  an  easy  time?  Wry 

likely.  Pregnancy  is  a  noriiial  |)rocess,  not  a 
slate  of  ill-health.  But  siie  shouhi  see  her  phy- 
sician or  go  to  a  maternity  clinic  early  —  zx 
least  before  the  third  month. 

The  doctor  can  toresee  and  avoid  most  diffi- 
culties by  e.xamination.  blood  tests,  and  the 
patient's  co-operation— if  he's  consulted  early, 
and  as  often  as  he  wishes. 


2.  Will  Baby  be  healthy?  .And  why  not.? 
He'll  benefit,  of  course,  by  mother's  wise  diet 


There's  not  much  use  spending  time  pondering  that. 
And  wlio  really  c;ires.'  \bu'll  be  h.ippy  with  your  h;iby 
—boy  or  girl. 

In  the  meantime,  you  young,  first-time  mothers  and 
worried  lathers— whether  far  away  or  near  at  hand— can 
do  a  lot  to  insure  favorable  answers  to  these  and  other 
important  questions: 


before  he  is  born.  To  really  nourish  baby,  it 
should  include  extra  amounts  of  the  foods  he 
needs  most,  such  as  calcium.  A  baby's  cal- 
cium needs  are  so  great,  he  may  draw  from 
the  mother's  teeth  and  bones. 

Mother  needs  eight  hours  sleep  every  night 
besides  daytime  rest  periods.  Strenuous  exer- 
cise—especially lilting  or  pushing  heavy  ob- 
jects—should be  avoided.  Clothing  should  be 
comtortable  and  loose,  shoes  carefully  fitted. 

3.  How  can  Father  help  best?  Mothers  and 
fathers  have  equal  shares  in  parenthood. 


It  lather  is  away,  he  will  want  to  make  sure 
that  mother  is  at  least  near  friends  and  fam- 
ily. He  should  write  to  her  as  often  as  pos- 
sible, for  his  affectionate  consideration  and 
encouragement  are  specially  important. 

Should  he  be  home,  his  first  job  is  to  see 
that  his  wife  goes  to  the  doctor  early  and 
carefully  obeys  instructions.  He  should  also 
make  proper  arrangements  for  baby's  delivery. 

Send  lor  Metropolitan's  booklet,  6.^J,  en- 
titled, "Information  for  Expectant  Mothers." 


COPYRIGHT   1045 MFTROPOLITAN    LIFE    INSURANCE    CO. 

Metropolitan  Life  Insurance  Company  .-> 

(A    MVTL'AL    COMPANY)  \  tV 

Frederick  H.  Ecker,  CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BO.'^RD      Leroy  A.  Lincoln,  PRESIDENT  ^4 

1  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK    10,  N.  Y.  |^M 


THE  WHITE   DRESS 

(Continued  from  Page  30) 


have  been  in  the  bay.  I  was  cutting  it  pretty 
fine  myself.  I  got  my  own  boat  tied  securely 
and  suddenly  thought  about  yours.  Knew 
Edward  wouldn't  think  of  it.  So  I  rowed 
over;  faster  to  row  than  to  come  by  the 
causeway.  And  I  found  her!  Had  barely 
time  to  lash  my  own  boat,  and  I'm  afraid  " — 
he  tossed  his  dripping  raincoat  on  the  floor 
and  looked  less  like  a  gigantic  black  bird  of 
prey — "I'm  afraid  yours  will  get  away,  Tim. 
I  simply  had  no  choice.  Gathered  Marny  up 
and  dragged  her  to  the  house.  Got  a  drink 
anywhere?" 

"Some  in  the  dining  room,"  said  Tim. 
Either  the  light  or  the  storm  or  something 
made  him  look  different,  a  much  older  Tim 
Wales.  Almost  a  beaten  Tim  Wales. 

Charlie  went  off  toward  the  dining  room. 

Tim  said,  eying  Marny,  "What  are  you 
doing  in  that  dress?" 

She  looked  down;  blue  chiffon  niffles, 
draggled  with  rain  and  sand,  hung  to  the 
floor,  trailing  below  the  raincoat.  She 
snatched  it  up,  mumbled  something  inco- 
herent and  hurried  past  him  up  the  stairs. 
He  did  not  attempt  to  stop  her.  The  storm 
had  fallen  upon  the  island  like  a  demon  bent 
upon  tearing  it  apart.  The  tumult  drowned 
the  sound  of  her  feet.  It  drowned  the  sound 
of  other  feet,  too,  for  as  she  opened  the  door 
of  her  room  someone  cried: 

"Marny— Marny.  stop!" 

It  was  Judith.  She  followed  Marny  into 
her  room  and  closed  the  door  and  stood  with 
her  back  against  it,  her  great  dark  eyes 
luminous  as  a  cat's.  A  changed  Judith, 
thought  Marny  suddenly.  Or  was  it  merely 
the  storm,  the  horror  of  the  past  two  days, 
the  eerie  effect  of  artificial  lights  upon 
Judith's  white  face?  So  it  looked  ten  years 
older. 

"Marny,  where  have  you  been?" 

"At  the  pier." 

"Why?" 

Why?  Marny  thought  despairingly  that 
whatever  plan  Bill  had  had  must  have  failed. 
She  said.  "I  wanted  to  go  down  to — watch 
the  storm."  And  huddled  the  raincoat 
around  her. 

Judith  waited  a  moment,  looking  at 
Marny.  Did  the  dress  show  below  the  rain- 
coat? But  that  didn't  matter  really.  Who 
had  been  there  by  the  bamboo  hedge? 

Judith  said,  "That  was  rather  dangerous, 
Marny.  You  could  have  been  swept  into  the 
water.   Did  you  see  anyone  else  there?" 

Judith's  eyes  were  fixed  and  intense.  Had 
she  been  at  the  pier,  disguised  by  that  flap- 
ping cloak,  face  hidden  by  hood  or  cape  or 
whatever  it  was?  And  now  wanted  to  make 
sure  whether  or  not  Marny  had  recognized 
her?  There  had  been  a  definite  sense  of 
danger,  of  menace  about  that  fantastic 
figure  seen  so  obscurely  through  the  fury  of 
wind  and  sudden  rain. 

Judith  said  suddenly,  "What's  wTong, 
Marny?  Why  don't  you  answer  me?  Marny, 
do  you  know  who  mvordered  Cecily?" 

"No — no!" 

Judith  said  slowly,  "There's  something 
about  you — something  in  your  eyes,  just 


now,  Marny.  Tim  didn't  do  it.  H^  hated 
Andre.  He  had  no  reason  to,  really.  But  he 
wouldn't  have  murdered  him.  He  didn't 
even  know  of  Cecily's  existence.  /  knew 
Andre  had  a  wife;  he  told  me.  He  intended 
to  divorce  her.  He  told  me  that  too.  But 
nobody  else,  here,  knew  of  it.  Tim  or  Winnie 
or  anybody.  So  you  see  Tim  wouldn't  have 
murdered  a  woman  he  never  saw  before.  He 
hated  Andre  because  he  thinks  I  was  in  love 
with  him.  Tim's  got  a  violent  temper.  And 
when  he  once  gets  his  mind  made  up  you 
can't  change  it,  no  matter  how" — Judith 
bit  her  painted,  lovely  mouth  and  said — "no 
matter  how  wrong  he  is.  I — Andre  was 
Andre.  But  Tim — well,  never  mind  about 
that.  The  point  is  Tim  didn't  even  know  of 
Cecily's  existence — unless  he  had  investi- 
gated Andre." 

rJuT  he  had  investigated  Andre.  Yet 
even  if  he  had  discovered  the  fact  of  Andre's 
marriage  to  Cecily,  why  would  Tim  have 
shot  Cecily?  Perhaps  they  were  all  wrong 
in  assuming  that  the  same  person  (the  per- 
son who  had  been  there  among  the  bamboos, 
watching  Marny,  waiting  for  her  at  the 
pier?)  had  murdered  both  Cecily  and  Andre. 
Suppose  Andre  had  murdered  Cecily  to  get 
rid  of  her;  suppose  Tim,  believing  that 
Andre  had  killed  Cecily  and  that  Andre 
menaced  his  own  life  with  Judith,  had  mur- 
dered Andre?  Tim  was  not  the  kind  of  man 
to  hesitate,  once  his  mind  was  made  up.  He 
would  have  put  Andre's  murder  on  the  same 
level  as  the  killing  of  a  rattlesnake. 

Judith's  watchful  eyes  seemed  to  follow 
Marny's  thoughts.  She  said  in  a  voice  that 
was  husky  and  low  and  yet  so  violent  that  it 
was  actually  as  if  she  had  stamped  her  foot 
and  shouted,  "He  had  the  idea  that  I  was 
in  love  with  Andre.  I  wasn't.  He  hated 
Andre,  but  he  was  wrong.  And  he — oh, 
Marny,  you  know  him  so  well.  Surely  you 
know  that  Tim  has  too  much  good  sense  to 
murder  anybody.  It's  such  a — stupid  and 
terrible  thing.  And  it  doesn't  settle  anything. 
Marny,  if  you  do  know  anything — anything 
at  all — don't  tell  the  police." 

Marny  found  the  voice  that  had  been  lost 
somewhere,  out  in  the  storm,  taken  away 
from  her  by  that  fantastic,  scarecrow  figure 
that  started  from  the  bamboos  and  vanished. 
"Judith,  I  don't  know  who  murdered  Andre. 
Or  Cecily.   I  tell  you  I  don't  know." 

Judith  waited  for  a  moment.  That  new, 
strange,  older  Judith,  with  her  hard,  strained, 
white  face.  The  two  women  stared  at  each 
other  in  silence  across  the  beige-and-white 
room  with  the  storm  lashing  and  tearing  at 
the  balcony  outside — along  which  Cecily's 
light  footsteps  had  fled  and  below  which 
Andre  had  been  killed. 

There  was  something,  though,  that  Marny 
must  ask  Judith;  she  pushed  back  her  wet 
hair.  "Judith,  did  you  know  that  Cecily 
came  to  see  me?  The  night  she  was  killed? 
Did  you  tell  Charlie  Ingram  about  it?" 

"No,"  said  Judith  at  once.  "Commander 
Cameron  asked  me  that  too.  And  the  detec- 
tive— Captain  MSnson.  I  didn't  know 
iContinued  on  Page  46) 


THE  CIDET  i\|]RSE  CORPS  lEDS  1011 

FOR  every  four  graduate  nurses  who  leave  civilian  hospitals  to 
serve  in  the  armed  forces,  five  Senior  Cadet  Nurses  move  up  to 
take  their  places.  As  the  casualty  lists  grow  longer,  the  Cadet 
Nurse  Corps  must  eiu-oU  20.000  new  recruits  by  June  twentieth. 

Of  all  the  women  entering  nursing  classes  last  year,  90  per  cent 
wore  that  smart  Cadet  Blue  uniform !  They  have  been  credited  with 
giving  80  per  cent  of  the  care  of  patients  in  civilian  hospitals.  If 
you're  between  the  ages  of  17  and  35,  enroll  as  a  Cadet  Nurse. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


45 


AIRLINE  HOSTESS  is  airman's  fiancee!  Charming 
Mary  Ann  Long  helps  countless  servicemen  and  their 
families  feel  "at  home"  in  PCA  planes.  She  works  in 
one  of  the  war  jobs  where  women  are  so  badly  needed 
— in  transportation,  in  offices,  in  war  plants.  Ask  your 
local  U.S.  Employment  Service  about  your  war  job. 


Popular  Tennessee  girl,  the  daughter  of  the 

H.  C.  Longs,  engaged  to  Richard  H.  Albrecht. 

She  is  a  graduate  of  Virginia  Intermount  College 

and  was  May  Queen  in  her  senior  year. 

He  was  at  Yale  before  entering  the  Air  Force. 


The  day  that  Mary  Ann  pinned  his  wings 
on  her  officer-fiance — he  shpped  a  diamond 
engagement  ring  on  her  slender  finger. 

She  is  another  lovely  girl  with  an  en- 
gaging Pond's  look  about  her  soft-smooth 
complexion.  i 

Mary  Ann  says  of  Pond's  Cold  Cream — 
"It's  perfect,  I  think!  I  don't  know  anything 
that  makes  my  face  look  and  feel  so  clean 
and  fresh  and  soft-to-touch  as  a  good  Pond's 
creaming.  I  just  love  it." 

Tliis  is  the  way  she  uses  Pond's: 

She  smooths  cool,  snow-white  Pond's  Cold 
Cream  over  face  and  throat.  Pats  very  briskly 
to  soften  and  release  dirt  and  make-up. 
Tissues  off — clean. 

She  rinses  with  another  creamy  Pond's  coat- 
ing— swirling  her  white  fingertips  quickly 
over  her  face.  "These  two  creamings  make 
my  skin  feel  extra  clean  and  extra  soft  when 
I  tissue  off,"  she  says. 

Copy  Mary  Ann's  twice-over  way  of  using 
Pond's  Cold  Cream — every  night,  every  morn- 
ing, and  for  in-between  clean-ups.  It's  no 
accident  so  many  more  women  use  Pond's 
than  any  other  face  cream  at  any  price! 

Ask  for  a  luxurious  big  jar — you'll  love 
the  quick  way  you  can  dip  fingers  of  both 
hands  in  this  wide- topped,  big  Pond's  jar! 


* 


*()M)S 


f^/^  ^i^  ^(moti ofocce^ SeacOc&i . .  ^/le  ^ar^jUt/u^,  cJ(^..M^^.,^^^^m, 


Copr.  1945  by  Weco 
Products  Company 


Cleans  better ... 

lasts  longer  because 

it's  waterproofed. 


A0.S>90 


Waterproofing  makes  bristles 
anti-soggy  .  .  .  puts  extra  cleans- 
ing power  into  every  toothbrush 
stroke.  Only  "Exton"  brand  bris- 
tling is  protected  by  this  patented 
process.  And  only  Miracle -Tuft 
has  "Exton"  brand  bristling! 
That's  why  Miracle-Tuft  cleans 
better  .  .  .  lasts  longer. 


GUARANTEED  FOR  A  YEAR 

Thanks  to  "Exton"  brand 
bristling  and  superior  con- 
struction Dr.  West's  Miracle- 
Tuft  gives  12  full  months  of 
effective  service.  It's  guar- 
anteed to  do  so! 

SEALED  IN  GLASS 

This  vital  health  safe- 
guard is  the  greatest  plus 
value  ever  put  in  a  tooth- 
brush. And  it  was  origi- 
nated by  Dr.  West's.  Play 
safe.    Use  Miracle -Tuft! 


'EXTON"  BRAND  BRISTLING 

Different!  Unique.  Pro- 
tected by  the  only  patent 
ever  granted  for  water- 
proofing a  brush.  It  won't 
hdMI.  brc'ik    off  (jr   .shed. 


DR.    WEST'S    COMES 
IN    3   SHAPES 


Regular 
"Double 
Convex"/  See 

how  it  fits. ^ 


(^MS; Professional  "Double  Con- 
vex".  For  smaller  dental  arches. 


Straight  Plane,  A  shape 


many  dentists  prefer. 


(Continued  from  Page  44) 
Cecily  was  on  the  island.  I  didn't  know  she 
came  to  see  you.   Marny,  were  you  in  love 
with  Andre  too?" 

"Too?"  said  Marny. 

"I  mean — women  liked  him.  You  seemed 
such  good  friends.  He  had  a  way " 

"I  was  not  in  love  with  him." 

"But  Cecily  thought  so?" 

"I — yes,  she  thought  so." 

"He  must  have  told  her,"  said  Judith 
slowly.  "He  must  have  told  her  something. 
The  detective  said  that  she  had  a  revolver 
and  threatened  you  with  it.  She  told  you 
she  wouldn't  let  you  take  him  from  her.  The 
detective  asked  me  if  I  knew  it.  But  I 
didn't." 

"Charlie  Ingram  said  that  you  told  him." 

"Charlie!"  An  odd  look  of  speculation 
came  over  Judith's  face.  "Oh,"  she  said. 
"Oh.  Neither  of  them  told  me  that.  I  asked 
the  detective,  but  he  froze  up;  I  suppose  he 
thought  I  was  lying.  Why  did  Charlie  say 
that?  What  did  Charlie  see?  Did  he  meet 
Cecily?  Did  she  tell  him?  Marny" — 
Judith's  voice  became  rich  and  coaxing — 
"Marny,  tell  me.  You  were  at  the  police  sta- 
tion last  night.  Marny,  you  musl  know 
something.  Tell  me.  Do  they  think^I  did 
it?  "  She  tried  to  smile;  it  was  a  travesty  of 
her  famous  charm. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Marny.  "I  don't 
know  what  they  think." 

Suddenly  the  crashing  of  the  hurricane 
outside  and  the  sense  of  cr.oss-purposes 
within  the  house  were  as  frightening  as  the 
nightmarish,  half-seen  figure  by  the  bam- 
boos. (Who?  Marny  thought  again  desper- 
ately. Judith?  In  a  raincoat,  face  hidden?) 
Had  Bill  really  meant  her  to  come  to  the 
pier  or  was  it,  she  thought  again,  a  trap? 

Judith  said  suddenly,  "Marny,  Marny,  if 
you've  ever  been  our  friend,  remember  it 
now."  And  flung  out  her  hands  in  a  very 
passion  of  entreaty  and  was  gone. 

Marny  stared  for  a  long  time  at  the  blank 
panels  of  the  door,  as  she  had  done  actually 
once  before.    She  thought  again  how  long 


June,  194J 

ago  that  seemed.  Judith  had  come  to  hei 
and  asked  about  Andre — anxiously,  as  if  she 
had  to  know;  and  then  had  gone  and  a  small 
brief  shadow  had  flitted  across  the  door, 
blocking  off  the  light  from  the  Rrench  win- 
dow for  an  instant.  Now,  of  course,  there 
was  no  light  from  the  boarded-up  window. 

She'd  better  remove  Winnie's  dress.  There 
was  no  point  in  replacing  it;  she'd' have  to 
tell  Wmnie  the  truth,  try  to  order  another 
dress  to  take  its  place.  She  slipped  out  of 
the  draggled,  pale  blue  ruffles  and  hung  the 
dress  in  her  own  wardrobe;  it  was  torn 
where  she'd  fallen,  and  wet.  Why  hadn't  Bill 
come?  Perhaps  he  hadn't  meant  to  come.' 
There  was  no  way  to  guess  what  his  plan 
had  been  or  how  she  could  have  been  a  part 
of  it. 

Unless  it  wasn't  a  plan;  unless  it  was  a 
trap;  unless  Bill  himself  had  not  written  that 
note.  It  was  then  that  she  went  to  the  tabli 
to  reread  the  note  and  found  it  was  gone. 

She  stood  again  for  a  long  time  looking  , 
down  at  the  bare  space  the  lifting  of  the  ^ 
blotter  disclosed.  So  someone  had  taken  it.  ' 
Someone  had  known  where  she  was  to  be. 
when.   And  had  come,   disguised   in  that 
flapping  cloak,  and  found  her  there. 

Charlie  Ingram  had  saved  her  life.    Un- 
intentionally, arriving  just  as  she'd  tripped 
in  the  long  skirt  and  fallen.    Close  to  thi 
surging,  crashing  gray  water.  At  the  men 
of  whoever  it  was  in  the  bamboos.    Unles, 
it  had  been  Charlie  himself;  he  was  wearing  a 
shiny   black   mackintosh   with   a   flapping 
cape.  He  could  have  entered  the  house  and 
taken  the  note — he  had  actually  been  there, 
that  afternoon,  borrowing  a  hammer.  SayingJ", 
his   own    hammer   was   lost.     She   hadn't'  ,J 
counted  the  boats  at  the  pier  as  Charlie  all 
but  dragged  her  to  the  house.   Suppose  the 
bump  of  a  boat  against  the  pier  which  she 
had  heard  had  been  merely  the  bump  of  one 
of  the  boats  already  tied  there,  surging  iaj, 
and  out  with  the  rapidly  rising  waves. 

Yet  there  was  the  sound  of  oarlocks  in 
that  hushed,  queer  lull  just  before  the  wind 
came.  And  Charlie  could  have  murdered  '' 


'i^:'A  iii^^  U^i'i  ^£^'M   -^IM:-   'i^^v,. 


*% 


let-Ipi 


SUMMER  DEODORANT 


WHEN  NATURE 
LETS  ME  DOWN? 


'A'^^J-^^  ^' 


You  watch  the  calendar,  of 
course,  but  nature  doesn't.  Plans 
are  often  upset  by  menstrual  pain. 
So  get  Midol  before  your  next 
period.  Have  comfort  handy! 

Take  a  tablet  at  the  first  sign 
of  suffering.  See  how  speedily 
Midol  relieves  your  functional 
distress — cramps,  menstrual  head- 
ache and  blues.  Millions  of  girls 
and  women  rely  on  Midol  every 
month  because  they  find  it  so 
effective  and  know -„„  .-■ 

Get   Midol   at   anyyCoodHousekeepinjy 

drugstore,  now.       ^JSlii^mV,''.'.^^;^ 


MIDOL 

Used  more  than  all  other  products  offered 
czcluaively  to  relieve  menstrual  suffering 

CRAMPS -HEADACHE  -  BLUES 


^^ 


f 


PROTECTS 
LONGER 


Ordinary  deodorants 
cannot  do  the  job  under  trying  summer 
conditions.  You  need  liquid  odorono, 
the  special,  direct-action  summer  deodor- 
ant that  really  stops  perspiration  up  to 
five  days . . .  that  offers  you  two  to  three 
times  longer  protection  according  to  un- 
biased surveys. 

Change  now  to  liquid  odorono,  the 
safe,  sure  way  to  daintiness... the  spe- 
cial summer  deodorant  that 
fastidious  women  use. 

Use  either  Regular  when- 
ever necessary,  or  Instant 
odorono  (milder)  every  day. 
39(*.  Also  59^  and  10^  (plus 
Fed.  Tax). 


LIQUID  ODO-RO-PO 


w 


■,  easily,  so  it  would  look  like  accident, 
ling  her  body  into  the  angry  water  so 
ir  her.  Instead,  he  had  helped  her  into 
'.  house.  No,  it  couldn't  be  Charlie.  Un- 
5  he  had  been  the  figure  in  the  bamboos, 
tching.  And  had  been  afraid  to  do  what 
had  planned  to  do. 

rhat  was  wrong  too.  Charlie  couldn't  be 
D  persons! 

Besides,  there  was  no  reason  for  anyone  to 
irder  her.  And  of  cour,se  there  had  been, 
lly,  no  attack  upon  her.  No  weapon.  No 
)t.  There  had  been  only  the  strong,  instinc- 
e  sense  of  danger. 

jhe  snatched  a  dress  from  the  wardrobe, 
ailored,  cream-colored  dress  with  a  red 
ther  belt,  and  slid  quickly  into  it.  She 
ished  her  hair — listening  to  the  storm, 
ening  in  spite  of  herself  for  footsteps 
side  her  room.  She  pushed  her  dark  hair 
3  shape;  she  changed  her  stockings  and 
'.  her  feet  into  the  red  alligator  pumps 
t  went  with  the  dress,  choosing  them 
omatically.  She  powdered  and  put  on 
;tick — automatically,  too,  but  with  a  kind 
defiance. 

5ut  where  was  Bill?  Why  had  he  asked 
to  do  a  thing  that  had  proved  to  be  so 
igerous?  For  the  danger  was  there.  She 
;w  it  as  an  animal  knows  when  a  twig 
ps  at  night  below  the  pressure  of  a  feral 
tstep. 

ihe'd  better  go  down  and  stay  with  the 
ers.  She  was  only  working  herself  up  to 
loroughgoing  case  of  hysteria,  standing  in 
t  room — staring  at  the  scrubbed  place 
the  beige  rug. 

n  all  the  grisly  array  in  the  brightly 
ited  room  across  from  Captain  Manson's 
:e,  there  had  been  no  weapon  other  than 
deau's  revolver.  What,  then,  had  dragged 
3SS  the  carpet,  leaving  that  ugly  small 
n? 

blackmail,  the  detective  had  said,  or  re- 
ge.  Or  perhaps,  Marny  thought,  murder 
the  sake  of  murder. 

he  went  downstairs  determinedly.  And 
1  had  news  for  her.   He  was  still  in  the 


47 


drawing  room  and  Winnie  was  making  tea 
at  the  little  table  by  the  door.  Judith  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen  and  Charlie  was  prowling 
between  the  porch  door  and  the  tea  table, 
restless  as  a  tiger,  done  up  in  tweeds  and  a 
monocle,  munching  sandwiches. 

"Oh,  Marny,"  said  Tim.  "I  forgot  to  tell 
you.  Bill  phoned.  Oh,  some  time  ago. 
Wanted  to  talk  to  you.  I  called  you,  but 
you  were  gone.  You  must  have  just  gone 
down  to  the  pier." 

"  Down  to  the  pier  I "  said  Winnie  sharply. 
"In  the  storm?  What  for?" 

"She'd  never  have  got  back  if  I  hadn't 
come  along,"  said  Charlie.  "Fool  thing,  if  I 
ever  saw  one!  When  it  storms  we  stay  in- 
side. Weather  it  out."  He  listened.  "I  say, 
old  chap,  that  sounded  like  a  tree  down." 

"Captain  Manson  phoned,  too,"  said 
Tim.  "Told  us  we  could  go  to  a  hotel  if  we 
wanted  to.   I  said  we'd  stay  right  here." 

"This  isn't  a  bad  blow,"  said  Winnie. 
"We're  getting  only  the  fringe  of  it.  Tea, 
father?" 

Judith  came  in  from  the  hall,  and  with  her 
a  great  sweep  of  wind  that  set  the  tea  things 
rattling  and  the  rugs  moving  on  the  floor. 
She  had  changed  to  one  of  the  dramatic, 
long  house  gowns  she  liked,  and  the  wind 
caught  her  long  green  skirt  and  swirled  it 
close  to  her  body.  She  whirled  around; 
there  was  a  loud  bang  from  the  hall  and  she 
cried: 

"Bill  Cameron!  How  did  you  get  here?" 

The  rugs  settled  down;  the  lace  cloth  on 
the  tea  table  fell  in  straight  delicate  folds. 

Judith  swirled  around  again,  her  lovely 
body  outlined  in  the  vivid  green  of  her  dress; 
she  cried,  "Here's  the  Navy!  Arriving  in  a 
car!"  She  smiled  gaily;  she  pulled  her  wide 
gilt  belt  close  around  her  small  waist,  she 
touched  her  dark  hair,  she  looked  beautiful 
and  poised  and  smiling.  She  said,  in  a  pre- 
tense of  her  usual  lightness  which  was  so 
bright  and  sharp  and  false  that  Marny 
thought  everyone  must  know  it,  "Nothing 
can  hold  back  our  Navy.  Nor  rain  nor  wind 
(Continued  on  Page  49) 


ir  lips  will  never  be  lonely 
caresses  if  you  make  them 
alizingly  lovely  with  angelus 
;hid  Pink'—  the  gorgeous 
■  electrifying  shade  which  / 

ly  of  America's  leading 
ity  experts  are  raving  about.    / ' 
ELUS  'Orchid  Pink'  is  divinely  I  \ 
'.rent— a  full  rich  sparkling  color^4 
ating  with  exciting  undertones.  ^ 
so  practical!  May  be  worn  during 
day  or  night  with  all  the  smart  new 
lion  shades.  At  all  cosmetic  counters. 


THE  HOUSE  OF 


x» 


ANGELUS  LIPSTICK  —  ROUGE—  FACE  POUDRE— CREMES— MAKE-UP 


r. 


w 


Only  one  soap 
gives  your  skin 
this  exciting 
Bouquet 


Popular  girls  today,  as  for  75  romantic 
years,  bathe  tvith  Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap 


You're  so  desirable  when  your  skin  wears  the  enchanting  fragrance 

of  Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap.  It  points  up  your  feminine  appeal  to 

the  one  you  love.  And,  like  the  notes  of  a  sweet  melody, 

it  haunts  a  man's  memory.  Why?  Because 

it's  the  fragrance  men  love.  This  bewitching 

scent  comes  from  a  secret  wedding 

of  rare  perfumes,  far  more  costly 

than  you'd  expect  to  find 

in  any  soap.  So  bathe  with 

Cashmere  Bouquet  Soap 

and  be  dainty,  be  adorable! 

3  CAKES  FOR  27(1 


ADORIVS    YOUR    SKIN   WITH 


48 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


BUY  WAR  BONDS  AND  STAMPS 


What^s  wrong  with  Americans  health? 


Doctors,  editors,  congressmen  and  many  a 
thoughtful  citizen  are  deeply  concerned  by 
the  same  stark  fact :  kO%  of  America's  young 
men  are  unfit  for  military  service.'*^ 

This  doesn't  make  us  a  nation  of  weaklings. 
Ask  our  enemies !  And  it's  no  reflection  on  the 
men  themselves.  Most  of  them  are  serving 
usefully  in  other  ways.  But  it  does  show  that 
America's  health  is  far  below  what  it  should  be. 

Three  chief  remedies  have  been  suggested 
—  preventive  medicine,  physical  training, 
and  diet.  The  last  is  often  overlooked.  But 
it  has  been  officially  estimated  that  about  Y.\ 
of  all  Selective  Service  rejection's  are  caused 
directly  or  indirectly  by  nutritional  defi- 
ciencies —  lack  of  food  or  improper  food. 


That's  one  big  reason  for  the  government's 
food  education  program,  "U.  S.  needs  US 
strong."  It's  one  reason  why  schools  and  fac- 
tories regularly  serve  milk  to  their  students 
and  workers.  For  milk  is  nature's  most 
nearly  perfect  food.  Surgeon-General  Parran 
recommends  "a  pint  a  day  for  adults,  a  quart 
for  children." 

Moreover,  millions  of  men  in  uniform  are 
learning  better  food  habits.  This  should  help 
America's  health  in  years  to  come.  Meantime, 
at  National  Dairy,  we  are  doing  our  best  to 
protect  and  improve  the  quality  of  milk  and 
its  many  products  —  while  our  laboratories 
develop  milk  in  other  new  forms  that  will 
benefit  everybody. 


Dedicated  to  the  wider  use  and  better  under- 
standing of  dairy  products  as  human  food 
.  .  .  a^  a  base  for  the  development  of  new 
products  and  materials  .  .  .  as  a  source  of 
health  and  enduring  progress  on  the  farms 
and  in   the   towns   and   cities   of  America. 


NATIONAL  DAIRY 

PRODUCTS     CORPORATION 

AND    AFFILIATED    COMPANIES 


•k Reuorrt  of  Henate  Hubc.ommitle^.  i>n  Wartime  Ueullh  and  Edurution  Jauuarv  2.  lyha. 


3 


^«ra^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


'Si 


(Continued  from  Page  49) 
Stillness  when  Cecily  had  been  murdered. 
His  dark  eyes  sought  urgently  into  her  own. 

"Can't  think  of  anything?  Something 
that  struck  you  as  being— well,  wrong.  Sur- 
prising, somehow,  in  a  funny,  small  way." 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

He  said  slowly,  frowning,  "  I  suppose  it  all 
comes  back  to  motive,  really.  Revenge — or 
to  stop  blackmail.  That's  what  Laideau  pre- 
tended to  be  afraid  of;  his  theme  song  was 
obviously  that  Andre  had  been  killed  by 
Cecily's  murderer,  and  he  was  afraid  whoever 
did  it  would  kill  him  too.  Because  Laideau 
was  in  cahoots  with  Andre  Durant.  Because 
whoever  it  was  decided  he  wouldn't  be 
blackmailed  and  he'd  have  to  murder  Du- 
rant to  keep  from  being  blackmailed  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  And  thus,  theoretically,  would 
have  to  murder  Laideau  too.  It's  a  good 
theory,  but  the  catch  is  that  if  Laideau  is 
the  murderer  he's  lying,  and  if  he  isn't  he 
doesn't  know  who  killed  Durant  and  who  it 
was  they  attempted  to  blackmail,  for  he'd 
tell  it  to  save  his  own  skin." 

But  if  Laideau  had  escaped,  he  could 
manage  somehow  to  get  into  the  house ;  there 
were  a  dozen  ways  to  do  that.  And  Laideau 
knew  the  house.  He  had  stayed  there  a 
night — a  horrible  night,  when  Andre  Durant 
had  been  murdered.  If  he  had  escaped  the 
police  guard  he  could  have  returned;  he 
could  have  read  the  note  from  Bill,  he  could 
have  followed  her  down  to  the  pier. 

"Why  would  Laideau  threaten  me?  If  it 
was  Laideau  at  the  pier?" 

"Was  it  Laideau?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  told  him.  "I  only 
saw  the  black  thing,  flapping,  looking  like 
a  scarecrow  watching  me " 

"Watching  you!"  cried 

Bill  suddenly.    He  stood       

up  quickly.  "But  that's  it! 
Watching  you.  Wanting 
to  know  why  you'd  gone 
there.  Why  I  asked  you 
to  go  to  the  pier.  Why 
you  were  wearing  some- 
body else's  dress,  and  not 

your  own.    It  isn't  any-       

thing  you  actually  know — 
it's  what  the  murderer  thinks  you  know  that 
makes  it  dangerous  for  you.  Manson  said 
protecting  witnesses  was  one  of  the  hardest 
jobs  a  policeman  had.  I  think  he  believes 
that  your  finding  Andre  was  a  plant.  As 
I  do.  On  that  basis  there  have  been  more 
attempts  to  implicate  you  than  anyone 
else.  Marny — think  hard.  Is  there  anything 
that  you  know  ?  Something  that  could  make 
you  a  potential  threat  to  the  murderer.  To 
anybody.  Tim — Judith — Winnie.  Laideau. 
Charlie  Ingram.  Think,  Marny." 

But  there  wasn't  anything.  A  medley  of 
small  facts,  many  of  them,  and  nothing  that 
was  really  important. 

"Tell  me  again  how  the  thing  you  called  a 
scarecrow  looked.  Exactly." 

There  was  nothing  to  describe — a  bodiless, 
faceless,  flapping  black  thing.  She  told  him 
again,  as  nearly  as  she  could. 

"All  right,"  said  Bill.  "Wait."  He  went 
out  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  little  study  seemed  just  then  frighten- 
ingly  empty  and  lonely.  And  because  of  the 
uproar  of  the  storm,  because  of  the  wide  hall 
and  stairway  between  it  and  the  drawing 
room,  it  seemed  shut  off  and  remote  from  the 
rest  of  the  house.  But  nothing  could  happen. 
Even  if  Laideau  were  on  the  island,  crouch- 
ing under  the  swaying,  frantic  shrubbery, 
making  his  way  into  the  house — even  Lai- 
deau would  not  attempt  to  murder  her  with 
four  other  people  across  the  hall.  Within  the 
sound  of  her  voice. 

Except,  of  course,  no  one  could  hear  her 
voice  through  the  tumult  of  the  storm.  The 
wind  was  increasing  in  violence.  The  vines 
beat  against  the  window  so  furiously  that 
she  did  not  hear  the  door  open. 

But  she  did  sense  a  presence  or  a  motion; 
she  whirled  around  and  would  have  screamed, 
but  her  throat  wouldn't  let  a  sound  break 
through.  And  the  man  standing  there — in  a 
black  raincoat  with  a  cape,  and  a  black 
thing  like  a  mask  on  his  face — whipped  off 
the  black  mask  and  cried: 


HE'S  STILL  MADE 

^  Judge  a  man  not  by  his 
^  clothes,  but  by  his  wife's 
clothes.  —LORD  DEWAR 

Quoted  in  EfFectrve  After  Dinner  Speaking 
J.  F.  Finn  (Chapman  &  Hall,  Ltd.) 


"Marny,  Marny,  I  didn't  mean  to 
frighten  you!  I  only  wanted  to  show  you 
what  I'd  found.  To  see  if  it  was  the  same. 
Forgive  me,  Marny."  It  was  Bill.  He  slid 
out  of  the  raincoat  and  ran  to  her.  Her 
knees  were  shaking  and  weak ;  she  sank  down 
into  a  chair.  He  cried,  "I'm  a  fool.  I  only 
meant — Marny,    forgive   me!     I    have   no 

sense !    I "    He  was  holding  both  her 

hands.  The  black  mackintosh  lay  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor.  She  stared  at  the  black  cloth 
that  he  had  tied  across  his  face  like  a  mask. 
It  was  a  large,  black  chiffon  handkerchief. 
He  said,  "I  found  these  in  the  hall  closet. 
Anybody  in  the  house  could  have  worn  them. 
It  doesn't  mean  that  anybody  did  wear  them. 
I  still  think  it's  queer  that  Charlie  Ingram 
turned  up,  just  then." 

She  said,  whispering,  "Let  me  see  the 
handkerchief." 

He  held  it  toward  her.  It  was  very  large, 
with  a  lace  /  beautifully  worked  in  the  cor- 
ner. She  let  it  fall.  Judith.  With  her  sud- 
denly ravaged,  old-looking  face.  Judith. 

Bill  said  again,  "Marny,  I  am  a  fool.  I 
never  meant  to — I  only  wanted  to  know  if 
this  mackintosh  and  the  scarf  tied  around 
my  face  looked  at  all  like  whoever  it  was  who 
followed  you  to  the  pier." 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  means  that  it  was  somebody  in 
the  house.  Somebody  who  had  access  to 
these  things.  That — or  Charlie.  What  did  he 
do  when  he  came  into  the  house  with  you? 
Did  he  stay  right  there  in  the  drawing  room 
or  did  he  leave  it?" 

"He  left.  He  went  into  the  dining  room. 
He  said  he  wanted  a  drink  and  Tim  said  to 
go  to  the  dining  room." 

"Then   it   could    have 

been  Charlie.  These  black 

mackintoshes   aren't   un- 
usual.   He's  got  one;   I 
saw  it.  Here's  another.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  be  wet, 
but  it  was  hanging  there 
in  the  closet.    I  suppose 
there'd  have   been   time 
for   it   to   dry.    Or   per- 
haps  if   someone    really 
did  wear  it,  whoever  it  was  could  have  got 
to  the  house  just  as  the  rain  began." 

"  It  began  to  rain  as  we  went  toward  the 
house.  Bill — it  couldn't  have  been  Tim." 

"Who  said  it  was?"  said  Bill  promptly. 
"Why  exactly  did  you  say  that?" 

"Bill,  suppose  it  is  somebody  we  know 
and  like?" 

"Suppose  it  is,"  said  Bill.  "You  must 
have  thought  of  that  before  now.  Andre  was 
tied  up  with  all  of  them.  I  spent  part  of  the 
day  talking  to  Manson.  He  seems  to  be  con- 
centrating on  motive  and  clues  to  Cecily's 
murder.  He  has  so  many  clues,  you  see. 
There's  a  clue  to  Andre:  his  cigarette  case. 
There  are  those  hibiscus  blossoms,  and  you 
are  the  only  person,  except  Andre  and  me, 
who  was  near  the  hibiscus  hedge.  Unless 
Cecily  herself  was  there.  Unless  she  was  the 
person  you  felt  was  there — felt  it  so  strongly 
that  you  looked.  If  she  was  there" — excite- 
ment came  into  his  face — "Marny,  don't  you 
see?  That  could  explain  her  coming  to  you. 
Suppose  she  saw  you  with  Andre.  Suppose 
she  saw  him  make  a  fervent  sort  of  pass  at 
you.  Suppose  she  loitered  there  and  pulled 
the  flowers — anything  to  explain  her  stand- 
ing around,  watching.  Suppose  that's  why 
she  came  to  you.  She  wouldn't  be  likely  to 
pull  a  gun  on  somebody — just  anybody — 
unless  she  thought  that  it  was  the  woman 
Andre  was  in  love  with.  Suppose  she  saw 
you  and  Andre;  suppose  she  leaped  to  con- 
clusions. He'd  told  her  he  was  through  with 
her.  She  saw  you  and  Andre  in  a — a  clinch. 
There's  plenty  of  shrubbery  around  there 
and  she  could  have  seen  both  of  you  go  along 
the  balcony  without  your  being  aware  of  her. 
That's  how  she  could  have  found  your  room. 
That  bothered  me  too.  How  would  she  se- 
lect your  room  when  she  didn't  even  know 
the  house;  when  she'd  never  been  there  be- 
fore?" 

"It  could  have  been  Cecily  going  along 
the  balcony.  I  came  up  to  my  room  and  left 
Andre  there  at  the  door.  Judith  came  into 
my  room  and  we  talked  for  a  few  moments. 


glamorous 


'^{Z6l^^  powder 
brings   smoother  color  to  your  skin 

•  In  face  powder — as  in  stockings — "sheer-gauge'-  means  the  special 
flattery  of  softer,  more  luxurious-looking  color  over  your  skin ! 

Now — thanks  to  a  new  suffusing  ingredient — Pond's  Dreamflower 
Powder  goes  on  extra  "sheer-gauge"!  This  special  ingredient  spreads 
the  millions  of  soft  color  particles  more  smoothly 
over  your  skin.  More  evenly.  More  clingingly! 

That's  why  Pond's  powder  shades  suffuse 
your  skin  with  more  delicate,  all-over 
color.  Smoother  color.  More  glamorously 
"sheer-gauge^^  color!  That's  why  Pond's 
shades  are  even  more  excitingly  sweet 
on  your  skin  than  they  are  in  the  box ! 

Compare  Pond's  new  "sheer-gauge" 
powder  with  the  powder  you  are  wearing 
now.  See  for  yourself  the  deliciously 
subtle  color-smoothness  it  gives  your  face! 
6  beautiful  Dreamflower  shades. 
49fi,  25 ji,  lOfi  (plus  tax). 


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made  "sheer-gauge"  by  experts  in  beauty! 


i        "Sheer-gauge" 
means  more  glamorous  color 
on  the  skin! 

Two  stockings— exactly  the 
some  shade  in  the  box- 
but  so  different  "on"!  Now — 
,  Pond's  Dreamflower  Powder 
shades  look  lovelier  "on" 
because  they're  so  beautifully 
"sheer-gauge"! 


52 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


-ne,  1945 


HOW  TO  CHEER  UP  YOUR  SOLDIER 

(  sailor  or  marine  ) 


WEEK  IN 


WEEK  OUT 


RAIN 


BUSY 


OR  BLUE 


SENP  A  CHEERFUL  V'MAIL  TO  /OUR  SOLDIER  OVERSEAS! 


YES,  V-mail!  Newsy  letters  packed 
with  brief,  bright,  day-by-day  de- 
tails of  life  at  home. 

That's  what  a  man  overseas  wants! 
News  of  what  you're  doing — what's 
going  on.    News   of  the   family — and 
friends.  Jokes  and  rhymes. 

Frequent,    cheerful    notes    that    do 
more — much  more — than  occasional 


long  letters  to  lift  a  fighting  man's 
spirits. 

And  V-Mail  speeds  that  lift!  V-Mail 
has  priority  over  all  overseas  mail. 
V-Mail  flies — is  never  left  behind  for 
lack  of  space— savesdesperately  needed 
shipping  space. 

Write  V-Mail — sure,  speedy,  private 
V-Mail!  Do  it  regularly— and  often! 


MAKE  IT  SHORT- KEEP  IT  CHEERFUL- SEND  IT  OFTEN 

V-MAIL 

WIS  SPACE  CONTRIBUTED  BY  THE  DRACKETT  COMPANY— MAKERS  OF  WINDEX  i  DRANO 


(^ojiVaMiiU  Jfs 


BY  JESSE  STl^ART 


!> 


You  ask  me  if  there  is  a  living 
God. 
I  say  it  does  not  matter  when 
I  see 
God  in  the  fresh-turned  slopes  of 
loamy  sod, 
God  in  the  white  blooms  on  the 
apple  tree. 
I  feel  God  in  the  lilac  lips  of 
night 
And  see  Him  in  the  sky  and  sun 
and  star; 
To  be  with  Him  is  laughter  and 
delight. 
To  feel  and  touch  these  parts  of 
Him  that  are. 


I  know  spring-scented  wind  that 
bites  my  cheeks 
Is  God  caressing  me  in  showers  of 
spring; 
I  know  in  April  winds  it's  God  Who 
speaks; 
His  language  is  such  quiet  and 
simple  thing. 
God  walks  with  me  around  the 
slopes  I  plow 
And  soothes  me  with  the  fern  and 
wild  jonquils; 
He  often  sees  the  sweat  run  from  my 
brow — 
God  is  eternal  here  among  these 
hills. 


The  last  of  a  series  of  excerpts  from  Alburn  of  Destiny,  recently  pub- 
lished by  E.  P.  Button  &  Co.    Copyright,  1944,  E.  P.  Button  &  Co, 


Then— there  was  a  sort  of  shadow,  as  if 
someone  had  walked  along  the  balcony.  Yes, 
it  could  have  been  Cecily." 

"That's  when  she  talked  to  Andre!  She 
followed  him,  talked  to  him;  he  was  brutal 
with  her,  he  would  be.  She  came  back  and 
had  seen  you  go  into  that  room.  But  she  " — 
he  stopped,  with  a  queer,  inward  look  of  in- 
tense thought— "I  still  think  that  she 
thought  you  were  Judith.  Tim's  a  very  rich 
man,  and  everybody  knows  it.  Judith  could 
have  got  money  from  him  by  way  of  divorce 
and  alimony,  and  marriage  to  Andre.  Or,  if 
Andre  could  work  it— and  he  probably  could 
have — he  may  have  intended,  someway,  to 
blackmail  Judith.  And  then  there's  Winnie. 
Maybe  he  wanted  to  marry  her.  In  any 
case,  he  was  through  with  Cecily.  He'd  used 
her  money.  He  intended  to  get  rid  of  Cecily 
in  any  way  he  could." 

("  I'm  the  bread-and-butter  type,"  Winnie 
had  said.)  Marny  said  slowly,  "But  Win- 
nie—I don't  know— she's  not" — she  hesi- 
tated— "she's  just  not  the  type  to " 

" to  say  'all  for  love  and  the  world 

well  lost '?  You  don't  know  a  thing  about  it. 
I  don't  suppose  she's  had  much  masculine 
attention;  she's  not  like  Judith.  And  you!" 
His  brown  face  with  its  square  Scottish 
features  had  a  flicker  of  brief  amusement. 
"There  are  some  women,"  he  said  unex- 
pectedly, "who,  if  they  were  in  the  bottom 
of  a  well,  would  still  have  some  hapless  male 
rallying  around  trying  to  get  them  out.  Not 
Winnie.  But  if  Andre  was  making  a  play  for 
her,  she'd  take  it  hard."  The  flicker  of  amuse- 
ment left  his  face;  he  added  somberly,  "They 
found  her  earring  near  Cecily's  body." 

"If  Winnie  was  in  love  with  Andre,  she 
wouldn't  murder  him!" 

Bill  stared  at  the  rug.  He  said  slowly, 
"Neither  would  Judith,  if  it  came  to  that. 
If  she  were  actually  in  love  with  Andre  and 
wanted  him.  That's  the  flaw." 

Someone  knocked  hard  at  the  door  and 
opened  it.  Charlie  Ingram  adjusted  his 
monocle,  peered  in  at  them,  said,  "I  say — 
may  I  come  in?  "  and  did  so.  Promptly,  so  it 
had  a  surreptitious  effect  of  ducking  out 
of  sight  in  case  anyone  was  in  the  hall. 
"Thought  I  saw  you  come  in  here,  old 
chap!"  His  popped  eyes  shot  nervously 
around  the  room,  rested  for  a  second  on  the 
mackintosh  and  came  back  to  Bill.  "I — 
well,  you  know,  old  chap!  Honest  confession 
and  all  that.  I" — he  gulped  and  said — "I 
was  here.  Last  night.  When  you  got  home 
from  dinner.  Lights  of  the  car  caught  me; 
I  ducked  into  the  shrubbery.  You  came  after 
me.  I  sneaked  around  the  hedge,  across  be- 
hind the  tennis  court.  Got  to  the  pier  and 
into  my  boat.  I'd  rowed  over.  But  it  was 
me  you  chased.  Oh— sorry,  and  all  that. 
Wouldn't  do  to  admit  it  to  the  police,  you 
know.   Don't  like  murder." 

' '  You  were  here  ?  "  demanded  Bill .  "  Why  ?  " 


"Well.  Didn't  want  to  tell.  But  I— fact 
is,  I  lost  my  hammer.  I  discovered  it  was 
gone  last  night.  Couldn't  sleep,  you  know. 
Knew  I'd  have  to  board  up  the  house  first 
thing  this  morning.  So  I  went  out  to  the 
little  tool  house  to  get  things  in  shape.  I'm 
an  orderly  fellow,  you  know,  old  bachelor. 
Hah !  I  got  worried.  Came  over  here.  In- 
tended to  look  for  it  in  the  garage." 

"Why  were  you  worried?" 

Charlie  blinked.  "Just — just  worried." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  damn  it  all,"  exploded  Charlie. 
"Girl  had  been  murdered.  My  hammer  gone. 
Don't  keep  servants  myself,  do  my  own 
chores.  Knew  I  hadn't  lost  it.  Somebody 
had  to  take  it.  Hammers  can't  walk.  Shadow 
Island  nearest  place.  And— well,  girl  had 
been  murdered.  Didn't  want  my  hammer 
to  be  found  here." 

"But  Cecily  was  shot." 

"Well,  hell's  bells,"  shouted  Charlie. 
"How'd  I  know  what  might  happen!  Be- 
sides, I  wanted  my  hammer.  So  I  came  to 
see  if  it  was  here." 

"Why  did  you  run  from  me?" 

Charlie  glared.  "Because  I  knew  just  how 
this  would  sound,"  he  snapped.  "You  don't 
believe  it.  You  wouldn't  have  believed  it 
then.  But  it's  the  truth." 

"Did  you  find  your  hammer?" 

"No!  It's  still  gone.  I  borrowed  one  this 
afternoon,  but  didn't  see  mine  anywhere. 
It's  my  opinion  that  Durant  was  knocked 
senseless  with  it.  Easy  thing  to  do.  And  my 
hammer's  at  the  bottom  of  the  bay.  It  could 
have  been  taken  any  time  yesterday." 

"Police  were  at  the  gate,  police  were  at 
the  pier.  Nobody  could  have  gone  to  your 
place  without  being  seen." 

Charlie  blinked  again,  paused,  sniffed 
angrily  and  said,  "Police  at  the  pier  left  at 
six.  Easy  enough  after  that  to  row  over  to 
my  place  and  get  the  hammer.  And  now  I've 
thought  it  over  I'm  going  to  tell  Manson. 
Besides,  I've  lost  a  gun.  A  revolver.  Mine." 
And  turned  hurriedly  to  the  door  and  left, 
banging  it  behind  him. 

After  a  long  pause.  Bill  said  slowly,  "It 
sounds  true.  Muddled,  and  scared  and  afraid 
of  getting  mixed  up,  in  any  possible  way,  in 
trouble.  But  is  it  true?  Just  how  far  do  you 
think  Charlie  Ingram's  devotion  to  Judith 
would  carry  him?  I  mean — well,  suppose 
Andre  was  blackmailing  Judith  and  she  told 
Charlie.  Do  you  think  he'd  drop  the  old- 
school-tie,  English-gentleman-in-the-tropics 
manner  and  kill  him?" 

"I  don't  know — oh.  Bill,  I  don't  know." 

"There's  that  clue  to  him.  His  monocle 
ribbon.  There's  a  clue  to  everybody.  Winnie's 
earring.  Judith's  handkerchief — which  mis- 
fired because  Winnie  and  not  the  police 
found  it.  The  cigarettes  with  Tim's  finger- 
print on  one  of  them.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
(Continued  on  Page  ^4]^^ 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Sure  If 'd  be  easy  wi 


"'  *'Scoteli"TSpe ! 


But  riqhf  nO\^.,,  "Scotch"  Brand  Tapes  are  busy 
doing  countless  war-front  and  war-production  jobs ... 
and  our  home-front  sealing  chores  must  wait. 


Yes,  we  home-fronters  will  have  to  string  along 
without  "Scotch"  Cellulose  Tape  for  a  while  yet 
and  wait  for  the  day  it  gets  back  home. 

But  our  fighting  men  don't  wait.,  .and  neither 
do  the  vital  war  industries  that  supply  them. 
They're  getting  "Scotch"  Brand  Tapes  ...  all 

Scotch 

BRAND 


they  need  .  .  .  over  a  hundred  diiferent  varieties 
.  .  .  for  every  sort  of  important  war  job. 

So  don't  expect  these  "Scotch"  Tapes  back 
too  soon  .  .  .  but  when  they  do  get  home  again, 
expect  them  to  be  better,  more  convenient,  more 
useful  than  ever. 


TAPE 


V-Mail  takes  you  to  him 

The  V-Mail  you  write  protects  your  fighting 
man  against  the  deadliest  enemy  of  all — lone- 
liness. Nothing  else  is  more  important  to  him 
than  your  letters.  So  write  him  every  day  .  .  . 
or  oftener  . . .  And  remember  —  he's  having  his 
own  troubles  —  so  make  your  daily  V- Mails 
warm  and  cheering. 


V 


-ArlAIL  gets  there  faster.  ..saves 
valuable  cargo  space . . .  forms  are 
free  at  any  post  office. 


One  of  the  more  than  100  varieties  of  pressure -sensitive  adhesive  tapes  made  in  U.  S.  A.  under  the  trademark  "SCOTCH"  by  Minnesota  Mining  &  Mfg.  Co.,  Saint  Paul  6,  Minn. 


54 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


IN  FRUIT  COCKTAIL 


Look  to  LMY^ 
■-    for  Perfection 


(Continued  from  Page  52) 
they  could  have  been  planted.  Even  Andre's 
cigarette  case  could  have  been  planted.  The 
hibiscus — which,  if  Cecily  didn't  pick  them, 
as  she  might  have  done,  suggested  you  be- 
cause you  had  been  in  the  pool,  you  had 
gone  through  the  hibiscus  hedge  twice;  any- 
body in  the  house  might  have  known  it. 
Laideau's  revolver.  The  cast  of  the  letters 

scrawled  in  the  sand "    Bill  broke  off 

suddenly. 

He  looked  at  her,  straight  and  hard  and 
long,  and  didn't  apparently  see  her  at  all. 
Bill  said  suddenly,  "I'm  going  to  search  the 
house.  I  believe  Laideau  is  here.  I  be- 
lieve - —  Marny,  stay  here.  I'll  be  back." 
He  turned  swiftly,  gathering  up  the  black 
mackintosh  and  Judith's  chiffon  handker- 
chief; he  glanced  into  the  hall  and  apparently 
no  one  was  there,  for  he  went  quickly  out 
the  door,  the  mackintosh  and  the  chiffon 
handkerchief  over  his  arm.  He  closed  it 
behind  him. 

But  if  Charlie  had  killed  Andre,  he 
wouldn't  have  called  attention  to  it  like  that, 
would  he?  Unless  the  hammer  was  not,  as  he 
said,  in  the  bay,  but  actually  somewhere  on 
Shadow  Island.  Unless  he  wanted  to  cover 
himself  before  that  discovery.  Suppose  out 
of  all  those  clues  the  one  real  clue  was  the 
ribbon  of  Charlie's  monocle;  suppose  it  had 
been  actually  Charlie  down  at  the  pier  with 
Cecily.  He  had  worn  a  white  dinner  jacket, 
she  remembered  suddenly  and  sharply.  Sup- 
pose the  young  ensign,  looking  down — so 
briefly — had  taken  it  to  be  a  white  dress! 

Suppose  Cecily  had  threatened  Judith  as 
she  had  threatened  Marny.  Judith  had  said 
that  Andre  was  in  her  room  during  the  time 
when  Cecily  was  murdered,  and  Andre  had 
agreed.  But  he  would  have  been  quick  to 
see  the  value  of  the  alibi  Judith  had  offered, 
and  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Suppose,  actu- 
ally, Cecily  had  come  to  Judith  and  Judith 
had  turned  to  Charlie  for  help,  relying  on  his 
affection  for  her.  He  could  have,  actually, 
arrived  early  and  followed  Cecily  to  the  pier 
and  struggled  with  her  and  taken  the  gun 


June,  1945 

from  her.  And  shot  her  with  it  just  at  the 
time  when  one  of  the  outboard  motors  went 
past.  Suppose  Cecily's  childish,  thin  white 
hand  had  snatched  at  him — and  broken  that 
ribbon.  And  it,  amid  all  the  false  clftes,  was 
the  real  one  that  Charlie  couldn't  find,  that 
he  had  to  cover  by  hurriedly  arranging 
others. 

Bill  was  returning  already.  The  door  was 
opening.  He  was  wearing  the  mackintosh 
again,  and  the  black  chiffon  handkerchief 
across  his  face,  and  he  slid  silently  into  the 
room.  Only  it  wasn't,  this  time,  Bill 
Cameron ! 

The  storm  rose  and  screamed  and  tore  at 
the  house  and  everything  in  it.  If  she  had 
screamed  with  all  the  force  in  her  body  no 
one  could  have  heard  it  over  the  frantic  wind 
and  rain. 

The  shiny,  caped,  black  mackintosh  came 
forward,  not  flapping  this  time;  quite  slowly 
and  purposefully. 

XXII 

OHE  hadn't  known  that  she  could  struggle 
like  that.  She  hadn't  known  that  she  could 
writhe  and  fight  and  duck  and  squirm  away 
from  those  queerly  powerful  arms.  She 
hadn't  known  she  had  such  strength;  she 
hadn't  known  the  desperate  fighting  courage 
of  the  cornered  human  animal. 

She  screamed  for  help,  and  the  wind  and 
the  rain  and  the  surging,  rattling  house  it- 
self drowned  her  screams  and  she  fought  and 
struggled  and  snatched  a  chair  for  a  weapon, 
only  to  have  it  wrested  away  from  her. 

She  knew  who  it  was,  instinctively,  by 
primitive,  certain  and  horrible  recognition 
before  the  shiny  black  cape  slipped,  dis- 
closing Winnie's  neat  brown  hair,  before  the 
chiffon  handkerchief  came  down,  showing 
Winnie's  set,  blue-white  face,  her  lipsticked 
mouth  drawn  back  from  her  regular  white 
teeth,  her  eyes  bright  and  granite-hard  like 
Tim's,  fighting.  Her  arms  and  hands  were 
incredibly  strong — tennis  and  golf  and  swim- 
ming had  done  that.  She  was  wily,  deter- 
mined, fighting  physically  as  hard  as  Tim 


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4) 

4»      ■ 

i       .       g"*"   o 

0 

•n    m 

L5    ?-'^| 

to 

0    S 

E    1 

5=  E     «o  1  S. 

0      1 

V    a 

,R0 
OIT 

edi 
-co 
rtim 

c 

DEPT 

DETR 

f  new 
ide"- 
n  wa 

*» 

*- 

0 

u 

a 

a 

N 

z      ,.        O    D    o 

o 

0 

y  O      O  ."^   o 

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« 

a  jT   ^  « -^ 

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a 

«*o    a  :5  IS 

as  S      ee  -'  ai 

HI                u.    4)    0) 

H  en       v   0  _ 

«2    LU             «      P      0 

ro-o          ■ 

3  Z       «>   0   » 

o  S          ■ 

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ddre 

ly.. 

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ow  0 

■  ■■1 

\                                                                        1 

LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


55 


Wales  had  ever  fought  with  his  brain. 
Fighting  for  her  hfe.  She  slid  out  of  the  en- 
tangling, hampering  mackintosh.  There  were 
gloves  on  those  strong,  athletic  hands,  and 
she  had  a  revolver. 

"Winnie,  that's  a  revolver — don't " 

"It's  Charlie's.  I  took  it.  They'll  trace 
it  to  him " 

"They'll  hear  you — they're  right  across 
the  hall — they'll  know  you  did  it ! " 

Winnie  was  matter  of  fact  and  certain. 
"Charlie  and  father  have  gone  out  to  see 
what  damage  the  storm  is  doing  to  the  pier. 
Nobody  will  hear.  The  storm's  too  loud." 

i"  Winnie,  you  can't " 
"I've  got  to,"  said  Winnie.  And  jerked 
another  small  chair  out  of  Marny's  grasp. 
She  caught  one  of  Marny's  hands  and  was 
reaching  for  the  other.  "You  had  my  blue 
dress.  I  saw  you.  I  read  the  letter.  It's  my 
'  life  or  yours.  That  was  the  way  it  was  with 
'■  Cecily.  She  threatened  me.  She  had  a  gun. 
I  had  to  take  it  away  from  her.  I  didn't 
mean  to  kill  her.  Then  it  was  too  late." 

Mamy  groped  desperately  for  some 
weapon  on  the  desk,  a  paperweight,  a  book, 
anything;  there  was  nothing.  She  could  not 
reach  the  door.  She  screamed  and  the  storm 
was  so  furious  and  loud  that  the  scream 
1  could  scarcely  have  been  heard  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door.  There  was  no  hatred  in 
Winnie's  face;  only  her  eyes  blazed,  like 
Tim's.  She  got  Marny's  free  hand  and 
dragged  it  down  and  suddenly  had  both  her 
wrists  gripped  in  one  gloved  hand. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Winnie,  holding 
her  helpless  and  panting.  "Does  Bill  Cam- 
eron know  the  truth?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bill  Cameron  in  the  doorway. 

Winnie  jerked  around,  but  held  tight  to 
Marny.  Marny,  straining  against  Winnie, 
felt  something  cold  and  hard  against  her 
temple. 

"All  right,"  said  Winnie,  "you  asked  for 
this.  If  you  call  for  help  I'll  shoot  to  kill. 
Close  the  door  behind  you." 

Winnie's  hold  did  not  relax;  if  anything, 
it  was  tighter.  The  revolver,  pressed  against 


Marny's  temple,  was  cold  and  hard.  Bill 
came  inside  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

The  loosened  shutter  banged;  wind  tore 
at  the  island  madly. 

Bill  said,  not  moving,  only  looking  at 
Winnie,  "You  went  to  get  flowers  for  the 
dinner  table;  you  met  Cecily  when  she  came 
back.  She'd  realized  that  it  was  not  Marny 
Andre  meant  to  marry,  but  you.  You  talked 
to  Cecily;  you  prevailed  upon  her  to  go  back 
down  to  the  pier.  And  there  in  a  last  burst 
of  hysteria  she  turned  the  revolver  on  you. 
You  took  it  away  from  her  and  she  fell ;  you 
were  stronger — so  much  stronger.  The  ensign 
flying  over  the  island  saw  that  much. 
He  thought  your  dress  was  white;  in  the 
dusk  it  looked  white — you  were  actually 
wearing  light  blue.  You  had  the  revolver  in 
your  hand  and  you  shot  her.  In  self-defense, 
I  think.  I  think,  really,  you  were  afraid. 
And  then — Andre  decided  to  blackmail  you. 
He  knew  somehow  that  you  had  killed  her.' 

"He  guessed,"  said  Winnie  suddenly.  "I 
had  to " 

Bill  said  very  softly,  "Now  is  your  chance. 
Nobody's  in  the  kitchen  or  the  dining  room. 
You  can  go  that  way." 

It  was  queer,  thought  Marny  numbly, 
that  he  was  so  kind;  his  voice  was  almost 
gentle.  It  was  queer  because  it  was  as  if  he 
felt  sorry  for  Winnie.  Who  had-killed  Cecily 
and  then,  somehow,  killed  Andre.  Who  would 
kill  her  if  Bill  made  a  move  to  save  her. 

Bill's  eyes  were  brilliant  in  a  face  that 
looked  queer  and  rigid  and  gray.  He  said 
again,  "You'd  better  go — I've  just  talked  to 
Manson  over  the  phone." 

Winnie's  tight,  hard  grip  did  not  relax, 
nor  the  cold  pressure  of  the  revolver.  She 
said,  "What  does  Manson  know?" 

"He  knows  that  the  flowers  under  Cecily 
and  your  earring  were  the  real  clues  in  all 
the  false  ones.  You  dropped  those.  He 
knows  the  flower  bowl  on  the  dining-room 
table  was  empty.  I  told  him;  I  saw  it  and 
Marny  saw  it — you  came  to  the  dining  room 
and  found  us  there.  You  knew  we  had  seen 
that;  yet  you  were  known  to  have  gone  to 


A  breath  off  pine 
brightens 
yowr  woric 


For   thorough  cleaning   the  pleasant  way, 
use  Sergeant's  Disinfectant. 

This  modern  cleaning  aid  goes  after  dirt 
and  grime,  disinfects,  deodorizes  and  kills 
many  germs  as  it  cleans.  Yet,  it's  pleasant- 
to-use  because  it's  fragrant  of  pine.  Non- 
irritating,  too. 
•  For  floors,  woodwork,  closets,  put  a  little 
Sergeant's  Disinfectant  in  warm  water,  and 
really  clean.  Fine  for  every-day  housework, 
too— leaves  kitchen,  bathroom  sparkling  and 
fresh.  Just  the  thing  for  garbage  pails.  Use 
a  little  full-strength  in  sink  drains,  and  to 
clean  and  deodorize  toilet  bowls. 

Clean  the  pleasant  way.    Get  Sergeant's 
Disinfectant  at  drug  or  department  store. 

Try  this  germ-chasing 
cleaning  aid 


SetqeanVs 

DISINFECTANT 


RESISTS    MOISTURE  ! 

A  kitchen  favorite  .  .  .  because  it  keeps  moist 
foods  moist,  dry  foods  dry  longer!  Wrap  veg- 
etables to  keep  them  crisper.  Wrap  cake  and 
sandwiches  to  help  retain  freshness,  tastiness! 

WAXTEX 

HEAVY    WAXED    PAPER 

Marathon  Corporation,  Menasha,  Wisconsin 


can 


You 
aepena  on 

KRAFT 


A  cheese  food  that  spreads,  slices,  toasts,  melts  per- 
fectly; that  has  a  deliciously  rich  yet  mild  cheddar 
flavor;  that  gives  you  high-quality  protein,  milk  min- 

4 

erals,  food  energy,  vitamins  A  and  G  (riboflavin); 
that  is  pasteurized,  and  digestible  as  milk— there's 
Velveeta,  Kroff  quality  in  o  cheese  food.  It's  so  pop- 
ular that  the  supply  seems  short.  But  you'll  get  some 
if  you  keep  tab  on  your  favorite  store. 


SOON  AGAIN,  WE  HOPE,  Kraft  American 

with  its  wonderful  medium  -  mellow 
cheddar  flavor!  Our  Old  English  with 
the  tantalizing  sharpness  of  rare,  aged 
cheddar!  They  have  been  missing  from 
your  dealer's  displays  because  of  the 
Government's  huge  requirement  of 
cheddar  cheese.  But  keep  on  the  look- 
out for  the  return  of  these  old  favorites. 


The  World's  Favorite  Cheeses  are 

made  by  the  Men  and  Women  of 


56 


LADIES-  HOME  JOURNAL 


Great  -  great  -  granddaughter 
of  a  RiiSiSian  Emperor 

Striking  young  Nancy  Leeds  is  the  daughter  of  another  Pond's  beauty- 
the.lovely  Princess  Xenia.  Mother  and  daughter  share  direct  descent 
from  Russia's  imperial  family — and  a  mutual  enthusiasm 
for  America's  favorite  beauty  creams — Pond's.  "My  special  love 
is  the  1- Minute  Mask  with  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream." 
Nancy  savs.  "Partly  because  it's  so  quick,  but  mostly  because 
it  makes  my  skin  look  so  much  smoother  and  clearer!  ' 


^  My  favorite  beauty  trick— the  1-Minute  Mask",  ,  .  n.\ncy  leeds 


Ho'w  to  na-re  a  smootker,  cl 


er,  cleaper 


,  "new"  e< 


iomplexion 

Cover  your  face  from  chin  to  forehead  (eiervthing  but  vour  eves) 

with  an  ennine-white  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream. 
Leave  the  Mask  on  for  one  whole  minute.  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream 

has  "keratolytic''  action— it  loosens  and  dissolves  scaly  little 
"chappings"!  Goes  after  imbedded  dirt  particles,  too! 
After  one  minute,  tissue  off. 

The  Mask  ''re-styles"  your  complexion! 
Makes  it  look  clearer  and  lighter. 
Makes  it  feel  infinitely  smoother — 
beautifully  "finished"  for  make-up! 
Give  yourself  a  1-Minute  Mask 
3  or  4  times  a  week! 

3  Seconds  To  Go  .  .  .  For  extra-quick 

powder  base,  stroke  on  a  light  film  of 
Ponds  \ anishing  Cream — and  leave 
it  on.  Smooth  .  .  .  long-lasting! 

Get  a  BIG  jar  of  glamour-making  Masks! 


get  flowers  and  arrange  them  on  the  table. 
You  can  shoot  Mamy  and  me  too;  there's 
nothing  to  stop  you.  But  it's  too  late.  It's 
no  good.  It's  all  washed  up.  It  has  been  for 
you  since  Durant,  without  even  telling 
Laideau,  tried  to  blackmail  you.  After  that 
you  didn't  care.  I  wish,"  said  Bill  honestly 
and  bitterly,  "that  I'd  killed  Durant 
myself." 

"Yes,"  said  Winnie  suddenly.  "Yes." 
She  released  Mamy's  hands.  She  picked 
up  the  mackintosh.  Bill  did  not  move; 
Winnie  said.  "It's  all  washed  up.  That's 
right.  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  Cecily.  The 
gun — went  off.  I  had  one  of  Judith's  hand- 
kerchiefs— that  was  accident;  the  maid  had 
made  a  mistake  and  put  it  among  mine. 
I  tried  to  stop  the  bleeding.  Then  it  was  too 
late.  I  buried  the  revolver.  It's  queer,  but 
I— I  didn't  think  about  throwing  it  in  the 
bay.  So  near.  I  ran  to  the  house  and  I 
thought — so  fast.  I  had  wiped  off  the  re- 
volver. I  remembered  that.  I  got  upstairs 
and  no  one  saw  me.  Judith  and  Andre 
were  in  her  room.  My  " — her  voice  changed, 
became  rough  and  uneven — "my  father  was 
in  his  room.  And  then  I  looked  in  the  mirror 
and  I'd  lost  an  earring.  And  all  at  once  I 
remembered  it  had  slid  off,  down  into  the 
grass,  as  I  struggled  with  Cecily.  The  police 
would  find  it:  if  I  went  back  I  might  be  able 
to  find  it.  but  if  I  couldn't  they  would. 
Later.  And  there  wasn't  much  time  and  it 
was  getting  dark  and  suppose  I  couldn't  find 
it !  So  I— it  was  then  I  thought  of  other  clues. 
I  thought,  "I'll  place  clues,  lots  of  them; 
so  they'll  suspect  everybody.'  I  thought 
quickly.  There  was  the  broken  ribbon  from 
Charlie's  monocle.  I  remembered  that;  I'd 
shoved  it  into  a  drawer  of  the  hall  table,  days 
ago.  I  had  Judith's  handkerchief;  I  intended 
to  leave  that  beside  Cecily.  Nobody  would 
suspect  my  father — he  didn't  even  know 
Cecily — so  I  gathered  up  some  cigarette 
ends  quickly  as  I  passed  the  ash  tray  in  the 
hall.  I  came  down  at  once,  you  see.  I  didn't 
know  the  revolver  belonged  to  Laideau;  I 
didn't  know  he  was  there.  Oh,  yes,  and 
.-Vndre's  cigarette  case.  I  knew  he  had  an 
alibi.  But  if  I  left  enough  clues,  then  every- 
body would  be  suspected.  Andre's  case  was 
on  the  table  in  the  hall  beside  the  ash  tray. 
There  was  nothing  I  could  get  that  belonged 
to  Marny;  and  I  knew  she  must  be  in  her 
room,  dressing.  I  had  to  hurry — there  was 
so  little  time." 

She  took  an  uneven  breath. 

I  R.\N  back  to  the  pier.  I  tried  to  find  the 
earring,  but  I  couldn't  stand  it !  Looking  for 
it.  In  the  dusk.  So  near  her.  I  gave  up.  I 
threw  the  cigarette  case  toward  the  bay;  I 
dropped  the  handful  of  cigarette  ends 
around;  I  dropped  the  broken  ribbon.  I  even 
thought  of  the  sand  and  drew  letters  on  it 
with  my  finger — near  enough  for  Cecily  to 
have  reached  it.  C—.A—M.  So  there  would 
be  another  clue  to  help  hide  the  real  one — 
my  earring.  But  I  forgot  the  handkerchief. 
I  was  upset,  you  see.  I'd  left  it  in  my  room 
on  the  dressing  table.  I  had  to  give  that 
up— I  thought  then.  I  got  back  to  the  house 
and  still  nobody  was  in  the  hall  or  tlie 
drawing  room.  It  didn't  take  any  time  at 
all.  It  seemed  so^so  strange  to  me  after- 
ward, that  so  much  could  have  happened  in 
so  little  time.  I  waited  so  as  to  be  sure  every- 
body had  arrived.  I  forgot  the  hibiscus 
flowers  too.  I  hid  tlie  handkerchief  in  my 
room  because  while  I  was  waiting  I  thought 
of  a  way  to  add  to  the  clues;  I'd  tell  Mamy 


Jane,  1943 

about  it  and  show  it  to  her  and  then  bum  it. 
She'd  tell  the  police;  I  was  sure  of  it.  It 
would  be  better  to  come  from  her.  Only  you 
didn't  tell  the  police,  Mamy.  And  then  I 
began  to  wonder;  Cecily  had  said  So  much. 
I  hadn't  had  a  chance  to  think  of  what  she'd 
said.  But  she  said  she'd  come  to  you, 
Mamy;  that  she'd  seen  Andre  kissing  you, 
there  by  the  pool.  And  I  began  to  think  and 
wonder  and  I  wanted  to  know  if  he'd — made 
love  to  you.  That  week  in  New  York.  I  had 
to  know.  I  could  tell  by  your  face,  Mamy, 
when  I  asked  you  to  tell  father  that  Andre 
had  made  love  to  you,  in  order,  I  said,  to 
save  Judith,  that  there  was  something.  I 
began  to — to  change,  I  think.  Then." 

OHE  stopped.  A  mask  had  settled  down 
over  her  face  like  a  white  layer  of  wax.  She 
went  on  again: 

"No.  Not  really  to  change.  Not  then.' 
I  still  loved  Andre.  I  hadn't  meant  to  kill 
Cecily;  it  was  the  revolver  that  did  it.  She 
aimed  it  at  me;  I  had  to  take  it  away  from 
her.  And  then — the  next  day  Andre  came  to 
me  alone  and  said  he  thought  I'd  killed  her. 
He  said  he  wouldn't  tell  anybody.  But  he 
wouldn't  marrj-  me.  We'd  planned  that,  you 
know.  He  hadn't  told  me  anything  about 
Cecily.  I  didn't  know  he  was  married  until 
Cecily  told  me  herself." 

"Winnie  "   whispered   Mamy,   her 

throat  tight. 

"He  said  if  I'd  pay  him  enough  he'd  not 
tell.  Ever.  I  knew  then — what  he  was.  I — 
yes,  of  course,  it  was  all  washed  up,  then." 

Bill  said,  "Don't,  Winnie.  You  mustn't 
talk  so  much.  There's  not  time." 

"Andre  was  so  sure  of  himself.  And  of  me. 
He  came,  as  I  asked  him  to  do — to  meet  me 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairway.  It  was  queerly 
easy,  really,  once  I  knew  I  had  to.  I'll  tell 
you " 

"  Don't.  We've  already  guessed.  I  tell  you 
there's  not  time." 

"Time?  No.  No,  of  course  there's  not 
time.  He  never  loved  me,  you  know. 
Andre "  She  gathered  up  the  mackin- 
tosh and  went  to  the  door. 

Bill  stood  aside  and  she  went  out  quietly, 
as  if  she  were  going  about  some  errand.  The 
door  closed. 

"Bill " 

"It's  all  right.  Wait." 

"Manson " 

"Manson's  coming.  But  he's  not  here 
yet." 

"Bill — her  eyes " 

"I  know,"  he  said  roughly.  "I  know. 
Do  you  think  it's  easy?  "  He  sat  down  sud- 
denly and  put  his  head  in  his  hands.  For  a 
long  time.  As  if  he  were  counting. 

"But  she  has  a  revolver.   She '" 

"Be  quiet,"  he  said  savagely  behind  those 
locked  brown  hands.  "Wait."  The  tone  of 
his  voice  covered  pain.  ("The  Andres  of  the 
world,"  he'd  said.  "Men  know  what  to  do 
with  them.") 

But  women  didn't.   Cecily.   Winnie. 

Judith  opened  the  door  and  came  in.  She 
said,  "Where  is  Winnie?" 

Bill  lifted  his  head.  He  did  not  speak  and 
neither  did  Marny. 

Judith  looked  for  a  long  moment  at  Bill 
and  then  at  Mamy.  She  swayed  a  little, 
dizzily,  and  grasped  the  edge  of  the  desk, 
and  said,  "You  knew." 

"There'll  never  be  a  trial." 

Judith  said  huskily,  great  dark  eyes  staring, 
as  if  hungr>'  for  reassurance,  "Never?" 
(Continued  on  Page  58) 


ORDERS  FROM   HEADQUARTERS 

W ashington,  D.  C. 

Join  the  Women's  Land  Army!  Help  bring  in  that 
precious  crop  this  year.  The  emergency  calls  for  teachers, 
college  students — anyone  with  a  long  vacation — or  business 
people  who  will  lend  a  hand  during  harvesting  peaks.  Prevail- 
ing wages  paid,  and  the  job  itself  pays  dividends  in  health, 
satisfaction  and  the  fun  of  getting  back  to  the  land.  Consult 
the  county  extension  agent  or  the  local  farm-employment 
office,  usually  located  in  the  county  courthouse  or  the  post- 
office  building.  Or  write  to  the  Women's  Land  Army,  U.  S.  De- 
partment of  Agriculture,  Washington  25,  D.  C. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURjNAL 


Ar^you  in  the  know? 


4  'm^m'  " 


3  make-up  looks  best  if  you  — 

□  Use  a  depilatory 

Q  Choose  a  stocking  shade 

□  Apply  it  eyenly 

takes  more  than  a  light-going-over  to  make  those 
IS  whistle-worthy.  It  takes  the  three  answers  given 
ve.  De-fuzz  your  legs.  Choose  a  stocking  shade 
t  matches  your  suntan.  Apply  it  evenly.  Cosmetic 
)se"  are  so  comfortable,  seems  they're  here  to  stay. 
I  too,  is  the  comfort  you  get  from  Kotex  —  for  Kotex 
s  soft  while  wearing.  That's  why  there's  such  a 
rence  between  Kotex  and  pads  that  just  "feel" 
at  first  touch.  Kotex  doesn't  bunch  up  .  .  .  its 
ness  stays  and  stays! 


For  a  slick  permanent,  which  is  a  "must"? 

O  A  skilled  operator 

□  A  cold  wave 

n  A  machine  wave 

Frizzy  flub— or  dream  girl?  That  depends  largely  on 
the  skill  of  your  operator.  Her  experience,  plus  a  test 
curl,  should  decide  the  right  type  of  wave  for  your 
hair-texture.  Slick  grooming  requires  infinite  care.  And 
guard  your  daintiness  with  care  ...  at  "certain"  times. 
Now  there's  a  deodorant  locked  inside  each  Kotex 
napkin.  The  deodorant  can't  shake  out,  because  it  is 
processed  into  each  pad — not  merely  dusted  on.  No 
extra  charge  for  this  new  Kotex  "extra"  that  helps  keep 
you  charming,  confident. 


Is  this  little  beach  belle — 

□   playing  patty-cake 

G  Dive  balmy 

n  Collar-bone  conscious 

No  .  .  .  she's  not  warming  up  for  the  next  Olympics. 
This  chick  is  collar-bone  conscious  .  .  .  and  if  you 
have  a  lean -and -hollow- look  around  the  base  of  your 
neck,  try:  Standing  erect,  arms  out  (as  shown),  elbows 
stiff.  Swing  arms  backward,  forward  —  touching  finger- 
tips. The  routine  also  banishes  shoulder-blade  prob- 
lems. And  to  banish  problem -day  worries — choose 
Kotex,  because  the  safety  center  of  Kotex  gives  plus 
protection  by  keeping  moisture  from  the  sides  of  the 
pad  .  .  .  helps  safeguard  your  secret. 


'ou're  stymied  with  a  show-off,  should  you— 

□  Try  to  reform  him 
D  Go  smilin'  through 
n  Make  with  the  icic/es 

y  attempt  to  freeze  or  reform  him?  Be  smart  and 

smilin'  through  his  clowning.   It  can  be  fun  — and 

tell    the    world    you're    wonderful!    Learning    to 

;h  in  a  trying  situation  helps  build  self-confidence. 

t  goes  for  trying  days,  too  .  .  .  when  you  laugh  off" 

Itale  outline"  fears  with   the   patented,  flat  tapered 

of  Kotex.  So  unlike  thick,  stubby  napkins,  those 

pressed    ends    don't    show    revealing   lines.    Kotex 

)s  you  confident! 


Now- a  DEODORANT 

in  every  Kofex 

sanitary  napkin 


More  women  choose  KOTEX*  +han  all 

o+her  sanlfary  napkins  buf  +ogefhei 


«T.  M   Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


58 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


Soap  contains  vital 
war  materials  •  •  • 
DONT  SNASli.  IT! 


Pretty  undies  stay  lovely  3  times  longer 
with  gentle  Lux  care!  And  what  a  saving  that 
is!  No  girl  likes  to  wear  drab,  faded  undies 
with  frayed  shoulder  straps,  burst-out  seams, 
torn  lace.  These  things  happen  to  undies  when 
you  use  harsh  washday  methods— strong  soap, 
too-hot  water,  rough  handling. 

In  actual  tests,  slips  and  nighties  looked  lovely 
after  30  Luxings.  Identical  undies  washed  the 
harsh  way  were  faded,  worn. 

a/X  CARE  IS  THRIFT/^ 

^:e^s  u/idced  love^  3  tcm^  ^n^er/ 


(€^ 


id 


(Continued  from  Page  56) 
"Never,"  said  Bill.  "You  can  tell  Tim 
that." 

"Tim.  Oh,  yes— Tim  knows  too,"  Judith 
told  him.  "  I  saw  it  in  his  eyes.  I  don't  know 
how  he  knows.  He  thought  I  did  it.  And 
then  he  thought  it  was  Winnie.  Either  way, 
you  see,  it  was  tragedy.  And  I  could  have 
stopped  it." 

"No,"  said  Bill.  "You  couldn't  have 
stopped  it.  From  the  moment  Andre  met 
you  and  Winnie  he  was  determined  to  get 
one  of  you.  He  stood  to  get  the  most  money 
with  Winnie." 

"But  she  loved  him,"  said  Judith.  "She'd 
never  been  in  love  before.  I— that  was  why 
I  sent  him  to  Tim.  I  knew  Andre  would 
stand  a  better  chance  if  he  had  a  job.  If  he 
convinced  Tim  he  wasn't  a  fortune  hunter. 
But  Tim  thought  he  was  my  lover.  Win- 
nie   "    She  moved  her  beautiful  head 

as  if  looking  all  around  the  little  room,  yet 
seeing  far  beyond  its  white-and-coral  walls. 
"Are  you  sure,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes 
coming    back    to    Bill, 
"are  you  sure  it's  better 
this  way?" 

"It's  better  for  Tim," 
said  Bill.  "It's  better 
for  you.  It's  better  for 
everybody." 

"  She  told  Charlie  that 
Cecily  had  seen  Marny. 
I  asked  Charlie  just 
now.  He  insisted  it 
was  I  on  the  telephone 
and " 

"Telephone?" 

"Of course.  Didn'the 
tell  you?  My  voice  is 
low  and  easy  to  imitate, 
you  see.  She  phoned 
him  and  said  it  was 
Judith,  and  he  said  it 
wasn't  a  very  good  con- 
nection and  that  he 
couldn't  hear  very  well, 
but  it  sounded  like  me. 
She — she  counted  on  the 
fact  that  sooner  or  later 
he'd  tell  the  police  that 
I  had  told  him  about 
Cecily." 

"You'd  better  be  the 
one  to  tell  Tim,"  said 
Bill. 

"Yes.  Yes.  I've  got 
to  do  that  for  him. 
Yes."  She  paused  for 
a  moment  and  pulled 
herself  upward  and 
seemed  to  gather  all  her 
strength.  And  went 
away  again. 

Bill  said  slowly, 
"Manson  is  a  good 
guy.  It'll  never  reach 
the  papers." 

"Tim  "  said  Marny,  whispering  as 

Judith  had  done. 

Bill  got  up.  "Tim's  got  courage.  He's 
faced  the  suspicion  of  it.  Judith  will  help 
him.   He  loves  her.   And  she  loves  him." 

She  thought  of  Tim's  pride;  Bill  was  right. 
Tim  could  conquer  tragedy,  even  if  he  could 
never  forget  it.  He  could  never  have  con- 
quered public  humiliation  for  Winnie  and 
himself. 

IJILL  said  suddenly,  "Andre  Durant  mur- 
dered Winnie  and  murdered  Cecily  as  cer- 
tainly as  if  he  had  done  it  with  his  own 
hands."  He  paused  and  added  wearily,  "I 
ought  to  have  known  last  night,  when  I  saw 
the  cast  of  my  own  name,  or  part  of  it.  But 
it  only  puzzled  me,  then,  for  I  kept  thinking 
about  the  hibiscus;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
there  was  some  funny  inconsistency  some- 
where, only  I  couldn't  think  where  or  what. 
When  I  was  going  through  the  dining  room 
just  now  to  look  for  Laideau,  I  knew.  The 
silver  flower  bowl  was  on  the  dining  table 
and  it  was  empty.  It  was  empty  when  you 
and  I,  after  Cecily's  murder,  went  into  the 
dining  room;  I  remember  how  it  reflected 
the  flames  of  the  candles.  The  candles  were 
lighted,  the  table  set— but  there  were  no 
flowers  and  somebody,  sometime,  said  that 


June,  194S 

Winnie  had  gone  to  fix  the  flowers.  And  then 
I  knew.  And  it  hooked  up  everything:  you 
had  happened  to  wear  Wirmie's  blue  dress 
and  would  have  been  attacked  if  Charlie 
hadn't  blundered  along.  Her  cjpess,  light 
blue,  would  have  looked  white  in  the  dusk 
and  from  the  airplane.  And — I  ought  to  have 
seen  it  last  night,  but  I  didn't — Wirmie  and 
you  and  Andre  were  the  only  people  who 
knew  I  had  come  to  Shadow  Island  at  all. 
Whoever  left  that  clue  beside  Cecily  had  to 
know  my  name.  Andre  was  murdered.  You 
hadn't  done  it.  It  had  to  be  Winnie.  I 
stopped  to  phone  to  Manson.  They'd  found 
Laideau,  by  the  way.  In  a  little  hotel,  j 
hiding.  He  was  afraid  of  being  murdered 
too.  He  guessed  that  Andre  had  tried  black- 
mail once  too  often,  but  he  didn't  know  it 
was  Winnie." 

"Winnie "  said  Marny  past  a  hard, 

painful  stricture  of  her  throat  that  she  could 
not  swallow. 

Bill    said,    "Not   Winnie   really.    AndrS 
Durant."  Suddenly  he  put  both  arms  around 

her.     "Was    it    right, 

Marny?    What  I  did? 

Was  it  right?" 
"Yes.   Yes,  BilL    It 

was  right." 


O^ 


By  Ethel  Barnett  de  Vito 


He  held  her  for  a  mO' 

ment,  his  face  against ! 
her  own.    And  said 
slowly,    "  I    think — all 
my  life — I'm  going  to 
need  you." 


Somewhere  unclimbed 

Are  the  hills  we  shall  climb. 

Are  the  walks  we  shall  walk 

And  the  roads  we  shall  run. 
Somewhere  intact 
Are  the  brooks  we  shall  fish. 
Are  the  woods  we  shall  stalk 

In  the  sight  of  the  sun. 


Somewhere  in  time 
All  untouched,  lain  in  wait 
Are  the  days  we  shall  have, 
«  Are  the  hours  we  shall  hold; 
The  weather  we'll  weather 
Together,  together. 
With  one  growing  older 
And  one  growing  old. 

Rest  well  and  dream: 
The  long  day  of  waiting 
Must  end  howsoever 

It  wills  not  to  die; 
And  we  have  a  promise, 
A  date  with  tomorrow — 
From  there  to  forever 

When  now  has  gone  by. 


The  storm  passed.  It 
was  not  a  bad  storm, 
really ;  only  the  rim  of 
the  hurricane  had] 
caught  at  the  island  and 
then  whirled  out  to  sea 
again.  There  was  al- , 
most  no  damage.  | 

One  life  was  lost  when 
Miss  Winnie  Wales, 
well-known  tennis 
player,  lost  her  life  while 
attempting  to  row  from 
Shadow  Island  to 
another  island. 

The  murder  case  on 
Shadow  Island  dropped 
out  of  the  newspapers. 
Sometime  Tim  had  a 
long  talk  with  Bill 
Cameron.  He  told 
Marny  about  it, 
briefly — smoking,  look- 
ing out  across  the 
placid  blue  bay.  "This 
fellow  Cameron,"  he 
said,  "is  all  right.  He 
wants  me  to  string  along 
with  the  others  in  a 
world  conference.  I've 
always  played  a  lone 
hand.  But" — he  paused — "if  there's  any 
possible  way  for  civil  aviation  to  throw  in 
its  weight  for  peace,  I'm  for  it.  You  can 
tell  Bill  that." 
"Yes,  Tim." 

"He — Bill  Cameron,  you  know — says  it 
was  really  Durflnt.  Durant  murdered  his 
wife  and — and  Winnie." 
"That's  right,  Tim." 
"Yes."  He  got  up  and  stood  with  his 
back  to  her.  A  ghost  of  the  old  Tim  came 
back  into  his  voice:  "You're  a  good  girl, 
Marny.  I'll  miss  you.  But  if  that  fellow 
Cameron  wants  to  marry  you,  take  him." 

They  were  on  the  porch  and  Bill  came  just 
then  through  the  drawing  room.  "Ready, 
Marny  ?  "  he  asked  her.  ' '  We  were  going  for 
a  drive  — — " 

But  at  the  curve  of  the  driveway  he 
stopped  the  car.  The  sun  was  brilliant,  the 
banks  green  and  thick. 

He  said  abruptly,  "It  hasn't  been  long. 
That  you've  known  me,  I  mean.  But  I've 
loved  you  all  my  life.  I — it  was  as  if  I  recog- 
nized you  there  in  the  pool.  That  night  I 
came.  I— oh,"  said  Bill,  "I  can't  talk." 
And  took  her  in  his  arms,  as  if  he  meant  tP 
hold  her  there  forever. 

(THE  END) 


LADIES'  HOVE  JOURNAL 


59 


BlUEJAY  tm 


CORNS? 


Only  New  Blue-Jay  has  pain-curbing 
Nupercaine  that  deadens  the  throb- 
bing pain  around  corn's  core,  until 
gentle  medication  softens,  loosens 
core  and  you  lift  it  out.  Blessed  re- 
lief you've  never  known  before!  Blue- 
Jay's  soft  Dura-felt  pad  instantly 
banishes  torturing  shoe  pressure. 
New  Blue-Jay  is  streamhned,  comfort- 
able and  flesh-tinted.  Try  it  tonight! 


CALLUSES? 


TryBlue-JayCallusPlastersthat   \^ml 
relieve  painful  pressure,  while 
medication  helps  remove  callus. 


TIRED,  BURNING  FEET? 


Blue-Jay  Foot  Powder  is  sooth- 
ing, cooling.  Reduces  perspiration; 
deodorizes  too.  Wonderful  relief! 


SHOE  TORTURE? 


Blue-Jay  Cushion  Moleskin 
is  extra-soft;  it's  adhesive, 
flesh-colored .  Cut  i  t  to  fit  over 
any  tender,  sore  spot  where  shoe  rubs. 

Why  suffer,  when  there's  a  Blue-Jay  re- 
lief for  every  common  foot  trouble,  handy 
at  drug  or  toilet 
goods  counter ! 

No  matter  what 
you've  tried  before, 
try  Blue-Jay  now! 
Don't  accept  sub- 
stitutes. 


BLUE 


Products  of 


Division  of  The  Kendall  Company^  Chicago  16 


mSM 


TIRED 


1  Hold  reading  matter  about  14  Inches  from  face. 

'*'  Do  not  read  small  print  unnecessarily. 

O  Avoid  reading  or  working  in  poor  light.  Never  face 

^  the  light— let  it  come  from  behind  you. 

O  After  driving,  exposure  to  dust  or  wind,  when  eyes 

^  are  overworked,  bathe  them  with  Lavoptik. 

.  .  .  Wom<?n  ever>i».here,  for  over  30  years,  have 

praL?<;d   LAVOPTIK   lor  its  prompt  relief  of  tired, 

burning  and  itching  eyes  and      ..^-rTVTTTT, 

the  way  LAVOPTIK  soothes  irri-  /<>;*      "K  ,  ,    ..x 

tared  eyelids.  Try  LAVOPTIK  to-  (">  Ouaronieed  by  '-^ 

day,  it  must  fully  satisfy  you  or  V""""  .""."^''-'^P'"? 

your  money  will  be  refunded. 


xs/r   yoa/9  oftucGisr  ^0/9 


BRINGS 
BEAUTY 


BARE 


LEG    MAK  E-UP 


GOES  ON  SO  EASILY 
.  .  .  LASTS  SO  LONG 

On\f  iOc  at  Drug  and  Oepartment  Storei 


FALSE  TEETH 

KLUTCH   holds  them  tighter 

KLUTCH  forms  a  comfort  cushion;  holds  dental 
plates  so  much  firmer  and  snugger  that  one  can 
eat  aria  talk  with^  greater  comfort  and  security;  in 
many  cases  almost  as  well  as  with  natural  teeth. 
Klutch  lessens  the  constant  fear  of  a  dropping,  rock- 
ing, chafing  plate.  25c  and  -dOc  at  druggists.  ...  If  your 
druggist  hasn't  it,  don't  waste  money  on  substi- 
tutes, but  send  us  10c  and  we  will  mail  you  a 
generous  trial  box.  ©  i.  p  i»c. 

KLUTCH    CO.,     4521-F,     ELMIRA,  N.   Y. 


IP  FRO^T 

(Continued  from  Page  19) 

Newspapers  which  have  enough  shreds  left 
to  be  readable  are  so  old  that  the  only  thing 
guys  look  for  in  their  own  home-town  sheets 
is  something  about  somebody  they  know. 
For  that  reason,  the  society  sections  of  home 
papers  probably  get  more  attention  than  the 
feature  pages. 

The  mail  is  by  far  the  .nost  important 
reading  matter  which  reaches  soldiers  over- 
seas. This  has  had  so  much  publicity  that  if 
some  people  aren't  writing  regularly  to  their 
guys  in  the  war,  it's  because  they  don't  want 
to.  A  common  e.xcuse  at  home  seems  to  be 
that  they  aren't  getting  much  mail  from  the 
guys  here.  The  little  lady  says,  "Okay,  if  the 
bum  is  going  to  sight-see  around  Europe  and 
not  bother  to  write,  I  just  won't  write  him." 
Some  guys  do  sight-see  around  Europe  with- 
out bothering  to  write.  Not  the  doggie.  He 
doesn't  do  any  sight-seeing,  and  he  doesn't 
have  many  opportunities  to  write.  If  the 
lady  could  see  him  scrawling  on  a  V-mail 
blank  in  a  dugout,  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
stuck  with  its  own  hot  grease  on  his  knee, 
she  would  change  her  way  of  thinking. 

It's  very  hard  to  write  interesting  letters 
if  you  are  in  the  infantry.  About  the  only 
things  you  can  talk  about  are  what  you  are 
doing  and  where  you  are,  and  that's  cut  out 
by  the  censor.  It's  ver>'  hard  to  compose  a 
letter  that  will  pass  the  censors  when  you 
are  tired  and  scared  and  disgusted  with 
everything  that's  happening. 

A  lot  of  people  aren't  very-  smart  when 
they  write  to  a  soldier.  They  complain  about 
the  gasoline  shortage,  or  worry  him  or  anger 
him  in  a  hundred  different  ways  which  di- 
rectly affect  his  efficiency  and  morale.  Your 
feelings  get  touchy  and  explosive  at  the 
front.  A  man  feels  ver>'  fine  fighting  a  war 
when  his  girl  has  just  written  that  she  is 
thinking  that  perhaps  they  made  a  mistake. 
He  might  figure,  "What  the  hell,  the  only 
thing  I  was  living  for  was  that  I  knew  she 
would  wait  for  me."  He's  going  to  feel  pretty 
low  and  he  might  get  a  little  careless  because 
of  it,  at  a  place  where  he  can't  afford  to  be 
careless. 

But  considerate  women  have  done  far 
more  to  help  their  men  than  they  may  re- 
alize. A  soldier's  life  revolves  around  his 
mail.  Like  many  others,  I've  been  able  to 
follow  my  kid's  progress  from  the  day  he  was 
bom  until  now  he  is  able  to  walk  and  talk  a 
little,  and  although  I  have  never  seen  him  I 
know  him  very  well.  Jean  has  sent  dozens  of 
snapshots  of  herself  and  the  little  guy  and  it 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 

Soldiers  at  the  front  read  K-ration  labels 
when  the  contents  are  listed  on  the  package, 
just  to  be  reading  something.  God  knows 
they  are  familiar  enough  with  the  contents — 
right  down  to  the  last  dextrose  tablet.  That 
puts  Stars  and  Stripes,  the  only  daily  news- 
paper which  reaches  them  with  any  regular- 
ity, in  a  pretty  good  spot. 

When  I  was  transferred  to  the  paper  in  the 
early  spring  of  1944,  I  had  just  come  from 
the  45th  Division  News,  where  we  thought 
and  wrote  what  we  damned  well  pleased, 
just  so  we  got  a  paper  out.  Because  our  pa- 
per was  exclusively  for  combat  soldiers,  we 
didn't  have  to  worry  about  hurting  the  feel- 
ings of  high  brass  hats,  who  had  never  even 
heard  of  us. 

The  great  majority  of  generals  and  author- 
ities \Vho  see  the  sheet  over  here  leave  us 
strictly  alone.  There  is,  as  in  any  big  organ- 
ization, an  element  which  would  like  to  see 
the  editorial  staff  of  the  paper  drawn  and 
quartered,  and  there  are  still  a  few  characters 
who  make  life  uncomfortable  sometimes,  but 
we  haven't  lost  a  great  deal  of  sleep  over 
them.  As  far  as  I  know,  the  paper  never  had 
any  trouble  with  field  generals  who  actually 
command  troops  in  combat.  While  the  Italy 
edition  of  Stars  and  Stripjes  runs  occasional 
pictures  of  Gen.  Mark  Clark,  who  commands 
the  Fifth  Army  in  Italy,  he  gets  no  preference 
over  anyone  else.  When  Clark  got  Russia's 
highest  foreign  honor,  the  Order  of  Suvarov, 
he  was  given  six  lines  of  type  on  the  last  page 
(Continued  on  Page  61) 


Perfume,  S6.50;  S3. 50; 
$  1 . 1 0  —  plus  tax 


A  love  of  adventure ...  a  gay  freedom  of  spirit. 
Mix  the  two  . . .  with  discretion,  add  a  touch 
of  sweetness,  and  a  hint  of  mystery.  That  is 
Cheramy's  formula  for  April  Showers  Perfume! 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


5^:6^'^^' 


/ 


/' 


1^ 


Hard  to  tempt  those  hot-weather  appetites? 
Start  your  meals  with  Del  Monte  Fruit  Cocktail, 
and  you  can  brush  off  that  problem  any  day ! 

So  easy,  too  —  no  peeling,  dicing  or  mixing. 
And  you're  sure  of  real  flavor-first  quality  in 
all  five  fruits.  Peaches,  pears,  pineapple,  grapes 
and  cherries,  combined  for  balanced  flavor. 


't^ 


JU^ 


%\tf 


.ttl*-'* 


*%»**^ 


f»Cl 


>%® 


ni*^ 


,«** 


JUST  IMAGINE  this  frosty 
refresher  on  your  table 
tonight!  A  spur  to  appe- 
tites if  ever  you  had  one. 
And  each  sparkling  ten- 
der piece  of  fruit  assures 
you  that  Del  Monte 
uses  only  fruits  at  their 
luscious  best. 


TO  "AlERT"  APPETITES, 

serve  Fruit  Cocktail 
with  tiny  biscuits, 
spread  with  cheese  or 
deviled  ham.  Such 
tricks  are  easy  with 
Dei  Monte — always 
bright,  right,  ready 
and  welcome! 


4«dKs<H^i)is^ 


ji 


ANOTHER  DELICIOUS 

"  lead-ofF ' —  avocado 
with  five  Del  Monte 
Fruits.  Pineapple, 
peaches,pears,grapes, 
cherries,  all  rounded 
up !  Fruit  variety  you 
could  hardly  hope  to 
assemble  yourself 


V*. 


^ 


ea' 


.cb 


i^^'":  "ve  v°^ 


\\\\  P^' 


0^*"^ 


i.*i»^ 


.cot^^'^^fJoVv^^^ 


^\ilO 


ta' 


,cb 


cVe- 


quavj^^ecv 


4t' 


catv' 


oe^ 


cbei^^ 


U' 


Lbe^- 


>Aonte,  — ^^  ^ea' 


t>eV 


Vloo^« 


M^*^^ 


'  1 


^OC/f7 


FRUIT 

COCKTAIL 

SAVES  TIME  — SAVES  WORK  —  MAKES  MEALS  BRIGHTER 


Jp  Front 

(Coiilinur-il  from  I'aur  50) 

f  an  eight-page  edition.  And  he  was  prob- 
bly  surprised  to  get  tliat  much. 

Sometimes  the  cartoon  department  of  the 
•aper  got  a  Uttle  support  from  the  higher 
■rass,  including  Clark,  although  I  never  ex- 
pected it,  because  the  few  cartoons  I  had 
one  about  generals  had  a  definitely  insub- 
rdinate  air  about  them. 

During  that  hrst  winter  in  Italy,  when 
■tars  and  Stripes  printed  letters  from  out- 
aged  combat  soldiers  in  Naples,  and  when 
did  a  few  cartoons  on  the  subject,  the  dis- 
urbance  reached  the  ears  of  the  deputy 
heater  commander.  He  didn't  see  eye  to 
\e  with  the  paper  and  he  forbade  further 
istribution  of  some  of  the  stuff  I  was  doing. 
t  wasn't  his  first  or  his  last  complaint  about 
le,  and  when  brass  wearing  three  stars  puts 
le  clamps  on  you  there  is  nothing  much  you 
an  do  about  it.  Yet  right  in  the  middle  of 
le  mess,  a  corps  commander  asked  for  the 
riginal  of  one  of  the  drawings.  I  took  the 
rawing  to  him,  worrying  a  little  about  the 
ict  that  my  uniform  was  mixed  and  my  hair 
asn't  cut  and.  besides.  I  wasn't  accustomed 
)  hobnobbing  with  corps  commanders. 

The  tirst  thing  he  asked  me  was,  "How's 
our  battle  with  the  rear  echelon  progress- 

i.i;'''" 

That  staggered  me.  I  replied  that  I  had 
(Hhing  against  the  rear  echelon — only  some 
f  its  generals— and  that  I  was  being  accused 
y  them  of  undermining  somebody's  morale. 

He  said,  "When  you  start  drawing  pic- 
ares  that  don't  get  a  few  complaints,  then 
ou'd  better  quit,  because  you  won't  be  do- 
ig  anybody  any  good." 

I  felt  a  lot  better. 

While  a  guy  at  home  is  sweating  over  his 
icome  tax  and  Victory  garden,  a  dogface 
omewhere  is  getting  great  joy  out  of  wig- 
ling  his  little  finger.  He  does  it  just  to  see 
.  move  and  to  prove  to  himself  that  he  is 
till  alive  and  able  to  move  it.  Life  is  stripped 
own  to  bare  essentials  for  him  when  he  is 
ving  from  minute  to  minute,  wondering  if 
ich  is  his  last.  Because  he  is  fundamentally 
o  different  from  his  countryman  at  home, 
e  would  probably  be  sweating  just  as  hard 
ver  his  income  tax  and  Victory  garden  if  he 
'ere  home. 

But  now  he  has  changed.  His  sense  of 
umor  has  changed.  He  can  grin  at  grue- 
3me  jokes,  like  seeing  a  German  get  shot  in 
le  seat  of  his  pauts,  and  he  will  stare  un- 
Dmprehendingly  at  fragile  jokes  in  print 
'hich  would  have  made  him  rock  with 
lughter  before.  Perhaps  he  will  change 
ack  again  when  he  returns,  but  never  com- 
letely.  If  he  is  lucky,  his  memories  of 
tiose  sharp,  bitter  days  will  fade  over  the 
ears  into  a  hazy  recollection  of  a  period 
'hich  was  filled  with  homesickness  and  hor- 
ar  and  dread  and  monotony,  occasionally 
fted  and  lighted  by  the  gentle,  humorous 
nd  sometimes  downright  funny  things 
'hich  always  go  along  with  misery. 

I'd  like  to  talk  about  some  of  the  things  he 
'ill  remember,  and  then  forget  them. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


61 


■    .    .    I'll  neifT  sj/liixh  mud  on  a  dogface  again 
psy).  .  .  .   I'll  nei-er  splash  mud  on  a  dogface  again 
ilOOO).  .  .  .  Nuw  u-'dl  ya  help  us  pussh?" 


Mud,  for  one,  is  a  curse  which  seems  to 
save  itself  for  war.  I'm  sure  Europe  never 
gets  this  muddy  during  peacetime.  I'm 
equally  sure  that  no  mud  in  the  world  was 
so  deep  or  sticky  or  wet  as  European  mud. 
It  didn't  even  have  an  honest  color  like  or- 
dinary mud. 

I  made  the  drawing  about  the  jeep  driver 
and  the  foot  infantry  in  the  mud  for  a  rea- 
son. Those  guys  who  have  had  some  infantry, 
and  even  those  who  have  had  to  do  a  lot  of 
walking  in  other  branches,  generally  show  it 
by  the  way  they  drive.  If  a  man  barrels  past 
foot  troops,  splashing  mud  or  squirting  dust 
all  over  them  because  he  doesn't  bother  to 
slow  down — or  if  he  shoots  past  a  hitchhiker 
in  the  rain,  with  half  his  cozy  truck  cab 
empty — then  he  should  spend  a  week  or  two 
learning  how  to  use  his  feet,  because  he 
doesn't  appreciate  his  job  or  he's  just  plain 
stupid. 

Unfortunately,  there  are  a  lot  of  them  in 
the  Army.  I  saw  a  big  G.I.  truck  zoom  past 
an  infantry  battalion  in  France,  right  after 
the  rains  began  to  fall.  The  driver  spattered 
the  troops  pretty  thoroughly — but  they  were 
gettii^g  used  to  being  spattered,  and  they 
didn't  say  much.  His  truck  bogged  down 
half  a  mile  up  the  road,  and  when  the  lead- 
ing company  caught  up  with  him  he  had  the 
unbelievable  gall  to  ask  them  to  push  him 
out.  They  replied  as  only  long-suffering  in- 
fantrymen can  reply.  They  shoved  his  face 
in  the  mud. 

The  w  orst  thing  about  mud,  outside  of  the 
fact  that  it  keeps  armies  from  advancing,  is 
that  It  causes  trench  foot.  There  was  a  lot  of 
it  that  first  winter  in  Italy.  The  doggies 
found  it  dithcult  to  keep  their  feet  dry,  and 
they  had  to  stay  in  wet  foxholes  for  days  and 
weeks  at  a  time.  If  they  couldn't  stand  the' 
pain  they  crawled  out  of  their  holes  and 
stumbled  and  crawled  (they  couldn't  walk) 
down  the  mountains  until  they  reached  the 
aid  station.  Their  shoes  were  cut  off,  and 
their  feet  swelled  like  balloons.  Sometimes 
the  feet  had  to  be  amputated.  But  most 
often  the  men  had  to  make  their  agonized 
way  back  up  the  mountain  and  crawl  into 
their  holes  again  because  there  were  no  re- 
placements and  the  line  had  to  be  held. 

Sometimes  the  replacement  problem  got 
fierce.  Companies  were  down  to  thirty  or 
forty  men,  but  they  managed  to  hold  on 
somehow.  It  was  worse  than  Valley  Forge. 
I  say  that  because  conditions  couldn't  have 
been  worse,  and  Washington's  men  didn't 
have  to  put  up  with  murderous  artillery  and 
mortar  fire. 

All  the  old  divisions  are  tired — the  outfits 
which  fought  in  Africa  and  Sicily  and  Italy 
and  God  knows  how  many  places  in  the 
Pacific.  It  doesn't  take  long  to  tire  an  out- 
fit, and  many  of  the  divisions  that  saw  their 
first  battle  in  France  are  undoubtedly  feeling 
very  fagged  out  right  now.  But  only  men 
who  have  seen  actual  war  at  first  hand  for 
two  years,  seeing  their  buddies  killed  day 
after  day,  trying  to  tell  themselves  that  the\ 
are  different — they  won't  get  it;  but  knowing 
deep  inside  them  that  they  car'  get  it — only 
those  guys  know  what  real  weariness  of  body, 
brain  and  soul  can  be. 

I've  tried  to  put  their  weariness  and  their 
looks  into  Willie  and  Joe,  who  started  with 
them  and  got  tired  with  them. 

Willie  and  Joe  aren't  at  all  clever.  They 
aren't  even  good  cartoon  characters,  because 
they  have  similar  features  which  are  dis- 
tinguishable only  by  their  different  noses. 
Willie  has  a  big  nose  and  Joe  has  a  little  one. 
The  bags  under  their  eyes  and  the  dirt  in 
their  ears  are  so  similar  that  few  people 
know  which  is  Willie  and  which  is  Joe. 

True,  Joe  and  Willie  don't  look  much  like 
the  cream  of  young  American  manhood 
which  was  sent  overseas  in  the  infantry. 
Neither  of  them  is  boyish,  although  neither 
is  aged.  Joe  is  in  his  early  twenties  and 
Willie  is  in  his  early  thirties — pretty  average 
ages  for  the  infantry.  While  they  are  no  com- 
pliment to  young  American  manhood's  good 
looks,  their  expressions  are  those  of  infantry 
soldiers  who  have  been  in  the  war  for  a 
couple  of  years. 

Lx)ok  at  an  infantryman's  eyes  and  you 
can  tell  how  much  war  he  has  seen.  Look  at 


yet  oh-so-slmple  \o  prepare 


3  tomatoes,  sliced 

6  ounces  cream  cheese 

Best  Foods  or  Hellmann's 

Real  Mayonnaise 
I  carrot,  grated 
Scallions 

3-ounce  can  deviled  ham 
Celery 
Parsley 


IN  THE  WEST  ^ 
IN  THE   EAST    ^ 


u/)// DO    Mix  cream  cheese  with 
'  2  tablespoons  Real 

Mayonnaise.  Shape  into  balls  and  roll 
in  carrot.  Insert  small  scallions  in  each 
ball.  Stuff  celery  with  ham  mixed  with 
1  tablespoon  Real  Mayonnaise.  Di- 
vide tray  into  4  sections  with  generous 
amount  of  Real  Mayonnaise.  Arrange 
tomatoes  in  2  sections,  cheese  balls 
and  celery  in  other  sections.  Garnish 
with  parsley,  as  illustrated.  This  de- 
lightful snack  tray  has  that  special 
look  that  makesyour  guests  feel  you've 
looked  forward  to  their  coming.  Ac- 
tually, it's  very  simple  to  prepare— yet 
something  substantial  enough  to 
please  the  menfolks  .  .  .  especially 
when  you're  extra  generous  with  the 
Real  Mayonnaise. 

They'll  Eat  the  Trimming 

Trimming  is  good  eating  when  it's 
Real  Mayonnaise.  Aside  from  being  a 
plain-and-fancy  flavor  high  — Best 
Foods  or  Hellmann's  Real  Mayon- 
naise is  rich  in  food  energy— provides 
almost  the  same  amount,  spoonful  for 
spoonful,  as  Nucoa  or  butter.  And 
remember,  when  you're  in  an  econom- 
ical mood,  you  can  stretch  Real  May- 
onnaise with  milk  or  fruit  juice,  and 
it's  still  creamy-rich  in  texture . . .  still 
delightfully  smooth  and  satisfying. 


BEST  FOODS^HELLMANN'S 


62 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  194; 


AMAZING  PROFESSIONAL 
MOTHPROOFING  METHOD 

now  available  for  home  use 


I^NO  ODOR  • 


NO 


^?m  •  NO  STORING  AWAY 


JUST  a  few  minutes  spraying  with 
LARVEX — and  Mrs.  Neal  has 
saved  her  husband's  new  suit  from 
moth  holes  for  a  whole  year. 

Now  Mrs.  Neal  won't  have  the 
bother  of  wrapping  up  this  suit  or 
storing  it  away!  She  just  puts  it 
back  in  the  closet  on  its  usual  hanger. 

WHY?  Moths  will  actually  starve 
to  death  before  they  will  eat  lar- 
VEXED  clothes,  sofas,  or  rugs! 

This  is  the  professional  moth- 
proofing method  used  by  leading 
woolen  mills,  laundries,  and  dry 
cleaners. 

And,  LARVEX  is  inexpensive — 
only  79t;-  per  pint,  $1.19  per  quart. 
Dry-cleaning  won't  impair  its 
year-long  moth-protection,  either. 
Washing  removes  LARVEX  but  dry- 
cleaning  does  not. 

Protect  all  your  woolens  this 
professional  way.  Use  larvex! 


LARVEX      IS      DIFFERENT 


CHEAP!  Just  one  LARVEX- 
ING  will  mothproof  this 
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a  year! 


QUICK!  A  few  minutes  with 
LARVEX  will  mothproof  a 
woman's  coat  for  12  months  I 


SURE!  See  this  spectacular  display  at  your 
Larvex  dealer's.  A  covered  dish  showing 
treated  and  untreated  cloth  with  live  moth 
worms.  Proof  right  before  your  eyes  that 
moth  worms  will  not  eat 
LARVEXED  fabrics! 


LARVEX 


Hex.  Irado  Usrk 


ONE    SPRAYING    MOTHPROOFS    FOR   A  WHOLE   YEAR 


his  actions  in  a  bar  and  listen  to  his  talk  and 
you  can  also  tell  how  much  he  has  seen.  If 
he  is  cocky  and  troublesome,  and  talks  about 
how  many  battles  he's  fought  and  how  much 
blood  he  has  spilled,  and  if  he  goes  around 
looking  for  a  fight  and  depending  upon  his 
uniform  to  get  him  extra-special  privileges, 
then  he  has  not  had  it.  If  he  is  looking  very 
weary  and  resigned  to  the  fact  that  he  is 
probably  going  to  die  before  it  is  over,  and 
if  he  has  a  deep,  almost  hopeless  desire  to 
go  home  and  forget  it  all;  if  he  looks  with 
dull,  uncomprehending  eyes  at  the  fresh- 
faced  kid  who  is  talking  about  the  joys  of 
battle  and  killing  Germans,  then  he  comes 
from  the  same  infantry  as  Joe  and  Willie. 

I've  made  it  sound  as  if  the  only  infantry 
is  the  kind  which  spends  its  time  being  mis- 
erable and  scared  in  foxholes.  There  are 
other  kinds.  There  are  those  who  like  it  and 
those  who  have  reasons  of  their  own  for 
wanting  it.  I  knew  two  of  these  notable 
exceptions:  a  swamp  hunter  from  Georgia 
and  an  exiled  baron  from  Prussia. 

The  swamp  hunter  once  killed  eight  krauts 
with  one  clip  from  his  M-1  rifle.  He  loved  to 
go  on  patrol,  all  alone,  with  a  rifle,  a  Luger 
pistol,  a  knife,  plenty  of  ammunition,  and 
half  a  dozen  grenades  hung  to  his  belt  by 
their  safety  rings,  so  he  could  pluck  them 
and  throw  them  like  ripe  tomatoes.  The  fact 
that  hanging  grenades  by  their  rings  is  not  a 
good  way  to  live  to  a  respectable  old  age 
didn't  bother  him  at  all.  In  fact,  he  told 
with  great  relish  how  one  came  loose  while 
he  was  creeping  around  a  German  position, 
and  how  it  exploded  under  his  feet,  kicking 
his  legs  up  in  the  air,  but  leaving  him  miracu- 
lously unscratched.  He  once  saved  his  entire 
company  by  sheer  guts,  and  he  has  been 
decorated  several  times.  He  says  war  is  just 
like  swamp  hunting. 

The  Prussian  is  a  wild  character  who  re- 
ceived a  battlefield  promotion  to  lieutenant 
after  saving  a  patrol  and  the  officer  who 
commanded  it  from  annihilation.  He  was 
famed  far  and  wide  for  leading  his  own 
patrols  fantastic  distances  through  enemy 
lines.  He  admits  he  gets  scared,  but  his 
hatred  for  the  Germans  is  so  intense  that  he 
keeps  it  up.  He  has  been  wounded  a  number 
of  times.  His  favorite  weapon  is  the  tommy 
gun,  although  he  used  a  carbine  once  to 
shoot  a  German  officer  through  the  throat, 
and  then  almost  wept  because  he  had  shat- 
tered the  officer's  fine  binoculars.  He  saved 
many  lives  and  got  a  lot  of  valuable  informa- 
tion by  the  simple  process  of  sneaking  into  a 
darkened  kraut  command  post  at  night,  de- 
manding to  know  the  plans  and  situations  in 
his  arrogant  Prussian  voice,  and  then  sneak- 
mg  back  to  our  side  again.  The  Army  couldn't 
get  along  without  soldiers  like  that.  They 
provide  wonderful  stories,  they  inspire  their 
comrades  to  greater  feats  of  arms. 

Joe  and  Willie,  however,  come  from  the 
other  infantry— the  great  numbers  of  men 
who  stay  and  sweat  in  the  foxholes  that  give 
their  more  courageous  brethren  claustro- 
phobia. They  go  on  patrol  when  patrols  are 
called  for,  and  they  don't  shirk  hazards,  be- 
cause they  don't  want  to  let  their  buddies 
down.  The  Army  couldn't  get  along  without 
them  either. 

Many  people  who  read  and  speak  of  bat- 
tle, noise,  excitement,  death  forget  one  of 
the  worst  things  about  a  war — its  monotony. 
That  is  the  thing  which  gets  everyone — com- 
bat soldier  and  rear  echelon  alike. 

The  "hurry  up  and  wait"  system  which 
seems  to  prevail  in  every  army  (double  time 
to  the  assembly  area  and  wait  two  hours  for 
the  trucks— drive  like  hell  to  the  docks  and 
wait  two  days  for  the  ship — fall  out  at  four 
in  the  morning  to  stand  an  inspection  which 
doesn't  come  off  until  late  afternoon),  that's 
one  of  the  things  which  make  war  tough. 
The  endless  marches  that  carry  you  on  and 
on  and  yet  never  seem  to  get  you  any  place — 
the  automatic  drag  of  one  foot  as  it  places 
itself  in  front  of  the  other  without  any 
prompting  from  your  dulled  brain,  and  the 
unutterable  relief  as  you  sink  down  for  a  ten- 
minute  break,  spoiled  by  the  knowledge  that 
you'll  have  to  get  up  and  go  again— the 
never-ending  monotony  of  days  and  weeks 


S/tMr/IRyf/OUSECCEAiif/NO! 

ill 


/7S  /tf/m  Too/pRorea- 

/S/¥OIV£XTfiA 
//HPOtnANTf. 


Safeguarding  family  health 

is  always  a  major  responsibility. 
And  it  is  especially  important 
now  because  of  fewer  civilian 
doctors  and  nurses.  A  simple 
yet  efTective  precaution  is  to 
use  Clorox  in  routine  cleansing 
of  tile,  enamel,  porcelain,  lino- 
leum, wood  surfaces;  also  in 
laundering  white  and  color-fast 
cottons  and  linens.  For  Clorox 
disinfects,  also  deodorizes,  re- 
moves stains.  Simply  follow  di- 
rections on  the  label.        ^^^ 


AMf«ie*S  FAVORIU   HIACH 
AND  HOUSEHOLD  DISINflCTANT 


TiTM 


FtEE   riOM  CAUSTIC 


Ujflmm^ 


DEODORIZES  C/bLE  ACHES 
REMOVES  STAINS 


Jji^  I  tv/^,Ys  ClOROX-CieAfif... 


TRI-OGEN 


for 


^Msa/I^  ^a/uht 


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indbdeidingdeparlmenljurnilureaiKthiiilwareileaierseverifxhere 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


63 


No  need  to  waste  time  scrubbing  a 
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Sani-Flush  removes  many  recur- 
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housewives  use  it  at  lea^  twice  a 
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Ssuni'Flu^h 


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KILLS  ROACHES 
WATERBUGS    •    SILVERFISH 

i-  ^.^r  Sanitary  Gator  Roach  Hives.  AND  CRICKETS 

'Insects  eat  the  bait  in  the  protective  tube — and  die.  Can 
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and  months  and  years  of  bad  weather  and 
wet  clothes  and  no  mail — all  this  sends  as 
many  men  into  the  psychopathic  wards  as 
does  battle  fatigue. 

Like  fraternity  brothers  who  have  had  a 
tough  initiation,  many  of  the  old-timers  over 
here  are  ornery  enough  to  kid  replacements 
who  begin  to  feel  pretty  miserable  and  home- 
sick after  six  months.  "The  first  year  is  the 
worst,"  they  say.  " The  second  year  isn't  so 
bad,  and  by  the  time  you  begin  your  third 
year  overseas  you  are  almost  used  to  it." 

But  it  ain't  true,  brother;  it  ain't  true. 

I  read  someplace  that  the  American  boy 
is  not  capable  of  hate.  Maybe  we  don't  share 
the  deep,  traditional  hatred  of  the  French  or 
the  Poles  or  the  Jugoslavs  toward  the  krauts. 
but  you  can't  have  friends  killed  without 
hating  the  men  who  did  it.  It  made  the  dog- 
faces sick  to  read  articles  by  people  who  say, 
"It  isn't  the  Germans,  it's  the  Nazis."  Our 
Army  saw  few  actual  Xazis,  except  when 
they  threw  in  special  SS  divisions.  We  did 
see  the  Germans— the  youth  and  the  men 
and  the  husbands  and  the  fathers  of  Ger- 
many, and  we  know  them  for  a  ruthless, 
cold,  cruel  and  powerful  enemy. 

When  our  guys  cringed  under  an  88barrage, 
you  didn't  hear  them  say,  "Those  dirty 
Nazis."  You  heard  them  say,  "Those  god- 
dam krauts. ' '  Because  our  men  soon  learned 
to  be  more  or  less  professional  fighters  at  the 
front,  they  have  a  deep  respect  for  the  Ger- 
man's ability  to  wage  war.  You  may  hear  a 
doggie  call  a  German  a  skunk,  but  he'll  never 
say  he's  not  good. 

The  Germans  preferred  to  surrender  to 
Americans  rather  than  to  some  Europeans, 
because  they  knew  they  would  be  treated 
fairly.  Being  Germans,  they  took  advantage 
of  this  sometimes.  I  watched  a  crippled  FFl 
man  working  the  hell  out  of  a  detail  of  Ger- 
man prisoners  at  the  docks  of  Marseille.  He 
was  not  abusing  them;  he  was  simply  mak- 
ing certain  their  hands  got  callused.  He  had 
been  crippled  by  the  Germans  and  they  had 
wrecked  the  docks,  so  his  heart  was  in  his 
work.  Then  an  American  sergeant,  who  had 
the  air  of  a  man  freshly  arrived  in  Europe, 
strolled  up.  Immediately  they  began  groan- 
ing and  limping  and  looking  sick  and  picked- 
on.  The  sergeant  stopped  the  work  and  gave 
each  man  a  cigarette.  The  Frenchman  limped 
away  disgustedly.  The  American  turned  his 
back  for  a  moment,  and  the  entire  detail  of 
krauts  grinned  at  one  another. 

I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  an  Austrian 
corporal  named  Shicklgruber  received  an 
American  cigarette  under  similar  conditions 
twenty-six  years  ago. 

Friends  in  war  are  different  in  many  ways 
from  friends  in  peacetime.  You  depend  upon 


1.  Whoa,  there! 
2  inches 
from  where  you 
washed  baby's  carrot 


2.  your  sink  drain 
seethes  with  slimy 
SEWER  GERMS 

Survey  by  Molnar  Laboratories 
New  York  City 


f?^^_^? 

B^^c 

l^g^^ 

^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

'VI^B 

^R^  ^^ 

.■M^^" 

KB*               ^^ 

/^ — "' 

;,...-^^ 

\. 

JJ 

i 

li 

Infantryman  Mauldin  caught  by  the 
camera  in   his  long  winter  drawers. 


3.  scrub  like  mad,  yet  you 
can't  get  at  these  germs 

Actual  sewer  germs  magnified 
approximately  20,000  times 


4.  but  Drano  boils 
SEWER  GERMS  out 
like  a  streak!  Makes 
your  sink  safe,  sanitary! 


5.  Yes,  and  Drano  opens 
clogged  drains— drains  so 
stopped  up  even  water 
can't  trickle  through! 


6.  Get  Drano  today! 
Use  it — regularly  to 
keep  sink  sanitary, 
drains  free-running. 


Never  over  25c  at  grocery,  drug,  and  hardware  stores 


Drano 


CLEARS  OUT  SEWER  GERMS 
OPENS   CLOGGED  DRAINS 


Copr.  1946  The  Onckett  Co. 


64 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


jlE^A 


Film-Finish  Powder 


Finest-ever  texture  ...  loveliest-ever  shades 
for  that   Hollywood  "finish 


It's  a  charmer,  a  four-alarmer  - .  .  this 
heavenly  new  Woodbury  Powderl 
Made  to  give  you  the  breathless  appeal, 
stars  like  Susan  Peters  have  on  the 
screen.  New  5- stage  blending  pro- 
duces lovelier  shades,  which  ttevtrchange 
on  your  skin,  smoothest-ever  texture! 


VToodbury  Film-Finish  Powder  won't 
clog,  cake,  turn  past>-.  CAll  claims  have 
been  proved  by  test[)  Never  makes  your 
skin  look  "porey"  or  '  powder>'  .  Just 
clings  like  a  lovely  dream,  to  help  you 
charm  your  man !  Choose  from  eight, 
star-styled,  lovelier  shades  today  < 


SUSAN    PETERS.Iovelyyoung 
star  of  Metro-Goidwyn-Mayer,  appears 
in  "KEff  YOUR  POWDBt  DRY".  Woodbury 
CHAMPAGNE  RACHa  is  golden  drama  for  a 
honey-foned  medium  skin  I3ce  Susan's. 


YOUR  MATCHB)  MAKE-UP  $1  .  .  .  Now  with  your  big 
$f  box  of  Woodbury  Powder,  you  also  ge*  youryust- 
righr  shqdes  of  mafchirg  lipstick  and  rouge  . . .  Beauty 
Borgaint  No  change  in  the  box — all  Woodbury 
Powder  now  on  sole  is  the  new  "Rim-Finish"  Powder. 

Ais«  boxM  of  Weodfanry    Pawdw.   ]S<   and    I0(.    p<«c  lax 


Woo 


dLr^  Fin'Th 


rowd 


er 


firiends  in  war  much  more.  The  infantr>-men 
can't  hve  without  friends.  That  forces  them 
to  be  pretty  good  people,  and  that's  the  reason 
men  at  the  front  seem  so  much  simpler  and 
more  generous  than  others.  They  kid  one  an- 
other unmercifully — sometmies  in  ways  that 
would  seem  a  little  ribald  to  the  uninitiated. 

For  instance,  there  was  the  young  guy  who 
got  married  two  weeks  before  shippmg  out. 
has  been  overseas  two  years,  and  was  desper- 
ately homesick.  Some  other  guy  will  say  to 
him:  "You  wanna  go  home?  Hell,  you 
found  a  home  in  the  Army.  You  got  your 
first  pair  of  shoes  and  your  first  square  meal 
in  the  Army.  You're  Uving  a  clean,  healthy, 
outdoor  life,  and  you  want  to  go  back  and 
be  henpecked." 

He  keeps  up  this  apparently  heartless  ti- 
rade until  the  \ictim  heaves  a  big  rock  at 
him  and  feels  better.  But  it  isn't  heartless, 
because  only  a  man  who  is  terribly  home- 
sick himself  would  dare  to  say  a  thing  like 
that.  He  isn't  just  pouring  it  on  the  other 
guy — he's  trying  to  kid  himself  into  feeling 
better. 

When  you  lose  a  friend  you  have  an  over- 
powering desire  to  go  back  home  and  yell  in 
ever>-body's  ear,  "This  guy  was  killed  fight- 
ing for  you.  Don't  forget  him — ever.  Keep 
him  in  your  mind  when  you  wake  up  in  the 
morning  and  when  you  go  to  bed  at  night. 
Don't  think  of  him  as  the  statistic  which 
changes  38.788  casualties  to  38.789.  Think 
of  him  as  a  guy  who  wanted  to  live  as  much 
as  you  do.  Don't  let  him  be  just  one  of  "Our 
Brave  Boys'  from  the  old  home  town,  to 
whom  a  monument  is  erected  in  the  city 
park,  and  a  civic-minded  lady  calls  the  news- 
paper ten  years  later  and  asks  why  that 
"unsightly  stone'  isn't  removed." 

There  is  surprisingly  little  bickering  and 
jealousy  in  combat  outfits.  There  might  be  a 
little  between  the  company  cooks  or  the  sup- 
ply sergeant  and  the  company  clerk,  but  the 
more  action  anybody  sees,  the  less  spiteful 
he  is  toward  those  around  him. 

If  a  .\t\.N  is  up  for  a  medal,  his  friends  are 
so  willing  to  be  witnesses  that  sometimes 
they  must  be  cross-e.xamined  to  make  sure 
they  are  not  crediting  him  with  three 
knocked-out  machine  guns  instead  of  one. 
They  fight  together,  argue  together,  work 
together,  stick  together  if  one  is  in  trouble, 
and  that's  a  ver>'  big  reason  why  infantry 
guys  win  wars. 

Of  course,  there  are  misfits  who  just  can't 
make  friends  or  who  are  just  plain  ornery, 
but  they  depart  sooner  or  later.  If  something 
doesn't  happen  to  them  during  battle,  they 
blow  their  tops  or  they  just  leave  when  there 
is  an  opportumty.  But  you  will  seldom  find 
a  misfit  who  has  been  in  an  outfit  more  than 
a  few  months. 

I'm  not  equipped  to  talk  about  Europe, 
because  I  don't  know  a  darned  thing  about 
it.  My  impressions  are  simply  reactions  to 
what  I  have  seen,  and  all  I  can  do  is  offer 
them  as  explanations  for  some  of  the  draw- 
ings I  made  about  the  experiences  soldiers 
have  had  with  civilians  here  and  there. 

While  most  guys  over  here  swear  heartily 
at  the  people  who  always  seem  to  be  trying 
to  take  advantage  of  us,  we  all  have  to  ad- 
mit that  deflating  the  G.I.  pocketbook  is  not 
an  acti\ity  peculiar  to  Europe.  We  still  have 
dim  memories  of  days  long  ago  when  shops 
and  restaurants  in  some  American  towns 
kept  double  price  lists  for  soldiers  and  civil- 
ians, and  those  of  us  who  had  wives  can't  for- 
get rooming  houses  whose  proprietors  hung 
out  "Soldiers'  Families  Welcome"  signs,  and 
then  stuck  us  for  all  our  monthly  pay. 

Those  of  us  who  spent  a  long  time  in  Sicily 
and  Italy  are  more  amazed  ever>-  day  that 
such  a  run-down  country  could  have  had  the 
audacity  to  declare  war  on  anyone,  even 
with  the  backing  of  the  krauts. 

Italy  reminds  a  guy  of  a  dog  hit  by  an 
automobile  because  it  ran  out  and  tried  to 
bite  the  tires.  You  can't  just  leave  the  crit- 
ter there  to  die.  but  you  remember  that  you 
wouldn't  have  run  over  it  if  it  had  stayed 
on  the  sidewalk.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
Italians  are  paying  a  sti£f  price  for  their  past 


Jane,  1945 

sins.  The  country  looks  as  if  a  giant  rake  had 
gone  over  it  from  end  to  end.  and  when  you 
have  been  going  along  with  the  rake  you 
wonder  that  there  is  anything  left  at  all. 

The  doggies  became  accustomed  to  the 
abject  poverty  and  hunger  of  thi  Italian 
refugees  who  str'eamed  out  of  towns  which 
were  being  fought  over,  and  who  hung 
around  bivouac  areas,  but  no  dogface  ever 
became  hardened  to  it. 

It  would  take  a  pretty  tough  guy  not  to 
feel  his  heart  go  out  to  the  shivering  little 
six-year-old  squeaker  who  stands  barefoot  in 
the  mud.  holding  a  big  tin  bucket  so  the  dog- 
face can  empty  his  mess  kit  into  it.    Many 


1  /ic  t'Tiriit  arid  Wc  tduyr. 

soldiers,  veterans  of  the  Italy  campaign  and 
thousands  of  siinilar  buckets,  still  go  back 
and  sweat  out  the  mess  line  for  an  extra  chop 
and  hunk  of  bread  for  those  little  kids. 

It  hits  the  doggies  to  see  a  man  staring 
glassily  at  the  shambles  of  the  home  he  spent 
his  life  building,  and  they  would  like  to  be 
able  to  comfort  him.  Perhaps  they  feel  that 
way  because  they  realize  more  and  more  how 
lucky  our  own  country  is  to  have  escaped  all 
this.  It  chills  a  man  to  see  a  young  girl  with 
a  haimted,  hopeless  expression  in  her  eyes 
and  a  squalling  baby  which  must  go  on 
squalling  because  she  is  hunrry'  and  has  no 
milk  for  it.  Not  only  does  he  pity  her,  but 
he  thinks  that  this  could  possibly  have  hap- 
pened to  his  own  sister  or  his  wife.  He  re- 
alizes it  even  more  when  he  considers  how 
near  the  Germans  were  to  \ictor>-  when  he 
started  fighting  them. 

We  were  swindled  unmercifully  ever>-- 
where  we  went;  we've  learned  to  take  it  for 
granted.  But  a  lot  of  the  blame  is  our  own. 
If  we  find  a  barbershop  where  the  price 
equals  six  cents  in  American  money,  we  plop 
down  what  amoimts  to  fifty  cents  in  tattered 
European  currency.  When  our  change  is 
counted  out  to  us  in  even  more  tattered 
bills — some  worth  as  Uttle  as  one  cent— we 
tell  the  barber  to  keep  the  change.  We'd 
have  paid  that  price  in  America,  and  be- 
sides we  hate  to  have  wads  of  the  stuff 
sticking  between  our  fingers  every-  time  we 
reach  into  our  pockets  for  a  cigarette. 

After  two  or  three  dogfaces  have  repeated 
this  performance,  the  barber  decides  the 
stories  he  has  heard  about  all  Americans 
owning  oil  wells  are  true,  and  the  price  goes 
up  to  fifty  cents.  .■Mong  comes  a  Canadian, 
whose  government  allows  him  about  ten  dol- 
lars per  month  and  banks  the  rest  for  his  re- 
turn, and  when  the  barber  tries  to  soak  ^»m 
fifty  cents  the  Canadian  tears  the  shop  apart. 

All  this  leads  the  confused  barber  to  be- 
Ueve  that  the  Canadian  is  a  tightwad  and  the 
American  is  a  rich  fool. 


One  of  the  worst  plagues  for  people  who 
draw  pictures  in  the  Army  is  the  steady 
stream  of  requests  to  do  free-lance  art  work. 

Once  a  request  came  when  I  was  em- 
broiled in  the  "Battle  of  Naples,"  and  since 
it  came  from  a  corps  commander,  I  felt  I  | 
couldn't  afford  to  alienate  any  possible  ' 
fnends.  The  corps  commander  had  set  up  an 
officers'  club  in  an  Italian  yacht  club.  The 
{Continued  on  Page  66) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


65 


You  omij  tako  il7 
with  jOii 


TOT  that  you'd  ever  embark  on  a  date  with  a  tub 
N  in  tow— but  honestly  now,  doesn't  your  bath 
;shness  have  a  way  of  fading  into  the  warm  sum- 
er  night? 

But  you  do  want  to  be  safe.  And  there  is  a  way— a 
Ire,  easy  way  to  safeguard  your  daintiness.  You  can 
I  nch  that  freshness  with  Mum! 

Your  bath,  you  see,  washes  away  past  perspiration. 
iit  Mum  prevents  risk  of  future  underarm  odor. 

I'ith  Mum,  you  can  dance  the  hours  away  and  know 
at  your  charm  is  safe. 


.  ^-/ 


-tf^ 


n->v,  ,^^\ 


Sw-e-et  Ad-e-line.  And  they  do  mean  you!  Isn't  it 
thrilHng  to  know  that  men  find  you  attractive— the 
girl  they  like  most  to  be  near?  And  wouldn't  you  be  a 
goon  to  let  underarm  odor  rob  you  of  popularity!  So 
use  Mum,  to  be  sure.  How's  your  Mum  supply  today? 


Take  half  a  minute  with  Mum— and  stay  as  sweet  as  you 
are.  Gentle  Mum  never  irritates  your  skin,  won't  harm 
fabrics.  Why  take  chances  when  you  can  trust  Mum? 


Mum 


Product  oj  Bristol-Myers 


takes  the  odor  out  of  perspiration 


66 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


LIKE   SWIFT'S    PREMIUM   HAM 

Everybody's  "Johnny-on-the-spot"  when 
there's  I'rem  for  dinner.  For  Pr6m  has  the 
extra  goodness  of  the  exclusive  Smft's 
Premium  sugar  cure.  Of  course,  large  quan- 
tities of  Prem  are  going  to  our  fighting  men 
no  A',  just  as  you'd  want  it  to.  So  your  gro- 
cer isn't  to  blame  if  you  can't  always  get  it; 
but  he  won't  mind  if  you  remind  him 
you  would  like  some  when  he  does  hav<;  it 

SWIFT  A   COMPANY:  Purveyors  of  fine  foods. 


(Continued  from  Page  64) 
windows  were   portholes   and   had   to   be 
blacked  out  with  circular  pieces  of  plywood 
at  night. 

The  general's  aide  brought  over  two 
wooden  disks  on  which  the  old  man  wanted 
pictures  of  Willie  and  Joe.  I  took  a  dim  view 
of  decorating  officers'  clubs,  because  I  felt  it 
would  ruin  my  standing  as  an  honorable  en- 
listed man.  But  I  worked  out  a  satisfactory 
solution.  I  told  the  aide  the  drawings  would 
be  finished  in  a  couple  of  days.  It  actually 
took  fifteen  minutes,  but  you  can't  afford  to 
let  people  know  you  can  work  fast. 

I  painted  Willie  on  one  piece  of  plywood 
and  Joe  on  the  other.  They  looked  like  or- 
dinary life-size  portraits  until,  the  evening 
of  the  general's  party,  they  were  properly 
mounted  in  their  circular  holes.  Next  morn- 
ing, an  officer  secretly  sympathetic  with  my 
cause  reported  that  the  party  was  not  as 
lively  as  it  might  have  been.  Every  time  a 
beribboned  staff  officer  with  a  highball  in  his 
hand  lifted  his  eyes  he  found  himself  staring 
into  the  bearded  face  of  a  dirty,  weary,  dis- 
approving dogface  peering  in  the  porthole 
with  his  finger  tips  on  the  sill. 

People  who  make  cartoons,  according  to 
legend,  are  supposed  never  to  laugh.  Perhaps 
Pm  too  young  at  the  game  to  have  the  proper 
attitude,  because  I  got  a  whale  of  a  laugh  out 
of  another  incident  that  occurred  in  the 
midst  of  the  "Battle  of  Naples." 


"He'i  right,  Joe.  When  we  ain't 
fightin'  we  should  ack  like  sojers." 

I  made  a  drawing  of  Joe  and  Willie 
touched  in  a  ruined  doorway  and  looking 
A  earily  at  an  admonishing  rear-echelon  cor- 
poral. Says  WilHe,  "He's  right,  Joe.  When 
\\e  ain't  fightin'  we  should  ack  like  sojers." 

The  day  after  the  cartoon  was  printed  a 
pleasant  old  colonel  came  into  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  office.  He  was  quite  evidently  a  new 
arrival,  for  he  didn't  know  I  was  seditious. 
He  hadn't  bothered  to  study  the  drawing, 
which  had  taken  a  crack  at  the  rigid  regula- 
tions with  regard  to  soldierly  conduct  behind 
the  lines. 

All  the  colonel  knew  was  that  when  you 
weren't  fighting  you  were  supposed  to  have 
a  military  bearing.  So  he  had  a  brilliant  and 
highly  original  idea  which  he  thought  cer- 
tain to  win  him  a  promotion  or  the  Legion  of 
Merit.  He  wanted,  so  help  me,  to  take  the 
original  drawing  and  have  thousands  of  huge 
poster  copies  printed.  He  planned  to  plaster 
them  on  every  wall  and  telephone  pole  in 
Italy,  as  an  admonition  to  G.I.'s  to  "ack 
like  sojers." 

I  couldn't  say,  "Sir,  that's  a  treacherous 
cartoon,  made  to  cause  riots  and  rebellion 
among  soldiers,  and  it  would  be  a  mistake 
to  make  posters  of  it  and  aid  and  abet  my 
cause." 

Instead,  I  gave  him  the  drawing  and,  with 
brigadier's  stars  in  his  eyes,  he  headed  for  the 
door.  "The  general  will  love  this,"  he  said. 

I'm  sure  the  general  did. 

Of  all  the  world's  armies,  the  American 
Army  gets  the  best  equipment.  The  dogface 
knows  that  when  he  sees  other  armies.   But 


June,  194; 

we  missed  the  boat  on  one  thing.  Even 
other  army  gets  a  liquor  ration.  (Regula 
tions  have  recently  been  amended  to  permi' 
issuance  of  liquor  ration  to  officers  only.— 
Editor.) 

Drinking,  like  sex,  is  not  a  question  o 
should  or  shouldn't  in  the  Army.  It's  hen 
to  stay,  and  it  seems  to  us  that  the  best  wa\ 
to  handle  it  is  to  understand  and  recog 
nize  it.  We  have  a  pretty  strong  hunch  that 
the  Army  doesn't  keep  drinkin'  likker  out  o 
our  reach  because  the  War  Department  i 
stupid.  It's  only  because  the  home  folk 
would  scream  their  heads  off  at  any  hint  of  thi 
clean-cut  lads  overseas  besotting  themselves 

A  liquor  ration  would  seem  to  be  a  desir- 
able thing.  The  British  soldier  gets  a  spot  o 
whisky  regularly,  the  size  of  the  spot  de 
pending  upon  his  rank.  He  gets  a  little  bee! 
also.  And  the  Frenchman  gets  his  winei 
It's  not  much,  but  his  palate  is  soothed  witl 
honest  liquor  which  makes  him  unable  U 
bear  the  smell,  let  alone  the  taste,  of 
home-distilled  stuff  the  Americans  are  fon 
to  drink  because  they  can  get  nothing  elsel 

Some  giiys  brought  the  habit  oversea:, 
with  them,  but  I  think  the  large  majorit] 
drinks  because  other  recreational  facilitie 
are  crowded  or  unavailable,  and  liquor  cai 
dull  the  sharp  memories  of  war. 

That's  something  the  American  publi  I 
just  can't  seem  to  realize,  and  that's  wh;  I 
the  European  armies  get  good  hooch  and  tin  J 
Americans  don't.  The  Europeans  have  seei 
war  and  armies  at  first  hand.  An  army  a 
war  is  far  different  from  an  army  in  its  o\\ 
homeland,   and  all   soldiers'   instincts  a: 
pretty  much  the  same. 

The  Europeans  know  that  soldiers  are  gc 
ing  to  do  some  drinking  and,  since  the 
don't  like  to  have  their  windows  kicked  ii 
by  joyful  souses,  they  keep  their  soldiers 
whistles  wetted  just  enough  to  satisfy  th 
boys,  but  not  enough  to  souse  them. 

I'm  not  trying  to  say  the  American  Arm; 
is  a  drunken  army.  Most  of  the  men  havi 
the  same  attitude  as  I  have  about  liquor 
drink  very  little,  and  I  don't  like  stronj 
liquor  at  all.  Yet  there  have  been  times  ove 
here  when  I  have  tied  one  on  because  I  wa 
homesick,  or  bored,  or  because  I  was  sittinj 
around  with  a  bunch  of  guys  who  had  ; 
bottle,  and  when  it  came  around  to  me 
just  naturally  took  a  belt  at  it.  And  then 
were  many  times  that  I  guzzled  wine  be 
cause  the  water  was  questionable. 

I  don't  think  I'll  carry  a  confirmed  drink 
ing  habit  back  home  with  me.  But  unti 
they  send  me  home  or  send  my  wife  ove 
here,  or  until  they  ship  over  portable  sod: 
fountains,  I'm  going  to  do  a  little  drinkini 
now  and  then. 

The  Germans  seemed  to  go  out  of  thei 
way  to  sabotage  wineries.  They  were  jus 


"Them   rats!    Them   dirty,  cold-blouded,  sore-hau: 
stinkin'  Huns!  Them  atroeity-eommittin'  skunks  . 

like  dogs;  what  they  couldn't  eat  or  drinl 
or  carry  away,  they  messed  up  so  nobod; 
else  could  use  it. 

(Before  you  write  an  indignant  letter  to  //n 
Journal,  please  consider  that  this  is  Bil 
Mauldin's  opinion  about  liquor  for  soldiers 
(Continued  on  Page  68) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


NO  OTHER  CONTAINER 
PROTECTS  LIKE  THE  CAN 


/tk^^ 


•  •  •  luncheon  meats  in  CANS 

•  Nowadays,  your  pantry  shelf  can  be  a  miniature 
meat  market,  with  diflferent  varieties  of  delicious  canned 
meats  always  ready  to  serve  at  a  moment's  notice. 

And  how  wonderful  it  is  to  know  that  the  dependable 
steel-and-tin  can  keeps  processed  canned  meats  as 
wholesome  as  at  the  moment  they  were  packed.  That's 
because  the  can  is  both  airtight  and  Ughtproof.  And, 
as  you  probably  know,  air  and  hght  are  among  the 
chief  causes  of  rancidity  and  spoilage. 

This  same  sure  protection  also  applies,  of  course,  to 
himdreds  of  other  canned  foods — as  weU  as  to  many 
additional  products  that  go  to  make  up  the  long  list  of 
more  than  2,500  things  normally  packed  in  cans  by 
over  135  different  industries. 

Cans  don't  break,  crack,  tear,  or  split.  They're  easy 
to  carry,  store,  open,  and  to  dispose  of.  And  they  give 
their  contents  lasting  protection.  No  other  container 
combines  so  many  important  advantages. 

CAN  MANUFACTURERS'    INSTITUTE,   INC.>   NEW  YORK 


OUR  FIGHTING  FRONTS  need  thousands  of  things  packed  in 
billions  of  cans.  This  means  certain  civilian  products  must  come  to  you 
in  substitute  containers  for  the  duration.  But  your  Government  has 
wisely  provided  for  home-front  nutritional  protection  by  permitting 
adequate  supplies  of  foods  to  be  packed  in  cans.  Stocks  on  dealers' 
shelves  are  yours  to  buy  freely.  Please  turn  in  empty  cans  for  salvage. 


68 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


1945 


(Continued  from  Page  66) 
The  Journal  does  not  necessarily  endorse  the 
opinions  of  its  contributors.   ED.  i 

For  a  long  time  I  loved  to  throw  hooked 
cartoons  at  the  Air  Forces  and  other  branches 
famed  for  comfortable  rear-echelon  accom- 
modations. One  of  the  common  gripes  among 
the  infantry  is  the  way  fliers  get  to  go  home 
after  some  definite  number  of  missions. 

An  Air  Corps  mission  amounts  to  several 
hours  of  discomfort  and  considerable  danger, 
after  which  the  fliers  return  to  their  bases. 
Some  of  the  airfields,  particularly  the  fighter 
strips,  are  far  from  comfortable,  but  on  the 
whole  the  flying  boys  do  okay  by  themselves. 

Recently  I've  changed  some  of  my  opin- 
ions. After  a  certain  length  of  time  overseas, 
you  stop  envying  the  guy  who  has  some- 
thing. You  may  wish  you  had  it  yourself, 
but  you  begin  to  realize  that  taking  the 
warm  coat  off  his  back  isn't  going  to  make 
your  back  any  warmer.  So  the  more  sea- 
soned doggie  just  sort  of  wonders  why  he 
doesn't  get  to  go  home  after  a  certain  num- 
ber of  "missions."  He  laughs  about  the 
youthfulness  of  the  Air  Corps  officers  and  he 
wishes  somebody  looked  after  him  as  well 
as  somebody  looks  after  the  Air  Corps.  But 
he  doesn't  kick  when  he  sees  a  formation  of 
planes  going  through  heavy  flak  and  he  feels 
pretty  awful  when  he  sees  one  go  down  and 
thinks  of  the  guys  in  it. 

As  the  war  goes  on,  a  sort  of  undeclared 
fraternity  develops.  It  might  be  called  ' "  The 
Benevolent  and  Protective  Brotherhood  of 
Them  What  Has  Been  Shot  At."  So,  while 
the  infantr\-man  may  go  on  griping  because 
he  doesn't  get  50  per  cent  extra  pay  for  dan- 
gerous duty,  and  because  he  can't  go  back  to 
a  base  when  his  mission  is  accomplished, 
when  he  talks  to  a  man  who  is  flak-happy 
from  too  many  hours  in  the  substratosphere 
buzzing  with  enemy  fighters  he  has  a  ten- 
dency to  sympathize  with  the  airman,  even 
when  the  doggie  himself  is  battle-happy. 

An  infantry  "mission"  goes  on  twenty- 
four  hours  a  day,  seven  days  a  week,  and  the 
infantryman  has  everything  from  planes  and 
tanks  to  grenades  and  bullets  thrown  at  him, 
to  say  nothing  of  flame  throwers,  mines, 
booby  traps  and  shells.  WTien  he  has  had  a 
year  or  two  of  this  he  has.  in  the  opinion  of 
many  of  us,  completed  enough  "missions" 
to  merit  him  a  hundred  "rest  cures."  He  is 
damned  lucky  "if  he  gets  a  three-day  pass  to 
a  town  swarming  with  other  soldiers. 

Religious  services  in  battle  zones  offer 
weird  contrast  to  bursting  shells  and  the 
twisted  wreckage  of  war.  It  is  strange  to  see 
reverence  helmeted  and  armored. 

I  saw  a  Catholic  chaplain  at  Salerno 
gather  up  his  white  robes  and  beat  a  Focke- 
Wulf's  tracers  into  a  muddy  ditch  by  a  split 
second,  then  return  and  carry  on  the  ser%-ice 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  I  have  a  lot  of 
respect  for  those  chaplains  who  keep  up  the 
spirits  of  the  combat  guys.  They  often  give 
the  troops  a  pretty  firm  anchor  to  hang  onto. 

When  the  mountain  fighting  in  Italy  first 
started  to  get  tough,  and  it  was  impossible 


Two  On 


^^ 


THI 
OlORAT j 


4. 


'if- 


^oppei  *e 


W 


A  pair  of  ankles . . .  flattered 
by  a  pair  of  trim,  smart 
Miracle-Tread  Shoes  —  foot- 
wear  with  high-fashion 
appeal  and  special  built-in 
features  that  encourage  love- 
ly ankle  lines.  No  wonder 
you  take  the  spotlight  when 
you  wear  Miracle-Treodl 

THE    AIMES 

In  Turftan  or 
Wh'itt  Brogand! 


THE    NICTOE 
In  White  Caracul 


,^gp 


A  FEW  STYIES  ^5^^ 
Diitanl  Polnli  Slightly  Higher 


WOMENS  DIVISION 

CUADDOCK-TERKY   SHOE   CO«POHATION 
LYNCHBURG,  VIRGINIA 


"/  calls  her  Florince  Xiohtingah 


Front 

trucks  or  jeeps  to  bring  food,  water  and 
no  up  into  the  mountain  trails,  mule  com- 
ies  were  mustered  and  calls  for  experi- 
;d  mule  skinners  went  out  through  the 
sions.  Mules  were  sought  out  and  bought 
n  farmers.  They  carried  supplies  to  many 
liers  who  hadn't  seen  a  jeep  for  weeks. 
t  would  have  gladdened  the  hearts  of 
je  old  soldiers  at  home,  who  were  con- 
:ed  that  this  new  Army  was  going  crazy 
1  newfangled  inventions,  to  see  long  col- 
is  of  balky  mules  being  cajoled  and 
;atened  up  the  trails  by  their  bearded, 
aring,  sweating  skinners, 
ince  I  thought  I  did  a  very  funny  car- 
1.  It  was  a  picture  of  an  old-time  cav- 
man  shooting  his  jeep,   which  had  a 


cen  axle.  It  is  one  of  those  cartoon  ideas 
think  up  rarely;  it  has  simplicity,  it  tells 
Qry,  it  doesn't  need  words.  It  is,  I  be- 
:,  the  very  best  kind  of  cartoon. 

I  were  trying  to  tell  somebody  about 
war,  I  would  certainly  say  more  about 
engineers.    But  I  don't  know  how  they 

braces  on  Bailey  bridges,  and  I  don't 
f/  the  finer  points  of  neutralizing  a  Teller 

,  so  I  can't  draw  many  pictures  about 
1,  except  as  they  come  into  contact  with 
infantry. 

^  detectors  are  always  good  cartoon 
erial,  but  unfortunately  you  can't  draw 

realistic  cartoons  about  them,  because 

detectors  are  seldom  used  for  anything 
detecting  mines.  That's  the  trouble  with 
ving  pictures  about  specialists  and  their 
pment.  All  these  guys  are  fighting  a 

and  some  of  the  time  they  are  doing  it 
'eat  danger.  They  develop  a  rather  seri- 
turn  of  mind,  and  so  an  engineer  might 

with  some  wonderment  if  you  tried  to 

his  life  with  his  mine  detector  in  a 

;s  of  gags.    He's  usually  a  little  scared 

1  he's  poking  around  in  a  mine  field, 

he  stopped  feeling  silly  about  it  a  long 

ago. 

fie  guy  who  thinks  up  names  for  Liberty 
s  has  a  relative  over  here.  The  relative 
ks  up  names  for  telephone  codes, 
istead  of  saying,  "This  is  Company  A; 
me  G-3  at  Division  CP,  advance,"  he 
"Able  Jackson  company  calling  Je- 
aphat  3."  That's  to  confuse  any  wire 
lers  from  the  Third  Reich  who  might  be 
ning. 
3u  can  take  the  cartoon  and  go  on  from 


le  medics  are  good  subjects  for  draw- 
and  anybody  who  does  stuff  about  the 
itry  has  to  throw  in  the  medics  once  in 
hile.  They  are  a  lot  like  the  other 
iches.  The  farther  you  work  toward  the 
t,  the  simpler  and  rougher  life  gets,  and 
V  more  human  and  good  things  show  up. 
le  aid  man  is  the  dogface's  family  doc- 
and  hft  is  regarded  as  an  authority  on 
y  minor  ailment  from  a  bli  Icr  to  a  cold 
16  head.  The  aid  man  usually  takes  this 
onsibility  quite  seriously.  He  lances  and 
hes  blisters  with  all  the  professional 


69 


pride  of  a  brain  specialist  removing  a  tumor. 
He  watches  over  his  boys  and  sees  that  their 
water  is  pure  or,  if  there  is  no  water,  he 
looks  at  the  wine  barrel. 

But  the  dogface's  real  hero  is  the  litter- 
bearer  and  aid  man  who  goes  into  all  combat 
situations  right  along  with  the  infantryman, 
shares  his  hardships  and  dangers,  and  isn't 
able  to  fight  back.  When  the  infantryman  is 
down,  the  medic  must  get  up  and  help  him. 
That's  not  pleasant  sometimes  when  there's 
shooting. 

The  aid  men  and  litter-bearers  know  that 
their  work  is  often  far  more  important  than 
that  of  the  surgeon  at  the  operating  table; 
because  if  it  were  not  for  the  aid  man  the 
casualty  would  not  live  to  reach  the  sur- 
geon's table. 

Let's  say  the  doggie  has  a  shattered  leg 
and  is  lying  in  a  shell  hole  out  in  front  of  his 
company,  which  is  pinned  down  by  machine- 
gun  fire.  He  uses  the  bandage  from  his  first- 
aid  packet  to  make  a  tourniquet,  and  he 
takes  the  sulpha  pills,  but  he  knows  that  if 
he  lies  there  much  longer  he  will  bleed  to 
death. 

Nobody  is  going  to  blame  the  aid  man  if 
he  saves  his  own  neck  and  doesn't  go  out 
after  a  man  who  will  probably  die  anyway. 
But  the  medic  usually  goes.  If  the  Germans 
happen  to  be  feeling  pretty  good,  they  might 
lilt  their  fire  when  they  see  his  Red  Cross 
arm  band. 

Put  yourself  m  the  wounded  guy's  shoes 
when  he  sees  the  medic  appear  over  him 
and  his  pain  is  dulled  by  morphine,  his 
bleeding  is  stopped,  and  he  is  lifted  out  and 
carried  back  to  safety  and  good  surgery. 
Sure,  he's  going  to  love  that  medic.  And 
after  a  few  dozen  men  owe  their  lives  to  one 
little  pill  roller,  he  is  going  to  be  very  well 
liked  indeed. 

Sooner  or  later,  like  everybody  who  works 
around  the  infantry,  the  medic  is  going  to  get 
his.  Many  aid  men  have  been  wounded  and 
many  have  been  killed.  It  should  comfort 
the  families  of  those  who  have  died  to  know 
that  there  are  many  friends  who  grieve  with 
them. 

But  if  I  say  much  more  than  this  the 
commissioned  intern  who  entered  my  ward 
in  Naples  one  winter  when  I  was  recovering 
from  pneumonia  and  ordered  me  to  lie  at 
attention,  if  I  couldn't  sit  or  stand  at  atten- 
tion when  I  saw  him  coming,  will  show  this 
around  and  say:  "See?  I  told  you  we  medics 
did  a  great  job!" 

It's  a  hell  of  a  thing  that  some  brass  hats 
have  made  front-line  medics  turn  in  their 
combat  badges.*  If  the  brass  did  it  because 
the  medic  doesn't  fight,  and  the  enemy 
might  take  the  badge  the  wrong  way  if  they 
capture  him,  that's  reasonable.  But  they 
should  have  given  him  something  to  replace 
it — maybe  a  cross  instead  of  a  rifle  on  the 
badge. 

I  say  that  because  it's  important.  Every- 
body these  days  wears  combat  boots  and 
combat  jackets.  A  lot  of  people  who  never 
saw  more  infantry  than  basic  training  wear 
the  infantry  blue  on  their  caps.  The  combat 
badge  is  about  the  only  thing  that  sets  the 
front-line  man  apart,  and  he  has  reason  to 
be  proud  of  it. 

When  they  took  the  badges  away  the 
infantry  howled  louder  than  the  medics. 
I'm  convinced  that  the  combat  badge  means 
much  more  to  the  front-line  soldier  than  the 
small  amount  of  extra  pay  that  goes  with  it. 
It  is  a  symbol  of  what  he  has  been  through. 
Many  troops  who  operate  with  the  infantry 
should  get  it  and  don't,  and  a  few  who 
shouldn't  get  it  do. 

Often  soldiers  who  are  going  home  say 
they  are  going  to  tell  the  people  how  fortu- 
nate we  were  to  stop  the  enemy  before  he 
was  able  to  come  and  tear  up  our  country. 
They  are  also  going  to  tell  the  people  that  it 
was  a  pretty  rough  life  over  here. 

I've  tried  to  do  that  in  my  drawings  and  I 
know  that  many  thousands  of  guys  who  have 
gone  back  have  tried  to  do  it  too.  But  no 
matter  how  much  we  try,  we  can  never  give 
the  folks  at  home  any  idea  of  what  war 


♦The  Imnor  of  wearini;  a  combat  badge  lias  recently 
been  restored  to  the  medics. — Editor. 


Frozen 
fire 


flowermg 
P/um 


Sea 
Shell 


Block 
Cherry 


Wistaria 


Black 
Sapphire 

Orier)lal 
Sapphire 

Pink 
Sapphire 


Mandarin 
Red 


Canton 
Red 


Burma 
Red 


Dragon's 
Blood 


Temple 
Fire 


Brown 
Coral 


Opium 
Poppy 


Coo/ii 


Blue 
Mass 


Opium 
Dream 


j      Black 
'       lustre 


Blue 
Dragon 


Royal 
Plum 


^^  ^^C^^^ty^^X£A^^^^^^ 


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<^'ify *^tate 


70 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  K 


When  you  take  more  sun  than  your  skin  can  bear,  get 
prompt  relief  with  soothing,  cooling  unguentine.  It  acts 
on  fiery,  painful  sunburn  as  it  acts  on  other  burns  .  . . 

^  It  Relieves  Pain  Q  It  Fights  Infection 

Q  It  Promotes  Healing 

Play  Safe.'  Use  soothing,  antiseptic  UNGUENTINE 
for  all  the  minor  cuts,  scrapes,  bites,  scratches  and 
other  skin  injuries  that  plague  a  summer. 


really  is.  I  guess  you  have  to  go  through  it  to 
understand  its  horror.  You  have  to  smell  it 
and  feel  it  all  around  you  until  you  can't 
imagine  what  it  used  to  be  like  when  you 
walked  on  a  sidewalk  or  tossed  clubs  up  into 
horse-chestnut  trees  or  fished  for  perch,  or 
when  you  did  anything  at  all  without  a  pack, 
a  rifle  and  a  bunch  of  grenades. 

One  thing  that  caused  a  lot  of  howls 
among  the  soldiers  was  the  way  celebrities, 
particularly  female  ones,  were  always  sur- 
rounded by  officers.  Some  celebrities  couldn't 
help  this,  some  encouraged  it,  and  others 
just  didn't  know  any  better.  Most  of  the 
blame  should  go  to  the  officers.  It  was 
pretty  awful  to  see  a  string  of  them  tagging 
behind  some  little  Hollywood  chick.  Several 
memorable  ladies  of  the  screen  actually  man- 
aged to  break  away  from  the  howling  pack 
and  escape  to  the  enlisted  men,  but  there 
were  very  few  such  escapes. 

I  know  officers  like  to  see  women  from 
home  as  much  as  anybody  else  does,  but  I 
think  the  enlisted  men  should  have  been 
given  a  chance  to  see  the  girls. 

Officers  around  the  front  were  good  Joes 
about  it.  The  success  of  their  jobs  depended 
upon  the  morale  of  their  men,  and  very  few 
combat  CO's  tried  to  horn  in  on  the  dog- 
faces' entertainment. 

Decorations  are  touchy  things  to  talk 
about.  The  British  kid  us  because  we're 
overdecorated,  and  perhaps  we  are  in  some 
ways.  Civilians  may  think  it's  a  little  juve- 
nile to  worry  about  ribbons,  but  a  civilian 
has  a  house  and  a  bank  roll  to  show  what 
he's  done  for  the  past  few  years. 

I  thought  the  War  Department  ruined 
any  value  the  Good  Conduct  ribbon  may 
have  had  by  passing  it  out  to  men  who  had 
only  one  year  of  service.  But  it's  different 
with  those  medals  which  are  given  only  for 
heroism  in  battle.  You  can  bet  that  any  man 
decorated  for  heroism  has  earned  the  award, 
because  the  committee  that  gave  him  the 
decoration  first  called  in  a  lot  of  witnesses. 

I  have  four  ribbons,  and  I  haven't  had  as 
many  troubles  as  a  lot  of  men  who  finished 
the  last  war  with  a  single  campaign  ribbon. 
But  sometimes  I'm  a  little  proud  of  those 
four  ribbons,  and  I  often  put  them  on  under 
my  sweater  and  peek  at  them  when  nobody 
is  looking. 

Dig  a  hole  in  your  back  yard  while  it  is 
raining.  Sit  in  the  hole  until  the  water 
climbs  up  around  your  ankles.  Pour  cold 
mud  down  your  shirt  collar.  Sit  there  for 
forty-eight  hours  and,  so  you  won't  doze 
off,  imagine  that  a  guy  is  sneaking  around 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  club  you  on  the  head 
or  set  your  house  on  fire. 

Get  out  of  the  hole,  fill  a  suitcase  full  of 
rocks,  pick  it  up,  put  a  shotgun  in  your 
other  hand,  and  walk  on  the  muddiest  road 
you  can  find.  Fall  flat  on  your  face  every 
few  minutes  as  you  imagine  big  meteors 
streaking  down  to  sock  you. 

After  ten  or  twelve  miles  (remember — you 
are  still  carrying  the  shotgun  and  suitcase) 


WHEN  YOUR 

FEET  HUR] 

YOU  HURT  ALL  OVEI 


DON'T  suffer  from  your  feet.  It's  needles 
Dr.  SchoU,  the  noted  foot  authority,  h 
formulated  a  Foot  Comfort  Remedy,  Applianc 
Arch  Support,  Pad  or  Plaster  for  the  relief 
every  common  foot  trouble.  Their  cost  is  ve 
small.  At  Drug,  Shoe,  Department  Stores  ar 
Toilet  Goods  Counters  everywhere.  Insist  ( 
Dr.  Scholl's  in  the  familiar  yellow  package 

FALLEN  ARCHES 

Dr.  Siholl's  Poot-Eazer  and  exer- 
cise relieve  tired,  aching  feet. 
fi)ot  and  leg  pains,  when  due  to 
weak  or  fallen  arches.    $3.50  pair. 

iiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiirjiiiiiiiii<iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiuiiiiiiiniNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii»^ 

WEAK  ARCHES 

Dr.  Siholl'i  Plastic  Lamiriex  Arch 
Siipporis,  help  quickly  relieve  pain- 
ful foot  arch  weakness.  Feather- 
light,  wafer-thin.    $6.50  pair. 


PAIN  HERE? 

Dr.  Scholl's  LtiPAD,  a  soft  feather- 
weight cushion,  loops  over  fore 
pan  of  foot;  relieves  pams,  cal- 
louses at  bail.  Washable.  $1.00  pr. 

ItllllllillllllliliillllHIIillllllllllllllllllililitillililllllilNllillllltlillllilllliltNllllllillllllllllllllllll^ 

CORNS— SORE  TOES 

Dr.  Scholl's  Zino-pads  quickly 
relieve  pain  and  gently  remove 
corns;  stop  shoe  pressure;  soothe, 
cushion.  Prevent  corns,  sore  toes 
and   blisters.    25c  and  35^  boxes. 

Iiiiiiiiilliiiilliiilii|{iiiiiiiiiiiilliiiiiiiiihiiil{|||||iii[||{iiii1liiailiiiillliililli!1l[iillll>i^ 

CALLOUSES 

Dr.  Scholl's  Zino  -  pads  relieve 
pain,  soothe,  ease  pressure  on  sore 
spot;  quickly  loosen  and  remove 
callouses.    25(!  and  35^  boxes. 


BUNIONS 

Dr.  Scholl's  ZinO'pLids,  special  size 
for  bunions,  relieve  tender  and 
enlarged  loints;  lift  shoe  pressure. 
25('  and  35('  boxes. 

lll|{|{|||||lll]||lll||ll||llll|l1||lllllllllllllll|][|llllllllllll[|llll|[{||IIIHIll!|[|llllll1lllllill1llllllllllllllllil]INIIIII 

HOT,  TIRED    FEET 

Dr.  Scholl's  foot  Balm  quickly  re- 
lieves, refreshes  feverish,  tender, 
sensitive,  tired  feet,  due  to  exer- 
tion or  fatigue.    35^. 

llllllllllllilllllNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII[lllilllllllllllllllllllHIII{llltllllll]llllllllllllllllllll]llllll]l1IH 

FOOT  ODOR 

Dr.  Scholl's  Fool  Powder  soothes, 
refreshes  tender,  chafed,  hot  feet; 
eases  tight  shoe*;  helps  dispel 
offensive  foot  odor.    35^. 


\i 


"Now  thai  ya  mention  it,  Joe,  it  does  sound 
like   th'  patter  of  rain   on   a  tin  roof." 


||ll|il[|||lllli;illllllllllllllllllt]|lll!llllllllllllll!lilllllNlllllllliaillllllll{llllllllll{!inilll]llllllll[ll!l[llllllllllll 

BUNIONS 

Dr.  Scholl's  Bunion  Reducer,  of  soft 
rubber,  relieves  pain  from  shoe 
pressure,  hides  the  bulge,  helps 
preserve  shape  of  shoe.  50d  each. 
Leather  Bunion  Protector,  75^  each. 

IIIIINIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII l|llll{|||[||lllllli{lllllllillllllIlllllllllllli)i!llfililiillNI{|]llill[lllill[lllllillll[li1llll1IHII 

ATHLETE'S   FOOT 

Dr.  Scholl's  Solvex  relieves  itching 
feet  and  toes;  kills  fungi  it  con- 
tacts; helps  heal  Athlete's  Foot. 
Liquid,  Ointment  or  Powder,  50(?. 


D^Scholl 

REMEDIES  •  PADS  •  PLASTERS  -ARCH  SUPPORTS 
FOR  MOST  ALL  COMMON  FOOT  TROUBLES 


I  FREE  Foot  Book,  also  sample  of  Dr.  Scholl's  Z\ao  I 
I  pads  for  Corns.  Address  Dr.  Scholl's,  Inc.,  Chicago.  H' 


I  Name 
'  Address 


Up  Front 

start  sneaking  through  the  wet  brush.  Im- 
agine that  somebody  has  booby-trapped 
your  route  with  rattlesnakes  which  will  bite 
you  if  you  step  on  them.  Give  some  friend  a 
rifle  and  have  him  blast  in  your  direction 
once  in  a  while. 

Snoop  around  until  you  find  a  bull.  Try 
to  figure  out  a  way  to  sneak  around  him 
without  letting  him  see  you.  When  he  does 
see  you,  run  like  hell  all  the  way  back  to  your 
hole  in  the  back  yard,  drop  the  suitcase  and 
shotgun,  and  get  in. 

If  you  repeat  this  performance  every  three 
days  for  several  months,  you  may  begin  to 
understand  why  an  infantryman  sometimes 
gets  out  of  breath.  But  you  still  won't  un- 
derstand how  he  feels  when  things  get  tough. 

One  thing  is  pretty  certain  if  you  are  in 
the  infantry— you  aren't  going  to  be  very 
warm  and  dry  while  you  sleep.  If  you 
haven't  thrown  your  blankets  and  shelter 
half  away  during  a  march,  maybe  you  can 
find  another  guy  who  has  kept  his  shelter 
half  and  the  two  of  you  can  pitch  a  pup  tent. 
But  pup  tents  aren't  very  common  around 
the  front.  Neither  is  sleep,  for  that  matter. 
You  do  most  of  your  sleeping  while  you 
march.  It's  not  a  very  healthy  sleep;  you 
might  call  it  a  sort  of  coma.  You  can't  hear 
anybody  telling  you  to  move  faster,  but  you 
can  hear  a  whispering  whoosh  when  the 
enemy  up  ahead  stops  long  enough  to  throw 
a  shell  at  you. 

You  don't  feel  very  good  when  you  wake 
up,  because  there  is  a  thick  fuzz  in  your  head 
and  a  horrible  taste  in  your  mouth  and  you 
wish  you  had  taken  your  toothbrush  out  be- 
fore you  threw  your  pack  away. 

It's  a  little  better  when  you  can  lie  down, 
even  in  the  mud.  Rocks  are  better  than  mud 
because  you  can  curl  yourself  around  the  big 
rocks,  even  if  you  wake  up  with  sore  bruises 
where  the  little  rocks  dug  into  you.  When 
you  wake  up  in  the  mud  your  cigarettes  are 
all  wet  and  you  have  an  ache  in  your  joints 
and  a  rattle  in  your  chest. 

You  get  back  on  your  feet  and  bum  a  cig- 
arette from  somebody  who  had  sense  enough 
to  keep  a  pack  dry  inside  the  webbing  of  his 
helmet  liner.  The  smoke  makes  the  roof  of 
your  mouth  taste  worse,  but  it  also  makes 
you  forget  the  big  blister  on  your  right  heel. 
Then  you  pick  up  your  rifle  and  your  pack 
and  the  entrenching  tool  and  the  canteen 
and  the  bayonet  and  the  first-aid  kit  and  the 
grenade  pouches.  You  hang  the  bandoleer 
around  your  neck  and  you  take  the  grenades 
out  of  the  pouches  and  hang  them  on  your 
belt  by  the  handles. 

You  look  everything  over  and  try  to  find 
something  else  you  can  throw  away  to  make 
the  load  on  the  blister  a  little  lighter.  You 
chuckle  as  you  remember  the  ad  you  saw  in 
the  tattered  magazine  showing  the  infantry- 
man going  into  battle  with  a  gas  mask  and 
full  field  pack.  Then  you  discover  something 
and  you  wonder  why  the  hell  you  didn't 
think  of  it  long  ago— the  M-1  clip  pouches 
on  your  cartridge  belt  are  just  the  right  size 
for  a  package  of  cigarettes.  That  will  keep 
the  rain  off  the  smokes. 

You  start  walking  again,  but  you  are 
getting  close  now,  so  you  keep  five  yards 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


71 


"I  feel  like  a  f^igilioe  from  th'  law  of  averages. 


between  yourself  and  the  next  guy  and  you 
begin  to  feel  your  heart  pounding  a  little 
faster.  It  isn't  so  bad  when  you  get  there — 
you  don't  have  time  to  get  scared.  But  it's 
bad  going  there  and  coming  back.  Going 
there  you  think  of  what  might  happen  and 
coming  back  you  remember  what  did  happen. 

Of  course,  nothing's  really  going  to  get 
you.  You've  got  too  much  to  live  for.  But 
you  might  get  hurt  and  that  would  be  bad. 
You  don't  want  to  come  back  all  banged  up. 
Why  the  hell  doesn't  somebody  come  up  and 
replace  you  before  you  get  hurt?  You've 
been  lucky  so  far,  but  it  can't  last  forever. 

You  feel  tighter  inside.  You're  getting 
closer.  Somebody  said  that  fear  is  Nature's 
protection  for  you  and  that  when  you  get 
scared  your  glands  make  you  more  alert.  The 
hell  with  Nature.  You'd  rather  be  calm  like 
everybody  else  seems  to  be.  But  you  know 
they're  just  as  jumpy  as  you  are. 

Now  they're  pulling  off  the  road.  Maybe 
you  don't  have  to  go  up  there  tonight.  You 
don't.  You  start  to  dig  a  slit  trench  because 
the  enemy  might  come  to  you  if  you  don't 
go  to  him.  But  there's  a  big  root  halfway 
down.  Mud  and  roots  seem  to  follow  you 
wherever  you  go.  You  dig  around  the  root 
and  then  you  try  the  hole  for  size.  You  look 
at  the  sky  and  it  looks  like  rain. 

A  weapons  carrier  slithers  up  the  trail  and 
the  driver  tosses  out  the  packs  you  all  threw 
away  a  couple  of  miles  back.  Maybe  the 
Army  is  getting  sensible.  Hell,  you  got  the 
wrong  pack  and  somebody  else  got  yours. 
The  blankets  are  damp,  but  they  would  have 
been  soaked  anyway  even  if  you  had  carried 
them. 

You  throw  some  brush  in  the  bottom  of 
the  trench.  You  squeeze  in.  You  don't  like  it. 
You  get  out  and  sleep  beside  the  hole.  You 
wake  up  two  hours  later  and  you're  glad  you 
didn't  get  in  the  hole  because  it's  raining 
and  the  hole  is  half  full  of  water.  Your  head 
still  feels  fuzzy  and  your  heart  is  still  pound- 
ing, but  it's  better  because  you  have  been 
lying  down.  A  pool  of  water  has  collected 
right  in  the  center  of  the  shelter  half  you 
threw  over  yourself  and  the  water  is  drib- 
bling right  through  to  your  skin.  You  brush 
the  water  out  and  pull  the  canvas  tight 
around  you.  The  rain  continues,  the  weather 
is  getting  colder,  and  you  try  to  go  to  sleep 
quick  so  you  won't  feel  it. 

Sometimes  when  the  doggies  are  on  the 
march  they  find  a  gutted  house  with  part  of 
the  roof  stifl  hanging  out  from  the  top  of  the 
wall.  This  makes  very  fine  shelter  indeed, 
and  it's  a  happy  time  when  they  go  into 
bivouac  near  such  a  house.  But  when  the 
guys  are  really  lucky  they  find  a  barn,  and 
every  doggie  knows  that  barns  are  far  bet- 
,  ter  than  houses.  He  knows  that  vermin  are 
awful  things  to  have  and,  since  he  never  gets 
a  chance  to  take  a  bath,  he  avoids  houses 
and  questionable  mattresses  if  he  can  find  a 
luxurious  barn  full  of  hay. 

When  you  are  in  a  barn  you  don't  have  to 
bother  about  being  nice  to  the  hostess,  be- 
cause she  is  probably  a  cow.  You  can  put 
one  blanket  under  you  and  one  over  you  and 
lots  of  hay  on  top  of  that  and  you  will  be 
very  very  warm. 

The  only  bad  thing  about  a  barn  is  that 
you  find  a  lot  of  rats  there.  You  don't  mind  it 
so  much  when  they  just  scurry  over  you  if 
they  leave  your  face  alone  and  don't  get 
curious  about  your  anatomy.  A  barn  rat 
likes  nothing  better  than  to  bed  down  with 
his  guest  and  carry  on  a  conversation  in 
Braille  all  night. 

The  best  nights  I've  spent  in  the  field  have 
been  in  barns.  And  the  best  night  I  ever 
spent  in  a  barn  was  when  I  woke  up  and 
found  a  cow  standing  over  me.  She  had  a 
calf,  but  I  shouldered  the  little  creature 
aside  and  milked  the  mother  in  my  best  New 
Mexico  style.  The  farmer  came  in  when  I 
was  almost  finished  and  I  pointed  to  a  small 
lump  on  the  cow's  udder.  That  showed  he 
hadn't  stripped  her  well  and  I  showed  him 
how  to  do  a  nice  job  of  stripping  with  thumb 
and  forefinger.  He  was  well  contented  when 
I  left  and  so  was  I,  because  that  had  been  the 
first  fresh  milk  I  had  drunk  since  I  left  the 
States.  (Continued  on  Page  73) 


DURA-GLOSSnoipXi 


4 


(MA 


Want  extra  beauty  and  daintiness  at  your  fingertips? 
.  .  .  Dura-Gloss  is  tne  answer  ...  a  nail  polisn  tnat  brings  out 
tne  nidden  sparkle  and  loveliness  of  every  woman's  nails. 
Goes  on  so  s-m-o-o-t-n-l-y  .  .  .  Dries  so  fast  and  completely  .  .  . 
Stays  on  and  on  and  on.  Smart  women,  everywhere, 
keep  Dura-Gloss  always  "on  nand." 
.  .  .  10(t,  plus  tax,  at  your  favorite  cosmetic  counter. 


Cuticle  Remover  Polish  Remover  Duro-Coot 


LORR  LABORATORIES,  PATERSON,  N.  J.    •    FOUNDED  BY  E.  T.  REYNOLDS 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


JIM:  Gosh,  toney,  how  do  you  clean  a  sink  so  fast  ? 

sue:  Easy !  My  cleanser  never  leaves  dirt-catching  scratches ! 


JIM:  Guess  I'm  not  up  on  my  housework.  I  thought 
a  cleanser  had  to  be  scratchy  to  he  fast. 

SUE:  Just  the  opposite,  pet!  Scratchy  cleansers 
slow  you  down,  because  every  scratch  holds 
dirt. 

JIM:  And  you  have  to  dig  to  get  the  dirt  out? 

SUE:  I'll  say !  That's  why  I  alwaysuseBonAmi.lt 


cleans  like  a  breeze,  yet  it's  soft  and  fine. 

JIM:  "Hasn't  scratched  yet !".  . .  I  get  it. 

SUE:  Right !  What's  more,  Bon  Ami  polishes  too; 
leaves  everything  silky  smooth  .  .  .  includ- 
ing my  hands.  Look ! 

JIM:  Honey,  I'll  do  better  than  ZooA  — I'll  take 
you  to  the  movies  and  hold  them. 


Bon  Ami 


«• 


-•'A 


THE  SPEEDY  CLEANSER  //la/ 

"hasnt  scratched  yet !'' 


Bon  Ami  Cake  is  a  favor- 
ite for  cleaning  windows, 
mirrors,  metal  fixtures  and 
painted  woodwork.  Costs 
little,  lasts  long. 


Bon    Ami  Powder  is  a 

quick,  easy-to-use  cleanser 
forbathfubs,sinks,enamel 
sloveSi); refrigerators  and 
general  cleaning. 


Up  Front 

(Continued  from  Page  71) 
The  dogfaces  love  to  find  haystacks,  and 
an  infantry  company  will  tear  down  a  stack 
in  five  minutes.  They  line  their  holes  with 
the  stuff  and,  if  they've  got  bed  sacks,  they'll 
fill  them  too.  If  they  don't  have  bed  sacks 
they  find  some  stack  that  hasn't  been  torn 
down  and  dozens  of  guys  will  crawl  into  this 
one  stack  and  disappear.  It's  wonderfully 
soft  and  wonderfully  warm,  but  if  it's  old 
hay  a  lot  of  people  who  suff'er  from  hay 
fever  have  to  pass  it  up.  But  even  if  you 
don't  have  hay  fever  there's  another  bad 
thing  about  haystacks:  the  enemy  has  used 
them  and  he  figures  you  are  going  to  use 
them,  too,  so  he  often  mines  them  and,  if  he 
is  within  shooting  range,  every  now  and  then 
throws  a  shell  into  them.  Bombers  and 
artillerymen  blow  up  haystacks  and  barns 
just  on  general  principle  sometimes. 
II  Caves  are  nice  and  you  can  find  them 
i  sometimes  in  the  mountains.  Nice  thing 
about  a  cave  is  that  you  can  throw  up  a  lit- 
tle dirt  around  the  entrance  and  you're  safe 
from  almost  anything.  Air  bursts  and  but- 
terfly bombs  make  open  holes  uncomfortable 
sometimes. 
Bams  are  still  about  the  best,  though. 

Abandoned  towns  are  wonderful  places 
for  guys  who  have  time  to  make  homes  in 
them.  Many  doggies  prefer  wrecked  houses 
to  undamaged  houses  because  as  long  as 
there  are  walls  to  break  the  wind  and  a  roof 
to  stop  the  weather  the  men  can  fix  the 
places  up  without  any  qualms  about  scroung- 
ing. 

There  is  a  difference  between  scrounging 
and  looting.  Looting  is  the  stealing  of  valu- 
ables, but  most  evacuees  take  their  valuables 
with  them.  Scrounging  is  the  borrowing  of 
things  which  will  make  life  in  the  field  a  lit- 
tle more  bearable.  Since  the  infantryman 
carries  everything  on  his  back,  he  can 
scrounge  only  temporarily,  borrowing  a  chair 
from  this  house  and  bedsprings  from  that 
one. 

The  headquarters  units  which  follow  the 
infantry  have  a  little  motor  transport  and 
they  can  carry  many  things  with  them.  Go 
into  almost  any  field  CP  and  you'll  find  a 
pale-pink  upholstered  chair  which  looks 
pretty  silly  sitting  there  in  the  mud. 

In  combat,  infantry  officers  usually  share 
the  same  conditions  as  the  dogfaces.  But 
when  the  doggies  get  back  to  a  temporary 
rest  area  they  have  to  be  careful  about  fixing 
up  a  wrecked  house  too  well,  because  the 
officers  may  suddenly  remember  that  they 
are  officers  and  take  over  the  premises. 
Noncoms  can  be  just  as  bad  about  it  too. 

It's  strange  how  memories  of  peacetime 
life  influence  these  makeshift  homes.  If  a 
soldier  has  fixed  himself  a  dugout  or  an 
abandoned  house,  and  has  cleaned  it  up  and 
i.made'  it  look  presentable,  his  visitors  in- 
istinctively  feel  that  this  is  a  man's  house, 
I  and  he  is  its  head.  They  use  his  C-ration-can 
ash  trays  and  they  don't  spit  on  the  floor. 
But  no  matter  how  much  time  or  effort  a 
guy  is  able  to  spend  making  his  dugout 
livable,  and  no  matter  how  many  of  his 
friends  may  come  shoot  the  breeze  with  him. 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


73 


Ld  'im  in.  I  wanna  see  a  critter  I  kin  feel  sorry  fer.' 


there  are  only  a  few  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion: wives  and  girls  and  families,  just  plain 
women,  or  home. 

Many  dugouts  in  Anzio  were  fixed  up  sur- 
prisingly well.  Some  guys  sat  there  for  five 
months  without  moving,  and  they  had  to 
do  something  to  relieve  their  boredom.  They 
scrounged  a  little  lumber  here,  a  set  of  bed- 
springs  there,  and  some  of  the  boys  even 
found  mirrors. 

The  Germans  must  be  given  credit  for 
rigging  up  some  very  fine  dwelling  places. 
They  had  the  advantage  of  time.  Their  dug- 
outs at  Cassino  were  fantastic.  One  was  so 
deep  that  its  roof,  almost  flush  with  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  consisted  of  a  four- 
foot  layer  of  dirt  and  rocks  on  top,  then  a 
section  of  railroad  ties,  a  thinner  layer  of 
stones,  a  layer  of  crisscrossed  steel  rails,  and 
beneath  that  a  ceiling  of  more  thick  wooden 
ties.  Its  roof  indicated  that  many  of  our 
shells  and  bombs  registered  direct  hits  on 
it,  yet  I  doubt  if  the  explosions  even  dis- 
turbed the  sleep  of  the  occupants.  The  walls 
were  lined  with  real  plywood,  nicely  fitted, 
and  there  were  springed  bunks  which  folded 
into  the  wall.  There  was  a  radio,  too,  and  a 
number  of  German  magazines.  It  was  easy 
to  see  how  the  krauts  were  able  to  snooze 
blissfully  through  our  worst  bombings  and 
shellings,  and  then  come  out  and  fight  off  our 
infantry  when  the  big  stuff  stopped. 

Ihe  dugout's  only  weakness  was  its  one 
entrance — a  screen  door  to  protect  the  deli- 
cate krauts  from  predatory  mosquitoes. 
Cassino  was  entered  by  the  foot  infantry, 
who  knocked  down  the  dugout  doors  with 
their  grenades  and  bayoneted  the  occupants. 
Then  our  guys  occupied  the  luxurious  dug- 
outs for  a  while. 

Those  who  look  carefully  at  newspaper 
pictures  have  probably  observed  that  many 
Germans  were  captured  at  the  front  without 
helmets,  while  our  guys  wear  them  almost 
all  the  time.  One  of  the  reasons  for  this  is 
that  we  were  taught  very  thoroughly  that  a 
helmet  is  a  good  thing  to  have  around,  but 
the  main  reason  is  that  the  American  helmet 
is  a  handy  instrument  even  when  you're  not 
wearing  it.  You  can  dig  with  it,  cook  with  it, 
gather  fruit  with  it  and  bathe  with  it.  The 
only  disadvantage  of  the  helmet  is  that  it  is 
drafty  in  winter  and  hot  in  summer. 

The  infantryman  bathes  whenever  he  has 
an  opportunity,  which  is  about  twice  during 
the  summer  and  not  quite  as  often  in  the 
winter.  He  bathes  in  rivers,  seas  and  old 
shell  holes  which  have  collected  water.  The 
only  consistent  thing  about  his  bath  is  that 
it  is  always  cold. 

Our  infantry  company  in  Italy  scrounged 
a  real  tin  bathtub  and  they  carried  it  around 
with  them  for  several  weeks  until  it  was 
riddled  by  an  88  shell. 

In  spite  of  growing  resentment  against  the 
souvenir  hunter,  the  market  for  souvenirs  is 
booming.  Front-line  troops  pick  them  up 
firsthand,  and  rear  troops  buy  them  or  police 
up  what  the  front-line  troops  missed.  On 
the  local  market  one  hundred  bucks  is  the 
prevailing  price  for  a  Luger  pistol.  A  P-38, 
the  mass-production  model  of  the  Luger, 
will  get  you  about  seventy  bucks.  German 
helmets  have  flooded  the  market  and  aren't 
worth  picking  up. 

Shortly  after  Rome  fell,  all  the  city's  bet- 
ter hotels  were  grabbed  by  brass  hats  and 
the  Air  Forces.  Did  the  infantry  have  a 
hotel?  Hell,  no.  The  sight-seeing  doggie 
was  out  of  luck  if  he  wanted  a  place  to  sleep 
after  he  had  ogled  some  of  Rome's  choicer 
sights.  This  was  a  heck  of  a  note  for  the 
doggie  who  had  sweated  out  Anzio  and  Cas- 
sino and  who  had  pushed  north  t»  take 
Rome  after  nine  awful  months  in  Italy. 

It  was  always  a  little  infuriating  for  the 
dogfaces  to  take  a  town  away  from  the  Ger- 
mans by  dint  of  considerable  effort,  to  be 
treated  royally  by  the  liberated  inhabitants 
and  given  the  golden  key  to  the  city;  and, 
after  moving  on  farther,  to  come  back  to 
that  town  and  find  everything  changed.  All 
the  choice  spots  are  occupied  by  brass  hats 


just  (ike 
jett/nj  an 

EXTRA 

pair  I " 


LUXed  stockings  last 

TWICE  AS  LONG, 

STRAIN   TESTS   SHOW 


Smart  girls  and  their  mothers  are  thrilled 
to  get  extra  stocking  wear!  Luxing  saves 
the  elasticity  that  makes  stockings  fit  and 
wear. 

Strain  tests  by  a  famous  laboratory 
showed  that  cake-soap  rubbing,  strong 
soap  made  runs  come  fast.  Luxed  stockings 
lasted  twice  as  long.  That's  like  getting  an 
extra  pair  of  stockings  every  time  you  buy 
one  pair. 

For  best  results  always  dry  rayons  thor- 
oughly at  least  24  hours. 


Soap  contains  vital 

war  materials  . . . 

DON'T  WASTE  IT! 

•k 
OVER  90%    OF  THE 
MAKERS   OF  STOCKINGS 
RECOMMEND   LUX! 


74 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


Festive !  Fun  to  make ! 


UPSIOE  DOWN  PIE 


i^^^. — 


.•iU 


»>►: 


:.<y 


Savor  )  Cut  more  Spam  mto  ^";!*"  ^.f^;  ?    _home  made  or  ready 

Sa  Standard  ^f -.^/°:^^L:gh    n  "mold,  bake  40-45  mmutes 

prepared.  Add  I'^l^f  ;,Pf.l,ter    Fill  cer^ter  wuh  .  .  • 
L  4250  F.  Turn  onto  a  plane  -t 


VaRT  cheese  SAUC^Blend  ^3^Pj;-i^^n^S 

n^argarine,  stir  in   ^f^^'^-;,'Z  grated  American  cheese    1 
smooth  and  thickened.  Add  -^P  Worcestershire,  U  tea 

teaspoon  prepared  mustard,  h  [^^'^°^°^^^  j^  double  boiler  until 
spoon  lemon  juice,  V.  ^-^P°°"  ^   £e  hot  over  Spam  Upside 


COLD  OR  HOT... 
SPAM   HITS  THE  SPOT 

*  "Spam"  is  a  registered  trademark.  It  identifies  a  meat 
product  —  packed  only  in  13-ounce  tins  —  made 
exclusively  by  Geo.  A.  Hermel  &  Co.,  Austin,  Minn. 


HORMEL 

GOOD  FOODS 


*-Ej5^jn 


^ 


y 


^5.  YOU-Ll  LIKE   HORMEL  CHILI  CON  CARNEI   Everybody  likes  chili  the  way  Hormel  mokes  it. 
becouse  Hormel  Chili  is  diHerenf.  You'll  like  it,  too.   DOUBLE  YOUR  MONEY  BACK   IF  YOU   DON'T! 


and  the  CIC  and  AMG  and  ACC  and  PWD. 
All  the  liquor  has  been  drank  and  the  pretty- 
babe  who  kissed  the  dogface  tearfully  as  he 
liberated  her  is  already  going  steady  with  a 
war  correspondent. 

It's  a  bad  thing,  and  even  though  the 
doggie  realizes  all  these  people  have  their 
place  in  the  war,  and  it  is  necessary  that 
they  follow  him,  he  also  gets  mad  as  hell 
sometimes. 

Our  Army  is  pretty  well  fed  behind  the 
lines — as  well  fed  as  an  army  can  be.  The 
food  advertisers  who  show  a  soldier  wallow- 
ing in  goodies  aren't  far  wTong.  The  abtm- 
dance  of  food  in  otu^  big  ration  dumps  amazed 
Europeans.  But  the  advertisers  make  one 
mistake.  They  always  show  the  soldier  wal- 
lowing in  goodies  at  the  front.  He  doesn't 
wallow  in  anything  but  mud  up  there. 

Usually  it's  nobody's  fault.  In  Sicily  and 
Southern  France  things  moved  so  fast  it  was 
hard  for  the  supplies  to  catch  up.  In  Italy 
the  mountains  complicated  the  supply  situa- 
tion. 

Since  there  is  not  much  a  cook  can  do 
while  his  company  is  in  combat,  his  worth 
depends  upon  how  many  ration  cases  he  can 
carry  and  not  upon  how  flaky  his  com  bread 
turns  out.  Occasionally  a  few  cooks  man- 
aged to  get  hot  food  up  to  their  boys,  but 
this  didn't  happen  very  often. 

Front-line  troops  got  K  and  C  rations  be- 
cause the  bulky  B  units  which  contain  fruit 
juice,  flour  for  pastries  and  all  the  nice 
things  a  guy  likes  to  eat  were  too  much  for 
the  mules  which  had  to  carry  everything 
else,  including  ammunition  and  water.  The 
main  trouble  with  K  and  C  rations  was  their 
monotony.  I  suppose  they  had  all  the  neces- 
sary calories  and  vitamins,  but  they  didn't 
fill  your  stomach  and  you  got  awfully  tired 
of  them. 

It's  a  tragedy  that  all  the  advantages  of 
being  in  the  American  Army  never  get  to 
those  who  need  them  most — the  men  at  the 
front.  It  was  the  same  with  the  Red  Cross 
and  movies  and  all  the  rest  of  the  better 
things.  You  just  can't  have  variety  shows 
and  movie  screens  at  the  front. 

When  our  planes  weren't  shooting  up 
kraut  supply  lines,  the  German  army  was 
pretty  well  fed.  Maybe  they  didn't  know 
much  about  vitamins,  but  their  stuff  was 
filling.  It  was  always  a  great  day  when  our 
patrols  found  caches  of  jerry  food. 

Their  sausage  was  good,  and  they  had  a 
marmalade  that  came  packaged  in  a  big 
wooden  box  and  wasn't  bad  at  all.  Of  coiu"se, 
most  of  this  stuff  came  from  France. 

But  the  Germans  had  a  pretty  good  chow 
system,  according  to  prisoners  I've  talked 
to.  Our  guys  seldom  get  a  square  meal  with 
meat  and  gravy  until  they  are  back  in  a  rest 
area  where  the  food  can  be  brought  up 
easily.  The  Germans  sent  all  their  best  stuff 
to  the  front.  One  prisoner  told  me  that  he 
had  transferred  from  a  cushy  job  in  the  rear 
echelon  to  the  infantry  so  he  could  get 
something  to  eat. 

But  the  kraut  wasn't  always  sleek  and  well 
fed.  We  can  thank  the  fliers  and  the  artillery 
for  the  fact  that  his  supplies  were  shot  up  a 
big  part  of  the  time.  Then  he  was  happy  to 
get  black  bread  and  watery  soup  and  didn't 
object  so  strongly  to  C  rations. 

"^"hile  the  rule  books  probably  frown  on  it, 
there  are  few  soldiers  who  haven't  traded 
Army  rations  for  civilian  food  when  it  was 
available.  It's  funny  to  watch  a  civilian, 
sick  of  his  potato  soup,  brown  bread  and  red 
wine,  wolf  one  of  those  horrible  K  rations  as 
eagerly  as  the  soldier  tears  into  the  soup  and 
bread  and  wine. 

Back  in  the  rest  areas,  kitchens  set  up 
mess  lines.  The  men  dig  garbage  pits  and 
scrape  the  rust  out  of  their  mess  gear.  The 
infantry  seems  to  get  much  worse  food  than 
any  other  branch,  but  at  least  the  food  is  hot 
when  the  kitchens  are  functioning. 

One  of  my  best  friends  is  a  cook  in  an  in- 
fantry company  when  he's  not  in  the  clink. 
I  once  drove  him  back  to  a  ration  dump  to 
get  a  sack  of  flour.  He  wanted  to  make  pan- 
cakes for  his  boys,  who  hadn't  seen  pan- 
cakes for  seven  months.   I  told  the  guys  at 


^^4imt6^'4 


Honey- butter  Waffle  Wedges 

with  a  Bowl  of  Strawberries  I 

A  tantalizing  combination  of  flavors 
.  .  .  crisp  waffle  wedges,  with  honey- 
butter  filling  between,  and  a  bowl  of 
strawberries  to  dip  daintily  in  powdered 
sugar!  Just  one  of  many  summery  ways 
to  enjoy  waffles  made  with  Duff'sl 


JUST  ADD 


Also   means.  "Oh, 
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salads  with  genuine 
French   Dressing 
.4nd  a  real  French 
Dressing  is  always 
made  with  genu- 
ine, superfine 
olive  oil. 


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D-;-. 


PARCHMENT .  KALAMAZOO  99-MICMlSAN 


jy  Your  Child 

HATES 
VEGETABLES 


trtf  ffivittff  him  Ovaltine 

SCIENCE  has  proved  there  are  certain  food 
elements  everyone  needs  for  health.  If  there 
aren't  enough  of  them  in  a  child's  food,  serious 
things  happen,  such  as  poor  appetite — faulty 
nerves,  bad  teeth — perhaps  worse!  Stunted 
growth,  soft  bones,  defeaive  eyesight. 

Ovaltine  supplies  food  elements  frequently 
deficient  in  ordinary  diets.  Three  glasses 
daily,  made  with  milk  as  directed,  provide 
a  child's  full  minimum  requirement  of  ap- 
petite Vitamin  Bi,  Vitamins  A,  D  and  G,  and 
Minerals  Calcium,  Phosphorus  and  Iron— also 
supply  niacin,  pantothenic  acid,  pyridoxine.  In 
addition  it  provides  the  basic  food  substances 
— complete  proteins  to  build  muscle,  nerve 
and  body  cells — high-energy  foods  for  vitality 
and  endurance.  It  thus  acts  as  an  insurance 
against  food  deficiencies  that  retard  appetite 
and  normal  growth. 

So— if  ^our  child  eats  poorly,  hates  vege- 
tables, or  is  thin  and  nervous,  turn  to  Ovaltine. 

OVALTINE 


Windoba  Cloth 


Wl  N  DOW 
CLOTHS 

(in  the  white  box) 


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73fraQkUnSt^  ■* 


PASTE  IT   QUICKLY 
DO   IT   NEATLY 

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onds., does  not  stoin.  The 
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10«  a  |or. 

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75 


the  ration  dump  that  I  was  scrounging  for 
Stars  and  Stripes,  and  that  we  wanted  to  do 
a  story,  with  photographs,  about  the  men 
who  work  in  ration  dumps.  They  fell  for  it, 
and  didn't  even  stop  to  wonder  why  in  hell 
Stars  and  Stripes  wanted  a  sack  of  flour. 
We  got  the  sack,  but  those  ration  men  are 
still  looking  for  their  pictures  in  the  paper. 

Halfway  back  to  the  company  area  Mike 
remembered  that  we  hadn't  asked  for  baking 
soda.  We  went  back,  but  they  didn't  have 
any  soda.  Then  Mike  asked  for  a  few  cases 
of  tooth  powder,  and  we  got  that.  After 
Mike  got  back  to  the  company,  every  guy 
had  all  the  pancakes  he  could  eat.  They  were 
made  with  G.I.  tooth  powder,  and  tasted 
pretty  good. 

That's  how  the  infantry  gets  along  most  of 
the  time. 

As  long  as  you've  got  to  have  an  army, 
you've  got  to  have  officers,  so  you  might  as 
well  make  the  most  of  it.  The  ideal  officer  in 
any  army  knows  his  business.  He  is  firm  and 
just.  He  is  saluted  and  given  the  respect 
due  a  man  who  knows  enough  about  war  to 
boss  soldiers  around  in  it.  He  is  given  many 
privileges,  which  all  officers  are  happy  to 
accept,  and  he  is  required,  in  return,  to  give 
certain  things  which  a  few  officers  choose  to 
ignore.  I  try  to  make  life  as  miserable  as 
possible  for  those  few. 

An  officer  is  not  supposed  to  sleep  until  his 
men  are  bedded  down.  He  is  not  supposed  to 
eat  until  he  has  arranged  for  his  men  to  eat. 
He's  like  a  prize  fighter's  manager.  If  he 
keeps  his  fighter  in  shape  the  fighter  will 
make  him  successful.  I  respect  those  com- 
bat officers  who  feel  this  responsibility  so 
strongly  that  many  of  them  are  killed  ful- 
filling it. 

Since  I  am  an  enlisted  man,  and  have 
served  under  many  officers,  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  respect  for  the  good  ones  and  a  great 
deal  of  contempt  for  the  bad  ones.  A  man 
accepts  a  commission  with  his  eyes  open 
and,  if  he  does  not  intend  to  take  responsi- 
bilities as  well  as  privileges,  he  is  far  lower 
than  the  buck  private  who  realizes  his  own 
limitations  and  keeps  that  rank. 

Even  after  four  long  years  in  the  Army  I 
still  disagree  with  some  of  the  officer- 
enlisted  man  traditions.  But  I'm  not  rabid 
about  it.  If  the  men  who  wrote  the  rules 
prefer  their  own  exclusive  bathrooms  and 
latrines,  that's  okay  with  me.  But  if  the 
officer  is  going  to  have  a  tent  over  his  latrine 
in  the  field,  how  about  one  for  me?  I  might 
not  be  as  important  as  he  is,  but  I  can  get 
just  as  wet.  And  keep  him  out  of  my  latrine 
when  the  weather  is  bad,  and  his  latrine  is 
farther  away  than  mine.  If  he  wishes  to  eat 
at  his  own  table,  and  wants  me  to  wash  his 
dishes  because  he  has  weighty  problems  on 
his  mind  and  no  time  for  dishwashing,  then 
I  understand.  But  let  him  keep  his  hands 
off  my  own  kitchen's  canned  orange  juice. 

Many  old-line  officers  are  no  doubt 
shocked  at  a  spirit  of  passive  rebellion  which 
occasionally  shows  itself  in  this  citizen  army. 
That's  the  whole  answer.  It  is  a  citizen 
army,  and  it  has  in  its  enlisted  ranks  many 


'%/ 

'& 

m 

W 

.  >5v»'».v»«« 

^^^K 

Good,  nourishing  food  for  all  eager  appetites. 
Van  Camp's  Beans  in  Tomato  Sauce  are  a  "party" 
dish,  too,  that  you  can  serve  friends  proudly  and 
at  small  cost  of  time,  etTort  and  money.  For  Van 
Camp's  prepare  these  delicious  beans  for  you  by 
an  exclusive  method  that  imparts  to  each  plump, 
tender  bean  its  full  share  of  the  rich,  savory  sauce 
—  makes  them  ready  to  heat,  eat  and  enjoy. 

You  can  take  it  easy  with   all    Van  Camp's 

famous  foods  .  .  .  give  your  family 

and  guests  interesting,   different 

meals    quickly,    economically.    Look 

for  .  .  .  ask  for  .  .  .  reach  for  Van 

Camp's  at  your  grocer's. 

Listen    to  "TAKE   IT   EASY  TIME' 

Mutual  Broadcasfing  System 
MONDAY       •       WEDNESDAY      •       FRIDAY 
11:30  AM  EWT  9:30  AM  MWT 

10:30  AM  CWT 


'Tell  th'  old  man  I'm  siitin'  up  wit'  two  sick  friends." 


76 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


My  fm\ii  IS 

CRAZy  ABOUT  THIS 

DELICIOUS  /my 

INSTANT  COFFEE/ 


IT'S  THE  NEW 

^WASHINGTON'S 

ready  in  5  seconds! 


Right  now,  all  the  G.  Wash- 
ington being  made  is  going 
to  our  Armed  Forces.  But 
keep  asking  for  ilj  your  gro- 
cer will  have  it  eventually  I 


G.WASHINGTON'S 
/V£tV 

INSTANT  COFFEE 


men  who  in  civil  life  were  not  accustomed  to 
being  directed  to  the  back  door  and  the 
servant  quarters.  To  taking  orders,  yes;  but 
to  taking  indignities,  no. 

It  doesn't  hurt  us.  Nearly  everybody 
needs  a  little  humbling  from  time  to  time. 
If  the  Army  maintains  these  customs  to  pre- 
vent undue  fraternization  between  the  ruling 
class  and  the  working  class,  on  the  theory 
that  familiarity  breeds  contempt,  then  per- 
haps the  Army  is  right.  But  most  combat 
outfits  scrap  tradition,  as  they  scrap  many 
other  things,  when  they  go  into  battle.  No 
man  who  depends  upon  those  below  him — 
not  only  for  his  success,  but  for  his  very 
life — is  going  to  abuse  his  men  unnecessarily. 
Not  if  he  has  good  sense. 

Technicians'  ratings  have  always  been 
good  cartoon  material.  All  the  boys  pick  on  a 
technician,  but  they  must  call  him  "ser- 
geant" or  "corporal"  while  they  do  it. 

After  I  had  been  a  very  poor  infantry 
soldier  for  a  year  or  so,  somebody  was  kind 
enough  to  give  me  an  extra  cook's  rating, 
which  was  called  a  first-third.  Although  I 
never  saw  the  kitchen  except  when  I  did  KP 
in  it,  the  rating  entitled  me  to  one  stripe  and 
slightly  more  than  corporal's  pay.  It  was  a 
notable  occasion  for  me,  because  I  got  that 
first-third  on  my  wedding  day,  and  the  few 
extra  bucks  did  a  lot  to  help  me  get  along 
with  my  landlady. 

A  few  months  before  I  came  overseas  the 
rating  was  changed  to  "technician,  fourth 
grade."  This  gave  me  three  stripes  and  a  T, 
and  sergeant's  pay.  I  wasn't  doing  my  com- 
pany commander  any  good,  because  I  was  on 
special  duty  at  division  headquarters,  where 
I  drew  pictures  for  the  division  paper.  My 
peppery  little  captain  used  to  trudge  over  to 
division  every  day  and  try  to  get  those  new 
stripes  back. 

I've  still  got  them,  but  I  don't  wear  them. 
I'd  rather  look  like  a  respectable  buck  pri- 
vate than  take  the  ribbing  most  guys  give  an 
ersatz  sergeant. 

It  seems  to  most  dogfaces  that  five  min- 
utes after  they  have  stormed  and  captured  a 
town  the  whole  place  is  plastered  with  "Off 
Limits"  signs.  Practically  every  town  in 
France  became  off  limits  immediately  after 
our  first  troops  had  cleared  it  of  snipers. 

One  off-limits  story  spread  through  the 
Army  and  endeared  General  Patch,  7th 
Army  commander,  to  the  doggies.  According 
to  the  story.  Patch  picked  up  a  hitch-hiking 
paratrooper  down  fn  the  Riviera  district. 
The  general  asked  the  paratrooper  where  he 
was  going  and  the  paratrooper  told  him, 
"Cannes."  It  was  off  limits  and  the  general 
told  him  so.  "Hell,  that's  okay,"  said  the 
paratrooper.  "I  can  sneak  in  and  nobody 
will  see  me  until  I'm  ready  to  leave." 
Either  the  general  wasn't  wearing  his  stars 
on  the  jeep  or  the  paratrooper  didn't  give  a 
damn.  Anyway,  the  general  was  so  im- 
pressed with  such  remarkable  honesty  that 
he  gave  the  guy  a  pass.  Patch  wrote  it  out 
in  longhand  and  instructed  all  MP's  that 
this  soldier  was  not  to  be  picked  up. 

It  doesn't  matter  whether  the  story  is 
true  or  not.  If  Patch  had  been  a  martinet, 
nobody  would  have  bothered  to  repeat  the 
yarn.  You  can  learn  a  lot  about  a  general  by 
listening  to  the  stories  told  about  him  by  his 
combat  men. 

Invasions  are  magnificent  things  to  watch 
but  awful  things  to  be  in.  Evidently  the 
Army  likes  to  pick  certain  outfits,  train 
them  in  landing  operations,  and  then  use  the 
same  men  for  every  invasion.  This  is  un- 
doubtedly an  efScient  system,  but  it  gets  a 
little  rough  on  the  guys  who  do  the  invading. 

My  old  division  was  one  of  several  whose 
only  rest  seemed  to  come  when  they  were 
waiting  for  boats  to  carry  them  to  other 
lands  where  the  language  was  different  but 
the  war  was  the  same.  These  amphibious 
creatures  have  seen  so  much  action  that 
when  they  land  back  in  the  States  they  will, 
just  from  force  of  habit,  come  off  shooting 
and  establish  a  beachhead  around  Coney 
Island.  There  they  will  probably  dig  in  and 
fight  until  demobilization  thins  their  ranks 


and  allows  the  local  partisans  to  push  the 
survivors  back  into  the  sea. 

A  lot  of  these  dogfaces  have  put  in  more 
time  at  sea  than  half  the  men  in  the  Navy. 
The  doggies  don't  envy  the  Navy.  They  like 
its  excellent  food  and  dry  bunks,  but  they 
don't  like  the  cramped  shipboard  life,  and, 
bad  as  the  beach  may  be,  they  didn't  want 
to  stay  aboard  the  ship  when  the  Luftwaffe 
and  the  shore  batteries  started  operating.  A 
ship  is  a  big  target,  and  there  is  no  place  you 
can  hide. 

Once  he  gets  ashore,  the  foot  soldier  is  in 
his  element.  He  breathes  easier,  even  while 
he  scoops  up  sand  by  the  helmetful  to  hide 
himself. 

Beaches  are  awful  when  they  are  being 
subjected  to  any  kind  of  fire,  because  they 
are  always  crowded  with  men  and  equip- 
ment coming  off  the  ships,  and  the  enemy 
can  throw  a  shell  almost  anywhere  in  the 
area  and  be  sure  of  getting  a  hit.  Strafing 
planes  are  the  biggest  terror,  and  the  Ger- 
mans always  seemed  to  scrape  up  a  sizable 
number  to  make  beachheads  unpleasant. 
They  played  hell  with  our  troops  at  Sicily, 
Salerno  and  Anzio. 

The  best  invasion  I  ever  attended  was  that 
of  Southern  France.  Part  of  the  easiness  I 
felt  was  the  result  of  being  with  my  old 
division,  and  even  though  nobody  knew 
whether  or  not  the  beachhead  was  going  to 
be  tough,  the  boys  were  so  accustomed  to 
invasions  that  they  didn't  spend  their  time 
sweating  it  out  on  shipboard.  It  was  almost 
a  rest  for  the  division,  because  before  em- 
barking they  had  put  in  some  pretty  tough 
training  to  get  their  sea  legs  back  again.  The 
training  was  given,  ironically  enough,  at 
exactly  the  same  spot  where  the  outfit  had 
gone  in  below  Salerno,  and  one  regiment  did 


"/  tanl git  no  lower,  Willie.  Me  buttons  is  in  th'  way." 

some  climbing  exercises  on  the  same  moun- 
tain they  had  defended  more  than  a  year 
before.  Abandoned,  rusted  landing  craft 
were  still  bobbing  their  sterns  as  the  tide 
changed,  and  you  would  find  skeletons 
washed  up  on  the  beaches.  It  was  a  very 
grim  place  and  we  all  lost  friends  there. 

I  finished  this  manuscript  shortly  after  I 
returned  from  France  to  Italy.  Most  of  it 
was  done  in  Rome.  I  stayed  in  Rome  for 
a  couple  of  weeks  because  I  wanted  to  finish 
some  drawings  I  had  sketched  in  France.  I 
also  wanted  to  sleep  in  a  bed  and  eat  at  a 
table.  I  did  all  these  things  and  then  picked 
up  the  manuscript  and  read  it  over.  It 
seemed  that  I  had  overstated  a  few  things. 
Sitting  there  in  a  warm  room  with  the  sun 
shining  outside,  I  felt  a  little  worried  about 
the  book. 

So  before  I  sent  it  off  I  went  north  to 
think  some  more  about  it.  Three  hundred 
miles  is  a  long  way  for  a  jeep,  even  such  a 
jeep  as  my  pampered  and  well-manicured 
"Jeanie,"  who  had  covered  more  than  ten 
thousand  miles  of  Anzio,  Italy  and  France. 

I  traveled  up  Highway  65  until  I  reached 
a  battalion  medical-aid  station  in  an  old 
building  nestling  under  a  bluff,  seven  kilo- 
meters above  Bologna.  Dog  Company  was 
on  top  of  the  bluff  and  they  had  .50-caliber 


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Containing  vitamins  "A"  and 
"D"  and  iodine,  the  effective  pre- 
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Keep  asking  for  them. 

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Terminal  Island,  Colifornia 


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NCSCO 

I  ROASTER 


ere's  a  tasty  meal,  with  roast  stuffed  chicken, 
egetables,  and  dessert  which  requires  no  fret- 
iiig  over  a  hot  stove.  The  entire  meal  can  be 
'inked — all  at  once — in  your  electric  NESCO 
MstLT  in  not  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half. 
t  calls  for  very  few  points — is  rich  in  all  the 
!  vitamins — typical  of  the  menu  served  at 
irmy  hospitals  to  restore  strength  and  vitahty 
o  convalescent  veterans. 


ifFing: 


cups  dry  bread  or  cracker  crumbs 

tlisp.  melted  chicken  fat 
2  t^p.  salt;  3^  tsp.  pepper 

tlsp.  chopped  onions 
2  tsp.  poultry  seasoning. 

Iix  together  and  pack  stufBng  loosely  into  cavity 
I  4  'ir  5  lb.  chicken.  Brush  outside  of  chicken  with 
i<  Itrd  fat  and  rub  with  salt.  Place  in  meat  pan  on 
.ick  frame  to  sear  about  30  minutes  at  500.  Re-set 
hermostat  to  350 (allowing  20 to 30 minutes  per  lb.). 


^etables: 


I  u^li  six  small,  peeled  potatoes  with  melted  fat  and 

.K*-  in  pan  around  chicken.  Sprinkle  with  salt. 

akcJ  onions:  4  large  or  si.x  small  white  unions 

th.sp.  fat 
i  cup  milk 

•^  tsp.  salt;  3^  tsp.  pepper 

'eel  onions,  slice  about  34  inch  thick  and  arrange 
1  layers  in  covered,  greased  vegetable  pan,  dotting 
ach  layer  with  fat,  salt  and  pepper.  Pour  milk  over 
11,  cover,  place  on  rack  with  chicken. 

ppy  Apple  Crisp,  dessert: 

tbsp.  fat 

cup  brown  sugar,  molasses,  honey,  maple,  sorghum 

or  corn  syrup  (add  3€  tsp.  soda  if  molasses  or 

sorghum  is  used) 

[  cup  flour 

tsp.  cinnamon 

cups  pared  apples  sliced  thinly 
i  cup  water 

'ream  fat  and  brown  sugar  well.  Work  in  flour  and 
innamon.  Place  half  the  amount  of  apples  in  greased 
egetable  pan  or  loaf  tin.  add  layer  of  half  of  the 
rst  mixture.  Repeat.  Pour  water  over  all  and  place 
ncovered  in  roaster  with  above. 


you  are  one  of  the  fortunate  housewives 
fho  got  a  NESCO  before  we  turned  our 
ictories  over  to  war  work  you  should  use 
t  every  day  for  roasting,  baking,  stewing. 
look  meals  in  cool  comfort  with  no  pot 
matching  and  little  pot  washing. 
Usco  products  include  also  oil  ranges  and  heaters, 
nuiare.  galvanized  ware  and  enajncled  tcare  Jor  all 
ousehold  uses.  National  Enameling  and  Stamping 
ompany,  worUts  largest  manufacturers  of  house- 
'ores,  289  N.  12th  Street,  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin. 


77 


machine  guns  and  a  mortar  OP  up  there.  I 
parked  Jeanie  under  the  bluff  because  the 
road  right  around  the  corner  was  raked 
every  few  minutes  by  enemy  machine  guns. 

Inside  the  aid  station,  I  told  the  medics  I 
was  looking  for  cartoons,  and  they  waved  me 
to  a  wooden  chair  beside  a  small  stove.  Be- 
cause the  station  and  the  road  around  it 
were  under  observation  and  fire,  the  medics 
couldn't  do  business  until  nightfall,  so  we 
played  hearts  with  a  greasy  deck  of  cards 
and  made  horrible  pancakes.  We  were  pretty 
well  protected,  but  once  a  shell  hit  near  by, 
and  I  poked  my  head  out  to  see  if  Jeanie 
was  still  there. 

We  were  high  in  the  mountains,  and  there 
was  a  heavy  fog  sliced  with  rain.  The  moun- 
tain earth  had  been  soaked  so  it  couldn't 
absorb  any  more,  and  the  rain  made  the 
mud  a  little  thinner  and  colder. 

The  doctor  was  a  captain  from  Florida. 
He  had  a  young,  mournful  face  and  a  scraggly 
blond  mustache.  He  didn't  know  how  to 
play  hearts,  so  while  we  played  he  pestered 
us  with  a  story  about  "Old  Sport."  Old 
Sport  was  a  dog  and  he  belonged  to  a  pack 
of  bird  dogs.  Every  dog  in  the  pack  was  a 
bird  dog  except  Old  Sport,  but  he  wanted 
to  go  hunting  too.  The  doctor  drove  us 
crazy,  and  then  Old  Sport  became  a  race 
horse.  Every  horse  in  the  stable  won  races 
but  Old  Sport,  and  he  won  a  few  races  too. 

That's  silly,  but  it  had  us  roaring  with 
laughter.  After  a  while  a  couple  of  medics 
started  remembering  Anzio.  "Were  you  at 
Anzio?"  one  medic  asked. 

A  couple  of  them  hadn't  been  there. 

"Boy,  you  should  have  been  at  Anzio." 
said  a  bearded  aid  man.  Then  we  all  started 
talking  about  Anzio.  Pretty  soon  the  cap- 
tain said: 

"You  know  where  I  was  during  Anzio?" 

We  told  him  we  didn't  know. 

"I  was  in  Florida,"  he  said.  "Were  you  in 
Florida?" 

We  said  no. 

"By  God,  you  should  have  been  in  Flor- 
ida," he  said.  He  told  us  about  amphibious 
maneuvers  in  Florida,  and  he  kidded  the 
hell  out  of  us.  He  was  a  good  egg. 

After  a  while  we  talked  about  home.  Out 
came  the  wallets,  and  although  the  captain 
had  a  pretty  wife  and  one  of  the  men  had  a 
lovely  fiancee,  Jean's  picture  carried  away 
honors,  but  the  other  two  guys  were  preju- 
diced, of  course,  and  wouldn't  admit  it. 

I  showed  the  captain  a  picture  of  my  son, 
and  I  said  he  would  be  two  years  old  soon 
and  I  had  never  seen  him.  I  looked  a  little 
gloomy,  I  guess,  because  the  doc  kidded  hell 
out  of  me  and  told  me  how  lucky  I  was  I 
didn't  have  to  change  diapers  in  Florida. 

Down  the  hill  an  American  gun  went 
rat-tatatat-tat-ta-ta,  to  the  rhythm  of 
"shave  and  a  haircut — two  bits,"  and  a 
German  with  no  sense  of  humor  or  rhythm 
came  back  with  a  fast  blrrrrrrp. 

That  reminded  us  of  the  war  in  Italy.  We 
agreed  that  this  was  just  as  miserable  and 
cold  and  muddy  as  last  winter  in  Italy,  only 
this  winter  the  Germans  seemed  to  have 
more  artillery. 

Then  we  said  that  everybody  in  the  States 
seemed  to  think  the  Americans  and  Germans 
in  Italy  were  dancing  beer-barrel  polkas  and 
all  the  war  was  in  France.  We  thought  of  a 
couple  of  dozen  German  divisions  we  were 
keeping  off  the  necks  of  the  guys  in  France, 
and  we  got  a  little  sore  when  we  remembered 
how  last  winter's  war  in  Italy  was  forgotten. 

"Were  you  in  Florida  on  maneuvers  last 
winter?  "  the  captain  started,  and  we  grinned 
and  shut  up. 

It  got  dark,  and  pretty  soon  some  sick 
guys  climbed  out  of  their  holes  down  the  hill 
and  came  up  to  the  aid  station.  One  had 
tonsillitis  and  a  fever  of  102  degrees.  I  sat  in 
the  corner  blowing  on  the  (ire  and  drying  the 
mud  on  my  pants,  and  watching. 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  hospi- 
tal?" the  captain  asked  the  dogface. 

I  guess  maybe  the  doggie  thought  he 
might  be  accused  of  malingering  because  he 
said,  "I  haven't  lost  anything  at  the  hospi- 
tal. I  wish  to  hell  I  hadn't  come  to  the  aid 
station.  They  need  me  down  at  the  com- 
pany." 


APRICOT  COOLER*  -,__  ^„ 

*/-.„_,,  ^  ""^Z  CRACKERS 

combination  as  you'll  meet  1 1  trackers.  As  refreshing  a 

summer  dishes...  spec;a/.' 


78 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


'lOA/^ny 


FOR     YOUR      NEW     WORLD     TABLE 

When  you  buy  crystal,  look  to  the  future. 
Avoid  a  "here  today,  gone  tomorrow"  pattern. 
Choose  a  Fostoria  pattern  and  be  assured 
that  you  can  replace  pieces  or  add  new  ones 
later  on.  You  can  be  assured,  too,  that  your 
Fostoria  will  prove  as  satisfyingly  lovely, 
as  time  goes  on,  as  it  is  today.  The  better 
stores   everywhere   carry   Fostoria   patterns. 


FOSTORIA      GLASS      COMPANY 


MOUNDSVI  LLE,      W.     VA. 


"There's  a  cartoon."  the  captain  said  to 
me. 

"Hell,  nobody  would  believe  it,"  I  said. 

The  doctor  examined  the  doggie.  "You're 
going  to  the  hospital.  You've  got  a  fever." 
The  medics  fixed  up  a  litter  in  the  corner  of 
the  room  and  put  the  sick  man  under 
blankets. 

Pretty  soon  a  guy  with  a  heavy  beard  and 
red,  sunken  eyes  came  in  with  a  pain  in  his 
chest  and  a  deep  cough.  He  had  been  on 
outpost  lying  on  a  muddy  embankment  for 
six  days  and  six  nights  without  being  able  to 
stand  up  or  take  his  shoes  off.  It  had  not 
stopped  raining  for  six  days  and  six  nights, 
and  it  got  below  freezing  at  night  and  he 
hadn't  had  any  cover.  He  didn't  have  a 
sleeping  bag,  and  he  couldn't  have  used  one 
anyway,  because  you  can't  get  out  of  one 
quickly  if  jerry  sneaks  up  on  you  with  a 
grenade  or  bayonet. 

He  had  pneumonia,  and  while  he  was  wait- 
ing for  the  ambulance  to  come  up  to  the  aid 
station  I  talked  to  him.  He  had  been  over- 
seas three  months,  and  he  didn't  look  any 
different  from  the  men  who  had  been  over 
three  years.  He  talked  a  little  different, 
though,  because  he  griped  about  things 
which  three-year  men  accept  with  deadened 
senses.  But  despite  his  griping,  he  had 
stayed  on  that  muddy  embankment  with 
his  eyes  open  for  German  patrols  until  his 
coughing  got  so  bad  his  buddies  were  afraid 
he  would  die  or  tip  off  the  Germans  to  his 
position,  and  so  they  made  him  come  up  to 
the  aid  station. 

Sometimes  the  doctor  kidded  the  two  sick 
men  and  sometimes  he  was  gruff  with  them, 
but  they  knew  what  kind  of  guy  he  was  by 
the  way  he  acted.  When  the  ambulance  came 
up,  both  men  were  evacuated  to  the  hospital. 

No  men  came  out  of  the  misery  and  death 
and  mud  below  us  unless  they  were  awfully 
sick.  They  didn't  want  to  stay  down  there, 
but  they  knew  they  were  needed. 

"  I  wish  to  hell  I  could  send  every  man  in 
every  hole  back  to  hot  food  and  a  hospital 
bed  with  sheets,"  said  the  captain,  and  then 
he  realized  he  had  said  something  serious,  so 
he  made  a  silly  crack  to  neutralize  it. 

J  HE  little  field  phone  rang.  One  of  the 
guys  in  the  aid  station  answered  it.  It  was 
Charley  Company  with  a  casualty.  The 
medic  took  his  blankets  off  the  litter  he  had 
intended  to  sleep  on,  and  he  carried  it  out  to 
the  medical  jeep,  which  sat  in  a  revetment 
of  sandbags  at  the  side  of  the  building.  He 
asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  go  with  him.  I 
didn't,  but  I  got  up  and  put  on  my  helmet. 

"Now  what  in  hell  do  you  want  to  go 
for?"  asked  one  of  the  Anzio  guys  I  had 
beaten  at  hearts.  "Haven't  you  ever  seen  a 
foxhole  at  night  before?" 

I  was  grateful  to  him,  because  I  really 
didn't  want  to  go.  I  didn't  care  if  I  never 
saw  another  foxhole  again.  But  you  have  to 
play  the  game,  and  so  I  said,  "Well,  you  are 
using  barbed  wire  here,  and  I  guess  I  ought 
to  see  it." 

"Haven't  you  ever  seen  barbed  wire  be- 
fore?" my  benefactor  asked.  Still  playing 
the  game,  I  said  yes,  I  had  seen  barbed  wire 
before,  but  well,  hell,  and  I  fingered  my 
helmet. 

"Besides,  there's  only  room  for  two  in  the 
car  with  the  stretcher  in  back,"  he  said. 

"Well,  hell,"  I  said  again.  "If  there  isn't 
any  room,  there  isn't  any  room.  Besides,  it's 
an  awfully  steep  hill."  I  sat  down  and  took 
off  my  helmet.  The  game  was  over. 

They  were  back  in  five  minutes,  because 
it  was  only  a  thousand  yards,  and  they  used 
the  jeep  because  the  hill  was  steep  and  the 
machine  was  faster  than  men  on  foot  with  a 
litter.  The  Germans  would  have  killed  the 
medics  just  as  quickly  on  foot  as  with  the 
jeep,  if  they  had  felt  like  killing  medics  that 
night.   I  was  glad  they  got  back  okay. 

The  boy  screamed  as  the  litter  bumped 
the  door  coming  in. 

"Goddam  it,  be  careful,"  said  one  of  the 
medics  to  the  other. 

They  laid  the  litter  on  two  old  sawhorses 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  the  banter- 
ing, good-natured  doctor  grabbed  the  kero- 
sene lantern  and  went  to  work.  He  was 
strangely  different  now.    His  warm,  sym- 


pathetic eyes  got  cool  and  quick  and  hb 
fingers  gently  unrolled  the  bandages,  now 
dark  red,  which  the  company  aid  man  had 
wrapped  hastily  but  efficiently  around  the 
wounded  man's  face.  The  boys,  who  had 
kidded  and  bulled  about  Anzio  and  Florida 
maneuvers  and  Old  Sport  were  very  serious 
now.  One  took  a  pair  of  surgical  scissors  and 
slit  through  layers  of  muddy,  bloody  cloth- 
ing until  the  boy  was  stark  naked  in  the 
warm  room.  His  face  was  a  pulp,  and  one 
arm  and  a  leg  were  shattered  and  riddled. 

"God,  I'm  hurt,"  he  said.  "God,  they 
hurt  me."  He  couldn't  believe  it.  His  un- 
hurt hand  reached  for  his  face  and  one  of  the 
medics  grabbed  his  arm  and  held  it — not 
roughly,  but  the  way  a  woman  would  have 
done. 

"Easy,  boy,"  he  said. 

"God,  I'm  hurtin'.  Give  me  a  shot,"  the 
boy  screamed. 

"We  gave  you  a  shot.  Jack,"  said  one  of 
the  medics  who  had  read  his  dog  tags  and 
was  filling  out  a  slip.  "Just  a  minute,  and 
you'll  feel  better." 

While  the  doctor  and  the  others  worked 
on  the  bandages  and  the  splint  for  the  shat- 
tered arm,  the  medic  with  the  pencil  said; 

"What  got  you.  Jack?" 

"God,  I  don't  know.  It  was  a  tank. 
Where's  the  chaplain?" 

"You  don't  need  the  chaplain.  Jack,"  said 
the  medic.  "You're  going  to  be  okay.  What 
got  you?" 

"It  was  a  grenade,"  said  Jack,  his  hand 
still  reaching  for  his  face.  "Where's  the 
chaplain?  Why  do  you  let  me  hurt  like  this?" 

"How  old  are  you.  Jack?"  asked  the 
medic  persistently.  He  had  already  marked 
"grenade,"  because  the  wounds  showed  that. 

Jack  said  he  was  twenty  years  old,  he  was 
a  staff  sergeant,  and  he  was  from  Texas. 

The  questioning  seemed  heartless  at  this 
time,  but  there  is  a  reason  for  it.  If  the  pa- 
tient is  able  to  answer,  it  distracts  him  from 
his  pain;  and  if  the  information  isn't  gained 
here,  they  have  to  get  it  back  at  the  hospital. 

Jack  had  guts.  Of  course  he  was  scared. 
He  knew  he  was  hurt  bad,  and  it's  a  shock 


"Do  retrealin' blisters  hurt  as  much  as  advancin' blisters?' 


to  anybody  to  get  hit.  But  when  they  told 
him  he  shouldn't  reach  for  his  face,  he  said 
okay  a  little  sleepily,  because  the  morphine 
was  taking  effect. 

"Hold  a  flashlight,"  the  doctor  said  to  me. 
"The  lantern  isn't  strong  enough." 

I  grabbed  a  flashlight  and  held  it  on  the 
boy  while  they  worked  on  him.  I  thought, 
"Christ,  twenty  years  old!"  I  felt  like  an 
old  man  at  twenty-three.  I  looked  at  the 
holes  which  had  riddled  his  right  arm  and 
practically  severed  his  little  finger,  and  I 
looked  at  the  swollen  bloody  gashes  on  his 
leg.  I  looked  at  his  horribly  wounded  face 
and  head,  and  I  thought  of  how  twenty 
minutes  ago  he  was  sitting  quietly  in  his  hole, 
wondering  how  soon  he  could  get  home. 

I  handed  the  flashlight  to  the  medic  who 
had  finished  filling  out  the  slip,  and  I  went 
over  to  the  litter  and  sat  on  it  with  my  head 
between  my  knees  and  tried  to  keep  from 
being  sick  on  the  floor. 

'Continued  on  Page  SO) 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


79 


BACK 


Sing  out,  sweet  world  ...  let  all  the  chimes  ring!  Here  are  the 
dear,  familiar  things  you  lost  the  day  he  went  away.  The  dear, 
familiar  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that's  just  for  you  .  .  .  the  dear,  famil- 
iar warmth  of  his  arms  .  .  .  the  goodness-above-goodness  that  is 
just-you-two  .  .  .  forever. 

Dear  and  familiar,  too,  is  that  home  you  dream  of.  The  deep 
chairs,  the  sunny  windows,  the  low  table  you  draw  up  to  the  fire 
for  special  dinners  for  two.  Even  the  sparkling  Community  you 
cherish  has  a  dear,  familiar  meaning.  Today,  at  Community,  we 
speed  away  at  our  war  work.  But  when  the  war  is  won  .  .  .  then 
go  to  your  jeweler's  .  .  .  together!  Choose  your  very  own  Com- 
munity. Its  loveliness  will  be  yours  to  treasure  when  your  man's 
back  home  for  keeps. 


^Forever 


^  C^a^t^^^t.u-^Z'C^     .  0^  (xyi/iect 


*REa.  u.  S.    PAT.  OFF. 


COPYRIQHT   1045,    ONEIDA   LTD. 


SPEED     THE     DAYI 


BUY    WAR     BONDSI 


FREEI  If  you  d  like  a  full-color  reproduction  of  this  painting,  with- 
out advertising,  write  COMMUNITY,  Dept.  K-5,  Oneida,  N.  Y. 


80 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


1 


^(/M  Cassero/e  h  Sa/c7c/ 


TENDER,  hot  Cheese  Puff! 
Crispy  salad,  tossed  with 
Wesson  Dressing!  Be  sure  you 
make  them  both  with  Wesson 
Oil.  Light,  dehcate  Wesson  Oil 


P 


^^^\     ^■'^  y°"  know  that  more  American  women  use 

»  *  •^*    Wesson  than  any  other  brand  of  salad  oil?  There's       — .^ 

a  real  flavor  reason,  as  your  first  bottle  will  show  you.  Ask  your 

grocer  for  a  botde  of  sunshiny  Wesson  Oil  today. 


)\fesson  Oil 

FOR  SALADS  &'  COOKING 


new   ORLEANS 


(Conlinued  from  Page  78) 

The  medic  took  the  flashlight  without 
even  a  glance,  and  nobody  looked  at  me. 
They  went  right  on  working.  Pretty  soon 
Jack's  face  was  fixed  and  it  didn't  look  so 
bad  with  a  neat  bandage  and  the  blood 
washed  off.  His  arm  was  fi.xed  in  a  splint 
and  it  looked  very  neat  indeed.  He  was 
wrapped  up  in  blankets,  and  the  ambulance 
came  up  and  took  him  away.  He  was  full  of 
morpliine  and  probably  dreaming  of  home. 

"I  don't  know  what  we'd  do  without 
morphine,"  the  doc  said. 

I  guess  I  looked  a  little  foolish  and  white, 
and  I  started  to  open  my  mouth.  I  don't 
know  what  I  was  going  to  say,  but  the  medic 
who  had  taken  the  flashlight  turned  to  me 
and  said: 

"It's  funny.  I  handle  these  guys  every 
night,  and  some  of  them  are  really  in  awful 
shape.  But  last  night  one  came  in  not  hurt 
half  as  bad  as  Jack  and  I  did  the  same  thing 
you  did." 

Another  medic  said,  "We  keep  some  medi- 
cine to  take  care  of  those  things." 

They  brought  out  a  miracle— a  half-filled 
bottle  of  Pennsylvania  rye.  Now  I  know 
damned  well  one  of  those  guys  got  that 
bottle  in  a  Christmas  package,  and  I  know 
he  could  have  sold  it  for  a  hundred  dollars 
cash  anyplace  between  Florence  and  Bo- 
logna. Or  he  could  have  kept  it  to  himself, 
and  nobody  would  have  blamed  him.  But 
we  all  had  a  slug  of  rye— the  doc  with  his 
bloody  hands  and  his  eyes  which  were  ban- 
tering once  more,  and  the  medics  who  were 
kidding  each  other  again. 

Another  sick  guy  came  in.  The  doc  asked 
him  if  he  had  been  at  the  front,  and  the  guy 
said,  "No,  I  was  three  hundred  yards  be- 
hind it." 

Sometimes  you  can  hang  around  places 
and  guys  write  cartoon  captions  for  you.  I 
made  a  note  furtively. 

I  went  to  sleep  on  a  litter  which  wasn't 
being  used,  and  when  the  odor  of  coffee  woke 
me  up  at  ten  the  next  morning  the  aid  men 
told  me  two  more  casualties  had  come  in 
later  in  the  night  and  that  when  they  picked 
up  my  litter  and  turned  it  around  to  make 
more  room  I  hadn't  even  budged. 

I  stayed  one  more  day  and  one  night,  and 
when  the  fog  lifted  I  poked  my  head  up  over 
the  sandbags  and  peered  down  the  valley 
which  led  to  Bologna.  It  looked  very  peace- 
ful and  pretty,  because  you  can't  see  bullets 
and  there  was  little  artillery  during  those 


June.  194S 

few  hours  of  light  before  the  fog  settled  dowTi 
again.  When  there  is  no  fog  the  country  is 
so  nice  and  clear  you  don't  show  more  than 
your  helmet  even  at  the  aid  station. 

I  hung  around  and  talked  with  guys  who 
strayed  down  from  Dog  Company  on  top  of 
our  cliff.  Machine  gunners  and  mortar  men, 
they  were  feeling  very  rear-echelon  and  very 
sorry  for  the  riflemen  in  the  holes  below  us. 
Guys  in  the  holes,  of  course,  were  feeling 
sorry  for  Dog  Company,  because  they  could 
see  our  cliff  getting  a  pounding. 

A  moon  came  out  that  night,  and  I  de- 
cided not  to  leave  until  it  got  murky  again, 
because  I  had  to  cover  an  exposed  stretch  of 
road  going  back.  A  cloud  came  over  the 
moon,  and  I  got  into  Jeanie  and  turned 
around  slowly  so  the  motor  wouldn't  make 
sparks.  Then  I  started  crawling  back  in  very 
low  gear  through  the  cratered  and  splashy 
mud.  Midway  through  the  open  space  the 
motor  stopped,  and  the  clouds  broke,  bath- 
ing me  in  lovely  moonlight.  I  sweated  and 
ground  the  starter  and  finally  the  motor 
started  again.  After  I  got  around  the  bend 
I  heard  a  lot  of  explosions,  and  I  guess 
maybe  they  had  seen  me  and  threw  the  stuff 
too  late.  I  kicked  hell  out  of  that  jeep  for 
the  next  fifteen  miles. 

I  felt  good  when  I  got  back  to  a  building 
in  the  rear  and,  even  though  I  had  hardly 
stuck  my  nose  out  from  the  protection  of  the 
aid-station  sandbags,  I  felt  I  had  learned 
something.  I  sketched  sixteen  cartoon  ideas 
in  three  hours. 

I  came  back  to  Rome,  so  I  could  send  the 
book  off  and  finish  the  sixteen  drawings.  I 
read  the  thing  over  before  I  took  a  bath,  and 
darned  if  I  didn't  like  it. 

Now  I've  had  the  bath  and  the  sixteen 
drawings  are  almost  finished,  and  somehow 
I  miss  the  aid  station.  It  was  pretty  safe 
under  the  cliff,  and  it  was  warm  and  we  were 
able  to  make  coffee.  It  was  full  of  homesick, 
tired  men  who  were  doing  the  job  they  were 
put  there  to  do.  and  who  had  the  guts  and 
humanness  to  kid  around  and  try  to  make 
life  easier  for  the  other  guy. 

They  are  big  men  and  honest  men,  with 
the  inner  warmth  that  comes  from  the  gen- 
erosity and  simplicity  you  learn  up  there. 
Until  the  doc  can  go  back  to  his  chrome 
ofhce  and  gallstones  and  the  dogface  can  go 
back  to  his  farm  and  I  can  go  back  to  my 
wife  and  son,  that  is  the  closest  to  home  we 
can  ever  get. 

(the  end) 


JA>E   HAIKUOLK— HOUSEWIFE   IN   TUE   DARK 

(Continued  from  Page  27) 


that  she's  walking  and  can  get  hold  of 
things,  I  have  to  keep  my  wits  about  me 
every  minute  she's  awake.  She  strews  stuff 
all  over  the  house — ash  trays,  toys,  books, 
anything  she  can  get  her  hands  on.  I'm  be- 
ginning to  step  around  her  like  a  gaited 
horse.  But  I  don't  care  as  long  as  she's 
having  fun. 

"One  thing  I'm  determined  about,  and 
that  is  that  Jennifer  shall  have  a  perfectly 
normal  childhood.  I  subject  her  to  normal 
discipline,  but  no  more.  I'm  not  going  to 
make  her  conform  to  an  unnatural  routine 
just  because  it  would  make  it  easier  for  me. 
I  don't  want  her  getting  bewildered  and 
developing  complexes  because  I've  fallen 
down  on  the  job  somewhere." 

But  to  get  back  to  the  routine.  After  the 
washing  is  done  in  the  morning,  Jane  starts 
in  on  the  house,  and  before  she  knows  it 
it's  time  for  lunch.  She  gives  Jennifer  her 
lunch  first,  and  pops  her  into  her  crib  for  her 
afternoon  nap.  Jennifer  handles  her  own 
glass  of  milk  now,  and  is  beginning  to  feed 
herself  with  a  spoon.  Jane  sees  the  child  safely 
through  her  meal,  and  then  has  her  own. 

While  the  baby  is  resting,  Jane  does  the 
dishes,  and  very  often  prepares  the  vege- 
tables for  dinner.  Then  she  bathes  and 
changes  her  clothes  and  sits  down  to  do  some 
of  her  "homework"- that  is,  proofreading 
TalkinK  Book  records.  On  an  average,  she 
does  si.xly  of  these  a  week,  which  means 
fifteen  hours  of  work,  since  each  master 


record  runs  for  fifteen  minutes.  One  week 
she  proofread  ninety-eight  records. 

Somewhere  in  between  records,  she  takes 
the  baby  up.  dresses  her  and  puts  her  out  to 
play.  Around  four-thirty  she  brings  her  in, 
plays  with  her  for  a  while,  and  then  leaves 
her  in  the  living  room  with  her  books  and 
toys  while  she  herself  does  some  more  work 
toward  getting  dinner.  She  gets  ever\lhing 
ready  for  dinner  before  Bill  comes  home,  and 
starts  the  vegetables  cooking  on  top  of  the 
stove,  but  never  puts  anjlhmg  in  the  oven 
until  he  arrives.  Now  that  Jennifer  is  trotting 
around  she's  afraid  she  might  come  in  the 
kitchen  just  at  the  wrong  moment  and  try 
crawling  into  the  oven  or  something.  Once 
Bill  gets  home,  Jane  can  go  ahead. 

Jennifer  has  her  bath  in  the  evening,  and 
is  always  in  bed  by  seven-thirty.  When  she's 
had  her  supper  and  been  tucked  away,  Jane 
and  Bill  have  their  dinner. 

Everyone,  it  seems,  is  very  curious  to 
know  how  Mrs.  Barbour  manages  about  the 
cooking.  How  does  she  peel  the  potatoes? 
How  does  she  find  what  she  wants? 

Well,  as  for  the  potatoes,  she  doesn't  peel 
them  except  when  she  roasts  them  with  the 
meat.  She  either  bakes  them  or  boils  them 
in  their  jackets,  removing  tlie  skins  later  and 
putting  them  through  the  ricer  if  she  wants 
to  serve  them  mashed. 

As  for  finding  what  she  wants,  that  is 
relatively  simple.  Practically  everything  on 
(Continued  on  Page  S3) 


U  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY  MILK  DISTRIBUTORS  COVERING  OVER  2000  CITIES  — FOR  OTHERS  WRITE  GOLDEN  GUERNSEY  INC.,  PETERBOROUGH.  H.\ 


nk 
lale 
vood 
3each 


BAMA 

n      Mo-Lo-Joc  Farms 

FORNIA 

ibro         Adohr  Farmj 

Golden  State 

ly  Hills    Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 

Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 

Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 

Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 

Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 

ngeles     Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 

eno  Adohr  Forms 

Golden  State 

nento     Golden  State 

ancisco  Golden  State 

Barb'ro  Golden  State 

Monica  Adohr  Farms 

Golden  State 

on        Clowes'  Doiry 

Hoppyholme  Dairy 

3RADO 

r  Corlson-Frinlt  Co. 
3  City  Park  Dairy 

■ing's  Guernsey  Dairy 

•JEaiCUT 

,ia  Broclt-Hall 

VX'ood  Ford  Form 
iport  Brock-FHoll 

Dewhirsl  Dairy 
iry  The  Rider  Dairy 
I 

n's  Sunny  Valley  F'ms 
Id  Brock-Hall 

IS  Farms  Nyala  Farm 
iwich  Round  Hill  Farm 
n's  Sunny  Valley  F'ms 
>rd  Bryant  SChapmon 
etown 

Brock's  Lakeview 
d  Brock-Hall 

jtucle  Brock-Holl 

Red  Oak  Farm 
Haven       Brock-Hall 
New  Haven  Dairy 
,rd 

n's  Sunny  Valley  F'ms 
'bury  Brock-Hall 

Maple  Hill  Dairy 
'town  Mt.  Fair  Farm 
Haven  Clark  D'y,  Inc. 

IDA 

inville  Dinsmore  Dairy 
r  Park  Lakemont  Dairy 

«GIA 

a        Ponce  de  Leon 

OIS 

30  Bowmon  Dairy 
le  Bredehoft  Dairy 
jr  Ridglydale  Dairy 
Stamer's  Dairy 
3it  Union  Dairy 

arles  Riverview  Dairy 

<NA 

cago  Prairie  View 
t  Eby's  Dairy 

ough  Dairy  Products 
'ayne  Eskay  Dairy  Co. 
Allen  Dairy  Prods. 
i  Hammond 
Cloverleal  Dairy  Co. 
Dixie  Doiry  Co. 
ity  Solms  Bros. 

i-lHillcrest  Farm  Dairy 
jigton  Pure  Milk  Co. 
'op's  Capitol  Dairies 
m.  H.  Roberts  8c  Sons 
o  Med-O-Bloom  D'y 
)tte  Furnas  Ice  Cr. 
e  Scholl  Dairy 

n  Pure  Milk  Co. 

irnonRosenboumBros. 
>nd  Wayne  Dairy 
Bend  Reliable  Dairy 


[  f .  H.  Logsdon 

'port  Wyonet  Forms 
odge  Creamery  Co. 

;as 

Country  Club  Dairy 

JCKY 

id  Hickory  Hill  Dairy 

I  ille  Cherokee  S.  Milk 
isboro  Model  D'y,  Inc. 
ton  Cream  &  Butter 
ester  Marsh  Dairy  Co. 

iE 

A.  H.  Ouellette 
gton  Richvole  Form 
lid  Maple  Lone  Farm 

A.  H.  Ouellette 

/LAND 

ore  Green  Spring  D'y 
1  Hill  Kennersley  F'm 
ick  Ideol  Farms  Dairy 
stown 

en  Ploins  Dairy  Forms 
(^oodside  Hall  Farms 
ville  Harvey  Dairy 
m  Moughon  Forms 
>posit  Mt.  Arorot  F'ms 
lie  Sycamore  Dairy 
iry  City  Dairy 

Homesteod  Dairy 
msport 
Voodside  Hall  Farms 

JACHUSEns 

'Oro       Devine's  Milk 

and  Vicinity 

I  Deerfoot  Forms 

I    H.  P.  Hood  &  Sons 

Wethersfield  farm 

White  Bros. 

Whiting  Milk  Co 

ird  Robert  H.  Sawyer 

on  H.  P.  Hood 

Cod 

mnis  H.  P.  Hood 
White  Brothers 
louth  H.  P.  Hood 
»ods  Hole  H.P.Hood 
li  oee  F,  B.  Mollory,  Inc. 
X  ry  White  Brothers 
B  oewoter  H.  P.  Hood 

II  'olpole  Endean  Farm 
Cjro  Tri-City  CoOp. 
II  gham  Deerfoot  Farms 


MASSACHUSETTS  (Con.) 

GreenCId  Sheldegren  Form 
Hoverhill  Rob't.  H.  Sawyer 
Holyoke  F.  8.  Mollory,  Inc. 
Shadylown  Form 
Hopkinton  Fronklond  Form 
Littleton  J.  Fred  Herpy 
Longmeodow 

F.  B.  Mollory,  Inc. 
Lowell  John  Kydd  &  Sons 
Marlboro  Deerfoot  Farms 
Methuen  Greycourt  Form 
New  Bedford  Frotes  Dairy 
Gulf  Hill  Form 
North  Adams 

Fillmore  Forms,  Inc. 
North  Attleboro     Devine's 


MICHIGAN 

Ann  Arbor  Hirih  Brothers 
Bay  City  Boy  City  Dairy 
Flint  Genesee  Dairy 

Kalamazoo  Lockshore  Form 
Lonsing  Heotherwood  Form 
Midlond  Midlond  Doiry  Co. 
Saginaw       Huebner  Doiry 
Saginaw  Doiry 
MINNESOTA 
Austin        Marigold  Dairies 
Bornum     Bornum  Creamery 
Foriboult  Marigold  Dairies 
Formington  Brondtjen  Forms 
Monkato  H.  N.  Best  &  Son 
Lowguern  Farm 
Marigold  Dairies 


MONTANA 

Billings              Billings 

Dairy 

NEBRASKA 

Lincoln  . 
Omaha 

Skyline 
Alamito 
Roberts 

Dairy 
Dairy 
Dairy 

NEVADA 

Reno 

Model  Dairy 

NEW  HAMPSHIRE 

Concord  Summit  Forms 

Honcock       The  Flagstones 
Loconio  Knowles  Dairy 

Manchester  Bachelder'sD'y 
Mi  I  ford  Crosby  Farm 


NEW  JERSEY  (ConJ 

Florham  Pork 

Florhom  Park  Dairies  Inc. 
Hoddonfield  Abbotts  Dries 
Hoddon  Heights 

Abbotts  Dairies,  Inc. 
Hightstown  Conovers 

Hightstown  Guernsey  D'y 
Hillside  (with  Elizabeth) 

Mt.  Vernon  Forms 

Irvington       Alderney  Dairy 

Mt.  Vernon  Farms 

Port  Murray  Dairy 

Sunrise  Dairies 

Phil  Knorr 

Port  Murroy  Dairy 
Kearney  Mt.  Vernon  Forms 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

New  Brunswick     Krouzer's 

Kreiger  Dairy 

Mayer's  Sonitory  Dairy 

Middlesex  Farm  Dairy 

Poulus  Dairy 

Schmidt's  Dairy 

No.  Arlington   Forest  Dairy 

Paterson  Franklin  Lake 

Peapock-Glodstone  Dairy 

Perth  Amboy 

Supreme  Milk  &  Cream 
Plainfield       Sunrise  Dairies 
Wood  Brook 
Point  Pleasant 

Von  Schoick's  Dairy 
Port  Murray  Dairy 


Privileges?  By  Act  of  Congress,  every  Army  Nurse  is 
an  officer — •with  an  officer's  rank,  pay  and  retirement 
pension  for  length  of  service  anci  disability  plus  all 
provisions  of  the  G.  I.  Bill  of  Rights. 

But  the  privilege  that  means  most  to  her  is  the  right 
to  save  our  boys'  lives. 

Ninety-seven  per  cent  of  our  wounded  in  this  ■war 
have  been  saved !  If  this  truly  ■wonderful  record  is  to 
be  continued  —  more  nurses  must  ans^wer  the  call ! 

GOLDEN  GUERNSEY,  Inc.,  in  cooperation  with  the  distributors 
of  Golden  Guernsey  Milk  throughout  the  country,  sponsors  this 
message  to  remind  you  — 


If  you  are  a  graduate  regis- 
tered nurse  under  the  age  of 
45,  join  the  Army  Nurses 
Corps  now.  If  you  are  a  senior 
cadet  nurse,  serve  your  last 
six  months'  training  in  an 
Army  Hospital.  If  you  are 
untrained  but  want  to  help, 
join  a  WAC Hospital  Company 
or  take  a  Red  Cross  Nurses' 
Aideor  Home  Nursing  Course. 
Communicate  with  the  Sur- 
geon General,  U.  S.  Army, 
Washington  25,  D.  C,  or  your 
local  Red  Cross  Recruitment 
Committee. 


NURSSS  ARE  NEEDED  NOW. . .  ALL  WOMEN  CAN  HELP 


MASSACHUSETTS  (Con.) 

Northampton   United  Dairy 

No.  Eoston  Longwoter  Farm 

Pittsfield         Crescent  Cr'y. 

Pittsfield  Milk  Exchange 

Shrewsbury  Hillcrest  Dairy 

Jensen's  Wayside  Dairy 

So.  Dartmouth  Gull  Hill  Farm 

So.  HodleyShodylawn  Farm 

Springfield  F.B.  Mollory,  Inc. 

General  Ice  Cream  Corp. 

United  Dairy 'System,  Inc. 

Swansea  Cedar  Lone  Farm 

Taunton  Devine's  Milk  Lob. 

H.  P.  Hood 

Topsfield       Meredith  Form 

Weslfield  F.B.  Mollory,  Inc. 

Worcester    Deerfoot  Forms 

Hillcrest  Dairy 

Jensen's  Wayside  Dairy 

United  Dairy  System,  Inc. 


MINNESOTA  (Con.) 

Minneapolis 

Ewold  Bros.  Sonitory  Dairy 
Moorheod  Fairmont  Cr'y. 
Owatonno  Marigold  D'ries 
Pipestone  Allen  Gewecke 
Rochester  Marigold  Doiries 
St.  Paul  Sonitory  Dairies 
Von  Dyke  Guernsey  Farms 
Winono     Marigold  Dairies 

MISSISSIPPI 

Boy  Soint  Louis  Sondolon 
Gulfport  Robinwood  Farm 
Hornloke       Gayoso  Forms 

MISSOURr 

Jefferson  City 

Vogels  Guernsey  Farm 
St  Louis  St.  Louis  Dairy 
Versailles     Repelmar  Form 


NEW  HAMPSHIRE  (Con.) 

Noshuo  HompshireHillsF'ms 
Peterborough  OldTownF'm 
Solem  Rockinghom  Form 
Wilton 

Hampshire  Hills  Farms 
NEW  JERSEY 
All  Northern  Counties 

Alderney  Dairy 
Audubon  Abbotts  Dairies 
Bloomfield  Mt.  Vernon  F'ms 
Bridgeton  Roinier's  Dairies 
Camden  Abbotts  Dairies 
Chatham 

Florham  Pork  Dairies,  Inc. 
Clifton  Sisco  Dairy 

Convent  Hollow  Hill  Farm 
Cronford  Sunrise  Dairies 
Elizabeth  Doirylond  Forms 
Wood  Brook  Farms 
FanwoodWoodBrookFarms 


NEW  JERSEY  (Con.) 

Linden     Mt.  Vernon  Forms 
Madison 

Florham  Pork  Dairies,  Inc. 
Medford  Locust  Lone  Dairy 
Mendhom  Audley  Forms 
Merchontville 

Abbotts  Dairies,  Inc. 

Porks  Dairies,  Inc. 

Metuchen         Wood  Brook 

Midland  Pork  Franklin  Lake 

Millburn 

Florhom  Pork  Dairies,  Inc. 

Middlesex  &Union  Counties 

Forsgate  Forms,  Inc. 

Moorestown      Locust  Lone 

Newark       Alderney  Dairy 

Doirylond  Forms 

Mt.  Vernon  Forms 

Sunrise  Dairies 

Wood  Brook  Farms 


NEW  JERSEY  (ConJ 

Princeton  Rockwood  Dairy 
RahwoY  Sunrise  Doiries 
Wood  Brook  Forms 
Ridgewood  Franklin  Lake 
Camden  County 

Abbotts  Dairies 

Millside  Forms 

Porks  Dairies 

Roselle  Sunrise  Dairies 

Roselle  Pork  Sunrise  Dairies 

Summit     Canoe  Brook  Farm 

Florham  Park  Dairies,  Inc. 

Union        Ideal  Dairy  Forms 

Mt.  Vernon  Forms 

Westfield       Sunrise  Dairies 

Wood  Brook  Forms 

Westville     Abbotts  Dairies 

West  wood      Franklin  Lake 

Whitehouse     Durling  Forms 

Woodbury  Abbotts  Dairies 


NEW  YORK 

Albony     Mark  W.  Stevens 
Boulevard  Dairy  Co. 
Normon's  Kill  Dairy 
Auburn    Auburn  Guernsey 
Buffalo  Beck's  Dairy 

Clayton  Merle  L.  Youngs 
Conesus  Domion  Form 

Frankfort  Hillside  Dairy 
Hoosick  Foils 

Fillmore  Forms,  Inc. 
MiilNeckBeoverbrookFarm 
Newburg  Forge  Hill  Farm 
NewRochelle  Dellw'd  D'y 
Oswego  Oswego  Dairy 
Pottersonville  W.W.JeHers 
Plottsburg  Doiry  Co. 
Rochester  Hudson  Dairy 
Nokomo  Farms  Dairy 
Schreiner  Milk  Co. 
SchenectodyConnelly  Bros. 
Syosset  Woodside  Acres 
Syracuse  Syracuse 

Guernsey  Dairy  Co-Op. 
Troy  Collar  City  Creamery 
Utico  Sunshine  Dairy 

White  Plains  DellwoodD'y 
Yonkers       Del  I  wood  Dairy 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

Asheville  Southern  Dairies 
Boone  New  River  Dairy 
Brevard  Transylvonio  D'ries 
Concord  CleorSpringsForm 
Durham  Durhom  Dairy 

Elkin  Klondike  Form 

Hendersonville 

McNoughton  Forms 
High  Point  Clover  Brond 
Kings  Mount.  Archdole  D'y 
Lexington  Coble  Dairies 
Mount  Airy  Hatcher's  D'y 
Mt.  Pleasant  Green  Hills 
Tryon  Hidden  Volley  Form 
Winston-Solem  Selected  D'y 

NORTH  DAKOTA 

Fargo      Fairmont  Creamery 

OHIO 

Akron        Akron  Pure  Milk 

Belle  Isle  Form 

Chestnut  Ridge  Dairy 

Mountrose  Dairy 

Cincinnati    Opekosit  Forms 

J.  H.  Berling  Dairy 

Cleveland  &  Suburbs 

Dairymen's  Ohio 

Farmers' 

O.  A.  Dean  Doiry  Co. 

Franchester  Forms 

H.  J.  Munz  Doiry 

Schneider-Bruce  Dairy 

Telling-Belle  Vernon  Co. 

Columbus       Diamond  Milk 

Dayton         Grocer's  Coop. 

Himes  Brothers  Dairy 

Shoemoke  Forms,  Inc. 

Dover      Cappeldole  f^orms 

Hamilton   McGreevy  Dairy 

Lancaster        Bennett  Dairy 

Mansfield    Raemelton  Form 

Mt.  Vernon      Jewell  Milk 

Sandusky  Esmond  Doiry 

Springfield     Citizen's  Dairy 

&  Lynn  Guernsey  Form 

Toledo    Babcock  Dairy  Co. 

Wooster  Ideol  Dairy 

Voungstown    Sonitory  Milk 

OKLAHOMA 

Ardmore         Primrose  Form 
Tom  Cooper  Forms 
Enid  Jerry  Oven  Farm 

Oklahoma  City 

Goylord  Guernsey  Forms 
Meadow  Lodge  Farms 

OREGON 

Col  ton 

Voncho  Guernsey  Dairy 
Eugene  Chulo  Vista  Doiry 
Hiilsboro  Morningdew  F  ms 
Medford  Cloverhill  Form 
Portland  Foirview  Forms 
Shedd      Prairie  Rose  Dairy 

PENNSYLVANIA 

Allentown  Hess  Lehigh 
Altoono  J.  E.  Horshbarger 
Ambler  Meyer's  Doiry 

Ambrtdge  Taylor  Milk  Co. 
Beaver  Foils  Bonnie  View 
Berwick  Corner  Pork  Form 
Berwyn  Chesterbrook  Form 
Bethlehem  Mowrer's  Dairy 
Big  Run  William  Irvin  Co. 
Brockport  Keystone  Dairy 
Butler  Moser's  Doiry 

Corbondale 

Bethany-Homestead  Forms 

ChoddsFord  Hill  Girt  Forms 

Chombersburg  Dairy 

Chester      Miller-Flounders 

Cornwall      Foirview  Farms 

Donoro      Triumphant  Dairy 

Doylestown  Smith's  San. D'y 

Gordenville  Farms 

Easton  Moyer's  Doiry 

Easton  Sonitory  Milk  Co. 

Elizabeth         Mentor  Forms 

Ellwood  City  Fisher's  Dairy 

Erie   Meodow  Brook  Dairy 

Frommknecht  Dairy 

Yople's  Dairy 

Fayette  City    Patterson  D'y 

Greensburg         Silvis  Forms 

Hamburg        Paul  R.  Kohler 

Smith's  Model  Dair/ 

Harrisburg     Goose  Volley 

Horrisburg  Dairies 

Hatboro       Ivycrest  Doiries 

Hozelton  S.  C.  Price 

Modern  Sanitary  Dairy 

Honesdole 

Bethony-Homesteod  Forms 

Hummelstown   Geo.  Fromm 

Indiana    Indiona  Dairy  Co. 

Jenkintown    Taylor's  Dairy 

Johnstown     Sanitary  Doiry 

Somerset  Dairy  Co. 

Kane  Ideal  Forms 

Loncoster         Queen  Dairy 

Lebanon  HersheyChoc.Co. 

Lewistown 

Lewistown  Pure  Milk  Co. 

Meodville   Moore-Davison 

Mechonicsb'g   Konhous  F'm 

Monongohelo  Hank's  Dairy 

Mopleview 

Norristown    Holiday  Doiry 

Levengood  Dairy 

White  Hole  Farm 

Parkers  Landing 

Porker's  View  Farm 


PENNSYLVANIA  (Con.l 

Philo.       Breuninger's  Do 

(Main  Line)  Brookme 

Pittsburgh        Lewis  Doir 

Page  Milk  C 

Pottstown  Levengood  Do 

Sunny  Slope  Do 

Pottsville  J.  H.  Brok 

Pulaski  Pleasant  Aci 

Ouarryville  Norwood  F' 

Reading  Clover  Foi 

St.  Lawrence  Do 

Red  Lion       Warners  Do 

Roxborough  Missim^ 

Wood-Norcisso  Doir 
Scranton  Glendale  Fai 
Shamokin  Sanitary  M 
Shippenvitle  Gruber  &  S 
Sligo  Shook's  Da 

Spring  City 

Sunny  Slope  Doiry,  li 
Stroudsburg  Penn-D 

Terre  Hill  White  Oak  Fe 
Tunkhan'ck  Shadow  Brc 
Unioritown  Gorner  Do 
Friendship  Hill  Da 
Woyne  Brookmead  Doir 
Waynesboro  Antietom  Fc 
West  Chester  Eochus  Do 
Wilkes-Borre  Glendale  F 
Goodleijh  Fai 
WilkinsburgChos  G  Turr 
Williomsport  Milk  Produ 
Willow  Street  C.H.Witn 
York  Warner's  Do 

York  Sanitary  M 

RHODE  ISLAND 

Barrington 

Cedar  Lone  Fc 
Cranston  H.  P.  Ho 

Powtucket  H.  P.  Ho 
Providence  H.  P.  Ho 
Worren  Cedar  Lone  Fc 
Worwick.  H.  P.  Ho 

Woonsocket      H.  P.  Ho 

SOUTH  CAROLINA 

Charleston  West  End  Do 
Chester  Hillbright  Do 
Columbia  Edisto  Forms  Do 
Zimolcrest  Fc 
Hortsville  Guernsey  Da 
Moncks  Corner  Gippy  P 
Spartanburg  HillTopFoi 
Union  Union  Do 

Yemossee 

Brays  Island  Plontati 

SOUTH  DAKOTA 

Sioux  Falls    Lakeside  Da 

TENNESSEE 

Knoxville  Forragut  Fai 
Memphis        Gayoso  Fai 

TEXAS 

Dallas  Cobe 

Son  Antonio  Doirylc 

UTAH 

Logon        Coche  Mead( 

Ogden        Arden-Sunfr« 

Salt  Lake  City  Arden  Dc 

Cloverleof  Dc 

VERMONT 

Bennington  Fillmore  Fo 
Brattleboro 

Show-Bellville  Doiry  ( 
Springfield         Esteys  Dc 

VIRGINIA 

Denbigh  Burkholder  Dc 
Fairfax  Willowmere  Fo 
Fredericksb'g  Farmers  C 
Golox  Round  Hill  Fc 
Kenbridge  (juernsey  Dc 
Lynchburg  Westover  Dc 
Lynnhoven  Boyville  Fo 
Martinsville  Fisher  Fo 
Norfolk  Boyville  Fa 

Portsmouth  Pine  Grove  Ft 
Pulaski  Bueno  Vislo  Fc 
Radford 

Clover  Creamery  Co.,  I 
Richmond     Lakeview  Dc 

Curies  Neck  Doir 

Richmond  Dairy  C 

Virginia  Doiry  C 

Roanoke   Clover  Creami 

Garst  Brothers  Da 
Roanoke  Da 
Staunton 

Augusta  Doiries  I 
Virginio  Beach  Boyville  I 

WASHINGTON,  D.C. 

Thompson's  Da 
Wakefield  Da 

WASHINGTON 

Bellinghom  Hillview  Da 
Bremerton  Price's  G.  Dc 
Everett  Arown  Da 

Olympio  Meyer's  Da 
Port  Orchard  Price's  Da 
Seattle  Morymoor  Fc 
Golden  Arrow  Da 
VoncouverGoldenWestl 
Middole  Guernsey  Da 

WEST  VIRGINIA 

Chorleston 

Imperial  Ice  Cream  C 

WISCONSIN 

Ashlond  Howard  Joy 
Chippewa  Falls 

Clover  Dairy  C 
Eou  Claire  Uecke  Do 
Dolly  Modison  Doir 
Fond  du  Loc  Luxerin  Fc 
Green  Boy  Delwiche  Foi 
Kenosha  MilkPro's.Co-C 
La  Crosse  Dolly  Modis 
Modison  Bo^^man  Form  ( 
Manitowoc  Sorge  Do 
Menosho  Gear  Dairy  C 
Milwaukee  Gold 

Guernsey  Dairy  Co-C 
Oconomowoc 

Shorelond  Fa 
Rocine  Progressive  Do 
Stevens  Pt.  AltenburgDo 
Superior  Russell  Creomt 
Tomahawk 

To-Ma-Awk  t 
Waukesha  Fox's  G'nsey  [ 
Wousou-  Bridgemon-  Russ 
West  Bend  Decoroh  Farm  [ 
Wisconsin  Rapids 

Wis.  Volley  Creome 

WYOMING 

Casper  Dairy  PrcxJucts,  Ir 
Douglas  Judevine  Crean 


T- 


I 


y\jiimOv  JwnV 


Rung  in  with  chimes  for 
lovers  reunited  . . .  with  a 
ripening  moon,  big  as  a 
stage  prop,  to  light  the 
garden  lawn.  Another  June 
to  be  commemorated  with 
music,  ^th  poetry,  with 
perfume  . . .  Yardley's  own 
"Bond  Street"  ...  a  scent 
as  dream-touched  as  a 
summer's  night.  Find  it 
traced  through  Yardley 
Lipstick  and  "English 
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'Bond  Street"  Perfume: 
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Powder:  8  "English 
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Lipstick:  In  smooth-glowing 
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ADO  20%  PCDERAL  TAX 


82 


(Continued  from  Page  SO) 
any  pantry  shelf  is  in  a  different  size,  style 
or  shape  of  container,  and  she  makes  it  her 
business  to  know  which  is  which.  "If  I  ever 
do  get  stuck,"  she  says,  "I  can  always  take 
the  Ud  off  and  smell  it  or  taste  it." 

She  has  all  the  usual  measuring  cups  and 
spoons  and  kitchen  gadgets,  like  egg  sep- 
arators, vegetable  parers,  and  so  on.  She 
also  has  a  good  braille  cookbook  which  tells 
how  long  is  required  for  the  baking  of  each 
item.  Jane  sets  her  oven  regulator,  puts  in 
whatever  is  to  be  cooked  and  times  it  by  the 
living-room  clock.  Like  most  clocks  of  this 
type,  the  face  is  protected  by  a  glass  which 
can  be  opened.  She  simply  opens  this  glass 
front,  places  her  fingers  on  the  hands,  and 
tells  the  time  from  their  relative  positions. 

WTien  Jane  first  got  her  oven  regulator, 
she  thought  she  would  have  to  have  some 
special  kind  of  marking  to  correspond  to  the 
little  lines  opposite  the  various  degrees;  but 
her  husband,  after  looking  it  over,  said,  "No 
you  won't.  You  can  feel  those  lines  with 
your  fingers."   Sure  enough,  she  could. 

"Bill's  wonderful!"  she  exclaimed  at  this 
point.  "  I  don't  mean  he  pampers  me.  I  mean 
he's  wonderful  about  helping  me  to  help 
myself,  and  that's  what  I  want.  It's  what 
most  people  without  sight  want. 

"I  remember  once  when  I  wanted  to  try 
my  hand  at  fricasseed  chicken.  You  have  to 
brown  the  pieces  when  you  do  it  that  way, 
you  know,  and  I  just  didn't  see  how  I  could 
do  that  without  Bill's  help.  But  would  he 
help  me?  No,  sir!  'Suppose  you  wanted  to 
make  it  sometime  when  I  wasn't  around?' 
he  asked.  Then  he  helped  me  figure  out  a 
way  of  doing  it  by  myself.  I  get  the  pan 
good  and  hot — I  can  tell  when  it's  ready  by 
the  sound  of  the  grease  popping — then  I  put 
in  two  pieces  of  chicken  at  a  time,  leave  them 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  turn  them  over. 
I  can  tell  by  trying  them  with  a  fork  when 
they  have  a  little  crust  on  them;  then  I  know 
they're  ready  for  the  next  step." 

One  would  think  that  a  person  with  her 
hands  as  full  as  Jane  Barbour's  would  be 


Jane,  1943 

content  to  cook  for  her  family  only.  But  no. 
She  and  Bill  can't  afford  going  to  the  theater 
often,  or  out  dining  and  dancing.  But  they 
like  to  see  their  friends  often,  so  Jane  in- 
vites them  in  for  dinner.  She  h^s  certain 
menus  she  follows  when  she  has  guests — 
things  she  knows  she  does  well.  One  of  these 
consists  of  stewed  chicken  with  spoon  bread, 
potatoes  and  succotash,  with  a  lemon  pie  lot 
dessert;  another  is  beef  stTaginoff  (beef  pre- 
pared with  sour  cream  and  mushrooms), 
wild  rice,  when  she  can  get  it,  and  brown 
rice  when  she  can't,  a  green  salad  and  cake. 

After  spending  an  afternoon  with  Jane  and 
watching  how  she  manages  things,  I  felt  I'd 
seen  about  everything.  "Look  here,  Jane," 
I  said,  "is  there  anything  you  can't  do?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  emphatically,  "I  sim- 
ply can't  prepare  a  fresh  pineapple!  And 
I  can't  clean  shrimps  properly.  The  shells  and 
the  whiskers  I  can  manage;  but  I  can't  get 
out  those  httle  black  spots  in  their  stomachs." 

When,  at  leaving,  I  asked  Jane  if  she 
hadn't  a  message  for  others  who,  like  herself, 
have  been  deprived  of  sight,  she  sat  up 
straight  and  exclaimed,  "A  message?  Oh, 
my  goodness,  I  don't  think  so ! "  Then,  after 
a  moment's  thought,  she  said  seriously,  "I 
do  wish,  though,  that  I  could  convince  people 
with  so-called  handicaps  that  they  don't 
have  to  go  through  life  without  the  things 
every  normal  person  wants — love,  marriage, 
children,  work  and  play.  I  know  a  lot  of 
them  don't  get  these  things,  but  I  can't  help 
wondering  sometimes  if  their  own  attitude- 
the  assumption  that  such  things  aren't  for 
them — doesn't  stand  in  their  way  more  than 
the  disability  itsel  f .  I  f  a  person  is  able-bodied 
and  reasonably  intelligent,  and  will  make  the 
effort  to  think  and  act  like  a  normal,  well- 
adjusted  person,  I  don't  see  any  reason  in 
the  world  why  he — or  she — shouldn't  stand 
as  good  a  chance  as  anyone  else  of  having  a 
normal,  useful  and  happy  life.  But  that's 
hardly  a  message,  is  it?"  she  asked. 

Personally,  I  think  it's  a  very  fine  message; 
but  I  still  feel  that  the  message  of  Jane 
Barbour's  own  life  is  an  even  finer  one. 


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4>  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 

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after  an   Admiracion  shampoo.  Good- 
bye hair  problem!     Dirt,   loose 
dandru£F,  soap  film  float  away  .  ,  . 
leaving    all    your     hair's 
natural,  shining    softness. 


83 


WHAT'S  GOIXG  ON  IN  CHINA? 

(Continued  from  Page  23) 


ttemess  of  the  fight  for  Hfe.  There  are  times 
len  life  means  nothing,  and  must  mean 
•thing  because  there  is  not  enough  food  to 
round. 

This  is  difficult  for  many  an  Occidental  to 
iderstand.  He  has  to  see  human  beings 
( d  chickens  from  an  overturned  boat  strug- 
i  ng  in  the  fierce  waters  of  the  Yangtze,  and 
fher  boatmen  collecting  the  chickens  first  so 
tat  whatever  happens  to  the  people  in  the 
I  iter,  their  own  families  may  live.  In  famine 
,  izs,  where  food  goes  to  the  highest  bidder, 
,  has  to  find  rice  sold  not  by  the  basketful 
I  the  handful  but  by  the  grain.  He  has  to 
id  men  and  women  on  their  knees  before 
\n,  begging  for  the  small  sums  that  literally 
Ijan  the  difference  between  life  and  death. 
I  He  has  to  see  the  wounded  in  Chinese 
iiies  when  the  only  help  can  come  from  a 
.V  self-taught  doctors.  He  has  to  see  the 
inest  pride,  independence  and  kindliness 
I  peasants  whose  homes  have  been  gutted 
I  the  Japanese,  but  who  will  use  their  last 
.i\  to  share  with  him  all  they  can  offer. 
|Then  he  understands  a  little.  Such  a 
lUntry  caimot  conform  in  a  few  years  or 
en  a  few  generations  to  the  pattern  of 
lestem  democracy.  There  are  signs  that 
lina  is  taking  a  path  of  her  own. 
Generalissimo  Chiang  Kai-shek,  president 
China,  believes — and  most  observers  agree 
th  him — that  this  is  a  crucial  time  for  his 
untry.  He  has  said,  "This  time  our  des- 
ly  must  not  be  decided,  as  in  the  last  war, 
the  Washington  Conference;  nor  must  it 
decided  at  any  international  conference, 
will  be  decided  now,  when  the  war  situa- 
)n  is  entering  its  final  phase." 
Chiang  likes  to  watch  the  sun  rise.  Every 
jming  that  he  can,  he  walks  alone  at  dawn, 
ually  not  far  from  his  country  home  in 
e  mountainous,  cloud-capped  province  of 
echwan,  which  has  been  the  center  of  his 
vemment  and  a  refuge  against  Japanese 


invaders  for  nearly  six  years.  \Vhile  attend- 
ants wait  at  a  respectful  distance,  Chiang 
watches  the  fight  patterns  playing  over  the 
forbidding  ranges  and  cloud  banks  as  many 
another  Chinese  leader,  driven  inland  by 
enemies,  has  done  before  him.  This  is  his 
favorite  time  for  meditation.  Here  he  plans 
the  new  China  he  hopes  to  see  after  the  war. 

War  is  not  new  to  China,  and  the  Chinese 
do  not  fight  with  armies  alone.  They  have 
been  beaten  in  battles  before  and  little  has 
been  left  of  the  victors.  The  aim  of  Chiang 
Kai-shek's  government  has  been  not  to  de- 
feat Japan  in  pitched  battles,  but  to  exhaust 
her.  Some  Chinese  officials  have  told  me, 
and  apparently  believe,  that  even  if  the  Jap- 
anese overran  the  whole  country,  the  im- 
mense mass  of  the  Chinese  people  eventually 
would  absorb  them,  as  they  absorbed  their 
Mongol  conquerors  in  the  days  of  Genghis 
Khan. 

A  factor  more  important  than  the  war  in 
China — on  the  surface,  at  least — is  the  "con- 
tinuing revolution"  which  thirty-three  years 
ago  smashed  the  20(X)-year-old  imperial  sys- 
tem of  China  and  eighteen  years  ago  made 
the  Kuomintang  China's  ruling  party. 

Chiang  and  the  Kuomintang  follow  the 
pattern  set  by  Dr.  Sun  Yat-sen,  "father  of 
the  revolution."  Sun  Yat-sen's  main  aims, 
as  he  explained  them — the  "three  people's 
principles"  which  form  the  official  creed  of 
the  Kuomintang — may  be  translated  as  the 
development  of  nationalism,  of  democracy 
and  of  a  means  of  livelihood  for  the  people. 
The  war  has  not  deflected  Chiang  and  others 
about  him  from  their  main  purpose,  which  is 
to  put  this  creed  into  effect,  according  to 
their  own  interpretation  of  it. 

Under  the  Kuomintang,  China  has  made 
important  gains.  Before  war  and  inflation 
froze  her  economy,  there  were  rapid  ad- 
vances in  industry .Ctransport,  banking,  min- 
ing, education  and  public  health,  small  on 


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84 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


wife  of  the  famous  screen  star 


The  former  movie  star.  Sue  Carol, 
now  Mrs.  Alan  Ladd,  gives  you  her 
favorite  Colman's  recipe.  You'll 
want  to  try  it! 

HAM  LOAF  A  LA  HOLLYWOOD 

2  cups  ground  1  tsp.  salt 

cooked  ham  2  eggs 

1  cup  bread  crumbs  2  tsp.  Colman's  {dry) 
'/,  cup  milk  Mustard 

!4  cup  cold  water     [i  tsp.  French's  Pepper 
I  onion,  sliced  I  tsp.  butter 

Mix  together  well.  Mold  into  loaf 
and  bake  in  moderate  oven  (350°  F.) 
one  hour.  Sprinkle  top  with  a  little 
brown  sugar  and  stud  w^ith  a  fe^v  ■whole 
cloves,  before  baking. 


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3593  Mustard  Street, 
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and  these  booklets  will 
be  sent  you  FRI'E. 
(Check  each  item  you  wish.) 

D  "Maaltims  Magic"  (illuttratsd  in  full  color) 
D  1  3  Eoiy  Pickling  Rocipoi 

Name 


Address^ 


the  scale  of  other  nations,  but  highly  signifi- 
cant for  China. 

On  paper  at  least,  the  Kuomintang  plans 
are  formidable.  If  they  materialize,  there 
will  be  one  strong  government  in  China  and 
only  one— the  central  government.  The 
foundations  will  be  laid  for  an  immense  in- 
dustrial power,  eventually  dwarfing  Japan. 
China  will  include,  sooner  or  later,  all  her 
old  territories:  Manchuria,  Korea,  Formosa 
and  the  rest  seized  by  Japan;  Mongolia,  now 
a  semi-independent  state  with  strong  links 
with  Russia;  Outer  Tibet,  under  British  in- 
fluence; Hong  Kong,  which  is  British  terri- 
tory; and  other  areas  in  the  south. 

Chiang  is  now  the  nominal,  as  well  as  the 
actual,  head  of  the  military,  civil  and  politi- 
cal systems  of  his  state.  Although  his  power 
is  not  absolute,  his  personality  is  brilliantly 
outstanding  and  his  prestige  is  greater  than 
that  of  any  other  man  in  China. 

He  began  as  an  obscure  young  soldier. 
Sun  Yat-sen's  disciple  in  the  revolutionary 
movement.  He  studied  in  Japan  and  also  in 
Soviet  Russia.  Perhaps  because  he  wishes 
and  perhaps  because  he  must,  he  has  worked 
within  the  framework  provided  by  the  na- 
tional government,  the  Kuomintang  which 
controls  that  government,  and  the  army 
which  under  Sun  Yat-sen's  plan  was  to  sub- 
due all  China  for  the  Kuomintang. 

Early  in  life  he  explored  the  forms  of 
power:  armed  force,  politics,  money  and 
others  besides.  He  has  used  them  skillfully. 
His  genius  has  been  in  balancing  group 
against  group,  individual  against  individual 
to  maintain  some  kind  of  stability  in  a  coun- 
try constantly  threatened  with  chaos. 

Chiang  more  and  more  has  tended  to  iso- 
late himself,  relying  on  a  few  chosen  men  to 
carry  out  his  plans.  In  public  he  is  formal, 
even  austere.  In  private  his  manner  is  sim- 
ple and  unaffected,  but  he  can  be  imperious, 
and  his  anger  is  dreaded  even  by  intimates. 
His  life  for  many  years  has  been  Spartan. 


Big  areas  of  China  have  been  brought  un- 
der some  measure  of  Kuomintang  control  by 
negotiations.  Other  areas  have  been  sub- 
dued by  force.  The  Chinese  Communists, 
still  unsubdued,  remain  the  biggest  obstacle 
to  the  kind  of  unity  Chiang  and  the  Kuomin- 
tang demand.  After  ten  years  of  civil  war 
and  seven  years  of  an  uneasy  nominal  truce, 
Kuomintang  and  Communist  organized 
forces  still  clash.  This  fighting  which  goes  on 
while  both  sides  are  also  fighting  the  Jap- 
anese is  much  more  extensive  than  official  re- 
ports have  indicated. 

In  the  civil  war,  the  Communists  were 
driven  to  poor  land  about  the  Yellow  River, 
with  the  Kuomintang  on  one  side  and  the 
Japanese  on  the  other.  Here,  ever  since,  they 
have  been  blockaded.  In  spite  of  this  block- 
ade, their  administration  has  grown  stronger, 
and  new  Communist-controlled  administra- 
tions have  been  established  in  numerous 
other  small  areas,  mostly  in  Northern  and 
Eastern  China. 

The  "Communist"  areas  generally  are 
undoubtedly  led  by  orthodox  Communists, 
believing  in  the  economic  and  political  doc- 
trines of  Karl  Marx,  but  the  policy  they 
have  instituted  is  not  Communism  or  even 
Socialism.  It  might  fairly  be  called  agrarian 
and  tax-reform.  Unbiased  observers  have 
reported  that  the  common  people  in  these 
areas— about  80,000,000— appear  better  fed, 
better  dressed  and  better  organized  to  fight 
the  Japanese  than  many  of  the  200,000,000 
or  more  in  the  Kuomintang  areas. 

The  Kuomintang  frankly  fears  an  exten- 
sion of  Communist  philosophy.  The  Kuo- 
mintang has  other  fears.  One  of  them  is  that 
if  Russia  becomes  involved  in  the  war  with 
Japan,  a  whole  new  set  of  political  factors 
may  arise,  tending  to  disrupt  China. 

In  gloomy  Chungking  offices,  where  all 
such  things  seem  to  have  the  stamp  of  un- 
reality, exiled  officials  are  making  plans  for 
a  great  industrial  expansion  in  China,  rely- 


June,  1945 

ing  mainly  on  American  help.  Chiang  and 
the  men  round  him  have  prepared  a  fifty- 
year  plan  of  industrialization.  They  have 
set  the  figures  for  the  first  decade  for  mining, 
locomotives,  automobiles,  airplanes,  hydro- 
electric plants,  merchant  shipping,  water 
conservation,  construction  and  housing,  tex- 
tile production  and  much  more. 

Foreign  observers  who  should  know  insist 
that  there  is  no  technical  reason  why  some 
such  plan  should  not  apply  as  soon  as  China 
achieves  stability.  An  American  Army  tech- 
nician in  charge  of  the  repair  of  damaged 
aircraft  in  China  told  me  that  the  Chinese 
mechanics  under  him  could  learn  to  do  any- 
thing; and  that  though  they  were  not  always 
easy  to  teach,  they  had  a  magnificent  natural 
pride  of  craftsmanship. 

An  American  official  of  a  great  interna- 
tional research  organization  who  was  prob- 
ably as  qualified  to  comment  as  any  other 
man  alive  told  me  soberly,  "The  Chinese 
bureaucrats  have  learned  a  lot  in  the  past 
ten  years.  China  can  never  be  judged  by 
other  countries — only  by  what  she  has  been. 
Give  her  ten  years  of  internal  stability  with 
real  foreign  help  and  nothing  will  stop  her." 

What,  then,  is  to  happen  to  China,  at 
present  so  weak,  potentially  so  strong? 
There  is  only  one  answer.  Nobody  knows. 
The  planners,  the  foreign  experts,  the  very 
well  informed  officials  of  the  U.  S.  State  De- 
partment, Chiang  himself  can  only  guess. 

There  have  been  many  forecasts  of  chaos 
and  a  new  civil  war  in  China  immediately  the 
war  with  Japan  is  over.  Some  Chinese  have 
told  me  that  this  is  inevitable,  that  it  is  the 
only  way  China  can  work  out  her  destiny. 
But  compromise  in  China  is  as  old  as  the 
country's  history,  and  compromise  is  possi- 
ble even  now.  Chiang  remains  the  only  man 
with  sufficient  personal  prestige  to  unify 
China  and  to  hold  it  together  in  these  critical 
years.  If  there  is  any  key  to  the  puzzle,  his 
personality  provides  it. 


HOW  IVKW  WILL  TIIK  NEW  WOULD  BE? 


reforms  in  British  history.  Though  the 
writings  of  Thomas  Jefferson  certainly  were 
not  consulted,  it  corresponds  to  a  remark- 
able degree  to  Jefferson's  own  ideas  on  the 
subject.  Previously ,  although  primary  schools 
were  free,  secondary  schools  in  England, 
although  they  had  ample  scholarships  for 
the  poorer  pupils,  all  charged  fees  that  are 
now  largely  abolished.  All  British  school 
children  will  have  free  compulsory  education 
from  nursery  school  to  fifteen  or  sixteen,  re- 
maining, however,  under  educational  influ- 
ences and  part-time  schooling  until  they  are 
eighteen,  and  during  all  that  time  they  will 
have  medical  inspection  and  treatment  with- 
out charge.  Whereas  in  America  secondary 
education  starts  approximately  at  the  age  of 
fourteen,  it  is  earlier  here — the  equivalent  of 
our  high  school  beginning  around  eleven  or 
twelve. 

The  British  equivalent  of  our  high-school 
system  can  be  divided  from  the  beginning 
into  three  varieties  of  education,  of  equal 
standing,  but  suited  to  the  natural  endow- 
ments and  interests  of  the  child.  Education 
beyond  the  prescribed  age  is  encouraged  for 
especially  gifted  children.  All  children  will 
receive  free  milk  and  meals  at  school.  Col- 
lege students  will  receive  free  tuition,  board 
and  lodging  if  their  parents  are  unable  to 
provide  all  or  part  of  it.  There  are  three 
types  of  secondary  schools  proposed:  gram- 
mar school,  preparing  children  for  a  liberal 
education  at  the  university  and  for  learned 
professions;  technical  school  to  prepare  them 
for  industrial  organization,  designing  and 
engineering;  and  finally  a  so-called  modern 
school  closely  related  to  the  interests  of  the 
pupils  -really  rather  like  our  own  high 
schools,  but  designed  rather  for  the  average 
than  the  exceptional  child.  But  there  will 
be  a  lively  exchange  between  them  so  that 
the  child  displaying  later  unexpected  devel- 
opment may  change.  Famous  old  British 
schcx)ls  like  Eton  and  Harrow  remain  for  the 
parents  who  want  and  can  afford  them,  but 
they,  too,  are  expected  greatly  to  extend 


(Continued  from  Page  6) 

scholarships.  Medical  inspection  of  children 
can  begin  at  the  age  of  two.  Local  authori- 
ties can  intervene  then  in  cases  of  ill  or 
neglected  children  coming  to  their  attention, 
and  parents  can  call  for  aid.  Parents'  wishes 
regarding  the  type  of  education  are  respected 
unless  it  is  clearly  demonstrated  that  the 
child  is  unfitted  for  more  demanding  types. 
Religious  education  will  be  given  in  all 
schools  unless  the  parents  ask  for  exemption. 
Behind  this  scheme — put  forward  by  a 
coalition  government  and  representing  a 
revolution  in  British  education — lies  the 
awareness  that  following  the  war  Britain, 
once  the  world's  richest  empire,  will  be  a 
poor  country.  Like  the  Scots,  who  always 
insisted  on  the  education  of  children  even 
at  the  greatest  sacrifice  because  "We  can't 
afford  to  leave  them  money,"  Britain  knows 
that  in  the  days  to  come  she  cannot  afford  to 
have  an  ill-educated,  unskilled,  unhealthy 
race.  The  Education  Act  continues  provisions 
of  the  1921  act  for  the  cleanliness  of  children 
in  person  and  clothing.  Its  object  is  to  raise 
a  society  where,  from  intellectual  leader  to 
manual  worker,  all  will  have  had  access  to  the 
best  within  their  field  and  capacity,  all  will 
have  been  well  fed  and  cared  for  medically, 
with  no  limits  set  on  opportunities  except 

****♦********♦***♦♦♦♦*♦***** 


WHS 


ORDERS  FROM 
HEAUQITARTERS 

If'ashington.  D.  C. 

If  you  are  the  one  woman  out  of 
seven  who  turns  in  fat  for  sal- 
vage— you  can  turn  the  page.  But 
if  you're  one  of  the  other  six — 
stop,  look,  listcnl  Every  ounce 
you  salvage  is  that  much  more 
explosive  to  blast  the  way  to 
end  this  war.  Keep  a  small  con- 
tainer handy  to  the  stove  for 
drippings.  When  you  have  a  pound 
or  30,  take  it  along  to  your 
butcher — and  collect  those  red 
points.  Don't  forget  I 


*****************i 


********! 


those  of  natural  endowment  and  ambition. 
The  new  Education  Act  will  be  adminis- 
tered locally,  but  with  grants  in  aid  from  the 
central  government,  the  central  government 
also  maintaining  standards.  The  education 
of  the  British  well-to-do  has  always  been  one 
of  the  best  in  the  world.  Tomorrow  it  will  be 
democratized.  Britain  still  believes  that  one 
man  is  better  than  another,  but  the  differ- 
ence won't  be  determined  by  birth  or  in- 
equality of  educational  opportunity. 

Hereafter,  in  postwar  Britain  every  per- 
son will  also  be  insured  and  protected  against 
illness,  unemployment  and  old  age.  Every 
person,  furthermore,  is  to  have  access  to 
medical  attention.  He  won't  be  sheltered 
from  life  and  its  normal  troubles,  but  he  will 
be  protected  against  its  great  misfortunes. 
The  various  blitzes  which  blew  down  work- 
ingmen's  houses  also  revealed  pitiable  condi- 
tions in  thousands  of  homes.  I  haven't  found 
one  person  in  Britain  of  any  party  who 
doesn't  insist  that^stwar  Britain  will  have 
decent  dwellings  for  every  British  citizen. 
War  has  utterly  destroyed  nearly  a  quarter 
of  a  million  dwellings  and  gravely  damaged 
nearly  half  a  million  more.  The  shortage  of 
manpower  meant  no  new  building  or  re- 
pair during  six  years  of  war.  Four  million 
new  homes  are  being  aimed  at,  with  a  higher 
degree  of  comfort  and  sanitation  than  ever 
known  here.  Of  course  the  possibility  of  all 
this  depends  on  the  absence  of  industrial 
strife,  but  the  British  people  seem  to  me  to 
have  grown  very  skeptical  of  politicians 
promising  the  moon  by  slogans  and  agitation 
and  without  hard  work.  Nor  do  they  want 
a  radical  break  with  the  ancient  traditions. 

In  the  cloisters  of  New  College,  Oxford, 
there  is  a  memorial  to  a  student  long  dead. 
It  says  in  Latin,  "He  cherished  beauty  of 
tradition.  His  mind  was  open  to  contem- 
porary life."  That  seems  to  me  to  express 
Britain's  postwar  world:  as  much  of  the  old 
Britain  as  has  proved  worthy  will  be  cher- 
ished, and  as  much  of  the  new  world  as  ne- 
cessity and  dignity  demand. 


at  the  front  or  at  home/'a  yardstick  of 

protein  foods" 


New  Meat  Development  for 
American  Fighters  — Grilled 
Hamburgers  in  a  Can- 

precooked,  prebrowned,  then 
sealed  in  vacuum  fo  hold  that 
right  -out-  of-  the  -skillet  taste. 


m." 


^/kW^'  ':f.^^3^^ 


Jj^^^^        This  Seal  means  thaf  all  nutrifional  sfaiemenfs  made  in  this  advertisement 


Medical  Association. 


Men  don't  stop  hankering  for  good  American  ham- 
burgers when  they  put  on  a  uniform. 

Our  fighters  in  the  front  lines  were  hungry  for 
hamburgers.  So  the  U.  S.  Army  Quartermaster 
Corps  put  the  problem  up  to  the  meat  packing  in- 
dustry— and  it  was  a  problem. 

Now  millions  of  these  precooked  canned  ham- 
burgers are  part  of  combat  rations  for  our  men  all 
over  the  world.  They  bring  to  these  men  the  com- 
plete, highest  quality  proteins  of  meat  in  one  of 
its  most  popular  forms. 

Remember,  a  lot  of  the  meat  of  all  kinds  you  are 
not  getting  now  is  making  eating  brighter  and  more 
nutritious  for  about  12,000,000  Americans  in  uniform. 

AMERICAN    MEAT   INSTITUTE 

Headquarters,   Chicago     •     Members   throughout   the   U.  S. 


Enjoy  William  Bendix  in  "The  Life  of  Riley"— every  Sunday  evening  on  the  Blue  Network— see  paper  for  local  time  and  stotion. 


86 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


June,  1945 


says  Mrs.  Charles  Boyer— 

glauior<»iis  wife  of  ilie  screen's 

leading  romantic  actor 


:  ■i.r^J^C-  ...  «|R,,'.  ■, 


MRS.  CHARLES  HOYER: 

Smart  modern  make-up  is  a  "must" 
for  a  wife  who  wants  to  hold  the  screen's 
leading  romantic  actor. Your  exciting  new 
shades  in  Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lipsticks 
are  just  what  my  Hps  were  waiting  for. 
And  for  super-excitement  I  choose  that 
rich  dark  Tangee  Red-Red. 

coxsTANfE  Lrmr  HIJBCV: 

Yes,  Mrs.  Boyer,  my  new  shades  in 
Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lipsticks  really  are 
going  places  .  .  .  they're  going  on  the 
smartest  lips  in  America.  You'll  find,  also, 
that  these  heavenly  colors  have  a  per- 
fectly delightful  hahit  of  staying  on  for 
many  extra  hours.  There's  no  run  ...  no 
smear.  Tangee's  exclusive  Satin -Finish 
insures  lips  that  are  not  too  dry — not 
too  moist . . .  lips  with  a  soft,  satin-smooth 
radiance  that  works  wonders  for  your 
charm  ...  In  Red-Red,  Theatrical  Red, 
Medium-Red  and  Tangee  Natural. 


CONSTANCE  LUFT  HUHN 
Head  of  iheHouseof  Tangee 
and  one  of  America's  fore- 
most authorities  on  beauty 
and  make-up. 


a 


se 


T/INGEE 


THE  ROAD  AND  IHE  TUR^IXG 


(Continued  from  Page  17) 


SS/ar  Hinf/( 


"No,  I  don't  really  believe  it's  the  change 
from  California  to  Massachusetts"— he  had 
blotted  the  ink,  blotting  out  her  opinion, 
reducing  it  to  grievance— "  your  son  should 
be  acclimated  by  now.  You've  been  here— 
three  months?  No,  this  is  simply  what  hap- 
pens when  children  reach  the  social  age. 
He's  four,  he's  joined  the  common-cold 
circle.  He'll  build  up  immunization  by 
degrees."  When  she  had  struggled  Taddy 
into  his  layers  of  clothes,  picked  up  her  purse 
and  gloves,  he  had  risen,  putting  his  hand 
on  Taddy 's  shoulder.  "Good-by,  old  man, 
take  care  of  yourself."  Mary's  presence  was 
negligible. 

She  had  said,  "Perhaps,  living  here  in 
Little  Afton,  you  knew  Tad?  My  husband?  " 

He  had  shaken  his  head,  still  looking  down 
at  Taddy.  "I  know  the  Harpers  only 
slightly.  The  senior  Harpers,  of  course— and 
the  Arthur  Harpers, 
over  in  Afton.  He's 
the  eldest  son,  isn't 
he?  Their  kids  are  in 
the  teens,  out  of  my 
bailiwick." 

"Yes.  And  the 
youngest,  the  juniors, 
live  in  New  York.  We 
lived  there,  too,  be- 
fore the  war.  You 
know  Tad  was  in  the 
Navy  too.  He  was 
killed.  Two  years 
ago." 

"I  know,"  His 
long,  Lincolnesque 
face  had  been  expres- 
sionless. 

What  had  she 
wanted  of  him?  Not 
pity,  not  sympathy, 
nothing  but  some 
help  for  Taddy,  and 
some  small  under- 
standing of  her  situa- 
tion because  that  di- 
rected Taddy's  wel- 
fare. But  there  was 
no  understanding 
anywhere  here. 
None.  No  experience. 
All  staggering  incom- 
prehension. .  .  .  The 
Arthur  Harpers  still 
having  their  buffet 
dinners,  Granny  still 
hurrying  in  town  for 
the  symphony, 
Granfa  still  painting 
those  New  England 
landscapes  up  in  his 
studio.  .  .  .  This 
doctor  in  uniform 
because  he  gave  his  j 
mornings    at    the 

near-by   naval   training    station,  but  still 
keeping  his  private  practice. 

The  train  ground  to  a  stop.  Boston ;  Park 
Street.  With  the  other  passengers,  Mary 
rose  automatically,  and  repudiating  her 
cheap  bitterness.  It  was  not  part  of  her,  it 
wasn't  true.  The  war  was  here,  as  elsewhere; 
some  had  gone  from  here,  too,  to  be  killed; 
others  remained  here,  too,  who  felt  it.  But 
there  were  still  so  many  more 


Then  as  she  shouldered  into  the  stjeet  the 
wind  whipped  her  coat  back  and  forth  over 
her  legs,  and  longing  rose  in  her  like  passion. 
Oh.  bright,  beautiful,  feckless,  thoughtless 
California !  Why  come  back  to  this?  What 
for?  Cold,  gray,  stern,  rock-bound  anachro- 
nism, a  place  busy  and  dead. 

Though  not  all  of  California  had  been 
bright.  At  first  so,  with  Tad  and  the  baby; 
then  darkening  with  the  parting;  then  it 
had  turned  black  under  the  sun.  There  had 
been  the  first  message:  ".  .  .  .  prisoner  of 
war";  and  accomplished  with  greatness, 
determination,  gaiety,  people  being  wonder- 
ful, Mary  being  wonderful:  "At  least  I  know 
he  is  alive."  .  .  .  "  Yes,  it  might  have  been 
so  much  worse."  Then  the  second  message, 
almost  four  months  later,  so  much  worse: 
".  .  .  erroneously  .  .  .  previously  re- 
ported .   .    .   deeply 


an 


a  sec  how  hcaulitul 


you  can  he 


regret  .  .  .  killed  in 
action."  The  pattern 
of  determination, 
gaiety,  being  wonder- 
ful had  continued, 
nailed  down  by  tardy 
knowledge  of  grief, 
over  agony.  It  ha>! 
been  done;  peopl 
had  been  wonderful 
Mary  had  still  been 
wonderful.  TheefTort 
of  valor  precluded 
loneliness  for  a  while, 
and  as  it  struck  came 
the  relief,  the  move 
from  San  Diego  up 
the  coast  to  live  with 
Denise,  who  could 
share  so  much  besides 
the  house  overlooking 
the  bay — the  fraught 
and  sleeping  days, 
the  deep,  sleepless 
nights — because  her 
own  husband  had 
been  killed  a  year 
back. 

Then    came    the 
breakup,  the  expira- 
tion of  the  lease,  th;- 
pressure    across    tl in- 
continent,    the     de- 
cision;   and    Denise 
went  to  Arizona,  and 
Mary  went  "back." 
Not  only  Tad's  pa- 
rents   but    friends 
wrote : ' '  Wonderful  to 
hear    you're   coming 
back  at  last."   As  if 
from  some  aberration 
of  foreign  junket  to 
sanity    and    civiliza- 
tion!   What  fantasy. 
The  train  that  pulled  Mary  and  Taddy 
away  from  the  sea,  past  mountains,  buttes 
and  deserts  and  plains,  had  drawn  them  back 
to  places  grown  as  small  as  a  childhood  room 
revisited,  no  more  Televant  to  the  present. 
Small,    dreamlike,    dead   destination.    The 
taxi  sent  in,  smelling  of  dust,  to  bring  them 
out  to  Little  Afton  had  drawn  them  through 
unreal,  familiar  streets,  until  finally  there 
was  the  house  with   its  guarding  copper 
beech,  its  columns  on  which  the  old  paint 
Why  should  half  the  people  suffer  the  war,     curled  like  dingy  snowflakes,  and  within, 
and  the  other  half  not?  Why  was  there  no     its    high-ceilinged,    heavy- fumitured,    sun- 


fimi 


By  Rubert  P.  TriHtram  Coffin 

A  bridge  of  watery  fire  spans 
the  heavens, 
The  heat  and  heaviness  of  the 
day  are  gone, 
The  thunderstorm  has  opened 
secret  windows 
In  the  solid  greenness  of  my 
lawn. 

I  can  look  down  deeper  than 
the  sky  is 
Along  the  trees  that  go  the 
other  way, 
I  can  look  into  a  bluer  heaven 
And  see  a  lower,  lovelier 
summer  day. 

Blue  windows  in  the  grass  I 
walked  this  morning — 
Oh,  little  did  my  feet  know  they 
were  there! 
I  should  have  walked  warily  as 
on  crystal. 
Had  I  known  I  was  walking 
azure  air. 

Perhaps  this  is  the  kind  of 
sudden  wonder. 
The  wonder  we  call  death  will 
bring  me  to. 
When  it  will  open  solid  earth 
before  me 
And  let  me  fall  into  an 
unknown  blue. 


understanding  in  the  half  that  didn't?  Be- 
cause there  was  no  substitute  for  experience. 
And  they  kept  saying,  "Mary,  you're  so 
wonderful."  She  was  not.  In  the  beginning 
she  had  been,  but  that  brief  greatness  had 
slipped  impalpably  from  her.  Now  she  knew 
she  merely  moved,  deafened  and  staring, 
through  this  thronged,  glassy  world,  and 
was  failing,  failing. 

"Oh,  God."  She  whispered  it  between  her 
teeth  as  she  reached  the  street.  An  icy  wind 
roistered  across  the  Common,  but  it  was 
not  that.  It  was  the  paucity,  the  straggling 
monotony  of  her  thoughts  that  was  un- 
endurable. 


squared  rooms,  where  the  arrival,  the  child's 
voice,  the  greetings  and  embraces  had 
dropped  like  a  handful  of  pebbles  into  a 
pool.  Ripples  soon  gone,  the  pool  soon  re- 
suming its  bland,  changeless  acquiescence. 
But  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool— Mary 
knew — she  lay,  bereft  of  love  and  laughter, 
bereft  of  her  life,  and  even  the  semblance 
of  it.  "How  lovely  that  you're  back,  with 
Tad's  parents,  to  start  your  new  life."  New 
life.  It  was  the  negation,  but  she  was  alive 
and  could  feel  it. 

Now  she  had  reached  her  destination,  was 
in  out  of  the  wind  and  mounting,  once  again, 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


87 


Danger! 

don't 

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ITH 


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NAMES 


eal  tor  Camp,  School,  Home.  Don't  worry  about  lost 
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>erk  Up  With 
ce-Mint  Treat 

When  feet  burn,  callonses  sting  and  every  step 
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HnUl  THTIU  (OIFOUTIOH.  Oningt,  H.  J.,  U.  S.  H. 


:ORNSCALLU$ES 


lick — easy.  Just  rub  it  on. 
ilieves  Ingrown  Nails.  Jars, 
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impany,    Rochester,    N.    Y. 


REMOVED 

W/TH 

MOSCO 


the  stairs  to  the  second  floor  and  door  let- 
tered. Domestic  Agenxy.  As  she  entered  the 
room,  glass-partitioned,  full  of  subdued  chat- 
ter, there  was  about  the  place  an  air  of 
foolish  intrigue,  of  grade-school  conspiracy, 
that  suddenly  placed  a  seal  on  her  despera- 
tion. 

She  approached  the  desk,  and  the  simple 
expedient  of  suicide,  long  hidden  as  part  of 
the  purpose  that  kept  bringing  her  here,  was 
a  statement  on  the  surface  of  her  mind. 

"Now  this  is  the  last  one  I've  got  for  you, 
Mrs.  Harper.  Children's  nurses  are  very 
hard  to  get— for  what  you're  willing  to  pay." 
The  woman,  offering  a  chair,  arranging  a 
screen,  always  treated  Mary  with  this  mix- 
ture of  deference  and  contempt.  She  creaked 
off  with  conniving  footsteps. 

Not  even  this.  No  one  to  listen,  no  place 
allowed  for  what  was  apparently  the  in- 
dignity of  any  truth :  Look,  I  have  very  little 
money.  Or  to  say.  Yes.  it  is  true,  I  am  very 
nervous.  In  fact,  I'm  wholly  desperate.  Why 
should  I  not  be — buried  in  a  life  like  a  steel 
engraving,  in  a  prewar  place,  in  a  big  house 
with  another  generation:  where  to  quiet  my 
particular  anguish  I  can  take  long  walks  in 
the  lonely  landscape,  read  detective  stories  at 
night,  spend  occasional  evenings  with  my 
brother-  and  sister-in-law  and  their  friends  to 
whom  the  war  is  remote  pain  and  a  financial 
expense;  for  the  rest,  I  care  for  my  child,  do 
housework,  cook.  And  all  this  without  happiness 
or  love  or  a  bedfellow,  with  only  a  burden  of 
fears  about  money,  my  child's  future,  my  future, 
his  health,  my  health,  his  life,  my  life. 

It  is  a  widow's  story.  I  know.  I  am  only 
one  of  millions.  But  what  do  widows  do?  War 
ividows?  Beneath  the  hypnotized  shell  of  being 
"wonderful,"  in  the  empty,  violent  room,  what 
do  they  do? 

Now  if  I  can  get  a  nurse  for  my  child — then 
perhaps  I  can  rest,  grow  less  savage,  get  some 
diversion,  work.  Work,  it  is  known,  helps;  and 
to  afford  a  nurse  I  must  work — see  how  the 
circle  turns? — but  to  come  from  work  each 
night  to  the  quiet  street,  the  elderly  house,  to 
force  down  my  dinner,  to  fight  my  way  to  sleep, 
all  passion  pent — oh,  how  can  I  stand  it?  If 
I  can't,  finally,  if  there's  a  nurse  to  love  and 
care  for  Taddy  as  I  do,  why  then — why 
then 

Starting  the  devious  return  trip  to  Little 
Afton  after  the  interview,  Mao'  knew  this 
nurse  would  not  come  either.  She  had  lis- 
tened, perched  gingerly  in  mistrust,  while 
Mary  spoke  of  herself,  of  Taddy,  of  the 
cleaning  woman  who  came  Fridays,  of  her 
father-in-law  as  "John  Warren  Harper,  the 
artist,"  seeing  refusal  in  the  listening  eyes, 
knowing  that  her  own  shadowy  amber 
ones  looked  up  and  down  and  off  too  much 
in  her  white  face  and  that  her  fingers  kept 
twisting  her  loose  rings  around  and  around. 

As  soon  as  she  stepped  into  the  house  in 
Little  Afton,  Granny's  voice  called  out  from 
the  back  somewhere,  "Mary?   Any  luck?" 

Instant  petty  reaction  made  Mary  delay 
answer,  dropping  her  things  on  the  hall 
settle.  "Hi.   My,  it's  cold." 

Tad  had  always  waited  to  hear  things. 
They  had  told  them  to  each  other  before 
dinner,  taking  their  time.  But  there  was  no 
waiting  in  his  mother.  She  came  up  the 
hall,  brisk,  confident,  overwhelming. 

"Why  didn't  you  take  a  taxi  over?  Are 
you  frozen?  Did  you  get  the  nurse?" 

She  always  managed  the  moment  as  if  it 
were  her  personal  property.  She  was  the 
same,  even  though  her  middle  son  had  been 
killed,  as  she  always  had  been.  This  indom- 
itable sameness  seemed  a  symbol  of  the 
place,  the  life.  It  made  Mary  feel  thin  with 
fatigue. 

"How  is  Taddy?" 

"Coughing  quite  a  lot.  Now,  of  course 
he's  your  child,  my  dear,  but " 

"Mom-may!  Mom-may!"  Taddy's  nar- 
row warm  body  and  hugging  arms  dispelled 
the  moment,  but  Granny  seized  it  again. 

"I  wouldn't  let  him  run  around  so  much 
this  raw  weather,  Mary." 

"He  has  to  get  used  to  it.  That  doctor 
said  he  was,  already." 

"Well — any\vay,  he  wasn't  out  this  after- 
noon. I  took  him  with  me  when  I  went  to 
practice  on  the  organ." 


wmm-M/l:  ^  WM'M 


This  bath  routine  of  blossoms  bright 
Is  a  fragrant  sequence  of  delight. 
Scented  bath  salts  for  the  tub, 
A  fine-milled  soap  to  cleanse  and  scrub; 
The  bath  complete,  be  lavish,  gay 
\Vith  talcum  in  the  same  bouquet. 


Friendship's  Garden  Toilet  Soap,  5  cakes,  $1.00 
Fragrance-crystalled  Bath  Salts,  14  oz.  $1.00^ 
Mist. light    Talcum,    51/2    oz.    50 f ,    10    oz.   $1.00' 

Each  a  Shulton  Original 

i 

NUR5ES  ARE  NEEDED 

Take  home-nursing  or  nurses    aide  course.  Enlist  in 
U.  S.   Caaet  Corps.    Registered  nurses,  join    U.  S.   Army   Corps. 

t«i..  To, 
T  M.Reg.  U.S.  Pal.  Off.    'SHULTON.   INC.    •    Roctefellei  Cemer    •    New  York  20.  N    Y 


r 


88 


LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 


2Af  transparent  as  the  love  light  in  her 
eyes !  One  of  the  nicest  things  about  clear 
Pyrex  ware  is  the  fact  that  she  can  see  what 
she's  cooking  .  .  .  watch  it  brown  to  perfec- 
tion, as  much  as  one-third  faster! 


0  Extra  "pie-appeal"  with  Pyrex  ware — 
**  even  for  first  pies!  A  Pyrex  pie  plate,  or 
any  other  Pyrex  dish,  is  just  as  much  at  home 
on  the  table  as  in  the  oven  or  in  the  refriger- 
ator. Each  dish  is  really  three  in  one — for 
baking,  storing,  and  serving ! 


173-;,' 


LOOK  FOR  ONE  OR  THE  OTHER  OF  THESE 

FAMOUS  PYREX  TRADE-MARKS.  THEY  MEAN 

"A  PRODUCT  OF  CORNING  RESEARCH  IN  GLASS.' 

CORNING  GLASS  WORKS,  CORNING,  N.  Y. 


A  Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one  .  .  .  even 
over  the  dishpan!  Pyrex  ware  is  easy  to 
wash.  Food  and  strong  flavors  never  stick  to 
its  slick  smooth  surface.  It  washes  sparkling 
clean  in  a  jiffy  with  less  soap  and  hot  water ! 


Mary  stared  up.  "Oh.  Granny  dear,  it's 
always  so  cold  in  that  church!" 

"Not  so  cold  as  outdoors.  I  suppose  your 
nurse  will  let  you  know?" 

Mary  nodded.  She  took  Taddy's  grimy 
little  hand  and  he  jumped  up  and  down  be- 
side her.  then  coughed  hard,  a  deep  rattling 
cough.  It  gave  a  twist  to  her  heart,  adding 
to  her  weariness  a  spark  of  fear.  "Come  on, 
sweetie,  let's  go  get  you  some  supper."  Get 
him  out  of  the  drafty  hall. 

The  house  was  impossible  to  heat,  to  live 
in,  but  the  Harpers  lived  in  it  because  the 
Harpers  always  had,  though  the  taxes  were 
too  high  to  keep  it  in  repair,  so  that  drawers 
jammed,  handles  came  off,  sash  cords  broke; 
so  that  no  cook  was  afforded,  though  half 
the  amount  spent  on  concert  tickets,  lecture 
series,  church  donations,  art  and  literary 
memberships  would  have  paid  for  one. 
Glorious,  such  plain  living,  high  thinking, 
but  it  belonged  to  a  dream,  another  world. 

Now  it  was  six.  If  it  were  Denise  here, 
Mary  could  tend  to  Taddy,  then  relax  with 
her,  as  each  had  done  with  her  husband,  till 
dinner  was  wanted  at  eight,  or  nine,  or 
never.  But  dinner  was  always  at  seven,  in 
this  world,  the  hour  Mary  was  busiest  get- 
ting Taddy  to  bed.  so  that  a  half  hour  be- 
fore it  she  was  running  up  to  his  bath,  down 
to  the  stove,  up  to  his  bedroom,  down  again 
to  drop  into  her  chair  finally,  always  late. 

Now  Mrs.  Harper's  feet  pressed  briskly 
behind  her,  going  to  the  kitchen.  "The  range 
fire  went  out,  so 
we'll  use    the    gas 
stove." 

We.  Mary  pushed 
her  hair  back  with 
both  hands. "  Isany- 
thing  particular  hap- 
pening?" 

"Why,  yes,  don't 
you  remember? 
Cora  Scudder's  com- 
ing for  dinner;  we're 
going  over  to  Maud 
Abbot's  musicale. 
That  tenor,  that 
protege  of  hers." 

The  dinner  was 
like  others  such: 
conversation  punc- 
tuated by  serving, 
by  the  passing  of 
food;  Granny 
sparkling  and  hand- 
some— "I  said  the 
most  outrageous 
things  to  the  bishop  . 
and  he  loved  it!"; 

Granfa,  looking  notable  with  his  white  goatee, 
his  face  withdrawn  and  self-concerned,  de- 
livering testy  lectures  on  politics,  modern 
music,  the  flower  arrangements  in  church; 
Cora  Scudder,  an  intimate,  making  caustic 
comments  on  personalities  in  a  clear,  cul- 
tured accent.  Then  it  was  over,  and  the  de- 
parture took  place  in  a  flurry  of  pleasantries, 
regrets  that  Mary  could  not  come  too. 

Yes,  I'm  so  sorry."  Courtesy,  to  ac- 
quiesce, but  utter  fortune  to  have  Taddy  to 
stay  home  for.  She  stood  wild,  smiling, 
banal,  uncaring.  "A  mother's  place  is  in 
the  home.  I've  nothing  to  do;  there  are 
no  dishes  to  speak  of" — anything  to  get 
them  gone,  to  let  the  choked  desperation 
shake  through  her. 

Mary  felt  her  hand  pressed.  "I  think 
you're  ivonderful,  Mary  dear." 

The  next  morning  Mary's  face,  framed  in 
the  light,  curling  hair,  was  dreadful— white, 
drawn,  dark-shadowed  beneath  her  eyes. 
But  she  had  risen  already  decided  to  go  to 
Doctor  Neeland  again.  Taddy's  cough  was 
worse;  her  own  night  had  been  a  journey  in 
misery  impossible  to  repeat. 

When  she  undressed  Taddy  in  the  examin- 
ing room  adjoining  Doctor  Neeland's  ofiice, 
that  afternoon,  saying.  "Stand  up,  darling, 
will  you  please  stand  up! "  the  savage  note  in 
her  voice  made  her  sc|ueeze  her  eyes  tight, 
hanging  on  to  herself. 

Doctor  Neeland,  coming  in,  gave  no  sign 
beyond  a  flicker  of  his  eyes  at  her,  a  welcom- 
ing smile  for  Taddy.  "Well,  son,  let's  hear 


June,  1945 

that  chest  again."  When  he  was  through  he 
glanced  briefly  at  Mary.  "Retrogressed 
some,  there." 

Mary  said,  dressing  Taddy,  "He  spent 
all  yesterday  afternoon  in  that  darftp  Trinity 
Church." 

"I  went  with  Granny,"  Taddy  said, 
coughing.  "She  plays  the  yorgan.  WTiy  does 
she  always  play  the  yorgan,  mommy?" 

Mary  had  a  spasm  of  uncensored  bitter- 
ness. "Oh,  because  music  is  a  lovely  thing, 
because  everyone  here  always  does  every-  ■ 
thing  they  always  do,  Taddy ! " 

The  doctor  put  down  his  stethoscope  in , 
silence.  i 

When  Taddy  was  sent  to  the  waiting  room 
to  play,  she  sat  down  by  the  desk.  The  doctor 
pulled  the  prescription  pad  to  him.  Taddy 
must  stay  in  bed,  he  said,  writing,  "And 
give  him  one  of  these  tablets  every  fouf 
hours.  It's  a  sulpha  drug.  He's  got  a  new 
squeak  down  in  there." 

She  heard  it  without  shock;  certainly  it 
was  part  of  things  that  Taddy  should  be 
worse.    Making  a  sudden,  unpremeditated 
effort,  she  leaned  forward.  "Can  I  consult 
you  about  myself,  Doctor  Neeland?" 
His  eyes  flicked  up.  "Yourself?" 
"Yes."    Mary  looked  at  him.    "Perhaps 
I'm  just  tired.   I  suppose  it's  been  a  strain, 
these  two  years  since  Tad  was  killed.  And 
the  way  I  learned  it.    But  since  I've  been 
back  here,  I  don't  seem  able  to  handle  life.  I 
did,  out  there.  They 
were  all  in  the  war 
someway  or  other- 
all  the  people  I  saw 
And  I — could  keep 
up."  She  paused,  foi 
this  was  so  difficult 
The    big,    dark 
haired   man    oppo- 
site did  not  encour 
age,   did  not   ever 
look  at  her,  but  at  a 
paper  cutter  he  had 
evenly  balanced  or 
his  steady  forefinger 

Mary  drew 
short  breath.  "Peo- 
ple have  to  bt 
cheerful,  gay,  carrj 
on.  I  was  doing  it 
But  back  here — it's 
as  rf  the  war  didn't 
exist.  Just  a  nui 
sa  nee — shortages— 
rationing — but  ev 
erything  going  or 
just  as  always- 
Futile  to  try  defini 
,  "No  one  seems  t( 


mi  WASTE  Hfm 

•  Don't  buy  paper  you  don't  need. 

•  Don't  let  the  druggist,  grocer, 
butcher,  baker,  wrap  articles  vou 
can  carry  home  unwrapped. 

4  Don't  throw  paper  away  until 
it's  thoroughly  used. 

•  Don't  throw  (his  magazine 
away — pass  it  on  to  someone  who 
couldn't  buy  a  copy:  wartime  paper 
needs  are  forcing  us  to  print  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  fewer  copies 
than  we  printed  last  year. 

I.«n«l  Your 
•lournnl  !<»  a  Fri«'n«l 

Mako  a  Friend 
by  l.,4'n«lin^  Vour  •lournal 


concerts,  theaters,  talk;" 
tion;  she  went  on  flatly,  ' 
know  what  it's  all  about.  It's  like  a  work 
that's  died.  I  try,  I  keep  working  at  it,  but 
know  I'm  failing.  It  gets  worse,  not  better 
So  I  thought  if  you'd  examine  me — perhap 
I'm  run  down.  Or  maybe  you'd  think  we'i 
do  better  back  in  California,  especiall; 
Ta